#A Small Heroes Queue

[bnha-littlespace-things]

hear me out,,, Bakugou and Midoriya regressing together and just being the bestest little friends ever. theyre attached by the hip, clingy, just !! little, tiny kids

!!!! that's so cute!!! I love it!!

tw; none that i can think of! let me know if i should add something!

---

"Zu! Zu, look at this!" Bakugou ran over to his friend, who was in his All Might-covered room, holding up his new All Might figurine. "All Might gave it to me himself!"

Midoriya's eyes lit up at that. "All Mi' gave you it? T'at's so coo' Kaachan!" Midoriya shook his fists excitedly, the sleeves of his All Might onesie shaking with his arms. "Is so cool!"

"I know! Zu, where do you think I should put him? He's gotta have a special place of honor with the rest of my All Mights!"

"Oh, oh! He shou' go ri' front Kaachan!" Midoriya giggled excitedly, pulling at his sleeves and bringing one of them up to his mouth to chew on. "So eve'yone sees it! E'ryone gotsta see it!"

Bakugou nodded. "You're right Zu. Zu, where's your paci? You're gonna chew your onesie up."

"My paci? Oh! All Paci's ri' here!" Midoriya proudly showed off his deco All Might pacifier, which was clipped onto his onesie's collar.

"Well, chew on that! You don' wanna ruin your onesie!"

"I sorry Kaachan," Midoriya said, stuffing the paci in his mouth.

"You don't gotta apologize Zu! 'Is fine. C'mon, we gotta go put this figure wit' the others!" Bakugou said, standing up shakily. He was starting to slip further into his headspace, but that was okay. Because he was with Zu, and Zu and him were an unstoppable team big or small!

"Yeah! We got' go pu' i' wit' the ot'ers!" Midoriya said, struggling to form words around his paci.

And the two went off towards Bakugou's room together.

[everypanelofizuku]

Chapter 53 - From Todoroki to Ida

[zappedbyzabka]

Beauty

[everypaneloftenya]

Chapter 53 - From Todoroki to Ida

[fruggin-bitch]

Cassiopeia by Sara Bareilles is such a good representation of calypso in my brain

Anchored home in her interstellar sea

calypso, stuck on ogygia with no contact with the outside world, no real way to know about anything happening, nobody to talk to other than the occasional god visiting her and a random hero that gets thrown at her by the fates.

Then: a spark from a star shooting too close They both smiled; what a day to explode!

leo, arriving and spending nearly a month (ogygia time) together getting t know each other and falling for each other because they actually know each other, not becuase of a curse (that had already been broken by this time lol)

Come on, come on, collide Let's see what a fire feels like I bet it's just like heaven"

calypso, finally getting to feel for someone who loves her back. someone who died to keep a promise to her and break her free from her island.

[corpsekiller]

i have nothing to say for myself, this is just very self-indulgent. despite it all, i still hope you like it <3 though it isn't proof-read yet, so please be kind and ignore any typos!

PAIRING. pro hero!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader (barista)

WARNINGS. language, mentions of blood and scars, katsuki is sorta an arrogant piece of shit

MASTERLIST

currently thinking about pro hero!Katsuki in his early 20s who refuses to fit into social norms — he shows up to press conferences dressed in sleek black clothing, the sleeves of his turtleneck rolled up to show off the tattoos covering his scarred arms, muscles tensing and flexing beneath his inked skin as he reaches for the water bottle his assistant placed next to the microphone.

Silver rings adorn his fingers — heavy jewelry that catches the flashing light of cameras snapping picture after picture with a dangerous glint that matches the sharp smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth when a journalist asks a peculiarly intimate question about his love life. He barks out a laugh, low and rough, followed by a careless fuck off, that's none of ya business — a reply that causes her to blush and scramble back into her seat as the next reporter gathers the courage to speak up.

When he‘s off duty, Katsuki is seen walking down the busy streets of the city in ripped jeans and heavy combat boots still stained with the blood of the villain he fought mere hours ago, the black tank top he wears stretching across his broad back and clinging to his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

Each movement shifts the thin fabric just enough to reveal more of the intricate dark lines of ink that trace his arms, curling up from his wrists to wrap around his biceps, traveling along his shoulders and disappearing under silver chains dangling from his neck to sprawl across his back and up to wrap around his throat.

Blood still seeps from an open cut beneath his exposed collarbone and bruises blossom on the edge of his clenched jaw, tinging the bare skin of his face in deep purple and blue that causes passers-by to gasp in mere horror. Some of them point at him, others only whisper behind raised hands, gaping at him with a hint of fear and admiration.

He only gives them a knowing smirk — the wounds he unashamedly carries from the battle are nothing but a badge of honor to him.

There‘s something so unapologetically captivating about him — a certain kind of controlled violence in every step he takes, an intensity that dares anyone to approach and promises a challenge if they do.

People scramble out of his way without even realizing they‘ve done it. Katsuki deliberately continues his path down the crowded sidewalk, casually adjusting the flannel shirt tied low on his waist before he enters a small coffee shop around the corner and ignores the crowd of fans that follows him soon after, heading straight past the queue as if the entire place belongs to him.

Perhaps it does, judging by the star-struck gazes of every customer he walks by, letting him pass without a single complaint.

"Americano," he says bluntly, voice low and rough, letting his words sound more like a command than a simple coffee order. He doesn‘t tack on a please, merely pierces you with a sharp glare as if he expects you to immediately drop everything you‘ve been doing to make his order.

Of course, he's right.

For a moment, you only stare at him. His hair is tousled, ashen strands disheveled from his fight against another villain you‘ve watched on the news earlier, but now that he‘s standing right in front of you, so close that you can see the small scar that runs along his cheekbone, you notice that his body isn‘t only decorated with blank ink.

No, there are piercings, too many for you to count in this short span of time, but the sight alone causes your knees to buckle. There's a silver barbell going through his eyebrow and two studs glint along the side of his nose, but what catches your attention the most are the delicate rings that adorn his lips, catching the light just at the corners of his mouth that are now quirked up into a devilish smile.

