#Burn scars “mature” after about a year and from there they start fading and smoothing out

[yardikins]

Do all the people complaining that Zuko’s scar in the Netflix live action adaptation of Avatar “isn’t gorey enough” realize that how it looks in said live action is legitimately how real burn scars look after having about three years to heal

[armymaryoongi]

Chapter three: Sakura Handkerchief

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, slightly mature, historical au; king au

warning: mentions of death/alcohol

words count: 1k+

Special appearance: Royal Swordsman Kim Taehyung

Note:  English is not my native language. (I’ve added links to the royal marriage attires if you curious to know)

(Names, places and incidents are just based on fiction)

masterlist // Ch. Four

Summary: Just like any other kids, King Min Yoongi also has his own childhood memories but his involved a mystery girl who he met once and was known as his love at the first sight. Will he gets any chance to meet her again? What will he does when he found her? Will the girl remember her too?

8 YEARS LATER

Loud thuds can be heard clearly across the King’s quarter as the two blades striking on one another fiercely. His long blonde hair was poker-straight and it flowed behind him as he sways his body, immersed with the movement of his sword. Only some of his hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His pale skin is glistening with sweats as he continuously positions himself under the blazing sun. Nothing seems different from his previous self except his height, voice, status and manners—maturity and manly.

Before his opponent can think of another strategy, he swiftly cut the air as his blade aimed the man, finishing the battle. “You are magnificent, King!” sincere praise came out smoothly from his swordsman, Kim Taehyung. The praised man unable to say anything in between catching his breath only shows off his smirk. “I would like to suggest you practise only once a week since you are already powerful in a sword battle.” Kim continuously praised his King.

The King slowly walked to the bench near his chamber and took a seat on it. “As someone who I pointed as Royal swordsman, I believe your words. Arrange the schedule and inform me as soon as possible.” He gave his sword to Kim, letting him secure it later. “I will do as you command. Let me know if you need anything regarding your sword practices.” Kim answered and bowed deeply.

“Taehyung, as my most trusted man in this palace. Please be honest with me.” Min looked up at the sky, hesitated to ask his swordsman. “Yes, anything my King.” he wiped off the sweats that threatening to fall from his forehead. Min didn’t answer him, instead, he pointed his right eyes—his scar. Kim doesn’t need clarification as he understood where this conversation will lead to. “Your queen to-be will accept you wholly, King. Unless she’s an ignorant person and fails to understand.” he assured the young King.

Yes, Yoongi has a scar that scratched from his black brow to his apple of the cheek. It happened two years ago when a big war occurred between Joseon and Shangri La caused by economic gain. As a Crown Prince who was skilful in a sword battle, he has voiced out the idea to take part in the war even though the Queen—his mother has opposed the idea, scared anything happens to Joseon’s only heir. A month of the war, news about Shangri La almost conquered Joseon had spread around the world but lucks and victory have chosen Joseon over the opponent country. Howbeit, the aftermath of war has sacrificed a thousand soldiers from Joseon, included Hyung Sun, the Head Personal Guard who wanted to devote devotion to the country. After the death of Hyung Sun, this Royal swordsman named Kim Taehyung has become the most trusted and closest person to Min Yoongi.

Sad to say, the following year, Joseon received another shocking news when their beloved King—Min Yoongi’s father passed away after six months fallen sick. With advice from ministers, Yoongi must take over the throne even though he is an unwed man. According to the rules, someone with a scar cannot be the King to the country but it cannot be applied in Yoongi’s affair. The scar on his face is a symbol of his loyalty and dedication to Joseon. Hence, the entire country agreed to pass down the throne to him.

Killing two birds with one stone; Yoongi is in his mother’s chamber to visit and has a discussion. He is well aware of himself—the King need a companion, a queen and a wife beside him to rule the country. Currently, he is proposing the idea to wed a princess as he is not young anymore for the palace to hold the selection of Crown Princess as they did when he was a little child. “I agree with you, child. Besides, I don’t want to repeat that history.” the Queen Dowager glared at his son as she reminds him. Yet, she only received a soft chuckle from the young King.

“Mother, as you just said, that happened when I was a little child, too young to understand about palace rules. Now, I’m the King and I need someone that not only can rule this country with me but to share life, emotions and problems together for eternal.” he pressed his lips into a thin smile. His cheeks became rosy as he felt shy to utter these words to his mother. The Queen Dowager said nothing as she felt relieved when she listened to his son. Evidently, Min Yoongi has improved himself these previous years by through learning day by day. She’s confident that Yoongi will be another good king just like his late husband.

The news about the Royal Marriage has been announced to the folks and they are happy for the King and excited for the next Queen. They have hung lanterns and decorations along the streets and market to celebrate the exciting week while the fireworks will take place later at midnight. The palace guards have light up the torch fire to brighten the mood around the palace. Whereas the court ladies have decorated the Royal banquet hall, King and Queen’s quarters and tidy up the bridal’s chamber.

The Sakura handkerchief he bought eight years ago is in his hand. The base is pure white but its colour has faded a bit. Nevertheless, the pink colour of embroidery still stays radiant like before. Yoongi caressed the handkerchief as it is his lover. It feels nostalgic, how strong the memory has stayed in his mind even though he had tried to vanish it. Without he notices, the corner of his lips lifted as he rewinds the memory. The soft thud came from the door, startled him who is standing by the window. “Your Highness, I am here.” Kim alerted his King. The soft chuckle succeeds to escape from his mouth. “Drop the formality, Taehyung. We shall have a drink like friends.” he walked pass Taehyung to keep the dear handkerchief in the chest. Only tea is being served for tonight, no alcohol as tomorrow is the King and Queen’s marriage. The Queen to-be has arrived at the palace this evening and the King being a shy man, avoided from walking out from his throne hall as he doesn’t want to collide with her.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Taehyung asked Yoongi as he pouring the hot tea into the small teacups, started the conversation. Yoongi who chose to stay quiet just nodded his head. “I know you still can’t forget that person but make some room for your queen. She deserves it.” a reminder left out his mouth as he wants the best for the King and the Queen. “Of course I will. She will soon be the mother to our—” Yoongi abruptly shut his mouth as the realisation hit him. His tip of ears becomes red as he’s burning with embarrassment.

Ha! I knew it. You already think about—” now it’s Taehyung’s turn to shut his mouth as he realised with who he is speaking now. “Please punish this commoner for being rude to you.” he quickly stand up before knelt down in front of Yoongi. The King said nothing but laughed out loud. His swordsman looked at him with widen eyes, frightening with the sudden change of atmosphere. 

“Since this is not liquor for us to drink until blackout, let’s drink until our stomach bloated!” Yoongi and Taehyung clinked their cups against one another to celebrate the night. It’s been a while since the King behave like this. Perhaps, he is now on the cloud nine as he finally will tie a knot with a Princess Y/n from Daeshin, a kingdom not to far from Joseon.

The next day, the streets crowded with the villagers from distinct class and status, wearing various colours of hanbok—from dark to bright colour. The upper class dress up elegantly while the commoners dress up nicely. The villagers are now on their way to the palace as they will gather at the throne hall to witness the Royal ceremony as well as celebrate the glorious newlyweds. The striking red hwarot is now on your body. The hwagwan and royal binyeo are placed on the gold tray, waiting to be placed at the front of your head and in your hair. Your body is moving slightly as the court lady is shaping your braided hair into a bun. Your chamber becomes as quiet as a mouse, only the rustles can be heard as you keep smoothing the front fabric of your hwarot.

“The Queen Dowager is here!” announced the court lady who is guarding the door. As the Queen Dowager entered your chamber, you tried to soar but she quickly asked you to remain at your place. “Are you doing good, princess Y/n?” she looks at you through the reflection of the mirror. The court lady named Yeon is carefully sticking in the binyeo to secure your bun hair from unravelling. You giggled softly, cover your mouth with the back of your smooth hand. “Your majesty, thank you for asking. I am quite nervous since I never expose myself to the public.” Truthfully, it is prohibited for maiden moreover the princesses of the kingdom to appear in the public of eyes. The Queen Dowager tried to soothe your feelings by telling you that the ceremony will run smoothly until the night where King Min and you will spend the night together. Her words made you feel shudder as a chill runs down your spine. You just smile at her words and your face started to heat up as you nervously thinking of tonight.

