#-of my inability to stay consistent

[sealovinq]

i need friends /gen (slight rant in tags)

[laanonlovestrash]

Mary from Ib

HELL YEAH I FINISHED THIS BEFORE THE MONTH WAS OVER

[theghostiedyke]

.

[eyadkhalil]

My name is Iyad Khalil, a 24-year-old Palestinian from Gaza. My life has been a constant struggle, marked by harsh conditions beyond imagination. Born into a poor family, I was the eldest of my siblings, which forced me to leave school at an early age to help my father provide for our family.

Our family consisted of eight members: my father, my mother, my brothers—Mohammed (22 years old), who suffers from paralysis, Ahmed (20 years old), and Mahmoud (15 years old)—and my sisters, Hiba (18 years old), who is deaf but excels academically at a national level, Batool (12 years old), and Farah (7 years old). We lived in a small house with my grandparents. We barely managed to survive, but being together was all that mattered.

In October 2023, our lives changed forever. During that dark month, Israel launched an unprecedented campaign of genocide against Gaza. It was not a war—it was a massacre targeting children, women, and the elderly without mercy. On October 7, an airstrike hit our home, taking the lives of my father and my brother Ahmed. Our house was reduced to rubble, and my family was torn apart.

The only ones left were my mother and my remaining siblings, who were forced to flee northern Gaza under a hail of bullets and relentless bombing. They carried their grief and fear while walking through roads littered with the bodies of martyrs. I stayed in contact with them over the phone, hearing their trembling voices as they told me, “We are running from death only to face death again.” I felt utterly powerless, far away from them in a foreign land, unable to protect them. My mother walked through this hell with my sick siblings, trying to mask her fear to reassure them, but the pain in her voice shattered me.

They moved from one place to another, only to end up in makeshift tents in southern Gaza, in the Mawasi area of Khan Younis. They now sleep on the ground and use the sky as their only shelter, on the shores of Gaza’s sea. But even the tents were not spared from the bombardment. Last night, airstrikes targeted and burned the tents. My mother and siblings were injured in the attack. My sister Hiba, who is deaf, and my brother Mohammed, who is paralyzed, are now in critical condition. Heavy rain pours down relentlessly, flooding the torn tents, as my mother sits under the rain, desperately trying to shield her children from the cold. Meanwhile, I am here, far away, helpless to do anything.

My mother tells me that my younger siblings shiver from the cold and hunger, with nothing to sustain them or warm their fragile bodies. My 12-year-old sister Batool sits beside my brother Mohammed, trying to comfort him, while seven-year-old Farah cries in fear and hunger. This scene plays vividly in my mind, breaking my heart as I imagine their suffering and my inability to help them.

October 2023 was not just a month; it was a testament to the genocide against my people. Thousands of families were bombed, thousands of lives lost, and thousands more are now enduring hell—under rubble or in burned-out tents. My family is one of those families, and my innocent siblings are victims of this unimaginable nightmare.

Mohammed’s and Hiba’s conditions are deteriorating rapidly. Urgent action must be taken immediately to save their lives. They need urgent medical care, and delaying it will only cost us their lives.

I appeal to your kind hearts: please, help me save my family. My sister Hiba requires immediate medical attention, and my brother Mohammed needs continuous care. My mother and siblings desperately need a safe place, far from this inferno.

Do not leave us to face this fate alone. Every donation can provide us with a chance to live, a chance to save lives that dream only of living with dignity.

Please, be the hope we no longer have.

Attached are medical reports documenting their critical health conditions. Kindly take the time to review them.

Iyad Khalil,

[melodrangea]

Nicknames Soul Eaters Boys call their S/O

———————

Soul “Eater” Evans

sweetheart

he says this extremely sarcastically, especially during training

“C’mon sweetheart, is that all you got? I saw you lift twice as much yesterday.”

doll

often uses it in a more formal setting or when he’s trying to tease

“What’s the matter doll? Cat got your tongue?”

He’s a little menace but he’s our menace <3

babe

most common out of the three

you name DOES NOT exist to this man

no name, no nickname, nothing

“Babe can I borrow your notes. Babe where do you wanna go later? BABE”

———————

Black Star

n/n or another variation of you name

doesn’t really use pet names much (sorry babes)

why words words on pet names? he’s way too blunt and if he’s feeling something he’ll just say it, not waste time on fancy words or pet names

(that’s what he tells himself being fr he’s not creative enough as much as I love him)

babe

mostly used around friends (this dumbass thinks he’s being smug)

“hey babe wasn’t going out yesterday awesome? I mean since we’re so inlove and everything.”

the little shit would make your relationship EVERYONE ELSE’S problem (no one is safe 😭)

———————

Death the Kid

Darling

this pretentious hipster

is fairly consistent with the pet names he uses but darling is his favorite

“Darling can you please pass me that book there?”

“Are you alright darling?”

my dear

uses this one without realizing it most of the time

will be chilling in the library studying and will half-consciously call for you

“are you almost done?”

“just a few minutes more my dear, then we can go”

you chuckled, “what did you call me”

“what do you mean, what did I call you?”

love

Kid is a romantic at heart, very classy as well

he would stare into your eyes and call you love

“my love you have no clue how much I love you.”

———————

Crona Gorgon

honey

you would call him honey bunny as a joke and he loved it so he started calling you honey

would always have the cutest blush in his face when he said it too

“o-oh thank you honey :)” (cutie patootie 💋)

dear

would definitely take him a while to start calling this, but when he does 🤌💋

“are you alright if we stay a little longer dear? It’s been a while since we’ve seen the others”

being fr this poor soul would be TERRIFIED to call you something other than your name or a variation for A WHILE

his brains running six times the speed 🏃🏼

———————

Professor Stein

this sadistic mf

i pray for anyone dating this man

but we can be delulu for a few

dove

would absolutely call you dove or some other kind of bird

reminds him of how he protects you like your a delicate bird (and he likes experimenting on birds if yk what i mean 😏)

angel

TELL ME HE WOULDN’T

ngl he only calls you angel when he’s horny asf in a good mood

“hey angel, can you come here for a bit?”

NONE OF YOUR HOLES ARE SAFE RIP

honey

only time your safe if when he calls you honey

mostly calls you this when you’re having a bad day

BUT HE STILL MANAGES TO SOUND SARCASTIC ASF

this is a warning, this man will accidentally hurt your feelings 24/7

“You doing alright there honey? You want to talk about it?”

———————

Kilik Rung

fuck not being allowed to have favorites I LOVE THIS BITCH

only fully green flag in the show i stg (except Marie ofc)

lovebug

he will call you every single pet name he can come up with, but love bug is his favorite

neither of you know how it started but you’re not complaining

“You’re too sweet for me lovebug” <33

sweets

ya see what i did there? ofc he combines his two favorite things: you and those damn candy bars

“This class is so boring, right sweets?”

will calls you sweets often to express thanks kinda like a “thanks toots”

getting more into that

toots

he thinks he’s funny (and he is)

will say this very ironically and usually infront of friends to make everyone laugh

the only slightly annoying quality abt Kilik is his inability to take anything other than combat seriously

“hey toots, how’s it goin’?”

hon

I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST ONE!

but you cannot tell me this man is not from New Orleans or some other adjacent

and the hon with the southern-ish accent

being so fr he will call you hon all the time and it will fluster tf out of you (he’s smug abt it, just a little 🤏

“You look nice, who are you all dressed up for hun?”

———————————————————————————

woo hoo first post!

anyways hope y’all are doing great

any comments, questions, requests or concerns feel free to DM me!

-Melodrangea <3

[dlxxv-vetted-donations]

Ahmed can't save his family without our help.

My other promotion lists

Note: I do not often make posts for campaigns I am not focusing on, and I won't be updating this. I encourage others to adopt this campaign (because I can't right now) and make sure it gets the traction it needs.

Updated: Sep 21

Member(s): @ahmedpalestine

Verification: by @/gaza-evacuation-funds here, by @/bilal-salah0 (vetted sheet #132) here

Payment methods: Paypal, credit/debit

Summary: Ahmed is a Palestinian in Belgium whose family is stuck in Gaza. They are in Al-Maghazi refugee camp, which was and continues to be under attack. He's suffering watching the situation get worse while being unable to help evacuate them due to lack of consistent attention on his campaign. He also worries about how the children in the family will cope with inadequate shelter in winter.

Current progress:

€ 3,351 / 55,000

Campaign/family details:

Ahmed Khader is a Palestinian who left Gaza to Belgium in 2019.

He desperately needs consistent focus on his campaign, as it stagnates after people share his post once.

His family is still in North Gaza and enduring extreme suffering. They relocated multiple times in search of safety that they didn't find.

On Sep 10, Israel bombed tents in the designated safe zone of Al-Maghazi refugee camp, where the family was staying. Ahmed desperately called his parents, panic increasing as there was no signal.

Ahmed feels extremely stressed and helpless as he cannot afford to protect them from their deteriorating situation.

They are 12 people: 6 adults (€5,000 each) and 6 children under 16 years old (€2,500 each). Evacuating everyone will cost €45,000, with an additional €10,000 allocated for survival needs.

The campaign isn't getting enough attention and Ahmed is in agony, unable to stop thinking about how to help them.

He reached out to me with the following message expressing concerns about his family's (particularly the children) inability to cope with colder temperatures in their tents. He gave me permission to share his message to me:

[ID in alt text]

[ammonite-collective]

Mental Health words you need to stop using wrong or at all

• Narcissist- describes someone with NPD or Narcissistic traits. Your asshole ex was probably not a narcissist and diagnosing others when you don’t treat them in a clinical setting, is not something you should be doing.

• Narcissistic abuse- this doesn’t exist. Your abuse was valid and we support you speaking up against your abuser but you don’t need to demonize an entire disorder to do that. We are trauma survivors too.

• Antisocial- describes someone with ASPD or antisocial traits. You being introverted or a homebody is not the same as having a lack of prosocial emotions and disregard for social customs.

• OCD- I see this one everywhere. You are not “so OCD” for wanting things to be organized. OCD is a disorder that consists of obsessions and compulsions. It also has intrusive thoughts (talked about next). You can have OCD and be unorganized or messy. Organizing can also be a compulsion but it’s not simply that. Compulsions are something you feel like you HAVE to do or something bad will happen. It is not mild discomfort. It is deeply upsetting and dictates your every thought without proper treatment.

•intrusive thoughts- everyone seems to be mixing up intrusive and impulsive thoughts. Impulsive thoughts are something that you suddenly get the urge to do, typically without regard for the consequences. This is something that you WANT to do. This can be something like dying your hair in the middle of the night, getting a tattoo you might regret later, etc. Intrusive thoughts are not at all that. Intrusive thoughts are things that go completely against your moral code. They are a part of OCD. They are horrifying thoughts to have. Intrusive thoughts can be things like thoughts of hurting those closest to you, thoughts of hurting children, or graphic images that won’t go away. Giving in to impulsive thoughts is usually irresponsible. Giving in to intrusive thoughts could be catastrophic. No one is giving in to intrusive thoughts. The whole point is that they are things you would NEVER DO.