"Uh, coming right up!" Your voice comes out a little shakier than you‘d like and you clear your throat, quickly dropping the task at hand to busy yourself with the espresso machine and make his coffee as fast as possible, because—

Well, it's Dynamight.

You can feel his eyes on you as you work and although you don‘t dare to look up, too focused on not messing up, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the machine — the set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow and the way his piercings glint dangerously when he clicks his tongue in mild impatience.

He leans against the counter, tattooed arms flexing as he adjusts the rings on his fingers and runs a hand through his hair. The fangirls behind him squeal with excitement, screaming incoherent phrases at him that not even you can decipher, though he doesn‘t seem to pay much attention to them anyway. Instead, he‘s solely focused on his order and, briefly, on you.

After a few minutes, you finish up, managing to keep your hands steady as you place the cup in front of him.

"A-Americano... for you," you mumble, trying to keep your tone even as if your pulse isn‘t racing just from standing so close to him.

Katsuki’s gaze drops to the cup, then shifts back to you, something unreadable in his eyes as he lifts it to take a slow sip, watching you over the rim. For a second, you think you catch the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his pierced lips before he carelessly tosses a few bills on the counter — more than enough — and nods, turning to leave without another word, his attention back on the door and the crowd still clamoring for a piece of his time.

Katsuki is nearly out the door when he glances back and offers you a sharp grin, letting his tongue dart out to lick over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes wander over your figure with such intensity that you momentarily forget how to breathe until the coffee shop around you begins to spin from the lack of oxygen.

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you with the faint scent of coffee and leather, and the lingering thrill of an encounter you know you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Taglist: @justwolosers

[fiiirsthero]

What happened next was... not anything that Link would have ever guessed could even happen. He had seen plenty of oddities in his lifetime and the concept of shapeshifting wasn't foreign to him, but to watch a full-grown man's body melt like clay and remold itself into the form of a child was bizarre.

Does he still weigh the same? Perhaps that should not have been the first thought that crept through his mind - but he was curious if the change affected his mass as well, or if he was simply more condensed.

It was only after the absurd thought flickered through his mind did Link sigh. If he was being truthful? No. There were countless faces he couldn't recall. People who should have been part of his memory forever who were now faded blurs. His parents, the townspeople, the mayor who had condemned him to a decade in prison - Link had once thought he'd be able to keep at least the ones who had hurt him engrained forever in his mind, but as the years had ticked by he had learned one simple truth:

Grudges were hard to bear. They took effort and energy and dedication. Maybe there had been a point in time where his grief and sorrow over Hylia had burned hot enough to fuel them, but what would he gain from that?

The other truth he carried with him was just a simple question: would this be truly what Hylia would have wanted?

"No." As he spoke Link slowly crouched to the ground. He would never try to say he was good with children, but he knew enough to try to look as small as possible if one was obviously scared. After a moment he went a step further, letting his legs fold as he sat back. "It was a war. We wouldn't have had any time to learn anything about the people we were fighting.

"But if you wanted to tell me about yourself now, I'd be happy to listen." Link paused a moment, hand reaching up to touch his chest. Beneath it was the ever-healing scar - was it from this ax? Or that... sword... the name started with a g but anything more escaped it. Did it matter either way? The past was the past. "Ayrin," he added on, addressing the other by name.

he frowns ... his arms crossed tightly at the chest & link looks deep into his eyes . he answers : i should be , yes .

oh .

cadell can no longer meets the man's gaze . he feels his shoulders tense & his legs refuse to move as he stares at the dirt ground by his boots . it barely feels real . if what this man says is true then ... he is the first hero . ray knows thos⸻ no . ayrin knows those eyes . he knows those blonde locks & he knows that red cape . breath leaves him for a moment as the other frowns .

we've met before ... you feel familiar .

ray buries his face into his scarf for a moment as he shuts his eyes . yes we have . doubt you remember ... he can barely remember the details . he knows the trauma but how much has been twisted in his mind as the years go by eroding his mind ? has he made it worse ? or has he downplayed the things he's gone through ? he can't tell ... all he truly knows is how much pain he was in .

his hands come up to his face & pulls ⸻ he moves his skin as if it was clay until the face is that of a young boy . his body follows suit , shrinking down to barely five foot ... a child . one link may remember or may not . a little demon so many years ago that would run through the battlefield with a wide eyed expression paired horribly with a smile . sick & twisted he would giggle with glee as he slaughtered the hylians . it was a game ! yes , how many points could little ayrin get before beating the big bad lady ...

but then when the war was over ... ah , well a tale for another time .

as he stood his tunic hung lose on his body , swallowing him whole . still he refused to look link in the eyes ... a little hand came to his chest , rubbing the scar from the goddess' blade ... he can't recall if it was link to cut him or hylia ... he just knew it hurt looking at link .

❝ this is the face you would remember . ❞ his voice is small , a child who hasn't finished puberty . one that remain that little boy . one that will forever have that baby fat still on his cheeks , tiny hands & big round eyes . ❝ a-ayrin of the demonic army . axe of lamatar whitehill ... but i doubt you or that stupid bright lady learned any of our names when you slaughtered us . ❞

[billiethepumpkin]

Miss You Too: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. If you are a minor, do not interact.

Contains: Fem!Reader. Sex toys. Masturbation. Getting caught masturbation. Husband/Wife relationship. Emotions.

Featuring: Katsuki Bakugou.

Author's Note: All characters are written to be adults because I am an old fuck :)

It was late.

It was so late. And you were so exhausted. You had so many feelings coursing through your veins. You just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

You were finally getting tomorrow off, after having worked for eleven days in a row. You knew you didn't have to keep picking up shifts. Your husband made sure you knew, too. He made plenty of money for the both of you as Japan's #2 Hero. Shit, you would've never had to work another day in your life if you hadn't wanted to. But now, Bakugou was away. He had been for nearly three weeks, even though he had promised it'd be two. Even though he promised he wouldn't be going away for another several months. Even though he promised he'd come back to you as soon as he possibly could.