[skaryskylar]

CAMELOT

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 2-Pro Heroes

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentioned smut,  ANGST , Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

"Don't let it be forgot, that for one brief, shining moment there was a Camelot." - Jackie

           The morning dew has yet to clear. Kyoka finds her gaze drawn to the gleaming drops against the lush green expanse of the lot. It goes out for as far as her eye could see, trickling even into the thicket of oak trees beyond the yard. A wisteria looms over the black gate in the distance, lavender falls obscuring an entire section of it. The fog of the night has begun to lift, but only just. The world remains in a sleepy gray.

Fitting, she supposes, for a day like this.

She turns back to the great white house that stood high above her, taking in the roman pillars on either side of the porch, the double wooden doors, wrap-around porch, and just the sheer majesty of it overwhelms her.

She looks down. 'Trespass and you die.' said the welcome mat. If anything, at least she knows she has the right house. Kyoka steels herself.

The dark cherry wood of the door opens just as she lifts her hand to knock again. A face stares out at her, and it takes a moment for her to recognize her old friend. Age had done him a favor. Grief threatens to take it away. He's blessed with smooth skin, few wrinkles courtesy of his quirk, only a hint of crow's feet.

But his eyes are dull. She remembers them as gleaming rubies-keen, cut sharp enough to kill-always staring at their target with a startling intensity.

This is the color of muddied blood, sickly with dark rims beneath the gaze. Still, she smiles, opening her arms to tug him into a tight embrace.  He doesn't resist. There was a time when such a show of affection would've meant small explosions and screaming, but the morning's silence goes uninterrupted till she dares to murmur,

"Hello Kats. It's good to see you."

He pats her shoulder, still silent as he inclines his head to tuck his chin over her head. His grip tightens once, twice, then he releases her, wordlessly drawing back inside to clear the entryway. She follows. Behind her the door shuts with a creak as she looks about the foyer, quick eyes darting from the marble staircase by the wall, to the glistening chandelier above their heads, then out to the halls. She follows the sound of his fading footsteps, taking her time as she prowls looking from photo to photo of bright smiling faces, a happier golden time.

All the while ignoring the oppressive knells of tragedy that ring out in every corner, rattling her ears till she has to cover the jacks with her hands to reduce the pressure.

"This is a nice place Kats." she calls out, to distract herself. Minutes pass. She doesn't think he's going to answer when a low, raspy voice sounds out,

"...That's right. You missed the housewarming. You were-,"

"In America, covering the war."

She finishes her snooping. Tucking into the dining room where he waited, she looks at how he looms over the bar cart at the other end of the room. The gray cast through the window bathes him in a gaunt light, placing shadows where there should've been none, dimming his usual glow till he himself was a shade. Kyoka makes her way to him slowly, but with each step, the vision steadily gets worse.

Katsuki is by no means an unattractive man, but there's something off. An...unstableness to him. The rumors swirl in the back of her mind but she pushes them away. Time may have made them grow distant, but she still thinks she knows him. Knows what he's capable of. At least, when it comes to her.

"Sorry about that again. Oh, um, just water please," She nods as the man gestures to the drinks on the rolling bar cart.

He puts her drink at the right hand seat of the head of the tables. She take her place with grace, placing her tape recorder and notebook down primly. Gazing out the window, she patiently waits for him to settle with his whiskey.

There are no words of judgement spoken aloud as he takes a hearty swig.

She can feel his eyes on her, and hear the flicker when he turns away, following her gaze out the window to the rolling lush grass, down at the brown bunny who sniffed around in the dew.

"Are you ready?" She asks after a lengthy silence. The clink of ice in his cup is booming.

"As I'll ever be."

Licking her lips, she turns to him, hand already settled on the tape recorder. He doesn't shift his gaze from the hare in the lawn. There's something indiscernible moving around in his eyes.

Clicking the record button, she begins,

"July 25th. 8: 12 AM. I'm sitting with Katsuki Bakugou hero alias Ground Zero, the Symbol of Victory, here at the number one hero's dining room table. It is a gray day, with a fog settling between the trees surrounding his grand estate and dew still lingering on the blades of grass,"

She stops, considers, concedes.

"There is a rabbit in the yard. He stares out at it instead of me as we begin this interview...Mr. Bakugou how are you feeling today?"

"... It's 'the Wonder Duo's' dining room table, and 'their' grand estate. My name isn't the only one on the deed. And if you're gonna call me that the whole time, we're ending this shit now."

Scarlet eyes flicker to her and there it is. There's the man she knows. The vicious one who would bite and snarl and rip things apart so long as he would win.

"What's going on with you Kats?" She feels emboldened to ask now. "Are you ready to talk about this today? Because if you need to shift this interview slot, I can talk to my boss and have him send someone else-."

"I'm only doing this because it’s you Phones," he says. A hand goes up as if to brush through his hair, hesitates, then drops back down to handle the glass of whiskey. "The others, I-," He looks outside once more. "I can't talk to them.They don't know me. They didn't know him. You've seen us at our worst, and I..."

He falls silent and says no more. There's a vein working in his neck. She could hear it. The quick thump thump thumpof blood flow. She wants to give her quirk to him so he could hear it too: the reminder that he is alive to sit there and say what he needs to say.

Instead, she presses the urge into her grip on the recorder, starting anew.

"July 25th. 8:16 AM. I sit here with Katsuki Bakugou, hero alias Ground Zero, at the Wonder Duo's dining room table. It's a gray day but," She glances out to the clouds overhead. "The sky shows signs of clearing....Kats,"

She waits until the man looks at her, twin rubies dull in the light. Kyoka tries to put the ball in his court.

"Tell me about your husband."

"You know the story of how we met. Childhood friends. We didn't get along around puberty, but we were stuck together throughout UA whether I liked it or not. You were there. You've seen the worst of it."

"I never understood it though. Kirishima and Mina were childhood friends and they-,"  

"Were different from us. Or rather Izuku and I were different from the rest....We were always different. Complex. Simple and easy would've bored us I think."

Ice clinking. Fabric rustling as he rolls back the sleeves of his thermal. She takes a deep breath.

"....When did it change?"

If he could, he would gouge out his eyes and swallow them whole so he wouldn't have to see this crap.

"I didn't know they were dating." Mina mumbled into her cup of tea. He doesn't look up from where Deku has an arm slung around Round-Face's shoulder, plush pink lips pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Katsuki sneered.

"They deserve each other," He took a vicious bite from his apple, enjoying the crunch between his teeth as something raw and ugly reared its head within his gut. He felt sick and angry all at once. He wanted to retch. He wanted to fight. He wanted to take Izuku and....and...and...

He didn't know, and that was the worst of it.

"Kacchan! Let me go!" Deku's wrist was rough beneath his grip. The kid had scars, more than Katsuki could even count, all over his arms. He was beginning to suspect that he got them on purpose to look stronger than he really was. If that was the case, he had no qualms about laying down a few marks of his own. Lord knows he was good enough to do it.

"We're sparring nerd! Or are you trying to slack off now that you've got your little fancy ass quirk? You can't take up All Might's mantle if you're not willing to work."

That shut him up the rest of the way to the training room.

"I was supposed to have a date with Ochako tonight," The third-year muttered as he stripped off his shirt. Katsuki looked over the muscles in his back, how they flexed beneath the expanse of tan skin, shoulders covered in dark little constellations.

(And he burned.)

There was a thrill of satisfaction at the words. He swallowed it down lest he say something stupid.

But the feeling was so addictive he couldn't help but do the same thing all over again the next 'date night'. If Round Face wanted to distract the future #2 hero, she'd have to fight Katsuki for Deku's time.

It would have to come to a head eventually. He didn't expect it to take a whole fucking year, but he was nothing if not diligent. When Katsuki opened the door of his apartment one night to find Deku, bulked up from his time as Miruko's side-kick, lingering in his entryway, rain sticking his dark curls to his forehead as his eyes ran red with tears, he knew his work had finally paid off.