• ADD- this is mostly targeted at my mother. Attention Deficit Disorder no longer exists. ADD is now under the umbrella disorder of ADHD. There are three subtypes of ADHD: inattentive, classic, and combined. Predominantly Inattentive ADHD is when a person presents with the inability to focus, stay on track, and remember things like a neurotypical but doesn’t really present with hyperactivity. Predominantly hyperactive/impulsive is basically the other end of the spectrum. Someone may present with hyperactivity and impulsivity but not so much inattentiveness. Predominantly combined is when a person presents with all of those symptoms.

Feel free to add things I missed in reblogs!

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;

78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.

Rating: E Words: 3.3K cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy. Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??. Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship. a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.

There was a time when you loved John Price.

With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).

That time was when you were young.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

[thr0wnawayy]

A few weeks ago someone in my inbox asked me what I thought of AFO and of I ever thought he was a proper villain.

My answer is simple: he was.

At first AFO was a mentor. where All Might struggled to teach, AFO excelled.

Always finding a way to turn every play into a learning opportunity.

He allows for the USJ to heppen so he can Tomura "show" that collaboration is important, he uses Stain's rejection to teach Tomura that he has to use tact. He uses the Training Camp to prove that there is strength in numbers

AFO always thinks ahead, he learns from his mistakes and that makes him deadlier than the HPSC could ever hope to be.

The Nomu are a great example of this, the USJ Nomu was a great start, although I suspect it was designed to fail. It served as an excellent display of what a Nomu could be.

The Hosu Nomu failed because of a lack of armour and variety, so AFO made the Forest Nomu better.

The Forest Camp Nomu is seen wearing a helmet and has multiple quirks to account for it's blindspots.

The Forest Nomu failed due to a lack of awareness and intelligence, so Hood was designed specifically for his intelligence and his strength as to not be caught of guard.

(I suspect AFO left some notes for the doctor)

The Nomu came back stronger each time, the data collected was building up towards an optimized specimen( which we were supposed to see with the Finalized High Ends)

Each and every time AFO let Shigaraki use the Nomu, he was killing two birds with one stone.

Additionally, he supports Tomura while not smothering gum

Letting Tomura learn from his own experience (be it successes or failures) and forcing Tomura to learn restraint.

He prevents him from lashing out at any one individual (like he did w Kurogiri) by forcing him to actually work with his teammates.

AFO makes Tomura reflect on why he failed, he encourages Tomura's ventures constantly and gives him advice.

These are hallmarks of someone who wants to see their student succeed.

If that's not enough then there are two lines that solidify AFO'S original character:

The line that really settles me however, is this:

"Just When Tomura had begun to think for himself "

If Shigaraki really were just a puppet from the start, why would AFO go to all the trouble of guiding for him, teaching and training him. Letting him build a legacy of his own and support him.

Why would he hire Giran, after all it will all be for naught, so why waste resources?.

The simple answer is to blame Hori and inability to stay consistent in anything. (In the business we call this, having no fucking spine)

His Character

AFO's terror lay in his simplicity. Like AM, AFO is a man with a goal and he has the means to achive it, something he had worked for decades to achieve.

This is best demonstrated in his early mannerisms.

AFO never lies, he uses metaphors and technicalities to his advantage.

In the prison scene, he never lies about his goal, which was simple. Take out All Might with as a symbol and threat, while also getting Tomura to leave the nest.

He is also a show man, holding out on Tomura's history and turning his retirement into a spectacle to land a critical flow on his nemesis.

He's a master strategist, being able to predict the current state of society within his cell. He took everything AM loved, even going as far as to turn Tenko's tragedy into a triumph and spat on hero society in the process.

In short, AFO was the villain and when All Might walked out those doors, AFO was as good as dead.

The Downfall

Later, everything I mentioned was stripped and what we are left with is a gutted out husk, a shambling mockery of the genius we once knew.

After season 3, AFO might as well be dead because the leech that takes his place was probably the final nail in MHA's rapidly flooding coffin.

AFO goes from being a legitimate threat, a true symbol of evil. Someone so fearsome, that his mere presence causes visions of one's own death.

To a LARPer who's got as much depth as a kiddie pool, evil for the sake of evil.

From Symbol of Evil to (ugh) 'Demon Lord'.

This character is so far removed that I've taken to calling it 'The Husk'. As to me, AFO is canonically dead*.

This emptiness is even displayed in his musical themes

Where 'The Power of AFO' only needs a few simple instruments and hooks to instill dread, 'All For One Prime' falls flat.

The Power of AFO is dread inducing and it knows it. The song itself feels alive, like an unfathomable evil making it's presence known.

It reflects it's "master" with ease. It is dark, sophisticated and unlike any other piece heard in the series, it is quiet.

True power doesnt need to say it is powerful, it shows it through it's actions. Real power stays in the shadows

Meanwhile AFO Prime is lacking.

It's grandeous and "lighter" but that's it, beyond that it is hollow. Ironically representing what Hori did to MHA.

The theme is nice but ultimately uninspired, causing it to ring hallow when coupled with a failing plot that is speeding towards it's quiet demise.

Few more thing's before I check out.

Why the fuck did they change AFO's eyes.

It completely ruined the parallels between AFO, Tomura and Eri, while also the unspoken lore of:

Quirks that deviate from both their parents often share the group traits of (red eyes, white hair).

You know what fuck it, Red Eyed AFO is Canon, Hori can suck it.

Secondly I have a theory for why AFO had such a stark shift in personality (outside of Hori's bullshit)

From My Notes:

When AFO was defeated and saved by the Doctor, he remained in a coma for 2 years, regenerating the missing tissue and brain matter.

This stopped the brain damage and deterioration from getting worse (sort of putting it in stasis), however upon being defeated by AM again at Kamino, the brain damage was aggravated and began to slowly break down his metal state, causing him to become increasingly delirious overtime.

Due to Tartarus' less then ethical treatment and safety protocols, as well as the brainwave scanner not being designed to detect which issues. The issue went untreated, by the time Shigaraki broke into Tartarus, AFO was long lost to mania. So much so he failed to remember his own background and the orgins of those around him.

(Hence the change from Symbol (Pre Kamino, Menacing, Intelligent) of Evil to Demon Lord,)

[explaining why he didn't take Overhaul and why he changed from passing the torch to parasite in "canon" and why he was so out of character (idiotic)] Also explaing the lore inconsistencies throught the later chapters.

Just some food for thought.

[nutzgunray-lvt]

I will FOREVER be salty about how Hori paints his characters with valid criticisms against the status quo as in the wrong:

Monoma - hates Bakugou, therefore hates 1A by association and is painted out to be some over the top arrogant asshole who freaks out every time they so much as breath (Monoma's not my favorite, but he's 100% right when it comes to Bakugou).

Rock Lock - doesn't want the first years (maybe also the third years, idk?) involved in the Shie Hassaikai raid due to how dangerous it is and due to having recently had a newborn son, is painted as someone who's being overprotective and unfair to these heroes in training.

Inko - isn't comfortable with Izuku continuing at UA after the Forest Camp Attack, is painted as being overprotective (I have my issues with Inko, but she had an incredibly valid point here).

The media - rightfully criticizes UA's utter inability to protect their students and reign in Bakugou's behavior (the hill I will die on), is painted as trying to unfairly persecute UA/Aizawa.

Present Mic - uses common sense to deduce that there's a traitor in UA's midst, is portrayed as being a shit stirrer who's quick to distrust his colleagues and students (another hill I'll die on).

Gran Torino (a minor one) - calls Aizawa's high expulsion rate as what it is: nasty (showing that even he has standards), is immediately corrected by Present Mic that the expulsions are "only on paper" and Aizawa truly cares deep down (which actually makes it WORSE since it stays on their permanent records regardless).

Other students taking the Provisional Exam - call out Bakugou for being an obnoxious asshole, are immediately painted as "not understanding how hard he works."

Pro Heroes and Present Mic - call out Bakugou for not taking Ochako seriously in the Sports Festival, are told to RETIRE for not understanding how Bakugou clearly works harder than anybody else to be a hero (but then Bakugou proceeds to get the second highest amount of internship offers, so idk what the fuck point Horikoshi was trying to make here).

Vlad King is a weird one because while his one-sided rivalry with Aizawa/1A is obnoxious and unprofessional, he IS a better teacher than Aizawa is and it's a point not focused on aside from an off hand comment by Aizawa. You'd think this would make him examine whether or not his beliefs are truly benefiting his students or have Nedzu call him up and say, "what's up with your class consistently underperforming against 1B?"

Best Jeanist is perhaps the ONLY Pro-Hero to see Bakugou's behavior for what it is and takes him as an intern to rectify it... but proceeds to focus on all the wrong things (his style being the main one) and not really get to the core of his goal.

Society as a whole doesn't trust heroes for a myriad of reasons (some unreasonably, some for extremely valid reasons) and are painted as being unfair and incredibly biased against heroes as a whole.

Izuku leaves UA due to AFO having Ragdoll's Quirk, is essentially ganged up on and beaten/shamed into submission by Class 1A who completely disregard his POV (I don't agree with him putting himself in this position, I'm just pointing how it makes sense narratively).

Me, trying to make sense of all of this -

Like... how is your story supposed to be nuanced and your characters three-dimensional if you paint the complainer as always in the wrong?

[nyahsworld14]

Jason Todd as a character is one of my favorites not because of what his character is, but because of what his character could be, which is why it frustrates me so much that DC seems like they genuinely have no clue what to do with his character.

You wanna make him a villain, okay, that's cool. A character who has been failed by Batman so extremely and often seems to be the only character who came back from death being unable to truly recover is cool. Make him a little crazy, give him his moral code and an inability to exist in a situation around Batman where he's not making his problems everyone else's. That could be an interesting and deep look at what growing up as a child superhero and having violence be so pivotal to your developmental years might actually turn a person into. I would love to see him be the worst version of himself.

You want to make him a hero that's fine too. Have him keep his moral code and make that the fundamental reason why he and Bruce will never be able to reconcile. Show the ways in which he actually cares about helping people and reinforce and challenge that viewpoint while also allowing him to like Batman keep it and make it a part of character over time.

It feels like DC writers understand that Jason is a popular character, but for the life of them can't figure out why and it feels like he's never given to a writer who genuinely likes him in any form he takes wether that's villain or anti hero. This makes his character feel muddled and completely different depending on which story you're reading.

My personal favorite is if we keep him as an antihero with his own morals and keep him as far away from the batfamily as possible unless it's like once every few years, their ideologies clash again. I can see the fun in villain Jason, though, and he would stay my favorite character either way. It just makes me sad to to see how little consistency writers give him.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

The parallels between Kaveh and his mother and what this implies for Kaveh and Alhaitham

(This is an excerpt taken from my Haikaveh essay! If you're interested you can check it out here or as a pdf <3)

When discussing Kaveh’s mother, Faranak, with her old teacher Zaha Hadi in order to discover the password that will unlock Faranak’s journal, “companionship” is given as the password over “understanding”. This is due to Faranak placing more value in the companionship of Kaveh’s father over him understanding her artistry, as despite his lack of understanding, he stayed at her side regardless in order to “support” her. Zaha Hadi states that Kaveh’s father’s support was likely the reason that Faranak chose him over her “many admirers”, which Kaveh then equates to “companionship”:

A romantic connotation is created by the association of “companionship” with the relationship between Kaveh’s mother and father. Although companionship is also assigned to a platonic connection, pictured in Faranak’s journal of the gathering consisting of Tighnari’s parents, Alhaitham’s parents, and Cyno’s adoptive father. Her advice to Kaveh of pursuing companionship, too, falls in the platonic category, as she states for him to: “seek a friend” in order to gain support. Companionship, then, becomes dually used for romantic and platonic connections.