And what else were you going to do with your time? Sit on the couch and miss him? Wallow in your own self pity? Nope. Instead, you were going to work extra shifts and surprise your hubby with a nice gift when he came back. Besides, you liked your little cafe job well enough. It paid the bills before Dynamite was in the picture, and now it became your escape when things were rough at home.

You didn't even bother showering or washing your face. You just stripped down into your birthday suit and crawled into bed, leaving your dirty work clothes scattered on the carpet. You slid into the cool, smooth sheets and settled between the blankets and pillows. You rolled to your husband's side of the bed. You smelled him. His mint and musk shampoo, mixed with his natural scent of burnt caramel and firewood. You took a deep breath from his pillow. You were ashamed at the way your body came to life. Your body begged for him, seething at his absence. Seemingly on their own, your hands trailed between your legs and applied a small bit of pressure, trying to calm the aching that settled there. You missed him deeply. You couldn't tell if you would cry or cum from his scent. But when you took another deep breath and pressed your legs together, you felt the twitch of muscle and nerve at the apex of your thighs. You wouldn't be able to hold out for very much longer at all.

Back on your side of the bed, you opened your bedside table and brought out a powerful little bullet vibrator that Katsuki had bought you on his first trip out of town, right before you'd gotten married. At the time, it was only for three days, and it seemed a little bit excessive. But the trips got longer, and you only missed him more fervently as the years passed. You longed for your husband.

You turned on the vibrator and slid it between your thighs. You got right down to business. You didn't care much about how it got done. You just wanted to get it over with and go to sleep.

You felt the vibrations in your core. You thought of his arms around you. You dragged the bullet over your nerves, circling over them again and again. You remembered the way his tongue glided over your nipples. Your breathing hitched as you tried to remember the way his hands gripped your hips as he pummeled into you from behind. Your hips bucked at the thought, getting closer and closer to the edge.

As if on queue, the bedroom door opened. You stopped your motions immediately, startled by the sudden movements. You saw no shadow, no movement at first to indicate that anyone was there. And for a brief moment, you started to believe in ghosts until you saw the head of messy blonde hair peak into the room. "Damn, you couldn't wait till I got here?" he growled, a teasing smirk spreading across his cheeks.

You couldn't think of anything to say in return. What the hell are you doing here?!?! you wanted to say to him. But also, you didn't want to talk at all.

You sat up, and he tucked himself in between your body and the headboard. He was sweaty and dirty from work, but he brought into bed that same caramel and woodsmoke scent that you loved so deeply, the scent that had almost gotten you off by itself. Silently, he took the vibrator out of your hand and started to draw circles on your clit himself. You laid your back against his chest and breathed deeply, taking your time to just feel the gentle caress of his biceps around your body. "You miss me that much, huh?" Bakugou teased. He ran a calloused hand up your body and stopped on the side of your face.

"Mmhmm," you manage to hum in reply. Just then, Katsuki hit a nerve with the vibrator, and you squirmed against him, your back arching so prettily for him.

"'m gonna make you feel so good, baby," he whispered in your ear. You felt his calloused hand trailing over your body again. He pawed at the different squishy parts of your body. Your thigh, spread over his for access to your pussy. Your hips, plush and his for the taking. Your love handles and your belly. And, of course, your breasts. Katsuki took his time squeezing every part of you, as if he had forgotten what it was like to have your flesh in his hands. He continued to circle the vibrator over and around your clit.

"Pretty girl couldn't even wait till I got home, huh?" he teased in that signature growl. "Had to take care o' your pussy for me." He squeezed your breast even harder, putting pressure on your nipple and making you squirm against him again. Your back and ass pressed up against his length, and you felt him twitch to life. "Oh, honey, I'm gonna fuck you so good as soon as we both get some rest," he promised, his grip moving to your throat and your head laying back on his shoulder. "Right now, though, I just want to make you cum."

As if on some kind of timer, you felt your entire body contract against his words. Your breath got caught in your throat. Bakugou kissed your shoulder all over, and you felt his teeth graze over your skin. You let out sighs and gasps involuntarily. You fell over the edge into bliss, the sensation washing over you little by little at first, and then all at the same time.

"That's my girl," Bakugou growled into your ear, his free hand now roaming over your body, touching anywhere he could reach. You rode out your orgasm until your breathing leveled and he fumbled to turn off the vibrator.

"C'mere," he whispered as you turned around and straddled his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder to come down from your high. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

At this point, you couldn't even help it. Tensions were so high that you couldn't take it anymore. Your emotions bubbled over, and you felt your tears sneak out of your eyes when you took another deep breath full of his scent. You tried to stifle a sob as you admitted, "I missed you so much, Katsuki."

Bakugou rubbed your back as you cried into his shoulder. "I can tell," he teased, still wearing that same smirk he always did. You both giggled to yourselves for a moment before he finally admitted it.

"Missed you too."

[sserpente]

For Old Times' Sake

Synopsis: When your landlord drags you before Lord Gortash to settle your debts, your life gets turned upside down. It is not the fear of imprisonment that paralyses you at Wyrm’s Rock—it is him. Enver Flymm, as you’d once known him, a shy and clever boy and your only childhood friend. Will he recognise you and show mercy, help you out?

A/N: My obsession with Gortash is getting out of hand. I don’t think I care.

Words: 2853 Warnings: angst, homelessness, mentions of death and abuse

The number on your tax letter was bright red—quite possibly scribbled on there with the previous tenant’s blood. Three thousand and five hundred gold pieces. That was more money than you had ever seen in your life.

“I’m a little short.”

The half-orc—your landlord—rolled his eyes. “By how much?”

“Um…about three thousand and four hundred ninety-nine gold pieces.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not, I…I am trying to find work right now. I was preoccupied with organising a funeral and scraped together the last of my savings to buy my parents a coffin. I will start paying off the debts and all the money I owe if you give me just a little bit more time…”

The half-orc scoffed. “Funny, that’s what your parents always said too. Just a little bit more time. I’m done playing games, kid. In times like this, the Fist can’t let this keep happening. You pay your rent, you pay your taxes, you contribute to the city’s safety—and you face the consequences if you cannot do so.”