It was all he could do to hold back his victorious laughter as he pulled Deku in, peeled the wet clothes off his back, and pressed his advantage.

A hand pauses the recording.

"You broke them up?"

"I didn't break anything. Those two were doomed from the start. Two blatantly gay kids playing 'Heterosexual High School'. I did her a favor. Isn't she with that girl from Class B?"  

"I...You're a homewrecker Kats. What an asshole. No wonder she still shit talks about you."  

"She still hasn't gotten over it?"

She wants to laugh, but as soon as the impulse rises, the situation bears down on her once more, sobering her amusement into something bittersweet.  

"She didn't when I last saw her...But...I mean things are different now aren't they? I don't know how she feels."  

His tiny stutter of breath almost gets lost in the 'click' of the recorder. Scarlet eyes return to following the hare.

          The first couple months were a disaster. They were either called in for work, rained out, or something. Katsuki wasn't one for religion, but he couldn't help but feel as though karma had a gun to his head and was shaking him down for all he had.

Impromptu dates were the only option. They could never plan anything out, so they went on instinct, feeling their way through the darkness of the unknown, sprinting through each new thrill. It suited them. They weren't boring people, so the typical dating process wasn't up to their speed. Their dates had to be thrilling and unusual.

Katsuki loved each and every one.

But he had a favorite. This one stuck out cause it was the least expected, jarring in how its sheer inconvenience contradicted how much laughter bubbled out of his throat.

After all, not many people could say their boyfriend snuck into their hospital room, escaping from his own by the skin of his teeth, to take them on a date. But there Izuku was, a bouquet of 'Get Well Soon' flowers in his hand still dripping water onto the floor, bandages wrapped all over his chest disappearing below loose sweats. His house slippers scritched against the floor as he approached Katsuki's bed, green eyes alight with a certain glint that Katsuki knew meant trouble.

He was smiling before the shitty nerd could even speak.

"Hey hot stuff," That saucy wink only confirmed his suspicions. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Fuck yes."

His leg was broken in three different places, but that didn't matter. Deku hooked his arms under Katsuki's body bridal style, mindful of his own broken ribs, then leapt out the open window, curtains a flutter behind them as they went through the sky. He'd remember the way the wind whipped at his face, how his leg throbbed as the painkillers that made him drowsy began to wear off, but it was the hands clutching him tight that imprinted on his mind.

It didn't matter how much time passed. He'd be able to sketch those hands from memory. He knew their touch like he knew his own. Every mottled scar and each crook in his fingers, he could see them even if he went blind. There was no touch he knew to be gentler.

Even as they landed, and the ground quaked beneath the force of Deku's feet, he was brought down so softly, as if he were a thing to be treasured.

There was a picnic already set up. He could see the large tartan blanket from the sky. (Later he would find out Shitty Hair and Pinky helped out, but for that moment, his eyes were on the tall figure of his man with his broad back to him as he faced the world, spine strong and straight as the tree trunks that surrounded them.) The little details like the picnic basket, his old Victrola and a box of his vinyl were the ones his eyes had missed. He could smell spicy takeout from the Indian joint he and Kiri always went to, and a steadily burning teakwood candle that was definitely Mina's special touch.

A sudden fondness for his friends rose quick, but he tamped it down, fighting back the smile on his face.

He lost when Deku turned.

His grin was cheeky as he held up a bottle of jack, and Katsuki knew that was definitely the other man's idea. No one else paid attention to what he preferred to drink, just taking a single sniff, scrunching their nose and running away before he could convince them to try it.

"For the pain!" Deku said excitedly, knowing damn well their nurses would have their heads if they found out.

Ice clinks in the glass. Kyoka looks at the dregs of dark liquor at the bottom.

           He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the realization came.  They ate in relative comfort, drank more than they were supposed to well into night, watching the stars flicker into existence as the moon made its arc through the dark sky.

It might've been when they set their favorite record to play and Izuku lifted him up. Strength was always effortless when it came to him. It made Katsuki feel safe. He didn't need the protection but it didn't hurt to indulge for once, laying his cheek against a firm, barrel chest and enjoying the warmth of an embrace as they swayed. His feet dangled in the air, alcohol dulling the pain of the broken one into a mild thrum that was lost to the tingling sensation of something going right for once.

Yes, that was the night Katsuki realized this was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

           He stops talking. The tattoo around his finger is as bright as any ring, a simple neon green circlet, neon green lightning bolt where a diamond would've been. Kyoka licks her lips. The recorder is held tight in her hand, knuckles turning white till she realizes and loosens her grip. The two are silent. She searches for something, anything to say, but is interrupted by the thundering of little feet on the stairs, shoes slipping on the marble floors as wild shrieks rang through the hallway.

"Dad! Dad!"

And then comes the deluge. There are six of them, tumbling through the door still in their nightgowns, bedheads wild atop their heads and sleep still in the nooks of their eyes. They clamber around them, only a few sparing a curious glance at her before turning to their apparent father.

(When did this happen? Where was she for this part of their lives? All these tiny faces were unfamiliar to her.)

Katsuki holds the glass far from their reach, despite the only contents being ice, and smiles for the first time that day, shoving back all the grief and fatigue to quirk his lips.

"What's going on brats?"

"It's Aurore," The oldest, she presumes, starts with a confident bang. "Her quirk won't shut off! She broke the sink!"

As if hearing her name, the girl, the true oldest, question comes in.

Floats in, rather. Kyoka watches in mounting horror as the teen, no older than fifteen, comes over with terrible wails, black tendrils bursting from her hands like whips. But even this couldn't keep her attention.

No, it's the pink lightning all over her body that sets off alarms in her mind. She'd seen this before, in a different color.

"Her...Her quirk...it looks a lot like De-,"

Katsuki's hand slams down on the recorder, resounding slap making them all jump. He doesn't look at her as he gets up, one long lean line of power and authority.

"I've gotta take care of the kids. Come back tomorrow."

Then without another glance back, he takes the crying girl by her wrist, tugging her out to another part of the house. The other children follow, casting glances at her with wide bulbous eyes. Confused, and a little hurt, Kyoka collects her things and leaves.

           The hare is back. She thinks its warren is nearby. It's resting in the grass, uncaring of the exposure as she stares. The fog hasn't lifted. The sun stubbornly refuses to come out. Katsuki answers the door even before she walks all the way up to the great white porch. They go back to the dining room from yesterday. He has a pitcher of water set out for them both. She doesn't even think of the eerie silence until he explains,

"The kids have gone to their Grandma Inko's for the weekend."

"Oh, I didn't mind! You didn't have to-,"

"I think," he says softly. "That she needs them more than I do right now."

There are no words that she can say to that. Slipping into the easy folds of professionalism, she sets her recorder on the table. He looks out to watch the hare.

She begins.

"July 26th. 8:01 AM. Same place as yesterday, with the same fog. The house is empty-,"

"You can't write about them. The kids." He says abruptly. She sends him a look, forcibly erasing the last couple seconds from the tape. "Sorry, but I wanted to make that clear. The kids are...They need to stay safe."

"You have my word," She murmurs. He nods. She restarts.

"July 26th. 8:02 AM. Same place as yesterday, with the same fog. Katsuki sits at the head of the table, staring out the window at the same rabbit." She slides her gaze around the room, settling on a photo propped on a side table. She was there the day that photo was taken. She could hear the fireworks, the applause, the sweet, sweet music they danced to that night.

Twin smiles look back at her, imploring her to ask.

"Kats, tell me about him. If you could tell the world what you want them to remember about your husband, what would it be?"

It's a strange question. He turns at the sound of it, then follows her gaze to the portrait.

At once, he reaches for the whiskey on the rolling cart.

           The day of his wedding, he was nervous. It would turn out to be a fine affair; there wasn't a doubt in his mind about that, but that was only if Izuku didn't come to his senses and realize Katsuki was a selfish, rude prick with a temper and a mouth to match. He panicked. He fumbled over something as simple as his tie. His hands were shaking.

And he started to cry. It was only his Dad in the room, and Masaru was a complete bumbling mess when it came to tears, so the man left and, out of all the people he could've found to help, he found his wife.