It is interesting then, that Faranak herself can be used as an allusion to Kaveh. This is emanated in how the two share many similarities, not only in physical attributes, their studying in Kshahrewar, and their shared profession as an architect, but also in their mannerisms and their method of working.

Just as Faranak keeps a diary, Kaveh writes in an ‘Old Sketchbook’. Faranak is described as a “perfectionist” who insisted on redesigning drafts, just as Kaveh designs six drafts for a singular client.

She is also described to have a “sensitive and vulnerable heart”, just as Kaveh is described to be “sensitive” due to his empathetic nature.

Just like Kaveh, she is said to have gotten into a “heated argument” with a friend, presumably over conflicting viewpoints on art. As an artist, her woes are that of Kaveh’s, stemming from being misunderstood by others.

As she is directly compared with Kaveh and as their similarities are listed, it can be inferred that the two are to be paralleled due to their resemblance. It is relevant then to look to her view of her relationship with Kaveh’s father as it provides a perspective of an ideal companion for a struggling artist:

This is interesting in regard to the relationship presented here to that which exists between Kaveh and Alhaitham.

Kaveh and Alhaitham have a mutually deep understanding of each other, which creates a sense of intimacy that they share with no other character. Additionally, Kaveh has the similar struggle of being eclipsed by a “dream” in his heart, as in, his ideals conflicting with his own self-interest. Kaveh’s father, rather than understanding Kaveh's mother's ideals in relation to himself, seeks to support her, “listen[ing] to her joys and share[ing] in her sorrows”. This is a similar statement to Alhaitham’s “listen[ing] intently” to Kaveh’s troubles when meeting in a tavern, calling to question Kaveh’s pursuit of his ideals: “How has realising your ideals gone for you?”

Where Faranak writes of meeting her future husband for the first time, Kaveh’s meeting Alhaitham is recorded in a similar instance:

When comparing Faranak’s first impression of her future husband with that of Kaveh’s impression upon first meeting Alhaitham, the two are dissimilar. Kaveh notes that it is rare to meet someone of his intellect, and therefore appears to treasure the bond, whereas Faranak is seemingly indifferent to Kaveh’s father, but he appears to grow on her. In regard to Kaveh and Alhaitham’s relationship history as a whole, however, similarities can be noted.

Where Kaveh and Alhaitham fell out due to differing viewpoints and their inability to effectively communicate, Kaveh can be seen to not “think much” of Alhaitham’s perspective. When the two meet again in the future, this perception of Kaveh’s has the potential to become applicable only to a “younger [Kaveh]”, as Alhaitham is the only person whom he has formed an “intimate bond” with. Although Alhaitham will not be able to understand him in terms of empathy, Alhaitham can provide companionship, just as Kaveh’s father did for Faranak, which in turn, caused their relationship to develop into that of an “intimate bond”.

A parallel can be drawn between the bond Kaveh’s mother and father had, and the bond between Kaveh and Alhaitham. As although Alhaitham cannot understand Kaveh’s artistic struggles and his personal struggles of empathy, he supports Kaveh in trying to alleviate Kaveh’s suffering and his willingness to listen.

As Kaveh’s mother specifically highlights that it is not understanding which will help Kaveh, it is companionship, which draws strong links to the identified message in A Parade of Providence. As Alhaitham states that he knows that Kaveh will never understand Alhaitham’s way of thinking in regard to his own ideals, but that their relationship is not based upon who is right or wrong. A more in-depth analysis regarding this can be found here.

Alhaitham and Kaveh cannot understand each other in the sense that they can properly empathise and relate with each other’s way of thinking, but they can support one another in the progression of self, and ultimately be a constant source of support for the other. This is demonstrated in the elaboration of the bond between Kaveh’s mother and father, and the parallels drawn between Kaveh and his mother. Companionship is a solution for Kaveh’s mother just as it is for Kaveh.

This can be seen in Faranak’s drawing of a gathering and the picture obtained at Kaveh’s Hangout ending, ‘Leisurely Gathering’. The player is prompted to draw parallels between the people in the picture and the characters the player has met:

The photo shown parallels the ‘Leisurely Gathering’ ending route picture, as Kaveh is positioned where his father sat, and Tighnari, Alhaitham, and Cyno placed in accordance to where their fathers are placed. Rather than being turned away from Alhaitham, like Kaveh’s father is to Alhaitham’s father in the drawing, Kaveh and Alhaitham are centre frame, and their focus is on each other. Companionship then, whilst being this particular group of friends, particularly refers to that of the bond between Kaveh and Alhaitham. The dual meaning assigned to “companionship” means that both a romantic and platonic interpretation has been generated to apply here - another example of methods used to queercode Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship.

[str8rat]

In Stars And Time Fear and Hunger AU

Today, we've got THREE CHARACTER SHEETS!!!

TW!! i'm actually not sure LOL UHHH mentions of anxiety?? mentions of grief?? mentions of Erotophobia ( fear of sex and genitals, but nothing graphic dw, a mere mention and explanation ) but yeah if you are any familiar with fear and hunger, i think nothing can really surprise you ._.

MIRABELLE!!! MY GIRL!!!

love how her hair turned out here :D

~ ~ ~

Mirabelle; Atychiphobia ( fear of failure )

Effects; Severe Anxiety

Info;

The Blessed Housemaiden of House of Dormont. Immune to the Curse of Time Freezing. Unfortunately, the public is not as fond of her as one may assume, with her being the Savior of Vaugarde. The public puts immense ammounts of pressure on her, even antagonizing her venomously, claiming that she is not trying hard enough, fast enough to get to the King, as the party ventures through the country.

Mirabelle is at constant brink of an anxiety attack, especially while she is around strangers, causing her to develop a light stutter, that gets worse when she is in a stressful situation. While alone with her party, she becomes a lot more open and calmer, so grateful for everyone's support and being there for her. She picked up the breathing exercise from Siffrin, and uses it regularely. She also cannot forgive herself for Isabeau's sacrifice for her, still having horrible dreams about that day.

Other than her phobia of failing to free her country from the King's grasp, she also shows signs of Erotophobia, which is a fear of genitals and sex. Sometimes, Housemaidens weren't seen as just maidens of the House, but also, prostitutes, earning on the side. Being associated with such an oppinion from her youngest years - ever since becoming a Housemaiden, really - she refuses to ever indulge in any of those gross activities.

Also, the constant use of healing craft puts immense toll on her body, causing her to be get craft-exhausted for short periods of time. If she happens to overuse healing craft, it may cause her to nosebleed, cough up blood, inability to use crafts or even loss of consciousness. Overall, Mirabelle does not have it easy.

MOMMY i mean what

~ ~ ~

Odile; Acrophobia ( fear of heights )

Effects; Fragile ( she old )

Info;

An Outlander from Ka Bue, a country from across the ocean. Researcher of.. something. Due to being an old lady, Odile has a much more fragile body, making up with her powerful craft skills and knowledge. During battles, her first turn always consists of Analyzing an enemy, in order to work out a tactic against it. She is scared of heights, and that is commonly known throughout the party, being the one thing that they can genuinely get back at her for relentlessly teasing them at times.

She is also subconsciously considered a mother figure of the party. She had seen many, many messed up things throughout her own travels, as well as after joining the others. Because of that, she may have became a bit numb towards violence and overall gruesome displays, which in turn sometimes greatly disturbs the rest of her companions. Still, Odile remains highly protective towards them, especially Bonnie, sternly forbidding them from joining in on actual battles, and instead staying in the back and sometimes helping out with tonics.

The things she wouldn't do in order to keep those she deems dear to her safe. One could easily underestemite her for being just an old lady with a love for books and learning more about the world around her, when in reality, she is ruthless towards those that dare to land a hand on her family.

MOMMY RULES

poor bonnie ;w; give them pinapple and headpats

~ ~ ~

Bonnie; Atelophobia ( fear of being useless )

Effects; Traumatized, Emotionally unstable

Info;

A pre-teen from the Vaugardian village Bambouche. Bonnie is severely traumatized, their young brain quickly folding under the cruelty and unfairness of this world, and always strives to impress those around them. Their entire village have been frozen in time, the curse swallowing everyone they knew, alongside their older sister Petronille. The only thing they've got left is their hat, oversized, damaged, and yet, very important to them, because it belonged to their sister.

Overcome by anger and grief, they made the impulsive decision to go through the country all on their own, wanting to face The King by themselves. Of course, they were too weak for that, being just a child, and as their exhaustion caught up with them after days of traveling on their own and desperately avoiding Sadnesses, they were eventually forced into a fight with one. It would've killed them, if it wasn't for Siffrin, which noticed them and saved them just in time.

Bonnie feels immense guilt at the sacrifice of Siffrin's eye for their life, and distances themselves from the situation. And even though their childish nature still shines through their numb shell, they will never forgive themself for having another person lose their eye for them. They try to make up the fact of them being utterly useless in combat, with the fact that they can cook very well. They're trying their hardest.

They are also incredibly clumsy, especially when stressed- leading them to getting hurt often, resulting in countless band-aids and bandages on their body. One particularely nasty occurance was that they accidentally knocked a pan off of the stove, causing oil burns across their left arm, left wrist, and chest. They are also emotionally unstable, and consider acting angry to be "strong," and "adult-like," so that's exactly how they act like most of the time, especially towards Siffrin. As time goes on though, they warm up more and more towards the members of the party. And now that their home, their friends, their family is gone- they eventually start considerring the rest of their party as family- even though they won't admit it.

~ ~ ~

YAY I actually speedran drawing THREE CHARACTERS!!! We already had Siffrin, we had Isabeau, now we have Mirabelle, Odile and Bonnie! Who's the last one? :0

The Universe's Favorite Cosmic Joke, of course! Look forward to that tomorrow, alongside some more doodles regarding the AU probably :D

( also, to the bozo relentlessly spamming my inbox, pls do keep harrassing me. it's funny )

[flarez]

MCSR F1 AU - Teams/Drivers

thought i'd dump all the random info from my google docs into a tumblr post. this is all subject to change in the future because I have an inability to stay consistent.

this is for my mcsr f1 au for my fic in the fast lane (contains spoilers for it so be warned)

i'm just going to go by team. the majority of these pairings were quite random. I've got a lot of common pairings happening in past/future seasons, so this is just where everyone ended up :3

Reset - Couriway & Feinberg:

this team was originally mercedes before i changed names

this name comes from well. resetting. i also thought it was funny to put couriway on the team called reset when all he plays is no reset.

the colours i have for this team's "branding" are dark blue and silver. can't for the life of me remember why I chose those but they look pretty cool. probably smth to do with the loading screen being silver/white?

etho's the team principal because he's my favourite hermit so I wanted to write him lmao - all of the team principals are hermits because I just needed a large group to fill roles, since I wanted to keep other speedrunners for possible past or future grids (surely those happen)

fruit won his six championships with Reset and Reset has won eight constructors (even if I ignored it in itfl because I wasn't bothered to do maths). the timeline is some insanity because purpled and fruit exchange championships for 12 years straight (the world must have been so tired of them) until silver wins the year before in the fast lane is set. honestly. not completely inaccurate to real life f1 considering that the same person has won the last four then before that the same person won six, the streak only broken up by his teammate, then before that another person won four in a row. i reckon it's plausible.

fruit left reset to move to eye spy in the year itfl is set.

feinberg was a part of the reset junior team from f4 onwards

couri's race engineer is nerdi and feinberg's is oliver

their name colours on these types of tv graphics would be a dark blue. also its kinda funny that they'd just say: BigBigMongey or 7rowl but I also love it

Beacon - Purpled and Fulham:

beacon was originally ferrari. i had a bit about monza that was written ages ago and got reworked into a different race I think? i believeee there's a brief mention how beacon needs to perform well there or smth like that (monza is the ferrari race. its their home race and everyone who goes is a ferrari fan, which doesn't happen anywhere else on the scale it does for ferrari)

purpled moved here from eye spy - FBM was dropped for him

his teammate is fulham - he was a rookie same year as couri, so itfl is his fourth season

the tp is grian because red and ferrari

colours are teal, white and black - like a beacon. main one for graphics/branding is teal. logo would probably be a diamond beacon?