It was this new Steel Watch mainly that ate up most of the tax money. An entire Foundry had sprouted from the ground down by the docks seemingly overnight. They were rather scary automatons and they were not known for their mercy.

“It’s Friday,” the half-orc continued. “We are settling this once and for all. Your missing payments are biting a hole into my coin purse.”

Your eyes widened. Each Friday, Lord Gortash—the city’s new hero, protector, and saviour—held public hearings where citizens could voice requests, concerns, or other pleas. You’d never seen the man in person. He looked handsome enough on the posters, you’d read about his good deeds and heard about his generosity. But apart from that, he was a stranger to you. You’d known a young boy once called Enver though—Gortash sharing the same first name could only bring you luck, no?

Perhaps…perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. You could make your case—explain to him that when your parents died from sickness, the remaining debts from all the medication that didn’t help in the end had been passed on to you.

You inherited a small house with broken windows, corroding wood and a serious rat problem in the cellar rendering food rations useless. Not that you had many to spare. You’d always wondered what a full stomach felt like.

“Will you come with me willingly or do I need to get a Fist?”

“This really isn’t necessary, saer. As soon as I’ve found work—”

“I am done making exceptions. We are leaving for Wyrm’s Rock. Now.”

You didn’t want to make a scene, not here. Not with the Steel Watchers within reach. With a sigh, you folded the letter from your landlord and handed it back to him, then followed him through the Lower City to Wyrm’s Rock as if you were walking to the gallows.

The place was packed. You’d expected little else. Lord Gortash was very much in demand. There was a long queue when you arrived, several Fists positioned at every possible entrance along with some patrolling Steel Watchers to ensure no one cut the line.

Five minutes turned into ten minutes, ten minutes into twenty. With every passing second, you felt the nervousness tightening its iron grip around you more. The punishment for evading rent was eviction, for one, and imprisonment for another. But perhaps Lord Gortash would hear you out.

It took another ten minutes before you were called up to the audience chamber. As if he was worried you’d try and make a run for it now, the half-orc grabbed your upper arm, dragging you with him. At the far end of the hall, two Steel Watchers were positioned on either side of a pretty throne in front of which stood a handsome man with short black hair and elegant black armour.

“Lord Gortash…thank you for your time,” your landlord began. He bowed—and so did you. Gortash’s eyes skimmed over the half-orc with mild interest before moving on to you. Dark orbs boring into yours, stirring…recognition within you. His face…you could have sworn you’d met him before.

“How can I be of service, hmm?” he asked with a sly smirk. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest. That scar on his chin…that little boy you knew from your childhood…a boy named Enver…

“E-Enver? Enver Flymm? Is…is that you?”

Your landlord’s head whipped in your direction, the disrespect apparent, even more so when Gortash began to frown. Who were you to call the archduke by his first name? But this…this was different. You knew him. He was…or used to be…your friend.

“It’s me!” You told him your name, excitement washing over you like a wave. “R-remember me? We used to play together as kids. You…you just disappeared one day. I never found out what happened to you and your parents wouldn’t talk to me…”

Your landlord cleared his throat before Gortash could answer—the archduke’s face, however, was painted with recognition. He did remember you.

“Whatever, Lord Gortash, this…tenant of mine has been behind with paying rent for months. I am currently missing nearly four thousand gold pieces which she claims she’ll be able to ‘pay back soon as soon as she finds work’.”

Enver knew your family was poor, they always had been. He himself didn’t have a lot growing up. While other kids would brag about the new toys that they got for their birthday, Enver got a beating out of asking for some simple tools for his special day. He’d always been a tinkerer.

“I see. I am going to deal with this. Would you excuse us for a moment?” Gortash finally spoke.

Taken aback, your landlord nodded. Dismissed. You breathed out audibly. Good, this was good. You’d get to tell him your side of the story and he’d help you, he had authority now, he had the power to…

“You have chosen a criminal career then?”

Your heart dropped. “C-criminal? I’m not a criminal.”

“You refuse to pay rent. And tax evasion too?”

“I don’t refuse. I simply…I can’t, I have no money left. You…you remember my parents, right? They passed two ten days ago. We spent all we had on medication and healers and that was after they started struggling with their health. They couldn’t work as much anymore and so we fell behind.”

“Hmm.”

He tilted his head and for just a brief second, you saw the young boy flash before your eyes again. You couldn’t help but smile despite your sad circumstances. Gods, you were a childhood friend of the archduke… Now that your parents were gone…perhaps you wouldn’t be all alone after all.

“I…I thought about you a lot. You were my only friend back then. I always assumed your parents sent you off to some private school outside the city to give you better opportunities or…or that an incurable sickness claimed you. Just earlier today I thought I once knew a little boy who would have loved these Steel Watchers. And now it turns out it was you all along. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I put my talent to good use.”

“You did. I remember when we were little kids we would roam the streets and search the city for old metal parts. You’d tinker away and build your own toys with them. This one time you made me a dancing ballerina, do you remember? You…you found this old music box a merchant had abandoned. The music was all distorted at first but…you made it work again. That was the best toy I ever had.” You paused. All of a sudden…you were mourning him. Mourning your childhood friend you thought you had lost for good.

“What happened to you? Where did you go?”

Gortash’s brown eyes locked with yours. But then, his expression hardened. “That matters not. Your landlord expects a solution for his dilemma.”

Your face fell. “You…you could help.”

“I could,” he mused. “But I am the archduke of Baldur’s Gate now, my dear. If I start waiving laws in favour of an old acquaintanceship, people are going to start questioning my reliability.”

“But—“

“Your landlord is in the right. If you cannot afford rent, he has the right to evict you. I am going to spare you the dungeons—for old times’ sake.”

“Enver…”

“That is Lord Gortash to you. We are not children anymore.”

Your lips parted. “Is…is that it?”

“Yes. You are dismissed.”

You didn’t even notice your tears until they wet your cheeks. You turned around without a word of goodbye, without a formal bow. Your landlord was seemingly pleased as you rushed out. You didn’t wait for Enver to tell him the good news.