Like he said. Complete bumbling mess.

Katsuki held back a scream when the old hag appeared. He nearly didn't invite her. She was the bridezilla of a wedding with no brides, paying strict detail to every fucking thing under the moon. But as soon as he saw her, the tears stopped short. He seethed instead, recoiling angrily as she fretted over him, tying his tie as she did back when he was a child.

"Kats'ki,"

He blinked. He hadn't heard his name pronounced like that since he was child. It turned his insides into mush, soft and malleable, quieting his curses till he was looking down at her with wide, blinking eyes.

(And wasn't that a wonder? She was a giant in his eyes once upon a time, but now she craned her neck to fix her gaze upon his face, weathered hands pressing against his cheeks as they did when he was a boy.)

"You're more like me than you're father. I suppose I need to be the one to tell you how not to screw this up-,"

He wanted to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him before smoothing out the lapels of his jacket.

"There's no marriage advice that applies to all couples. What worked for me and your father may not work for you and my darling Izuku, but nevertheless," Fingers paused, hesitated, then squeezed his shoulders. She pressed a firm kiss to his forehead."It must be said. Your passion is your greatest asset, but your temper is your worst. Never spend an entire day angry. Talk out your problems.

"Let yourself love him. Let that love consume you whole till it feels like there's nothing left but that warm, sticky feeling. And let him love you in return."

           Everything was golden that day. Ivory and gold. He remembered how the champagne flowed freely. It went down his mouth in waves, sweetness sticking under his tongue, traces of it on the curve of Izuku's lips when he kissed him.

Katsuki wasn't a dancer but he danced that night. There was never a moment when there wasn't a hand at his waist, or his own wrapped around a firm shoulder. But, no matter where his steps strayed, he always found himself back in the same embrace, held tight against a firm chest, nose brushing against the smooth curve of a neck smelling of pine and sandalwood.

"I love you," And if he could, he would tattoo the words onto his heart, to have and to hold until he took his last breath.

That day, in that glorious, reception hall of gold and ivory and pale white roses, they had their peace. For one brief, shining moment, there was a Camelot: a fairy tale in which greatness was golden, and they had the King Midas touch.

There would be none like it ever again.

"I was at your wedding," Kyoka says wistfully. "The press was in a frenzy for any pictures. TIME said it was bigger than the royal wedding. You two single-handedly brought a small city in Japan under the scrutiny of the world..." She sighs, recalling the breathlessness of it all, of sitting in the pew and feeling the tides of history wash over her skin. "It was a gorgeous ceremony."

"...Yes," he replies, eyes flickering away from the photo. "It was."

           The honeymoon was in Nice, France. It was strange. They weren't bombarded for photos. Either nobody knew them or nobody cared. They spent their days rolling around in the cool sheets of their hotel room, or laid out on the hot pebbles of the beach, toes in the rolling water of the tide. They would whisper secrets the other already knew in the dark, nibbling on cold pizza out by the shore, staring out at the vastness of the ocean as night brought them into its cool embrace. Izuku was a light even in that darkness. He was warm when the winds were cool, and still as the earth when the tide threatened to plunge them into the depths of the sea.

He could never turn it off, that thing that made him so bright. His moral arc was unshakeable, bending ever towards his idea of justice and peace. A symbol of strength in times when others were weak.

When Katsuki was weak.

Izuku said once that Katsuki was his image of victory. But age and experience taught him that the top spot wasn't everything. There was something greater than victory to strive for. It tasted just as sweet, but it was deeper, more profound.

He couldn't put a name to it but that...that thing was what he saw in Izuku. It was an innate glow. Every smile, twinkle of his eyes and even the smallest twitch of his crooked fingers bled with it.

He thought he could taste it on Izuku's skin. He certainly tried. When they lay in bed at night, he traced the map of the heavens with his lips, following each mottled scar that formed a road, memorizing each speckled freckle that formed a constellation against a tanned sky. With each kiss, each swipe of his tongue, he would taste the salt of his sweat but there would be something sweeter looming just beyond. He could spend hours searching for it, but Izuku, in all his niceties, was an impatient man.

The taste would barely brush his palette before the man would push him back into the soft mattress, set upon him with a vigor, and thrust into his heat till he saw fireworks.

Kyoka takes a long, heavy sip of water, resisting the urge to hide her cheeks behind her hands.

           He thought he could see it sometimes. There was a little girl going around Nice, the local thief. They saw her pickpocket an elderly couple and immediately sprang into action. But she was fast. In a blink, she could cross the distance Katsuki made with ten steps.

She couldn't control her quirk though. So when they started nearing the beach, and she looked back at them with fear, there was only one deadly end that could be made. He tried to yell at her to stop, but that only made her jump. Before he could reach her, she was drowning. He was in the waves in an explosion of red and gold, but Deku came from nowhere, black whips surrounding her little body till they lifted her out of the teeming waters.

He carried her to shore, back against the halo of the sun. Katsuki could see it then, in that moment. It wasn't the electric green glow of One for All, but something more. Colorless and without a name.

(Did that sound insane? Maybe he was insane.)

He rescued that little girl, listened to her tragic backstory of abandonment as Katsuki sat fuming off to the side, eyes watching for any sleight of her tiny hand that could lead to Deku being hurt.

(It never came. Not even in the years after. Even accidentally, Deku was the one person Aurore could never harm.)

Their time in Nice, though enlivened by the incident, slowed back down after that. Deku had made a name for himself, helping out in minor incidents because of course he did. Le lapin vert, or Lap-V according to the hipster kids that skated around. He was a hero, even on their honeymoon, simply because he knew no other way to be.

Katsuki didn't fight it. He didn't mind so long as there was a familiar arm slung over his waist in the night, steady breath on the back of his neck and that deep, profound feeling of safety.

They were golden. They were good.

Then they returned to work, spent years dedicating themselves to the tireless cause of justice, picking up orphaned children and taking them in as their own, picking up falling buildings, picking up society as a whole and carrying it on their backs until....

Unti Izuku died, and all things golden and good died with him.

He takes a moment. She allows it, watching with weary, burning eyes as he slips a worn pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He at least has the decency to get up and open the window, smoke filtering out into cool morning air, blending into the drab gray.

"Thought you gave up smoking."

"...It comes and goes."

 He watches the rabbit in the yard. The rabbit watches him back.

     He had the day off. He could still remember how warm the bed was that morning. The sun's light had cast their bedroom in a blissful glow, one in which he lounged in like a cat, stretching out his limbs with a great, silent yawn.

He had kissed Izuku's forehead, soft and tender with affection he wouldn't dare display if the other man were awake, then went to put on a pot of coffee. The children were still asleep, as they were wont to do those early summer mornings. Half-days at school meant they didn't have to go in until a little later, leaving the house in a comfortable silence punctured only by the scritch of his slippers and faint chimes of the Corinthian bells hanging outside the window over the sink. It was soon joined by the rumble of the coffee maker, and a tired sigh as a strong arm wrapped about his waist.

Izuku mumbled his 'good morn'ng' in the same tone he used every day.

(He didn't realize how much he would miss it till he struggled to recall the string of syllables in his mind, searching for the exact lilt on the vowels, that low tired thrum that sent shivers down his spine, as he stood alone in the silence of the following mornings.)

They had coffee and toast, talking about nothing of importance. Class A gossip. Hero Politics. The kids.

Izuku took his shower. Katsuki washed the dishes.

Izuku left. Katsuki kissed him goodbye.

"I love you," Izuku said. His eyes used to search Katsuki's own whenever he said it. He wasn't sure what the man was looking for. Confirmation? Reciprocation? Whatever it was, he had stopped looking after the fifth year of their marriage. That morning, as many others before it, there was nothing but a warm, steady gaze that made his lips curl and heat climb up the back of his neck.

That morning, as many others before it, all he said back was, "Later, nerd."

(He'd regret not saying 'I love you' more, but especially in that last moment. He'd replay it over and over again in his mind, just thinking about 'what if's. Other words he could've said to encompass the vast wealth of his emotions, ones that could properly define the black hole created in his chest when Izuku left him behind.)