Ranked - Silverr & Reign:

mclaren before name change

name based off of mcsr ranked

silverr won wdc year before itfl, ending the purpled/fruit dominance (everyone was very happy)

did not have a great year in itfl year tho :( came fourth in constructor's

their team principal is tangotek and colours are green, white and black - like the ranked logo.

there are concepts of a silverrreign fic set year before itfl but no promises on that one

Eye Spy Racing - Fruit & Doogile:

eye spy was originally red bull (red bull racing, eye spy racing)

fruit moved to eye spy after reset wasn't competitive for three years in a row, in hopes that eye spy would be. it was. but doogile beat him (sorry fruit maybe next year)

fruit's race engineer (the guy that talks to him throughout the race - like oliver is for fein in itfl) is hbomb!! i gotta get my blue bats rep in there.

doogile was moved up from into fire, replacing wallibear who moved to sodium

eye spy's colours are basically just ender eye colours, so like turquoise, green, blue etc

their logo is an ender eye :D

their team principal is falsesymmetry (more blue bats!!)

Into Fire - Mongey & Hax:

into fire was originally vcarb or visa cash app rb or racing bulls or alpha tauri or toro rosso or

they're the eye spy junior team, which allows eye spy to easily switch out drivers between eye spy and into fire, so like if doogile suddenly started performing terribly over the first half of the season, they could switch him out for hax. they would be unlikely to do that considering doogile wins a championship but hey. anything could happen.

hax joined it this year after spending a year as a reverse driver and winning f2. he replaced doogile who was moved up to the senior team, eye spy.

this is mongey's second year

i chose into fire because it's like a starting point sorta, so you're going into the fire? idk if that makes sense? and then eye spy is after the into fire advancement, so its the senior team. and I thought it sounded cool

Stronghold - Antfrost & Poundy:

their team principal is cubfan aka the goat and their colours are black, silver and green - like mossy stone brick in a stronghold

poundy is being kept on solely because the whole team thinks he's fucking hilarious and he brings sponsors or something like that. i haven't put too much thought into it. poundy just has a seat indefinitely

ant is one of the few non mcsr members, I ended up putting a few event players in because at the time I couldn't come up with more people I knew how to write I think. also gives me more options :D

into fire colours are orange and red - like blaze rods/fire/nether vibe

MC - Switch & FBM:

mc or just minecraft. idk maybe I ran out of creativity when making this name. i think it's based off of RB (red bull junior team) and it brings some variety to names I think :D

fbm was in. i thought beacon but I just came to the discovery that THREE different people had the beacon seat last year in my doc. how did that happen. how have switch, fbm and wolfeei all got the same seat.

okay fbm in beacon is what was written in itfl so fbm has the beacon seat sorry switch and wolfeei.

switch has been in f1 for two seasons, and itfl is his third. he's been performing well in the mc car so top teams have been paying attention.

colours for mc are dark green and white. like grass block green.

joel smallishbeans is the team principal

Blaze and Cave's - Rekrap & TalkingMime:

name inspired by the blaze and cave's mod. chose this name for this team because mime's on it and he's done a lot of bac related stuff.

kinda want rek to go to another series (not 100 on what that would be) and have lifestealers in that series.

geminitay is the team principal

the colours are red/orange and grey

Pace - Lowkey & 7rowl:

this team was called atum for the majority of writing. like the reset mod. but then I was like it doesn't really fit the other names, and I feel like most casual mcsr viewers wouldn't have heard about it? i know I hadn't so. it was changed.

unfortunately they did not cook this year sajj

rowl and lowkey are both rookies

team principal is pearlescentmoon and colours are purple and black

Sodium - Dylqn & Wallibear:

walli moved here from eye spy when purpled left - he was purpled's second driver

their team principal is doc

their colours are lime green and white, since that's the colours the mod sodium logo use

it's dylqn's seventh season

this team was originally sauber because of the sickening neon green colour, though sodium's is more toned down because I refuse to have anything resembling the kick sauber in my au

that almost everything i have for now!! if you have any questions feel free to drop an ask!

[attollogame]

March and the status of Attollo

Hi everyone!

This was posted on patreon, but I thought to extend it on the blog as well for transparency purposes for everyone. If you clicked the read more to check this out, thanks, and glad you're still kicking around!

March consisted of me jumping in and out of medical care for the bulk of the month, and despite the armada of pills and specialists I'm hanging around with in my free time, answers have been nonexistent about what's been going on. I'm tired—understandably so.

So what's this got to do with the game?

Beyond just feeling too tired to do what's required of me for work and school, I've been weirdly anxious about the game in general. I think it's based around comments I received in the past about how the game is, what people's opinions are, etc. I've been genuinely sick to my stomach opening my doc containing the game. I just start writing and then it's like... will people even like this? Or read it? Is it just jargon that they'll skim past for 5 seconds of dialogue with a character they like, and then never touch again? Is it worth putting the lore and stuff when it won't be relevant until later in the game? And so on.

I don't know. It's been a bit of a hole. I'm wondering if maybe I need to rewrite it to make it more appealing, or if it's fine as it is, and all these other anxieties that have by no means been helping my health. I want to write, and maybe that's the worse bit. The want versus the brains refusal to do so.

Anyway. None of this particularly matters, because you guys are mostly keen on when it'll be updated. It will—I'm plugging through it slowly. I originally said I'd post the three on patreon and then bulk release, but I may just post on patreon and then release as the new routes come out as a form of apology for my inability to keep a consistent schedule.

Unfortunately, real life demands often take away from fun side hobbies like this.

I reactivated patreon for this month so hopefully I'll have some new content to post on there as well to kind of... rebuild the confidence about the game.

That being said, I do hope you (the lovely person who has read this far) are doing well. I hope you're healthy, and stress free, and enjoying month 4 of 2024. Stay that way for me, will you?

[acerathia]

The Apple of my Eye || I. Midoriya

Summary:

While spending the summer at your grandparent's place, an accident leads to a fateful encounter with Izuku. Yet you reject this first meeting, seeking to craft a proper first impression.

Pairing:

Midoriya Izuku / Reader

Wordcount: 11.3k

Read it on AO3

Tags/CW:

Love at first sight, slightly idiots in love (if you squint), Aged-up characters, vague description of a panic attack, slight miscommunication (I hate it as much as you do), Reader is gn but there is 'girl' as a term of endearment,

Note:

This work is part of the 'Meet Fruit Collab' by willow's house! Go check the other works!!

The sun caresses your cheeks and makes you close your eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into your bones. There is only a slight breeze, cooling your skin with each whisper. The weather seemingly fits your current tranquility. 

It’s summer. And similar to every summer you had experienced before, you’re visiting your grandparents at their small cottage in the south of the country. The warmth practically radiating from the edges of the village. You love it here, despite the long trip, carrying you over borders and through mountains. But in the end, it’s always worth it, the weather and the comfort of the people forming the valley of your dreams. No wonder you had planned on staying for the duration of the summer, nothing better than to spend your vacation with your family and their well-loved apple trees. 

You had arrived a couple of days ago, the train finally coming to a halt after hours of driving through the darkness of the tunnel, emerging into another world, wildly different from the other side of the mountain range. And as much as you love riding the train for long distances, it had exhausted you quite a bit, you almost had no choice but to rest for a couple of days. These last days had consisted of you catching up with your grandparents, and of course, enjoying the apple pie of your dear grandpa. 

That is until they had kicked you out of the door with some silly task. Well, getting kicked out is a strong word, rather they had sent you on an errand because according to your grandma, you had gotten ‘the zoomies’, whatever that means. 

So there you are, in the middle of a meadow, trying to walk towards the apple trees of your family without stomping on the flowers. And as much as you hate to admit it, you aren’t successful with your current endeavor, and you hope to at least save the apples from their dooming demise. That’s why you had to pick them directly from the trees, these delicious, fresh apples should not, under any circumstance, fall onto the ground and rot away, turning into sad mush. You shall not allow them to suffer such fate! 

But even if you are to pick every single apple from the trees, you wonder where your grandparents store all these apples, before you remember the morning market. The people around here open their stalls in the morning to sell their homemade products and to converse with each other, taking that chance to simply catch up with each other without any reason to do so. And of course, your grandparents go there, they have many friends in the village and how else are they supposed to get their gossip from? And soon you are going to be part of that gossip because while you had missed the market due to your inability to wake up early in the morning, they definitely are going to drag you along with them as soon as possible. 

With a sigh, signifying your surrender to your upcoming fate, you arrive at the base of the first tree. You are only supposed to fill the basket you are carrying, so there is no need for you to visit more than one tree today. You set the basket between the roots of the tree to put your hands on your hips. With a scrutinizing gaze, you inspect the stem and its bark, judging how well you would be able to climb it. And it seems like a challenge for your climbing skills, but it definitely isn’t something you can’t handle. 

Rolling your imaginary sleeves up to gather some strength, you begin feeling the bark with both your palms and fingertips, looking for grooves and furrows to hold onto. Once you discover some proper places to hold onto, you manage to get a good grasp around the trunk, hauling yourself with one push and jump. Your feet push the ground away before they step onto the bark. Holding your grasp for a moment, your hand grabs the next branch to finally pull your whole body upwards, your body sprawling across the branch. With a swing you manage to get your legs up, getting yourself into a sitting position on the thicker branch. And despite its thickness, you remain close to the trunk as a safety measure. 

With your body secure and safe, you start grabbing the apples, picking the ones closest to you to let them fall to the ground. You try your best to soften the fall by stretching your body towards the ground, or by trying to get them into your basket in one shot. That way you clear the surrounding space, before you begin to move upwards, standing on the branch to reach higher. Methodically you move from branch to branch, reaching as far as you possibly could without endangering yourself. 

Reaching higher and higher, you continue to let the apples drop, until you hear a small shout of surprise. You gasp silently and peer down to look for the source of that sound, staying hidden behind the leaves and branches. 