As of right now, you were homeless. And even though you hadn’t seen your only friend in years, against all reason, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

You just didn’t understand. Enver used to be such a sweet boy. Innocent, full of visions and dreams, shy, quiet. Everyone who knew him including his own parents labelled him as ‘odd’ but you knew better.

Now, he was the reason you’re homeless. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. Your landlord was the reason you were homeless. Enver had simply honoured the very rules set in place before he became the archduke. Perhaps he was right and he couldn’t make an exception—it would be unfair on others. He could have sent you to prison but he didn’t. That had to be enough.

As you made your way through the Lower City past merchants, civilians, and Steel Watchers a few weeks later, wondering if you’d be able to have a meal today, the sudden tumult right in front of Basilisk Gate had you pause. You frowned, hurrying toward the crowd of people that had formed before the gallows. Three men with nooses around their necks stood on the wooden platform, in front of them, facing the citizens, stood Enver.

What in the hells was happening?

“…so let this be a fair warning. These are the consequences of disobedience. I am not going to tolerate disrespect. I have led this city to glory—and I ask for recognition and your trust in return.”

Your frown deepened when Enver gave a court nod to the hangman. The very moment the trap doors gave way under the prisoner’s feet was the moment you looked away—but not before the archduke’s eyes met yours.

“I am telling you,” you heard a citizen whisper to another, “there’s something foul about this man. He acts like a bloody Banite.”

A Banite. You swallowed. That was a serious accusation. Surely, a sweet boy like Enver wouldn’t turn to Bane worship.

“My words exactly,” the other citizen responded, “I heard he is friends with the chief editor of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette and only what he approves of gets printed.”

A scoff. “Talk about propaganda.”

You’d heard enough. With your heart in your mouth, you stepped away, attempting to disappear in the crowd and perhaps ask for a gold piece or two. You flinched when a Fist touched your shoulder and flipped you around to face her.

“Lord Gortash has requested your presence. You will follow me.”

“W-why? What does he want?”

She didn’t respond. And if you refused to follow her? You didn’t want to find out.

You hadn’t expected to return to Wyrm’s Rock any time soon, nor that you’d be led up the stairs to Lord Gortash’s private quarters. The place was imposing. And of course, when you spotted him behind his desk, he was accompanied by two Steel Watchers.

“Ah, hello, my dear. Have you been faring well?” he mused. You could have been mistaken—but it was almost like you sensed scornfulness swinging in his voice.

“I am homeless. How do you think I’m faring?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t give me that reproachful tone. We are all bound by laws and order, my dear.”

You blinked. “What do you want from me?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“You do?” Hesitation mixed with suspicion. After seeing him hang people in public today…you weren’t sure a proposition would do you any good.

“It’s quite simple, really. Serve me and I shall give you a roof over your head.”

“Serve you?”

“I’ve had my Watchers keep an eye on you. It is quite noble of you not to resort to stealing. Surely, you understand why the citizens of Baldur’s Gate are becoming more and more hesitant to spare a few coins, though.”

You’d read in the Gazette only yesterday that the tax rates were going to be increased yet again starting next month. Both the Fist and the newspaper itself had become very vocal about their dismay when it came to the poor and those in need. It was concerning—terrifying, even.

“Being archduke comes with a lot of responsibilities. My hands are full with political duties, I need people around me to run errands for me and assist me. What do you say? For old times’ sake?” he continued.

“You want me to work for you?” Only weeks ago, you would have jumped at the opportunity. You and your childhood friend reunited at last. Him being the archduke, you being his assistant, his right hand. Now, however, the request left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. You did not agree with his cold-hearted choices to hang usurpers. There was always a more peaceful solution. Imprisonment, for one.

“Do you know what people are whispering, Env-���Lord Gortash? They have suspicions you could be a Banite. You hung people for disobedience! How is that a fair judgement? How can I work for you if this is how you—”

“One of them plotted an assassination against me. You have no right to question my rule, my dear. Lest you’ll end up like them.”

Your lips parted. He didn’t even deny it. He…he didn’t deny he was worshipping Bane… Damn all appropriation. “Enver, please, what happened to you? You used to be such a sweet boy, you comforted me when the other kids picked on me, you—”

“My parents, my dear, sold me to a Warlock. I disappeared because I was shipped off the hells to serve a devil called Raphael in his House of Hope. I faced years of degradation and abuse until I finally managed to escape. I had nothing, I was nothing. The Black Lord picked up the pieces that were left of me and made me what I am today. And I am giving you a chance now. You have potential. Serve me and we can rise together.”

You blinked, processing his words. Sold? To a devil? No wonder his parents had refused to speak about him after his sudden disappearance. The torment he must have experienced…you could almost understand why a tyrannical god like Bane would infiltrate his dreams and promise him power and glory.

“I…I don’t know about this, Enver. This…this is tyranny.”

“In times like this, tyranny is what people need. They don’t listen—and they need a strong leader to help them make the choices that are best for the city. As of right now, free will is their greatest enemy.”

“Is that truly what you think?”

Enver’s expression darkened. He took a menacing step forward. All of a sudden, you felt so much smaller than before.

“I will not have you belittle my faith.” He paused. “I expect an answer. Now.”

You were torn—way too much so. This answer should be a decided No. Working for a Banite, for a worshipper of one of the Dead Three…it was wrong. It should be wrong. And yet…you were hesitant. Not only did Enver promise to end your homelessness but also an alliance. You were clueless as to how he assumed you would be of any use to him but you’d be damned if you didn’t admit that ever since he’d stepped into your life again…it felt like a part of yourself had returned to you. Against all reason, that made you happy. Relieved, even. You weren’t entirely alone—and you certainly wouldn’t be if you accepted his proposal.

You took a deep breath. “F-fine. I…I accept. I…I don’t want to lose you again.”

If he’d expected you to agree, he didn’t expect this. For just a split second, his composure faltered, surprise and something ever so soft washing over his face. It was gone again as fast as it had appeared.