     The call came in the afternoon. The kids had left for school an hour before. He waved them off as they boarded the bus, then entered the study to try and get a handle on his paperwork. His coffee had gone cold when his phone rang.

That was the first red flag. It wasn't his cell. It was his work phone. They didn't usually call him in if they had Deku and Shoto on the job. There was an unsettling feeling in his gut but he pushed it away, thinking it may have been a call about a promo opportunity.

He slid his finger against the cool glass.

Then Kota's panicked voice rang through the speaker and he felt the world slowly tick to a deafening halt.

"-Kugo! It's All for One! He's alive! He's here! Shoto and Creati are fighting him now but Deku is-! Deku is-!"

He had never thrown on his uniform faster. He was about to rocket out the door when his phone rang. His private cell. Something compelled him to glance at the screen, instinct warring  for a say with his mind already calculating the route he would take. Seeing his old teacher's name flash only cemented the dread building in his gut.

Aizawa wasn't the type to call him unless it was something serious. He picked up the phone, flying one-handed as he did so, adjusting his balance so that he didn't crash out of the sky.

"He's at Musutafu General. He's asking for you. I know they're calling you into the field, but he says it's urgent. He says....He says 'All Might would want you to have it.' That it.."  

A shuddered breath. "That it can't die with him."

He was on a course for the hospital before the line clicked. He didn't bother with the door, heart racing as he burst through a random window in a showering of glass. He was screaming; he knew it by how hot his throat was, the frightened eyes they sent his way as he marched through the building, boots scratching up the white linoleum floors, threatening to start a fight until Present Mic found him, clasped him by his old, wrinkled hand and led him into a private room.

His Izuku was there, lying in a bed, with no one around but Aizawa. No doctors. No nurses. No one who could help him. Katsuki was set to turn the entire place into a bonfire when green eyes turned to him and his sparks spluttered to a slow freeze.

"Get out," He ordered the extras. He couldn't even hear them when they complied, blood roaring in his ears like the sea.

(The sea. They used to go out and stare at it. Watch the sun drop below the gentle tide. What he would give for just onemore sunset.)

Izuku drew him close with nothing but his steady gaze. He was beautiful, even like this. Even as blood spattered his cheeks, leaking through his heavy bandages, as his eyes looked beyond him to see a greater, brighter horizon.

(Oh, how lucky he was to get to know God's favorite star.)

"Kiss me goodbye," It was a quiet rasp, easy as their mornings. He knew that tone, that series of syllables, mottled with something deeper than sleep.

He couldn't deny him when he was like this.

Katsuki pressed their lips together as he had countless times before, pushing every word left unsaid into this kiss, seeking a brief refuge in the dying warmth of his mouth.

'I love you...i've loved you...i will always love you'

Katsuki watched it go dim, that colorless, nameless thing. It slipped from Izuku's lifeless body to travel with his soul, off to a place he couldn't reach.

"What did he look like?"

"...Excuse me?"

"You said," She clears her throat, tar and oil in her mouth even as tears burn in her eyes. "You said Izuku was there, but what...what, um,...Can you describe to me what you saw?"

A silence yawns into the morning, stretching between them like the years passed. Katsuki looks at her evenly. When she turns away she still feels the scrutiny of his gaze. His voice is grinding gravel.

"You want me to talk about the body." He says it slowly, as if that would lessen the blow. "How the bandages couldn't hold him together? The way his legs were snapped, the hole in his gut that let you see clean through him? Do you want to hear about how his arms were slipping away from the bone? Do you want to hear about that Jirou? Do you really want me to describe what I saw? Or do the sick fucks of the world want to know what it looks like when a hero falls? What the Symbol of Strength looked like when he finally couldn't carry...couldn't..."

He sniffs. Wipes at his eyes. The tar in her mouth turns to ash, bitter and dry. She's never hated herself more than she does now.

"What happened after the hospital?"

He looks to the window. That rabbit hasn't left.

One for All pulsed in his veins as his sorrow joined his rage in a vicious cacophony.

They told him after, what he did. They told him of how the city burned in a blaze of terrifying glory. How he destroyed entire skyscrapers in his chase till he finally caught up to the man that took the sun from his skies. They told him how the newscasters were forced to stop broadcasting. The Hero Commission thought the imagery of the Symbol of Victory doing what he did best was too graphic for the public.

That was the worst part of it. The greatest triumph of his career and there was nothing to show for it but the shadow of a dead, lesser man.

He didn't remember any of it. He woke up to the blood on his hands, to the burned, ripped up pieces of a man once so feared lying at his feet, features unrecognizable from the dark, scarlet mess of blood, guts, and brain matter.

He didn't remember anything other than the face Izuku wore when he died. The fine curl of his lashes against the paling cheeks, how his freckles stood stark against his skin, lips blue but turned up into one final smile as he took his last breath.

He was golden, even in death. He was good.

"Are you crying?"

     She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes as a sense of shame comes over her. She was meant to be comforting him, and here she was, falling into his reluctant embrace, pressing her nose against the sweet scent of his skin and acrid smell of smoke.

"I'm sorry...I just...I-,' She throws professionalism to the wind and breaks down in sobs, tumultuous racking things that make her chest hot and her eyes ache.

For a moment, she wonders what made her think she could do this.

But it wasn't her choice at all was it? Her supervisor demanded it of her, thrusting the assignment her way thinking that since she was 'close to the man's husband; she'd be able to get the job done'. With no regard for her feelings, or how she felt about the situation.

At the end of the day, she isn't even the one that mattered. This broken man before her-this dying fire-, is a scoop really worth putting him through all of this? Whatever she's feeling, he must feel ten-fold.  He sits alone in this huge empty white house, drowning in memories of a golden time long gone, etched into every hall, haunting him at every corner, and here she is rubbing salt into the wounds.

Oh, she's a horrible person. A terrible friend. She has half a mind to throw the recorder out the window, but Katsuki slips it towards himself before she can even try. Crossing over to the window, he pulls out another cigarette.

"Go home Phones. Get some rest. We'll be back at it tomorrow."

She sniffs once more, collects the rest of her things, and finds her way out. From the driver's seat of her car, she can see him, a slim thing in one of the many grand windows, arms crossed as he leans out on the railing, a trail of smoke rising from his lips

Digging out her camera, she snaps a photo of the widow in the white house. She has to fight off the urge to retch the entire ride home.

"I don't smoke."

She glances up from her glass of water, warily eying the way he turned the recorder in his hands.

"31 minutes and 46 seconds in, you can yourself saying 'Thought you gave up on smoking.' Delete that part of the tape. I'm a pro-hero. The second half of the Wonder Duo. Kids look up to me. I don't smoke."

With that said, he slides the recorder back to her, takes a pack of cigs from his pocket, and lights up, reclining in his seat with shut eyes as the steady waft of nicotine fills the air.

Kyoka presses the starting button, and begins,

"July 27th. 8:30 AM. The dining room table again, with the grand old windows overlooking the yard. The fog doesn't seem to want to lift."

Twirling one of her ears with a finger, she looks at her notes, eying one question in particular her supervisor had underlined three times. There's no way she's going to be able to walk into his office without asking, but she's not sure if their friendship would survive the question.

"Did you regret it? Killing that villain?"

Scarlet eyes blink open but they are unseeing, glued to a spot just above her shoulder.

"Depends on who's asking. You, or the Tokyo Times?"

"...The Tokyo Times," she answers. There was nothing Kats hated more than a liar. She expected him to watch her with disappointment, to turn away and treat her coldly for the rest of the interview, but he simply shut his eyes once more.

"My actions were considered a necessary precaution to ensure the safety of the citizens of Japan," His voice is dull, clinical. She knows a practiced statement when she hears it. They were bland. The thump-thump-thump of his heart was at neutral pace, no emotion spurring it into action. "In order to preserve the peace of this new era, the greatest evil of the old had to be destroyed. I thank my fellow pros, the Hero Public Safety Commission, and all first responders for what they did that day. If he were alive,"

Katsuki pauses. The ice in his cup melts slowly beneath the heat of his grip, diluting the liquor it floats in.

His voice goes low, but does not shake.