Down below standing at the base of the tree is a boy your age, his hand rubbing against the top of his head with a slight wince. You bite your bottom lip to swallow a curse, lest he sees you between the branches of the tree. Because it seems like you were the cause of his pain, as you accidentally let an apple fall on top of his head. And you probably should get down and apologize, maybe gift him some apples to soothe the pain. But before you decide on your next move, he looks up and you freeze. You can’t do anything but stare at his beautiful face; and you think, you must have fallen and broken your neck because you have never seen such mesmerizing features before. His green eyes make you step into a deep, refreshing forest, full of secrets you can discover if you step closer; yet welcoming and beautiful, soothing your mind with ease. Strands of hair framed those gleaming eyes, soft; and you wondered how it would feel to drive your fingers through them while counting the small galaxy of freckles emphasizing his features. You wonder how many little stars he owns. 

There is no way you can simply jump down and meet him like that, not after that accident with the apple. That would be a bad first impression and you have no idea how you currently look, the leaves probably sitting on top of your head. The peak of bad impressions. ‘Hey, I hit you with an apple, but you’re cute, so forget about it.’ You can’t just do that! For some reason you need that first impression to be good, no, perfect. So you clasp your free hand against your mouth and hold still, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. He should not catch you under any circumstance, especially after you refuse to go down after hitting him. That only would worsen his possible first impression of you. 

‘Please leave, please leave,’ you try to persuade him with your telepathic skills. You hope you have these skills, or else he might not leave soon. But lucky you, your persuasion skills seem to work, as he picks an apple off the ground to roll it between his palms, scarred palms. And you wonder how that rough skin would feel against your own pair of hands before you notice him turning and finally leaving. 

You almost cheer, thanking your merciful luck, hoping it doesn’t deplete with that simple graciousness. Still, you don’t risk anything and wait for some time, making sure nobody is truly left, before you jump down, starting to pick the apples off the ground in a hurry, collecting the fruits in your basket. 

With a last glance in every possible direction, you make your way back to the cottage, arms and doubts heavy. And as much as you want to enjoy the beautiful sun on your skin, your gaze has locked itself onto the grassy ground, watching the blades dance with the silent brise. You just can’t help but think that you might have burst your only chance with that boy, just because of your cowardice. What if you never saw him again? Then what? Are you just going to lament over that non-existent loss, maybe cry every time you spot some green apples, because he reminds you of these green Pound Sweet apples? Probably. But right now all you want to do is to kick yourself back in time, maybe take another way of action. But no, your head had been empty and your thoughts didn’t carry any semblance of common sense. You never make the right decisions in the nick of time, and you always end up regretting it, like right now. You lost him, forever!

Maybe you are acting a tad dramatic, but you think you deserve a little drama, as a treat to distract yourself from your lost chance to meet the embodiment of the perfect person. 

Your grandma immediately notices your little pout upon your entrance, and just doesn’t allow you to enter the cottage. She had taken the basket out of your hands before pulling you into her little vegetable garden in the back. Apparently, she needs help with getting rid of the weed. And even if you know she doesn’t need help and that she holds too much strength in her frame, you oblige to her pushing you into this task. You doubt you would be able to get rid of a single weed, and you spend the rest of the day in a brawl, fighting those scratching plants with all your might and still losing, too many times to count. And maybe that is the plan of your grandma, to distract you from whatever is bothering you and to tire you out like a little child throwing a tantrum. You don’t care though, that is her way of caring for you after all.  

***

The next morning doesn’t start like you wanted it to. You are deep in your dreams and your pillows, hugging your blanket close to your face when a spray of water hits your face with its startling coldness. A groan escapes you and you try to swat at the source of your bother but without any success. The attacks continue without mercy, soaking even your pillow. Hesitantly you open your eyes, hoping to avoid getting sprayed into them, before seeing a familiar figure standing beside your bed. 

“Wake up, you lazy thing, we’re going to the market!” your grandma proclaims, waving the spray bottle in front of your face as a threat. 

You grunt some curse words under your breath, making an effort in sitting up. “Okay, okay… Man, a warning would be nice…”

The only response to your mumbled complaint is another spray into your face before she leaves you to change into some proper outerwear. And you are almost inclined to leave the house in your pajamas if only to embarrass her a bit. But if you are honest with yourself, you will end up regretting that choice more than her non-existent embarrassment will be worth it. You will wind up being the embarrassed one, she will be nonchalant about the whole thing, shrugging your audacity off like nothing. So you almost have no choice but to change into some proper summer wear, yearning for your hoodies, but you would rather not fry in this weather, as beautiful as it is. 

Dragging your feet, sleep still hanging onto your ankles, you join your grandparents in the kitchen. They are preparing for the morning market, and they expect your help if the basket squeezed into your hands is any indication. It is filled to the brim with green apples, Beauty of Bath, the ones you had picked from the tree just yesterday. You sneak a hand into the basket to grab one for yourself, but your grandma seems to have a telepathy or a sense of premonition because she’s already slapping your hand away, tutting at your allegedly bad behavior. 

“Aw, c’mon, I didn’t get to eat anything yet…”, you grumble, still eyeing the green, fresh apples hanging off the crook of your arm. 

���Stop makin’ eyes at them apples girl, shoulda woken up earlier,” she reprimands you, and you feel like you're being punished for something. Is she mad about how much of a loser you are in weeding out the garden? Did you step on a tomato while brawling those stubborn plants? Is she getting sick of you being a failure in her favorite hobby? 

And maybe you’re being dramatic again, making a big deal out of her response, when you’re well aware of her ways of communication. 

Still, this knowledge doesn’t stop you from pouting slightly, reacting appropriately. But you can’t help but light up when your grandpa goes up to you and hands you a piece of the pie. With a broad smile and a thank you, you ravish that piece, enjoying the way the apples and cream melt on your tongue, leaving a sour and sweet taste behind. Licking the rest off your fingertips, you both giggle about that secret exchange, while your grandma has her back turned on you. 

Despite her obliviousness, she must have noticed something going on, as she begins to push the both of you out of the door, arms heavy with product, apples, pies and tarts. With your packed load, you begin to walk down the path to the village. Luckily, the cottage is stationed on a hill, so you only have to walk down with all that stuff, rather than dying from the slope. And despite the village sitting at the base of the hill, the distance between the cottage and the center is quite short. There is no need for any of you to use the car at all, even if carrying everything slowly turns out to be exhausting. 

By the time you finally arrive at the closed stall, you’re barely feeling your arms anymore, the basket cutting your blood circulation off. With a grateful sigh, you manage to put everything down safely, before shaking your arms to get them back to work, wincing at the pins and needles appearing in your veins. Once you think you can use them again, you start helping your grandparents with opening up the stall and sorting the products into their respective spaces, checking if everything has survived the travels. 

Everything is at its proper place the moment people start wandering into the market, the noise level immediately rising. The growing crowd carries their conversation with itself, the words traveling from stall to stall with people catching up with each other. The bargaining accompanies the chattering, the people trying to get their grocery shopping as cheap as possible. 

Even you can’t escape the talking. You’re acquainted with some of your grandparents’ friends, so you have no choice but to greet them, which ends in you trying to dodge every question coming your way. Their questions and calculating gazes dig quite deep and if you don’t know any better, they seem like they’re analyzing your body language for any possible reaction. But that’s not possible, right? They’re just retired folk, they surely aren’t putting that much effort into their gossip, right?

You even start busying yourself with stocking the stall up, making sure there is always enough stuff from everything on the table, just to escape the awkwardness of the digging elderly. 

“Oh, these look delicious, what kind of apples are these?” a voice asks you while you’re straightening the rows of green apples. 

Oh, this is a rather easy question, so you grin and look up to answer, only to meet green eyes, soft curls framing them with the slight breeze and a shining smile. Your brain short-circuits and you can’t help but be mesmerized by him, the name you had given him in your head slipping out: “Uh, Pound Sweet?”

Immediately your grandma's elbow digs itself deep between your ribs, the pain pulling you back into reality. “What are ya blabbing? Those are-”

“Beauty of Bath apples, I know… Excuse my mistake…” you apologize to the boy in front of you, bowing to avoid making eye contact with him and falling into that trance again. 

You can see how he hurriedly waves his free hand around. “Uh! No-No need to bow, everything is fine”, he insists and lets his hand rub the back of his neck, still giving you that brilliant smile. 

And even after you straighten up, you actively avoid making eye contact with him. You’re sure you won’t escape those beautiful eyes of his if you get caught in them again. Instead, you let your eyes roam over his galaxy of freckles dusting his soft-looking cheeks, which mold with his bright smile; over his swaying, green curls moving around his ears, brushing the edges of his eyes, getting stuck in his long lashes. 

Even his face sends you into a stupor and you don’t notice your staring until your grandma has rammed into you once again. Embarrassed, you let your hands wander over the apples, rambling about this sort of apples and their acidic sweet taste, while picking the number of apples he desires, You try to put your whole focus on the packaging of the apples and the piece of pie you decide to sneak into his order, catching your wandering gaze before you can even begin to stare again. Still, how are you supposed to prepare for the scars on his hands or the accidental touch of his rough hands as you handed him his package. The slight brush of his fingers against yours as he received his order sends you into another turmoil of thoughts and you hastily pull your hand away. 

“Thankyoubye,” you blurt hurriedly, feeling embarrassed at your reactions to every single thing about him. For some reason everything about him makes you run on a higher sensitivity level leading to you slightly overreacting, probably. 

Still, you feel bad for letting him experience these reactions at such a close range, so you look up and give him a crooked smile, a shy one, mirroring your current feelings. You feel the need to hide under his gaze and you scratch your nose to hide your face a tiny bit. 

In return, you receive a bright smile with a thank you. You physically feel your heart stop, before you start choking on your own spit from the shock, resulting in a coughing fit. A curse tumbles with a cough and you have to turn away, propping yourself on your knees. 

Well, there goes your good first impression, well done, you had ruined it, and this time you can’t just hide or run away. You can’t do anything but cough your lungs out, your throat getting raw; and if the tears in your eyes are due to your disappointment and shame, and not because your body is trying to eject your esophagus, nobody but you has to know. 

After hacking a couple more times, your body finally allows you to catch your breath, as you hold yourself steady with a hand on the edge of the table. Your swipe at the beads of tears in the corners of your eyes, faintly feeling a hand between your shoulder blades. At first, you think it’s your grandpa, but the size of the palm feels too big to be actually his. And while the realization slowly creeps into your mind, the touch sears itself onto your skin, every skin ridge etching itself into your bones. 

You swallow, trying to avoid the repeat of earlier, before finally raising your gaze and seeing Pound Sweet right in front of you. His brows are furrowed in some kind of worry, and you wonder why he would worry about you in the first place. You, nothing more than a stranger, as much as you want to change that. 

Your eyes meet his, green and flashing, holding all these secrets, filled with a whirlwind of emotion you cannot decipher. You don’t register his question until after he repeats himself. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks with a professional tone, and how can someone ask such a question in a professional tone anyway? Is he some sort of EMT and is used to people choking on their own spit, embarrassing themselves in front of him? 

With a blink of your eyes, you realize he’s waiting for any kind of response, so you nod slowly. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry. ‘Twas weird…” you murmur, as if your nod needs some boost in its credibility, lowering your gaze to avoid looking at him as mortification slowly fills your veins, hot and teary, crawling and ripping at your insides. 