“Splendid. A wise decision, my dear. I shall have one of the empty servants’ rooms prepared for you. Unless of course, you’d rather stay with me?” he mocked.

“You know, I would actually like that,” you said with a weak smile. Because you’d missed him. Banite or not, you were grateful he’d found his way into your life again. Not all was lost—perhaps you’d be able to talk to him. Help him be a better person just like he’d helped you be one when you were young. You’d find a way. For old times’ sake.

A/N: I already have an idea for a Part II.

[momolady]

Commissions Are Open!

I'll be accepting a few a month so send an email to get into the queue.

The Spiel:

Include a genre or theme if you so wish. Such as horror, romance, angst, fluff, etc.

If you want one of my universes, please include it as well. Ruby Empire, Hearthway Hollow, the Carnival, etc.

If you have a story idea, please include a few sentences of plot for me to work with. The more details the better

If you wish to include your OC please provide references so I can do them justice.

All characters must be 18+ for nsfw content.

All payments must be made in USD, & invoices will be sent upfront.

I have the right to refuse commissions

Discussion will take place via email or through discord if requested.

You will receive commissions through email unless requested otherwise.

Changes can be made, but there is a limit of 2 revisions. (I’m soft though so who knows if I’ll keep this up.)

All stories will be posted to my Patreon, Tumblr, and maybe ko-fi. OC can be changed upon request for public stories. You will always have the original story.

My stories can not be posted anywhere else.

Longer stories may receive an increase in price. (Under 10k words is usually fine. I enjoy longer works personally.)

Stories take anywhere from one to three weeks to complete once started depending on length, detail, etc. Feel free to ask for updates, previews, etc.

East Commission Form:

What is your budget (or desired word count):

Genre/Universe/Theme:

Reader Character Gender:

Reader Character Description:

Monster Character:

Monster Character Description:

Is this NSFW or SFW?

Any kinks, tropes, or specifics?

Story Outline:

Other thoughts or comments:

What You can Commission:

All monsters and creatures from media, folklore, myth, crytozoology, etc. (Within the bounds of cultural sensitivity.)

Horror stories. This can be straight horror, romance, smut, etc. Slasher, Lovecraftian, weird, etc.

Magical girl stories. Heroes as well.

Original Characters are always welcome.

Legally distinct characters are okay. I don’t write fanfic, but I’m happy to build your dream character with an existing character as reference.

If you need an idea for character or plot, I will brainstorm with you. I also will do free reign stories for a small discount.

Continuing stories from my masterlist is also accepted! I enjoy revisiting beloved characters.

Plotting help for your own stories such as outlines, character bios, etc. (This is new dunno where it’ll go.)

Moodboard can be requested upon story completion if wanted. Otherwise it will be seen on Patreon first.

Themes:

Smut of course. Other NSFW themes can be done upon approval. (No under 18 or dub-con themes.)

All romance of course. Ranging from slow burn, enemies to lovers, one bed, etc.

LGBTQIA+ themes are always welcome.

Classic tropes:forbidden love, fake dating, friends to enemies, hurt-comfort, stuck together, cafe au, etc.

Horror stories, romantic or not. The weirder the better.

Fantasy: can include anything from DnD themed, urban fantasy, future, past, other worlds, etc.

Fluff: domestic bliss, confessions, dates, proposals, etc.

Platonic stories.

Plot heavy.

PWP

[astrophysician]

hi there! i don't talk about this much online but i have used the last of my savings on rent for this month and it's. a new feeling. so i feel like if there's any time for this it's now. things are looking up though, and i'm feeling confident that i'll be in a much better place by the end of the month

however in the meantime i could use all the help i can get, so if you enjoy my work i would be incredibly grateful if you'd consider donating to my Ko-Fi.

i also have commissions open there (and on my pinned), so if you've been considering getting one now's a good time. with my current queue and the pace i work, i think the most i'd feel comfortable taking on this month is 3 slots, though i might adjust that depending on how things go. or if you want to be my hero, i definitely wouldn't mind taking a character illustration <3

here's some of my recent work, including a couple of commissions i never posted from @futuristichedge and @cat-dragron

thanks for reading, and happy december!

tldr: commission info | ko-fi | portfolio

1/3 slots

[bnha-littlespace-things]

Hi hi! I was wondering if I could could please request a Little! Bakugou with a Caregiver! Kirishima?

I hope you have an amazing rest of your day! <3 :D

ofc! sorry i didn't get to these sooner ^^; hope this makes up for it!!

tw; none that i can think of, let me know if there's something i can add!

---

Sometime, when Bakugou was stressed, he would age regress. Pretty much no one knew about it, except for Kirishima.

Kirishima found out on accident, even though Bakugou had been intending on telling him. The red head started coming over and hanging around whenever Bakugou was regressed, and if he regressed during their regular hang out sessions, Kirishima wouldn't bat an eye and ask if he wanted to switch activities. Sometimes Bakugou would say yes, sometimes he'd say no. Kirishima also helped him with some of the things he struggled with doing while in his small headspace.

Kirishima becoming Bakugou's caregiver kinda just... happened. But he was a very good caregiver. He made sure to communicate as much as possible with Bakugou. He made sure the little didn't stay up past his bed time, picked up all his toys, and gave him extra treats when he deserved them or after a bad nightmare.

Kirishima was always there for Bakugou, and Bakugou wouldn't want anyone else as a caregiver.

So he wanted to do something extra special for him. Maybe it was sappy, trying to make the spiky red-headed rock a gift, but Bakugou didn't care. He needed to show Kiri that he was the bestest caregiver ever. And Bakugou didn't award that title lightly! You really had to be amazing in order to earn such high praise from him!

And Bakugou needed his gift to be just as spectacular as his caregiver.

That's how he found himself sitting at his desk, half in his headspace, glaring at the card in front of him. Yeah, it was good. It was handmade and the drawings were amazing. But a card? No, his caregiver deserved something even cooler! Though he was pretty proud of the card, so he would still give it to Kirishima. So, the partially regressed teen walked over to his bed and flopped onto it, pulling out his phone.