"If he were here today, I am confident my late husband, Midoriya Izuku hero alias Deku, would be proud of what we accomplished as a city."

She does her duty in writing down what she could, scribbling a note to get a statement on other involved parties as soon as she could.

"Tell me how you felt about the funeral." She says as her pencils scratches.

"It was a ceremony worthy of a hero of Deku's statu-,"

"No." She lays a hand on top of his. "Tell me how you felt about the funeral."

A vein in his neck jumps. She can hear his heartbeat quicken with the rising fury.

"I hated it," He spat.

          When a hero died, they received what was called an 'Akira Service' named after the first shining man made of light  that decided to take up the mantle of 'hero'. It was a nationwide affair, drawing in colleagues, elites and politicians all intending to pay their respects with speeches, prayer, and moments of silence.

It had turned into an opportunity for influencers to rub elbows long before Katsuki was even a thought in his parents mind. The first he had ever been to was during  high school for Best Jeanist. He was still young then, unsure of what was going on.

The second he had gone to was for All Might. Deku was with him for that one, as they were not only the man's protégées but had recently burst through the top ten ranking. They stood in a crowd of thousands, surrounded by vultures and wolves, with nothing but the other and a few scattered friends for respite.

"Do not let my funeral be like this," Deku had whispered to him, after the third fancy insurance company head came around to cozy up to them.  "This is hell on earth. Hi! How are you?"

Katsuki couldn't reply then, when one of the Commission's higher ups approached with a false, wide grin, but he made that promise in his heart. He was sure that Izuku would do the same if Katsuki met his end first.

  But if All Might's funeral as the retired Symbol of Peace was huge, then Izuku's death as a young, active hero-the Symbol of Strength made into a martyr- was beyond measure. People flew in from all over the globe to 'pay their respects'. It seemed like everyone Izuku had ever met had come out of the woodwork.

(It was strange, because when one of them traveled, the other wasn't too far behind. Izuku had hardly met anyone that Katsuki didn't eventually meet himself, and there were a lot of unfamiliar faces in the crowd that day.)

He intended a quiet service for those close to them. For it to be done quickly and efficiently as possible, that his husband's body would be cremated and the ashes buried in the grounds of their home, beneath the wisteria tree, where Katsuki could go every morning and pay his private tributes.

They stole that right from under him. They locked him up for 'his own safety' for days on end and by the time he was released his private cell, stumbling into the arms of his parents, he was politely informed that 'due to the nature of the situation, preparations were already underway for the burial of his partner Midoriya Izuku hero alias Deku, if we would like to be a part he would be expected to show up at the following address in the morning dressed appropriately for the followings series of events-'

     Sorrow didn't taste bitter. He wasn't sure where that idea came from, but he knew it was wrong. It tasted like nothing. It tasted like his taste buds shutting down before the rest of his body, like a muggy fog he was constantly stumbling through, blind to the path, reaching out to find his way.

Sorrow tasted like what it meant to lose, and to be lost all at once.

His only grace was that he wasn't alone through this. He had his parents behind him, Inko at his side weeping into his shoulder, the kids with bowed heads and red eyes. All gathered around the oakwood casket that was still and quiet, muted in the wake of the winter sun.

He had his friends. Eijirou would maintain his quirk for as long as he needed to, beating back paparazzi with his gentle sternness as they made their procession through the streets. Sero blocked off a 'safe' area for family and friends during the service, tape strong with Kaminari's electricity latched onto it, crackling when anyone got too close without Eijirou's go-ahead.

Mina had organized what she could. Whatever control she, Inko and Mitsuki could wrestle from the Hero Public Safety commission, they did. She was the one that stressed over the tiny details, of white roses vs calla lillies and the order of speeches, that made sure the family was the first to be notified of everything that went on, that argued on their behalf when they couldn't keep up and halted the entire process until they agreed to release Katsuki, that they acknowledged that he needed to be there.

She, and the rest of the squad had-.

"Are you crying again Phones?"

"I am so, so sorry Kats. You needed me and I...I didn't show up. I missed it," She heaves through a sob, ears filled with a static that made her head hurt with something other than a deep-rooted resentment. He doesn't look her in the eyes. His heartbeat increases. She feels his toes tapping against the floor as he struggles to find the words to say.

(And here she was again, acting selfishly when Kats was the one who needed the help. When had she become this person?)

"It's not your fault. You had work-."

"That's no excuse. You went to him when he needed you. Mina dropped a modeling gig in the middle of Rome to come home."

"What you do is a little more important than-,"

"No." She brings her hands to the table, eyes willing him to look at her, to see how serious she was. It's not until dim scarlet flicker to her watery gaze that she continues, "I want to fix this. Please tell me how to fix it."

"...You can't bring him back."

"I would if I could."

"I know, but you can't." His cigarette is snuffed out against the marble floors, ash ground out under his heel. He pulls out a pack of tissues from his pocket and an envelope along with it.

"If you really want to help me out, publish this letter along with the article." he says. The white glides along the table, easy as a leaf on the wind. Curious, she unfolds it, wiping away the lingering blur of tears. Voice clear in the silence, she begins to read,

"...And it is with great pride and sense of accomplishment that I announce my retirement from the hero profession for good. It is evident now, more than ever, that the world is ready for a new era of peace, and I look forward to seizing my final great victory by raising those heroes. Yours, in service....Bakugou Katsuki hero alias Ground Zero....What the hellis this?"

"A resignation letter," Kyoka says to her supervisor, wincing. She hates it when he yells; the decibel levels are horrible on her ears. She gets the shakes, tucking herself in tighter.

"There's no way the Hero Commission is going to let their new #1 retire! Has his agency even approved this? We're not publishing this shit! They'll have my head! I asked you to go out there and get me a story Jirou! Not whatever this is!"

The letter is thrown into the air as his hand slams onto his desk.

"I can't believe this! You were chosen because I thought you'd be able to play on his weaknesses! I thought you could make him spill his secrets! A hero gone insane! The Widow: A Murderer! That was the angle I wanted then you come back here with this piece that makes him seem so-! ...So human! That savage Bakugou Katsuki! Our Symbol of Victory! No, you go back to that bastard's house and-"

She watches him rant. How his cheeks turn red with his rage. How fast his heart beats as he begins to fully get into the swing of it.

And she thinks back. She remembers how excited she was when she first got this job, how the squad had thrown her such a huge party. She remembers how proud of her Denki was and how he kissed her that night.

She remembers how the first date she had to blow off turned into twenty. The loneliness she felt when he finally broke up with her, swearing to always be friends. But she wasn't seeing much of her friends either. Then she started travelling abroad.

People started getting married (she's still alone.)

People started having kids (does she still have a chance now at 42?)

Then people started dying, and she was filled with nothing more than regret. The man is still screaming at her but, for the first time in her life, the world goes quiet.

"I quit." Kyoka says.

Collecting her things, she snatches the article out of the man's hands and walks out. The sound of the door slamming on his spluttering gives her a little thrill. She can't help but grin, kicking her feet into a little skip as she goes through the doors, and breathes in the fresh air of freedom.

As for her article , she publishes it anonymously with Put Your Hands Up News.

Her alias? Phones. It fits her she thinks.

The Priest: There comes a time in man's search for meaning when one realizes that there are no answers. And when you come to that, horrible unavoidable realization, you accept it or you kill yourself. Or you simply stop searching...I have lived a blessed life. And yet every night, when I climb into bed, turn off the lights, and stare into the dark, I wonder...'Is this all there is?'

Jackie Kennedy:...You wonder?

The Priest: Every soul on this planet does. But then, when morning comes, we all wake up and make a pot of coffee.  

-Jackie

     Miles away from the rush of the city, Katsuki sits on his porch, water and a cigarette in hand. That damn rabbit is back again. Doing nothing. Looking at him.

He stares right back.

Inside, the children are playing. Their shouts and laughter ring high in the air, over the bluster of the early autumn winds. He thinks the noise will scare the rabbit away but it perks up, craning its ears to listen. It looks at him once more, nose twitching and black eyes curious. He nods at it, then, for a brief ludicrous moment, thinks he sees it smile.