Instead of replying he just put a cup filled with juice, the smell of berries emanating from its edges. You recognize the barely touched juice from another stall close by, a couple of people had been holding the same kind of cup in their hands, savoring the taste with each sip. And with a small thanks, you decide to do the same thing, letting the sip on your tongue distract you for even a little moment. 

You can’t help but take a second sip, as the cool liquid soothes your throat. But after that, you hesitantly return the cup to its owner, regret already pooling in your stomach like a heavy stone. Why did you take a sip? Maybe he wanted you to reject his offer, to keep his juice to himself. He probably just feels pity for your tiny miserable figure.

“Uh, thank you for that… Do- Do you mind me paying you back in some way?”, you ask with your raw voice, rasping each syllable. 

You feel your insides knot with rising nervousness. You don’t know what compelled you to be so upfront, especially after your hiding, and your embarrassment, but you do owe him for that drink and his attention to you. And maybe you’re hoping to get to know him a little bit more, and nobody is to judge you for that. 

 “You’re welcome! And uh, it’s totally fine…”, he waves to refuse your offer so easily, while still keeping his brilliant smile, and you don’t quite feel like you just got rejected.

He rejected you and you have no choice but to accept it. That’s what any sane person would do in your situation. But to your misery, you don’t have enough sanity to make such wise decisions (later you would put the blame on the lack of oxygen, or just because his beauty crashed your brain). So for whatever reason you only shake your head at his answer and reach for some crumpled piece of paper. Snatching a pen from under the table, you jot your phone number onto the cracks of paper. Folding the ink and handing it to him you simply said: “Here, my number. Uh, I’m here for the summer, so maybe? I don’t know, text me, if you want to, I guess?”

You bite the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from babbling any nonsense that is crawling up your throat and clogging your brain from thinking straight forward. This day has filled you with enough embarrassment to last you a decade, you probably won’t ever forget this day, the memories haunting you for the rest of your life whenever you want to go to sleep. 

He seems surprised, holding your number delicately between his fingers, and maybe you’re imagining things, but to you, it looks like his neck is slightly redder than it used to be just a moment ago. His mouth opens and closes with no words actually leaving him before he finally pockets the paper with no arguments. He agrees on texting you, before straightening to leave the stall with a small wave. 

You wave back, hesitance creeping into your actions. The whole thing slowly starts to register in your brain and you want to crawl under the table of the stall and let the darkness swallow you. What did you do? What just happened? You don’t even have his name, he doesn’t know yours. That’s crazy of you, he probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo… How did you ruin a first meeting in multiple ways? 

With a sigh you turn around, only to make eye contact with your grandma, a sly grin adorning her face. And this is how things could in fact get worse. She won’t ever let this up, pestering you about it for probably the rest of your life, no matter how this whole thing turns out. You really don’t want to hear her so-called ‘advice’ or whatever has been cooking up inside her brain. So you immediately turn right back to continue whatever you have been doing before he showed up. Filling the gaps between the products, serving whoever decides to take a peek at your stall, and most importantly, relentlessly ignoring any upcoming conversation about Pound Sweet, no matter how much your grandparents try. No matter how bad you feel for ignoring your grandpa, but regardless of how tame he might look, he is married to his wife. And they both are borderline vicious about this sort of stuff. The elderly still love to gossip, and you’d rather not give them any ammunition about yourself. 

The rest of the morning market finished without any hiccups, just with you averting their trials at interrogation in any possible way. And once you’re packing up and on the way home, their questions stopped, and you start to see the end of the tu-

And you had started hoping way too soon, as they corner you once you finally arrive at home. Trapped in a tight spot in the kitchen you have no way to escape the imposing figure of your grandma, especially with your grandpa guarding the door in case you miraculously manage to run away. 

“So, you an’ the Midoriya-boy?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, almost like she already knows the answer to that question and you don’t. 

“Who?”

You’re aware of the implication. She assumes something is going on with Pound Sweet, but because you don’t know his name, you choose the easiest thing to do and to act ignorant. Name-dropping only works if you know their name after all. 

She grunts with annoyance at your shenanigans, waving a hand like she’s trying to get rid of something bothering her. “Dun’ play tha’ game with me, girl. Ya for sure have some stupid apple name for’im. Now, what was happenin’?”

Ow, bullseye. How does she even know that? You bite the insides of your cheek and avoid eye contact with her, trying to come up with some way out, but apparently, you hadn’t responded fast enough. 

Her face scrunches up at your little wince before her facial expressions change from her usual scowl to unbelief, shock, triumph. You don’t even have the chance to retort anything, she already has her own conclusion made up in her mind. Still, you feel the need to say something, but nothing comes out of your mouth, leaving you to look like a fish on dry land. All wide eyes and open mouth. 

With mirth finally placed on her face, she pushes your chin up to help you close your mouth. 

“Imma leave ya to it. Should tell ya to be responsible, but I dun’ care,”, she shrugs and finally releases you from her entrapment. 

You almost stumble over your own feet as you hurry with your escape, her snickers following you into your bedroom. 

With a groan you let yourself fall onto your bed, burying your shame in your pillows. She won’t ever let you live this down, and every time you go out, she will be teasing you about him, even if you would only be accompanying them. There is no way you will be meeting him in the near future, not after your pushiness earlier. 

You’re wailing in your conundrum when your phone suddenly vibrates. You stop your dramatic antics to furrow your eyebrows. Who could be messaging you? You barely text with your friends, and you’re supposed to be on vacation, so your workplace can’t be bothering you. 

You stretch your arm to reach your phone on the commode, barely getting a hold of it. Once your phone is secure in your hand and not about to slip from your fingertips, you open your messenger to look at the received message. Unknown number. 

And the moment you open the message you almost fling your phone across the room. The message isn’t long, it only consists of a greeting with his name, but that’s already longer than you had anticipated. Which is nothing. 

But now you’re standing in front of the next hurdle. How are you supposed to answer? He doesn’t know your name, but to start with that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Could you use the spelling of your name as an excuse to still tell him what you’re called, or should you leave it to the future? 

You scrunch your nose and stare at your unmoving phone, expecting an answer to jump out of it and tell you what to do. After just glaring at it you pick your phone up again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, dancing a little over the letters. Writing and deleting. Writing and deleting. Nothing sounds right, no matter what you say. So in the end you just send some basic text, at least you hope it is. After your pushiness earlier, you tell yourself to allow him to choose what to do, that is the main reason you gave him your number after all. 

And this time your poor phone didn’t get thrown away, but rather imprisoned into your commode. That way you aren’t able to see or hear any notifications. At least that’s the plan, but you had forgotten how your nervousness makes you check your phone every five minutes, hoping for any kind of answer, and then of course getting disappointed by the radio silence. And you immediately respond to every text, too excited to hold back and wait for a while. 

Still, this leads to you regularly texting with Izuku, as it turns out you both are on vacation in this little idle village. None of you really disclosed your work, but his seems to be putting some strain on him, especially after he expressed his relief about this time-out. 

So you’re nothing but eager to allow him to experience this village to its fullest potential, leading to your meet-up today. You both are going to visit the summer festival taking place. 

You’re already buzzing with excitement. Even if it isn’t a proper date (as much as you want to go on a date with him), it’s finally your chance to act like a normal human being in his presence. Comfortably texting doesn’t mean he would actually enjoy your company, considering how awkward the first time had been. This thought puts an undercurrent of nervousness beneath your excitement, but you’re confident that everything will go well. You’ve come so far, you won’t easily give this up, not now. 

After rummaging through your closet you finally discover something fitting for the weather of late summer, while being a tiny bit appealing to the eye. You’re not expecting anything, really, but it can’t hurt to feel good in your own skin when meeting him. Nothing but a meet-up between friends. With a final look in the mirror to make sure everything is in its place, you grab your bag with your necessities and leave the cottage with a simple call-out to your grandparents. 

The weather outside is beautiful, just warm enough to not bother anyone, with a brise cooling your skin with its soft touch. You can’t help yourself looking up to watch the clouds slowly passing by. They look so calm and cozy, and for a moment they made you feel at peace. So you keep walking with your face raised towards the sky to let your gaze roam over the speckles of white and blue, the warmth comfortably laying on your face. 

Your phone vibrates, ripping you out of your current trance of enjoyment. With a sigh, you sift through your bag to grab your device to look at the new message you just got. The moment you open your messages, a picture of your figure with your nose high in the sky greets you. You furrow your eyebrows, wondering how the sender, Izuku, even got this picture in the first place. You start looking around until you make eye contact with him. A grin already sitting on his face, lighting something inside of you on fire before you reciprocate with a grin of your own. With a wave, you speed up until you could stop in front of him. 

You both exchanged a simple greeting, before starting to wander between the stalls and activities. There is quite a collection of stuff to do, ranging from a tombola, to shooting games, and different types of competition. A lot of things seem popular among the locals and the tourists, but nothing really spoke to you, so you aren’t sure what to do. That is until you spot a particular game you’ve always wanted to play: Apple bobbing. 

Without thinking you just nudge Izuku to point towards the stall with the tubs propped in front of it. “Hey, that looks fun? Should we try it?” you ask, even if you’d like to just tug him along to play it with you. 

Luckily he easily complies with your hidden demand, following you to the desk to pay for two people, before kneeling in front of a basin. His gaze already zeroed on the floating apples. You want to join him by getting onto the ground, but for some reason, he looks up to you, and your brain stops working for a second. He just looks so ethereal in the afternoon sun. His eyes focused on you, shining with the rays of the sun and his hair slightly tousled with the fresh breeze. His hands are simply relaxing on his thighs. He just contemplates you before cocking his head, seemingly noticing your hesitance. 

And you almost choke on your own spit, again. But you manage to get your bearings before that happens, shaking your head to get back to your senses. 

Carefully you take your place in front of the metal tub. You keep your arms behind your back to avoid using them in any way or form. Widening your stance a bit to fix your balance, before you shoot a look at Izuku, and you both exchange a giddy grin.

The person responsible for this game starts counting down until they give you the start sign. You immediately plunge your face into the filled tub, trying to grasp an apple with your teeth. You have been targeting a specific fruit, but it always manages to escape you just before you could take a proper hold onto it. And you probably had swallowed more water than it would have been healthy. You begin to grow frustrated at your evasive opponent, but before you could just throw the towel, you finally grasp the flesh of the apple between your teeth. Making sure you have a proper bite you finally straighten up. A grin hides behind the fruit and with your emergence, you feel the water coating your skin, cooling with the oncoming breeze, drying with no trace under the sun. 

With your prize, you turn to see how the game had been for Izuku and you catch him already looking your way. His hair framing his face a shade darker and dripping. His head resting on his palm, arm propped up on the edge of the basin and a shining red apple in his other hand. He grins at you and you remember the apple still stuck in your mouth. In your haste to get rid of it, you almost let it drop onto the ground, but you catch it before anything happens. 

“Uh, I guess you won?” you say with a crooked smile, shifting your weight from one knee to the other, and wondering how long he had been watching you struggle with that single apple. 

At least you hadn’t let anything slip, like him being pretty, or how badly you want to brush the strands away from his face. 

“Mhm! That was fun,” he smiles broadly, running his fingers through his wet hair, slightly slicking it back. 