Kiri deserved something amazing, so he was gonna get him something amazing!

Bakugou scrolled through various Etsy stores and Ebay listings, trying to find something that was perfect. Eventually, the little found just the thing.

Gasping, he sat up excitedly. "Eiji'll love it!" he declared, not noticing how much he'd regressed already. "It's perfect! I gotta get it for him!" Bakugou quickly bought the gift, and now all he had to do was wait. And not tell Eiji! Eiji couldn't know, it had to be a surprise!

When the day came that the gift arrived, Bakugou could barely keep still. He was practically vibrating in excitement as he wrapped the gift up and place the card on top of the box. He texted Kirishima, struggling a little with typing it as he slipped into his headspace. Eiji would love his gift, he knew it!

Kirishima arrived, and Bakugou pulled him over to his desk. "Eiji! Eiji! Got you somethin'!" Bakugou said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Woah, you didn't have to Kats."

"I know! But you the bestest caregiver, gotta show that! An' the gift is perfect!" Bakugou stated matter-of-factly.

"Alright. Well, before I open this, no doubt, awesome gift, Kats, are you little right now?"

Bakugou was about to answer no, when he realized that, yes, he had slipped. "Uh-huh! But still! Your gift!" Bakugou picked the box up and pushed it into the red-head's hands.

"Thank you, Katsuki," Kirishima said, ruffling the blondes hair. Bakugou beamed.

Kirishima teared up as he read the card. The handwriting was slightly shaky, but Bakugou's handwriting was still very neat. It read, 'For the bestest caregiver in the universe! You're the manliest!' and it had a bunch of silly, slightly childish drawings of him and Bakugou, as well as some doodles of Crimson Riot. "This card is lovely, Kats! I'm going to hang it up and keep it forever and ever," Kirishima said definitively, and Bakugou nodded.

"Yeah, cause it's the coolest! But it's gots nothin' on your real gift!"

Kirishima nodded, and delicately unwrapped the wrapping paper, doing his best to avoid tearing it. When he saw the box, he almost started balling.

It was a limited edition Crimson Riot action figurine. One that only had some ninety-seven in existence. Kirishima had tried to get one, but they were expensive and sold out extremely quickly.

"Kats..." Kirishima said, voice wavering. "Kats I love it, thank you so much...! How did you even get this?"

"Ebay!" Bakugou responded proudly. "I wan'ed to show you that you're the bestest and the coolest!"

Kirishima hugged Bakugou. "Well, thank you Katsuki! I'm gonna treasure this figurine forever!"

Bakugou hugged his caregiver back. "Your welcome, Eiji!"

[yaboiyandere]

Yandere Miguel O’Hara

-If it were up to you, anyone other than you would be the web-slinging hero, but at times like now you realize not anyone should wield the great powers you’ve come to call your own.

-You’ve been your city’s wall-crawling vigilante for a couple of years now, and not to brag, but you’ve been doing great! Ever since you lost your husband, Miguel, to a lab accident that got you your powers, you’ve been trying to keep the city as safe as he wanted it to be. For him, and your daughter.

-It’s been harder to be a single parent and a webhead, especially as Gabriella has gotten older and more aware of your absence. Being an arachnid is busy. Then comes Gabriella’s elementary school graduation. You were so excited and promised you’d make it. The city can be fine for a night, right?

-That’s why you’re sitting in an elementary school cafeteria, on one of the comically small benches, proud as can be, when all of a sudden the room shakes with a sudden crash. parents and children scatter, adults, swarming the stage and grabbing their kids. Caught under some debris, you’re last to reach the crowd of distressed citizens. A slimy tentacle peeks out through the wall.

-you quickly find your daughter hiding under one of the tables and try to pull her out and towards the nearest exit. “No! It’s all my fault! If I didn’t make you come here tonight then this never would have happened!” She cries. your heart hurts for your daughter. Did she know? For how long? You sigh shakily and hug her.

-“Yknow, I became Spider-Man for you.” She sniffs. “Really?” “Well, also your dad.” You both go silent. “I don’t want you to end up like him” “dead?” “…yeah.” “I know.” “I guess you know a lot more than I thought, huh?” She giggles, tears still in her eyes.

-A scream is let out, causing both of you to snap your heads toward it. “That’s my queue.” you joke. You pull your formal wear off, revealing your spider suit, and pull on your mask. “Keep those safe for me, will ya? That’s my only good-“ your spidey senses trigger, but a tentacle quickly wraps around your leg and yanks you back. The man connected to the tentacle is seemingly dressed as a pirate, and the tentacles protrude his legs are supposed to be.

-“Gross gross gross! How do you even pee man?!” You yell, only to get slammed against the ceiling. You immediately start tying his tentacles together with webbing only for him to slip out due to their slippery texture. You’re about to call it quits and just start biting them off, after all, they serve calamari at fancy restaurants, right? And this is like the same thing-

-your thoughts get interrupted by a blue-clad man bursting behind your attacker, and clawing at his head. He quickly yanks his head back and bites at his neck. You’re in shock at the sudden attack and worried this might be your next opponent. As the pirate falls, the man squints at you, or at least you think so, hard to tell with the mask. “I like your mask” you joke, as he approaches you. “Got one just like it at home”. He silently stands in front of you, looking at some hologram watch. You gulp. You suddenly feel something grab at your leg, and look down to see Gabriella crying. “Don’t hurt my (parent)! Please” she sobs.

-Just like her father, trying to protect you. And possibly about to get killed for it. You put a protective hand on her head. The blue man stares at her, his holographic screen disappearing. You all stand there for a minute, quiet, except for your daughter’s choked sobs.

-“…are you scared of me?” The man asks her. She’s still hiding behind your leg but nods. You unconsciously nod as well. He sighs and seems regretful. He looks at you. “What’s your name?” “Ah, that’s kinda classified.” “Fine” he presses something on his suit and the mask dissolves, revealing his face.