"Later nerd," he says. (Because, even after all the 'what ifs', it turns out that there are no words more fitting than those two.)

Katsuki watches it as it hops back to the cover of the forest, disappearing under the lavender falls of the wisteria tree. There was a certain lightness in his heart with each step the thing took.  Snuffing out his cigarette, he lingers on the steps of the porch as the children wander out to join him. They run barefoot in the wet grass.

He waits. He watches.

They scream. They laugh. They look to him with great expectations.

Katsuki slips off his shoes and goes to join his children in the cool, morning dew. The fog lifts within the hour. The sun is out by noon.

The day is golden.

[robinskey]

Could you maybe write something for Steve where the reader and him date and they always get made fun of by the gang and by Robin but they all love her, and one day Steve and her fight and they all take her side. Thank you so much, and I understand if you can't write it. Thank you❤

Taking Sides

A/N: Thank you for requesting, anon! This took me approximately forever and a day, but I loved every minute of writing it. :) I got a little carried away with the story (as I usually do), so there’s a lot more under the cut. 

Warnings: swearing, angst

When you started dating Steve Harrington, you didn’t expect to gain a bunch of kids, too.

Of course, Steve wasn’t their biological father. The oldest of his friends was seventeen and the rest fourteen. However, they all acted more like nine-year-olds. They had the maturity of fifth-graders at best.

Whenever you were around them, there was constant, merciless, inevitable teasing. Usually, it was over the little things-when you and Steve wore matching sweaters at Christmas time, the way Steve did anything you asked him to without question, or how the two of you always laughed at each other’s terrible jokes. You quickly learned to avoid PDA unless you wanted to deal with incessant mocking. For example, you once accidentally referred to Steve as your “baby boy” in front of Dustin. The kid laughed until he ran out of oxygen in his lungs. Then, he promised that he would exclusively refer to Steve as “baby boy” from now on.

Originally, their jokes and snide remarks started out as a way to test you. They had to make sure you were good enough for their beloved Steve, after all. Before long, though, the gang accepted you as one of their own. Nonetheless, the teasing didn’t stop after they decided they liked you. If anything, it only worsened.

An endless string of dirty jokes ensued every time you and Steve arrived somewhere late because you’d “just lost track of time”-even if you actually had simply forgotten to keep an eye on the clock. Robin often wondered aloud how someone as smart as you could end up with a person whose two brain cells bounced around his skull like ping-pong balls. And on one occasion, you even caught El whispering something to Max about whether or not you and Steve ever had “happy screams” together.

The harassment was relentless. Nonetheless, if it meant spending just a little longer with your favorite person in the world, you could deal with it. Besides, by now, you were in too deep to simply walk out. Steve’s friends had begun to care for you almost as much as they loved him. In some cases, it even seemed like they liked you just a little bit more.

One such situation occurred in the winter of 1985.

It started off as a normal night. You, Robin, Steve, and the party were hanging out in the Wheelers’ basement. After weeks of begging, Will had finally wrangled the gang into a D&D campaign. Max and El, who’d never played, both scrunched up their faces in confusion as Will emphatically explained-or rather, tried to explain-to them the rules.

The kids were crammed around a table with dice, paper, and pens in the middle. When Mike suggested that El sit on his lap “to conserve space,” no one questioned it. After all, Mike was the ringleader of the group, and no one would dare to mess his superhuman girlfriend.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t even sit next to your boyfriend on the sofa-not in the Wheeler house, at least. Once, shortly after you and Steve started dating, the kids had left you and Steve alone in the basement for five minutes while they grabbed snacks. Because you were still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it was simply impossible to keep your hands off each other. A little peck on the lips quickly morphed into a full-on makeout session. The two of you got so carried away that you forgot the kids were coming back. Upon returning, they discovered their favorite babysitter shoving his tongue down his girlfriend’s throat. Dustin awkwardly cleared his throat, and Steve gave such a start that he tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor.

After that scarring incident, Mike decreed that, under his roof, you and Steve needed to maintain three inches of distance between each other at all times. It was a completely original rule that he definitely hadn’t ripped off from somewhere, and Robin found it hilarious. She always made sure to act as a barrier separating the two of you “to prevent any funny business.”

Tonight was no different. Robin had squeezed into the narrow space between you and Steve while the three of you chatted on the couch. Now, she was ranting about a particularly annoying regular at Hawkins Family Video.

“…and he wastes so much of my time. Like, the store can be swamped, and he’ll still come up to the desk, looking for recommendations. He constantly asks if we have any recent releases, even though I’ve told him on multiple occasions that new shipments only arrive once a month.”

“Jeez. He must really like movies,” Steve said. When you scoffed, he frowned at you. “What? You don’t think he likes movies?”

“He might. But I’m pretty sure he just likes Robin,” you said. The girl in question rolled her eyes toward the heavens. You didn’t appreciate the attitude. “Oh, come on. He’s clearly just trying to get your attention. Nobody actually likes movies that much.”

“Hey!” Steve pouted. “I like movies!”

Robin glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Really, dingus? Because when we interviewed for this stupid job, you couldn’t even name one.”

“Well, yeah, but that was only because I was nervous,” Steve said. “I clammed up.”

“Sure it was.” Robin leaned her head back against the couch and turned her face toward you. “You really think he’s trying to flirt with me?”

“Yes, I do. Not that it matters, though. I’m pretty sure sweaty middle-aged guys who wear nothing but stained tank tops is pretty much the opposite of your ‘type.’”

Robin chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. I think my type is ‘straight girls who are way out of my league.’”

“Hey, that’s my type, too!”

You and Robin both looked over at Steve. A smug smirk tugged at his pink lips; he was clearly proud of the clever contribution he’d just made to the conversation. It was cheesy, sure, but you still appreciated his slightly-clumsy attempt at complimenting you. However, Robin was quick to knock him down a peg.

“First of all, the whole ‘out-of-your-league’ thing is obvious, because you’re…in a league of your own, dingus.” Robin drew a tiny dot in the air with her pointer finger-“This is you”-and another, larger circle off to the side-“and this is everyone else. Besides” -Robin clapped her hands together once- “you’re clearly not just into straight girls. You had a crush on me, remember?”

“At the time, I didn’t know…“ Steve’s voice trailed off as blush crept onto his features.

“No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I was any less of a lesbian when you confessed your love for me,” Robin said, eliciting a laugh from you and a glare from Steve.

“You’re the exception, not the rule,” he said defensively. “And I didn’t confess my love for you. The only girls I’ve ever said the ‘L-word’ to are Y/N and-”

“Nancy!” Robin exclaimed.

The name hit you like a slap in the face. Of course Steve had loved Nancy-you knew that-but Robin didn’t have run around yelling about it. You were about to mention that to Robin when you noticed someone standing at the foot of the stairs to the basement.

Someone needed to put a bell on Nancy Wheeler. She moved gracefully as a snowflake floating to the earth; her footfalls pattered against the ground like sprinkling rain. You sometimes wondered if weighed anything at all, or if helium ran through her blood instead of oxygen, always lifting her toward the heavens. She even dressed like an ethereal being, always wearing pastels, frills, lace, or a combination of all three.

Surprisingly, though, none of those elements had made their way into Nancy’s outfit that night. She wore a form-fitting red dress and matching lipstick. Her hair fell to her shoulders in loose curls, and the low neckline of her dress exposed her collarbones. She wore a touch more makeup than usual; in addition to the lipstick, she had applied a thin layer of eyeliner, blush on her already-rosy cheeks, and dark mascara to elongate her lashes. In spite of the skinny, unstable heels on her feet, Nancy’s smooth gait never faltered as she sauntered toward the sofa.

“Hey, Robin,” she said, then gave you and your boyfriend a nod of acknowledgment. “Steve. Y/N.”

Following Nancy’s lukewarm greeting, the four of you slipped into an uncomfortable quietness. You didn’t have anything personally against Nancy, but you preferred to keep her at a distance. Even though she and Steve had been broken up for more than two years, you knew how strongly he’d felt about her. Those feelings had definitely faded. However, you occasionally questioned whether or not the burning torch he carried for his first serious girlfriend had ever completely burned out.