You blink a couple of times, stunned. Then with a breath, you stand up, taking a bite out of your hard-won apple. The slight acidity runs over your tongue, distracting you from the mesmerizing sight just beside you. You doubt it’s healthy for you to even look at him for such extended time, so you let your gaze sweep over the open field, looking for the next possible activity. 

There isn’t anything really catching your interest, but you do discover a stall selling candied apples. And despite the one already sitting in your hand, you have a craving for one of these. Candied apples use a different type of apples after all. 

“Oh! Do you wanna get some candied apples?” you ask Izuku, who has gotten up and has been letting his gaze wander over the place. 

“Hm, didn’t we just get some apples?” he wonders and puts his hand to his face in a contemplating gesture. 

“That’s true, but these are Red Delicious Apples, which often lack proper taste, and candied apples use these Gala Apples. They have a much sweeter flavor!” you try to explain to him without going on a tangent about the different sorts of apples, again.

He giggles at your so-called restraint, already aware of the struggle. “I don’t mind trying them.”

A grin spreads over your face with satisfaction and you march to that specific stall to buy two candied apples. They immediately hand you two sticks, from which one you pass along to Izuku. Turning to your own apple, you take a crunching bite out of it and savor the sweetness melting over your tongue. A content sigh escapes you. 

Suddenly a hand materializes in front of you, gingerly wiping the corner of your mouth. Your wide eyes you follow the source of that hand, only to make eye contact with a stuttering Izuku. His face seems to get redder by the second, his hands already frantically waving in front of him. 

“Oh, uh, sorry… you just, uh, there was some candy on your face…” he mutters, his free hand already placed on his reddening neck, avoiding your gaze with slightly hunched shoulders.

You’re glad you don’t have a full mouth because it would have been a waste to spit it out. 

You waved a hand, trying to finish this topic before it could escalate in any way; your heart already lives in your throat. “No! Uh, I mean, thank you, I’d rather not walk with candy sticking all over me…”

This stopped the conversation, but now you both are silent, rocking on your feet, or shifting your weight. Doing your best to avoid making any sort of eye contact, as you don’t know what to say, you spot something you hadn’t expected at all. A Ferris wheel. You immediately whip around and point at it, already wordlessly pleading with Izuku to get on it. 

For some reason, he looks like he already had expected it, and easily agrees; glad to get rid of that earlier tension. 

That’s how you both end up last in the current queue, awkwardness already warded off by the quick walk from the stall, from which you almost dragged him behind you. So time goes by faster, you both start talking, picking up topics almost like you have been acquainted for some time (even if you technically have been knowing each other for some time, it’s still different to talk face to face). The conversation flows easily, both of you getting properly engaged in whatever forms the main point of your talking. You’re only focused on him, and that’s how you’re able to notice so many of his tiny quirks. The way he just dives into his explanations and analysis, getting excited about his favorite topics and research. His scarred, calloused hands move in sync with his talking, almost like they’re supporting him in his current endeavor. His stream of thoughts doesn’t mean he’s ignoring your own, but rather the opposite; he’s listening and considering them, leading to an in-depth conversation. You never had the possibility to dive that deep into certain topics, and you appreciate his seemingly vast knowledge in your own interests. 

While enjoying this talk, the guilt begins to resurface, blubbering and hot, steaming its way up your throat. The accident wafts in your head, penetrating your nose like the smell of bad eggs. You couldn’t ignore the pressure, the urge to confess everything to him, as if you have committed a grave sin. And maybe you would, if you allow the both of you to explore this any further, without being in the open about anything. You should tell him before it’s too late and you lose yourself completely. 

So you take a breath, trying to get rid of the steam clogging your lungs. “Uhm, I’m sorry for interrupting you. But, uh, I need to tell you something… I’ve met you before? I mean before that day at the market… Even, uh, even if it wasn't really… meeting, more like… How do I say that… Didn’t an apple fall onto your head, or something?” you stutter, realizing you don’t have a proper plan for this. 

This is going to suck.

He slowly nods, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows and his bottom lip slightly juts out. You err for a moment, getting distracted, but you shake your head to get yourself out of that daze and to continue talking. 

“Yes! Uh, the apple was me. No, I mean, uh, I let the apple fall and didn’t see you. Sorry… And… and I didn’t tell you earlier because I- uh, I wanted you to like me? I mean, I wanted a good first impression, I guess?”

You pull your shoulders up and avoid looking at his face, waiting for the inevitable. He’s going to get mad, just walk away. At least the outfall can happen before you completely are gone for him. 

You wait for any kind of reaction from him, but all you can hear is his phone ringing. He just sighs before turning around to accept the call. And the moment he starts talking, you realize he’s speaking a language you aren’t understanding at all, and you wish you had learned more languages. 

He put the phone away with a furrow between his eyebrows, driving his hand through his hair, letting strands stand slightly and frizzing his curls. 

“I’m sorry, but, uh, there has been an emergency, and… and I have to go…” he simply explains with a smile. But this smile doesn’t shine like his usual ones, regret almost seeping through the gaps of his teeth; and you wonder if it’s your fault. 

“O-Oh! That’s fine, yeah. Maybe, uh, maybe we could finish another time?” You have to ask, this isn’t the last time you’re seeing him, is it? Maybe… Maybe you still can see each other, right?

Wrong. His mouth pulls down and the furrow seems to deepen. “I- I’m sorry. I have to return to my home, to my country…”

That makes sense. It’s an emergency, he has no other choice. And you understand, you really do. That doesn’t make it hurt less though. He could at least respond to whatever you had said earlier, but he seems to be in a rush, giving you a simple goodbye before walking away, leaving you at the other end of the queue. And for some reason, you feel like he’s running away, like everything is your fault. 

You end up getting onto the Ferris wheel. All alone. And despite the sun warming the wagon, it feels cold, empty, soaking. Getting off you only carry a swollen waterline and a burning nose, only to immediately go home without even looking at the rest of the festival. 

It hurts more than you thought it would; it feels like rejection. Even if nothing has been going on in the first place. And you have no choice but to bury these feelings deep in the waters of your insides, drowning them in the cold soaking after the steam had left, and to go on with your life. Spending time with your grandparents, surrounded by apples, despite never picking them yourself anymore. 

And before you know it (that’s a lie, you’re so well aware how much time passed), summer is over and you’re already boarding the train to return to the city, to your tiny, homey space and your distracting work. 

And work is distracting but also exciting. The company you’re working for is planning a collaboration with another one in Japan, and as it’s your job, you will be the one to lead the negotiations. After preparing with enough language and culture classes to get around, a few weeks after returning, you have to leave again, boarding a plane and making yourself comfortable for the upcoming hours. But you don’t mind the lost time, rather enjoying the flight and the food. 

Doesn’t stop you from feeling groggy when you finally arrive in Japan, the sleep you managed to get doesn’t satiate your body. The haze lays heavy on your mind, making navigating through the busy streets more difficult than it’s supposed to be. And despite your language courses, you struggle to read the street signs, regretting not learning the language earlier. The language barrier hadn’t budged even with your basis of talk. You hope to strengthen your skills with your stay. 

But that’s for future you, because the moment you finally step into the apartment you just want to collapse on the bed and sleep for an unreasonable amount of time. As much as you desire sleep, you have to check for any bugs. This complex is supposedly one of the most secure places in Musutafu, specifically made for important people such as politicians and these heroes. 

And you don’t belong in any of these categories of important people, but your company had taken care of the lodging, and you just assume it’s simply because of the documents and knowledge you carry. They can’t afford to lose them on such short notice, but that also means you’re accustomed to some heavy stuff, like the search for espionage in your living places. That doesn’t make you a hero though. 

And you can’t help but wonder why these exist. You’re aware how several countries have laws to allow them, training children and turn them into their heroes (which in your opinion is already an iffy subject). But you’re not a lawyer either, so you don’t think it’s your position to complain about it. As long as they keep everyone safe, they can keep their jumpsuits for all you care. 

After looking under everything and into every lamp, checking the mirror for anything, you finally get ready to go to bed. You have a couple of days to properly adjust to the time, fixing your current jet lag as soon as possible. But you also plan on walking around the neighborhood, at least getting to know where all the important shops lie. 

With that in mind, you fall asleep. And lucky you, you don’t immediately forget about your plans, even though you usually forget things easily. That leads to you leaving the apartment to look for the closest bakery to get yourself a treat for breakfast. 

You walk around with leisure and lightness in your step, gazing around and memorizing every little detail you could possibly ever need later on. That is until you finally stumble across a bakery, which you enter with a wide grin. The smell immediately welcomes you with a hug, leading you deeper inside. With a little giddiness, you step close to the counter to properly look at the different loaves of bread and pastries. It takes you some time to decipher the names of the pieces to order in your broken, basic Japanese. Despite your difficulty communicating the clerk still understands you and even helps you in bits and pieces, especially with your pronunciation of certain vowels, and you thank them for it. 

They’re in the middle of handing you your package full of tasty food when the glass front shatters with a dazing sound. A surprised scream escapes you before the cashier can pull you behind the desk with them. 

Ducking into a corner, panic begins to fill your senses, the smell of spoiling and rotting filling your nose, ants crawling all over your skin, ears rumbling with fallen rocks. You don’t understand what’s going on, but the person in front of you seems accustomed to such situations for some reason and begins helping you to calm down, your hand pressed between hers. 

You both stay kneeling like that until a voice calls into the store. And it seems like it’s not the one responsible for this, as the person immediately stands up to join the green-clad person, who seems to be a hero, according to his jumpsuit, and the familiarity and trust of the clerk with him. By the time you join them, they’re in the middle of a conversation, but you can’t keep up with the fast pace, barely understanding any sentences as a whole. Despite this barrier, you manage to bow and to give him your thanks.

But you don’t leave immediately after, rather you begin helping the cashier with the glass and whatever had been thrown around when the whole place exploded. That hero, ‘Deku’ as the clerk called him earlier, tries to help with the work, handling some of the stuff a tiny bit clumsier than you have expected of a so-called hero. And he doesn’t seem to only be a hero, but a rather popular one, as the clerk had recognized him despite his face being covered with a mouth guard and some sort of hood. 

And for some reason, you have a weird feeling about him, not a bad one. He feels familiar for some reason, but you’ve never been to Japan before and you’ve never taken an interest in these heroes, so why do you keep looking at him, your gaze just drawn to his moving silhouette. You just shake your head, trying to focus on the work ahead of you (and you think it’s maybe the green of his suit, the one so similar to the warmth of last summer; and maybe it’s the little mannerisms, the moving hands and the palm in neck).

He doesn’t stay for long though, being called by the other heroes to help with another part of the street, which seems to have gotten the worst part of the fight. 

After helping with the best of your abilities, you grab your once-forgotten package, not minding how the pastries inside probably don’t look as nice as they used to, but you don’t mind. Who are you to expect them to make you new ones to substitute for them. It isn’t the fault of this place, but rather of those ‘villains’. You’re not going to make a big deal out of it, because it simply isn’t. 

You leave the bakery and register how bad the situation has gotten. The rest of the street was torn apart, the mud shining through the chunks of heavy concrete, The other buildings barely stand on their own, their insides already crawling towards the sun, and you have to look back to realize how lucky you have been. If you didn’t enter this almost unscathed place, you might as well be dead. You would be nothing but a colored speck in the cracks of the cement. 