-your dead husband’s face. “My name is Miguel O’Hara, and you probably already knew that.” You stutter out a yes. “Good, that makes this much easier.” He smiles, and hugs you. You’re too shocked to hug back, essentially seeing a ghost. So shocked you think your spidey senses are just because of your emotions, and not the incoming fangs in your neck. They’re just a prick, but your body quickly sags.

-“Daddy?” “It’s me, sweetie” this Miguel, this evil Miguel coos at your daughter. She sniffles and hugs him and you. You want to cry out, tell her to run, but you can’t. He picks you and her up. “Lyla, let’s bring these two home.” “Can do, boss” You’re quickly swallowed into an orange hole.

-that was three days ago. You’ve been trapped in this minimalist nightmare of an apartment, in this futuristic city. At least you get a good view of this place. Your daughter has been taking it well, considering she just got her dad back, but you?

-Miguel hugs you from behind. “How are you, mi amor?” He kisses your neck. You’re silent. He sighs on your shoulder. “Look, I know you miss swinging around town, but this is safer. I can’t lose you again.” You stay silent.

-“I don’t like this attitude” he grumbles. Now it’s your turn to sigh. He’s about to start again when your daughter rushes in. “Look what I made, Daddy!” She sits next to you two. It’s a scribbly drawing of the three of you, all happy. Not a spider, or mask in sight. You tune out Miguel’s compliments and stare.

-Maybe, you could leave the web-slinging to someone else from now on. And be just as happy as you look in the drawing. Something about the smirk you feel on your neck from Miguel tells you that you don’t have a choice.

(might continue or write from Miguel’s POV)

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[sassenach77yle]

“HAMBURGER,” I SAID under my breath, but not far enough under. He raised an eyebrow at me.“Chopped meat,” I elaborated, and the eyebrow fell.“Oh, aye, it is. Stopped a sword stroke wi’ my hand. Too bad I didna have a targe; I could have turned the stroke, easy.”“Right.” I swallowed. It wasn’t the worst injury I’d seen, by a long shot, but it still made me slightly sick. The tip of his fourth finger had been sheared off cleanly, at an angle just below the nail. The stroke had sliced a strip of flesh from the inside of the finger and ripped down between the third and fourth fingers.“You must have caught it near the hilt,” I said, trying for calm. “Or it would have taken off the outside half of your hand.”“Mmphm.” The hand didn’t move as I prodded and poked, but there was sweat on his upper lip, and he couldn’t keep back a brief grunt of pain.“Sorry,” I murmured automatically.“It’s all right,” he said, just as automatically. He closed his eyes, then opened them.“Take it off,” he said suddenly.“What?” I drew back and looked at him, startled.He nodded at his hand.“The finger. Take it off, Sassenach.”“I can’t do that!” Even as I spoke, though, I knew that he was right. Aside from the injuries to the finger itself, the tendon was badly damaged; the chances of his ever being able to move the finger, let alone move it without pain, were infinitesimal.“It’s done me little good in the last twenty years,” he said, looking at the mangled stump dispassionately, “and likely to do no better now. I’ve broken the damned thing half a dozen times, from its sticking out like it does. If ye take it off, it willna trouble me anymore, at least.”I wanted to argue, but there was no time; wounded men were beginning to drift up the slope toward the wagon. The men were militia, not regular army; if there was a regiment near, there might be a surgeon with them, but I was closer.“Once a frigging hero, always a frigging hero,” I muttered under my breath. I thrust a wad of lint into Jamie’s bloody palm and wrapped a linen bandage swiftly around the hand. “Yes, I’ll have to take it off, but later. Hold still.”“Ouch,” he said mildly. “I did say I wasna a hero.”“If you aren’t, it isn’t for lack of trying,” I said, yanking the linen knot tight with my teeth. “There, that will have to do for now; I’ll see to it when I have time.” I grabbed the wrapped hand and plunged it into the small basin of alcohol and water.He went white as the alcohol seeped through the cloth and struck raw flesh. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, but didn’t say anything more. I pointed peremptorily at the blanket I had spread on the ground, and he lay back obediently, curling up under the shelter of the wagon, bandaged fist cradled against his breast.I rose from my knees, but hesitated for a moment. Then I knelt again and hastily kissed the back of his neck, brushing aside the queue of his hair, matted with half-dried mud and dead leaves. I could just see the curve of his cheek; it tightened briefly as he smiled and then relaxed.

62 ONE JUST MAN ~An Echo in the Bone

[artist-block-alley]

Over the past week I've thought about what it'd be like to have Scourge in the main world of Sonic. I wanted to keep the whole "sonic copy" concept while completely ditching the whole alternate evil universe direction from Archie (and make him redeemable to boot, lol)- and now got an AU developed because of it.

Alotta text so you can read it under the cut!

The idea is that this hedgehog started off as a nobody in a small town, unseen and unnoticed. He'd had heard of and admired Sonic for being a cool hero that everyone loved and respected, wishing to have the opportunity to become that himself.

One day he does get that opportunity when a group of thieves invades his town. Seeing others in trouble, he takes the risk and jumps in to help, managing to stop them and gaining his scars-- which not only make him stand out but also gets him recognized as a hero. He latches onto this, his first time being acknowledged by others, and uses the only example of a hero he knows: Sonic the hedgehog.

Overtime he reinvents himself, putting on this "cool dude with a tude" persona and completely ditching any bit of his past self, taking queues and knowledge from what he believes made Sonic so admired. Considering it his time to be "reborn" as someone better, he takes on the moniker of Scourge (no one knows what his past name was, not that it matters anymore).

He becomes a small town hero, keeping the place safe and really living in the limelight. During this time he meets Fiona, and they partner up to form a heroes for hire team, eventually leaving town to take on bigger jobs so that their fame can spread.

All is well- until they take on a job they can't handle and sonic comes along, showing them up. This really strikes a nerve with Scourge, fearing getting shoved back into the shadows, and Fiona, who does not plan on losing this new popularity.

They come up with a plan to join the resistance to get information on bigger 'jobs' so they can strike before Sonic and his friends can.

Whew, there's more to this but I wanted to get the main concept outta the way first. Will post more on this later!