The whole concept of heroes and villains is still bizarre to you, but you start to understand the necessity of these people in their silly jumpsuits (even if it still kind of looks like adults playing like children, only with much higher damage potential). And you’re glad these heroes exist, they did save your life today and they deserve the respect. 

That doesn’t mean you don’t want to avoid such situations at all cost. So you just make your way back, this time without getting distracted, which is partly due to that incident, but also because you’re getting famished and these pastries are waiting for you, their smell already clinging to you. 

And despite your attempts of avoiding villains and the fights they seem to carry with them, it appears that these kinds of situations are a normal occurrence, simply unavoidable, unless you barricade yourself somewhere, and even then there’s a chance of getting in the middle of any attack. 

You curse your company and their horrible choices, after being in another attack once again. But you’re in luck, as that one hero, ‘Deku’, has helped with the situation; and diffused it with the help of another, more brash one. The explosive hero had gotten angry with you, for some reason, but you hadn’t understood him well, but his attitude made you want to punch him. And you would have if you were on vacation. You would have at least left a proper bruise before they led you away, but you can’t tarnish the company’s image solely because he’s annoying. 

On the brighter side, you interacted a bit more with the green hero, just a few pleasantries, but those made you decide to finally dive into the whole hero business and learn more about them (even if just to discover if all heroes fumble around, are a bit clumsy, or just have a mean streak).

So after finally getting home after that particular fight, you start researching the whole topic of heroes. You slowly learn everything about this hero-culture, and you realize how much it resembles the celebrity culture in the early 21st century in the US. Polls, merch, websites and awards. You even stumble across fanfiction of these celebrities (and you have to admit to reading and enjoying them quite a bit).

And then you come across the current number one hero, Deku; having browsed through numerous footage, interviews and gala pictures. With a face to put behind the mask, you finally realize why you had been drawn to him. But you can’t help but wonder why he didn’t tell you anything about it. On the other hand, he did tell you about how stressful his work is, and with this new information, it all makes much more sense. 

For some reason, you don’t want to wait for him to tell you, so you just download a picture of him in his hero costume, and send it to him, accompanied with several question marks. You cringe a little at this action because you both hadn’t talked much lately, both of you busy, but also the whole confession and then runaway thing has been heavy on your mind. That’s why you have been hesitant to text him first. 

To your surprise, he immediately responds. A simple sentence. 

“Can we talk?”

And usually, this phrase would inject the anxiety straight into your bloodstream, but this time you had initiated the conversation, so you kind of are expecting the topic. So you agree to meet him at a local park the very next day. 

Despite the meeting park being local, you struggle quite a bit to find it, almost just going in circles, before you manage to discover the little bridge you both had agreed on meeting on. 

You lean against the railing to look into the softly streaming water, watching the colored fish idly swim with the movements, and you regret not getting them any proper food. Still, you enjoy just watching the calming water, slightly leaning forward to get a better view of the underwater world. 

“Be careful!” a voice behind you chimes and a hand lands on your shoulder to carefully pull you away. “You could easily slip and fall.”

You glance to the side and recognize Izuku, so you fully turn around to face him, this time leaning your back against the railing. 

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t know that…”

After your response you both look at each other, silence stretching between you, one waiting for the other to say something. And because you can’t stand this thickness between you, you clear your throat, trying to prepare to say something. 

“Uhm, listen, I understand why you didn’t tell me. The whole ‘my work is dangerous or needs a big amount of secrecy’ isn’t a new concept to me. I just wonder… Uhm, well, I just wonder if you’re hesitant to tell me because of your work ethic, or, uhm, the whole apple accident, and me practically lying to you?” Well done, for some reason you just start talking about that past, not being able to just forget about it. Your peace of mind kind of relies on his answer right now. And you didn’t lie, you’re not mad at him for not telling you, just confused, because he did encounter you twice. 

His hands already wave these thoughts away. “No! Well, the thing is just, I was on leave when we met, and uh, I didn’t want you to get hurt because you’re seen with me. And… and I wasn’t sure how your perception of me would change. I liked just being a normal person around you… It definitely wasn’t because of that apple… Uhm, it’s because I already knew when you told me. The leaves didn’t hide you very well, and I kind of got curious about you…”

You don’t say anything and just gape at him, unbelief evident in your speechlessness. It only takes a moment for the embarrassment to truly sink its teeth as you realize how both your alleged first meetings have been a full-on defeat. 

With a silent groan, you bury your face in your hands, the realization being uncomfortable and yet gratifying. 

“Honestly? This doesn’t make it better…” you grumble but slightly perk up when you hear his soft giggle ring, and you can’t help yourself but peak at his bright, smiling face. 

After that you both spend the rest of the time until his patrol simply talking; you answering his inquiry why you’re in Japan with a simple ‘work’ and a grin, as you both cannot disclose details of your occupations. 

Once he has to leave for work, he promises to meet you again, or at least to call you; to simply do his best to meet you in the middle this time. And you take his word to heart, but also promising to work with him, meet him in the middle. 

This leads to him calling you daily, until you memorize his patrol schedule to call him at the right time to hold a small conversation, avoiding all topics about work and instead indulging in the many interests you both share. And if he doesn’t call, he still sends you a quick text in his break, to just simply let you know that he’s safe and thinking of you. And despite your meetings never happening due to clashing schedules, you’re content with the moments you still get with him, staying on the phone for hours until one of you falls asleep (or has to leave), playing mini-games, or simply sending pictures of cats and whatever has caught your eye. 

To your regrets, you never manage to see him face-to-face again before the negotiations have been successful and your work in Japan is officially over. You have to return to your country, as much as you learned to love this country, and as much as you desire to stay. Your work is expecting you to just come back, it’s the only constant in your life in the city. If you decide to throw it all away, who would you be? What were you supposed to do with yourself, without backup, without something else to hold onto?

So you book your return flight, giving yourself a couple of days to pack up and to properly say goodbye to this town. Of course, you told Izuku, and he wants to see you before you go, but his work is using up all his time, he barely has any to even send you a goodnight text. You understand the pressure he’s under, and there’s no way you want to put more weight onto his shoulders. 

After spending your last days just enjoying the place, you take a cab to the airport, and for the first time in your stay, you almost wish for a villain attack, if only to see him briefly. But nothing happened. The whole way has been peaceful and nothing happened, not when it finally would have been convenient for you. 

With a last look at the skyline of the city, you enter the airport. Inside you start looking for the check-in but stop in your tracks when you hear someone calling your name. Did you mishear, and it’s just another person with a similar name? Despite this possibility, you look around until you hear the same shout once again. 

And then you spot it, a green head of hair above everyone else. 

Izuku seems to have noticed you at the same time, making eye contact with you before breaking into a big smile, at least his eyes do, as the rest of his face is covered by a medical mask. He begins hurrying towards you, avoiding any collision with the people around you to the best of his abilities. 

After a short moment, he finally stops in front of you, hand already scratching the back of his neck. “I’m glad I still caught you! Uhm, here.”

A colorful speck appears in front of you, a small bouquet of flowers, and you gasp slightly, eyes widening at the sight of them. 

“Izuku, what, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy, but your work…” you ask, voice slightly wavering with confusion, but also accepting the handful of flowers with a giddiness. 

The tips of his ears turn red, indicating his flushed face. “Uh, I wanted to ask you out… on, uh, a date, but you know. We barely saw each other and.. and I thought I still had some time. But then you told me, you were leaving and I had to do something! I mean, I’m not asking you to stay, I would love for you to stay, but uh, I know you can’t, but maybe you could visit sometimes? Or- or I could visit? Maybe? I honestly didn’t think this through…” he rambles, trying to explain his thought process with a strained voice and a hand in front of his mouth, muffling his mumbles. 

You’re at a loss for words (which seems to be a recurring theme with Izuku), and your heart feels like it’s sitting in your neck, daring you to do something. And you do, once you process his words, a smile spreads over your face, before you carefully take his scarred hand into yours, letting your thumb softly caress his callouses. 

“Izuku, I would love to go out with you,” you answer in a light voice, in a voice full of the warmth of last summer and the flow of the water; simply watching as his forest green eyes accept your offerings, lighting up, tearing up. 

His fingers press against yours, caressing your knuckles and squeezing his palm against yours. 

And you wish this moment would never end. But you have a flight to catch, and he’s supposed to be at work. Yet this isn’t a goodbye, even if you’re leaving. Reluctant to let go, he presses his forehead against yours in a silent goodbye, none of you wanting to say the words outright, trying to let any kind of illusion live longer. 

But eventually, you have to break those connections to him, the loss making your skin yearn and long for the warmth of him. With small steps, you force yourself to retreat, to only glance at him occasionally until his figure has been concealed by the sheer amount of people. And your insides hurt, trying to convince you to go back, to just stay here with him, but you continue to step further, to catch your flight, to persist through these endless hours up in the sky, and to arrive in your town. In your home. But for some reason, you feel estranged, almost like you’ve never truly belonged to this place. And this thought only pushes you further, your plan slowly clicking into place like Tetris. And you're going to clear it, to win. 

You punch through whatever obstacle lies ahead of you: the jetlag, the needed signatures for the forms, the time it took you to finish different courses and meetings. Whatever must be done, you will do it. 

Throughout the whole ordeal, Izuku and you stay in contact as much as possible, even with the time difference, and your difficult schedules; enjoying the late-night calls while he prepares to go on patrol. And not once had you slipped, allowing him to be unaware of your workings behind the scenes. 

You didn’t want to tell him until you finally arrived in Japan until all your work finally paid off. You have managed to convince your workplace to permanently relocate you to Musutafu with the agreement to travel to whatever place whenever they need you. Considering you often have to comply with these rules anyway, this was a striking deal in your favor. 

So there you are. Stepping into the airport, immediately trying to pull your phone out to call Izuku and to surprise him. But before you even have the chance to dial his number, you once again spot a mop of green hair. You doubt your senses, doubt if it’s even him in the first place until the tell-tale green continues to move closer to you. 

And then he steps out of the crowd, hair slightly tousled, medical mask pulled down to reveal a bright, slightly mischievous grin, and his focussed gaze, looking you up and down, filled with wonder and curiosity. 

For a moment you both just stand there, looking at each other, trying to assess if this situation is real before you just let go of your baggage to jump at him, to wrap his huge frame with your own arms if only to feel his very real warmth and heartbeat. Too immersed in the moment and spurred by his own arms slightly crushing you into him, you put your hands on his face, appreciating every little detail, his freckles, his forest green eyes only looking at you, and his plush lips. And you wonder how they would feel on your own before they just meet yours. You don’t know if you’re the one who moved, or if he seemingly reacted to your thoughts, but it doesn’t matter. Only he matters, only the way his lips caress yours matters. 

After barely a breath you both split, only leaving the least amount of space between you, forehead on forehead, nose touching nose, breath mingling like dancers. And your grins mirroring. 

“So, whatcha say? Wanna let me take you out?” you ask with a slight tease, anticipation filling the little room between you. 

He accepts. His smile warming your ribcage, and the smell of apple pies seems to linger between you. 

And you wonder if the next time you climb on a tree, someone would be waiting on the ground and catching the sweet fruits for you.