The reminder from earlier that, once upon a time, Steve had confessed his love for Nancy Wheeler certainly didn’t help the situation. You glanced over at your boyfriend and immediately wished you hadn’t. He gazed at Nancy with wide, somewhat-wishful eyes.

“So,” Robin said, finally breaking the silence, “I assume this isn’t a lounge-around-the-house look.” She gestured to the red dress.

“No, it’s not,” Nancy said with a terse, nervous laugh. “Holly’s staying with a friend tonight, so my mom and dad offered to take Jonathan and me out for our anniversary. Celebrating our one-year with my parents isn’t exactly ideal, but they suggested this really fancy restaurant that we definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. I tried to dress nice enough that I’ll be able to blend in-”

“You’re trying to blend in? In that?” Steve blurted.

Nancy’s face fell. “What? You think I’m still underdressed?”

“No, no, no, it’s not that. That’s not what I meant,” Steve stammered. “Red’s a good color on you, actually. You look great.”

The awkward silence returned with a vengeance. Heavy tension hung in the air like thick smog, soundlessly choking you. It even penetrated the little bubble the Dungeons-and-Dragons-playing-preteens had formed around themselves and settled over their conversation, too. No one dared to speak a word.

“We’re ready to go, sweetheart!” Mrs. Wheeler called.

Nancy mumbled something of a goodbye before turning on her heel and sprinting up the stairs. You waited for the sound of chattering voices growing muffled and a door slamming shut. Then, you looked over at Steve.

If he liked red so much, he must have loved the color of your skin.

“What the hell was that, Harrington?” you demanded. Robin, who was still parked in between the two of you, pressed into the back of the sofa, trying to create as much distance as possible.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, big stupid doe eyes glimmering with perplexity. “I just gave her a compliment.”

“You’re not serious.” When he shrugged, your eyebrows flew into your hairline, and your voice rose an octave. “Steve, you were practically drooling over her.”

“She has a boyfriend, Y/N.”

“Yeah, and you have a girlfriend. But that didn’t stop you from flirting with your ex.”

An echo of “ooh”s sounded from the card table with the kids. When you raised your gaze, it met six pairs of eyes. A couple of them sheepishly cast their gaze downward, but the rest continued to stare unapologetically.

“I need some air.” You hopped up off the couch, grabbed your jacket, and stomped up the stairs. As soon as you were out of sight, everyone’s gaze switched back to the other half of the unhappy couple.

Steve made no move to follow after you. Instead, he stayed put on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed into a pout. If it hadn’t been for his excessively long limbs and the hint of stubble on his chin, one might have mistaken the almost-twenty-year-old for a toddler in time-out.

Once again, Robin was the first one to speak. “I can’t believe-”

“I can’t believe her, either,” Steve interjected. “God, overreact much?”

Robin puffed up her cheeks with air, then blew it out. “Actually, Steve, it’s you I can’t believe. That was a dick move.”

Steve leapt to his feet. His hands landed on his hips as he glowered down at Robin and asked, “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Robin stood up, too. Even though Steve’s legs were a couple inches longer, it seemed like Robin towered over him as she said, “I’m on the side of reason.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not in this situation,” she said. “You’re in the wrong here, bud.”

Max’s whoop of agreement drew Steve’s attention to the kids. El nodded fervently. Steve, however, waved his hand dismissively and wrote them off with, “Of course you think that. You’re girls.” He turned toward the boys with a desperate glimmer in his eye. “I mean, you guys agree that she’s blowing this out of proportion, right?”

Much to Steve’s chagrin, they all shook their heads. With the exception of Will, all of the boys had something to say. Unfortunately, none of it was what Steve wanted to hear. Mike claimed that it definitely seemed like Steve was hitting on his sister, and Dustin suggested he stay away from Jonathan for a few days, unless he wanted to get his ass kicked again. Lucas warned that Steve was in “really deep shit.”

“Like, take the deepest shit you’ve ever been in,” he was saying, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Then, multiply that by a hundred, maybe even a thousand-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I messed up.” Steve plopped back down on the couch. He ran his fingers through his hair and wondered aloud about what you were thinking right now.

“She’s probably debating whether or not to key your car,” Max piped up. El stifled a giggle.

“God, I hope not. I drove one of my dad’s cars over here, and if that thing comes home with even a scratch on it, I’m dead meat.”

(Fortunately, you hadn’t built up a sufficient store of rage to fuel a desire to do permanent damage to Steve’s vehicle. You were, however, angry enough to trace profanity into the dust on the car. While your act of vengeance would go unnoticed for several days, Mr. Harrington would eventually notice the word “shitface” written in looping cursive on each of the dirty windows and ask his son what kind of dumbass prank he thought he was pulling.)

“Okay, so, what do I do?”

“Go talk to her, dingus,” Robin said, nudging his foot with her own. 

“What do I say?”

“Tell her you know you messed up,” Lucas said.

“And that you’re sorry,” El added.

“And that while Nancy’s hot, Y/N is way hotter,” Dustin suggested, eliciting a “Dude, that’s my sister!” and “Hey, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!” from Mike and Steve respectively. The three immediately began bickering.

“Shut up!” Max interrupted. “While you’re here arguing about which hotness-which is incredibly objectifying, by the way-Y/N is out there in the cold, waiting for her asshole of a boyfriend.”

After Max’s harsh words, Steve looked to Robin for reassurance. However, his friend gazed back without an ounce of sympathy. “I hate to agree with your children, but Max is right. You should go before she decides you’re not coming and starts to walk home or something.”

Steve nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Then, he rose to his feet and retraced the path you’d taken minutes before-up the stairs, through the house, and into the crisp December air. The obnoxiously creaky door announced Steve’s arrival. However, the figure sitting on the porch gave no indication of recognition. 

You sat on the Wheelers’ front step, curled into yourself. You blew air into your bare hands in a vain attempt to warm them. Little clouds of your breath floated toward the star-speckled sky. Your thin jacket wasn’t nearly heavy enough to withstand the bitter cold of the Indiana winter; as a gust of wind blew across the porch, a shudder ran down your spine.

Automatically, Steve shrugged out of his coat. When he draped it over your shoulders, you continued staring straight ahead. As Steve sat on the ground beside you, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from wrapping his arm around you, too. The two of you simply existed there together silently for a moment while Steve gathered his thoughts.

“Look, Y/N. I’m really sorry for what I said in there-how I acted.”

Aside from a sniffle, you made no other noise, so Steve continued.

“I made a dumb comment, and then I made the situation a hell of a lot worse by-by everything I did, honestly,” he said. “I was a real dick.”

“Yeah, you were,” you said, finally breaking your unofficial vow of silence. 

“I know.” Steve heaved a hefty sigh. For the next few moments, only the whistling wind dared to make a sound.

Then, you spoke a single word: “Steve.” He’d heard his name hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. Yet, he’d never heard it like that. No one had ever woven such deep sorrow into his five-letter name.

And when you turned your head, your bloodshot eyes conveyed the exact same sentiment with a million times the intensity.

“You still love Nancy, don’t you?” Though a “no” automatically rolled off his tongue, your somber expression never faltered. The strain was evident in your voice as you told him, “Don’t lie to me.”

Suddenly, the lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. He choked out, “Why would you say that?”

You scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I saw the way you looked at her, Steve,” you said, though it came out as more of a hiss.

Steve’s single brain cell once again bounced around in his mostly-hollow skull. This time, it desperately tried to connect the dots. What were you talking about? Honestly, as soon as Nancy had come down the stairs in that red dress, he’d blacked out a little. Steve figured he had to be dreaming; he couldn’t believe Nancy Wheeler, who Tommy H and Carol had long referred to as “the school prude”, wasn’t covered from head to toe. 

What you’d mistaken for desire was genuinely just surprise. Steve communicated this to you to this best of his ability, and while your boyfriend certainly wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, you got the point. “Besides,” he said, “you’re way hotter than Nancy Wheeler.”

You gave a small “tsk” vaguely reminiscent of a laugh. “Did Dustin tell you to say that or something?”

“…maybe,” he admitted. When you gave him a playful shove, he knew all was forgiven.

“You know, someday, you’re going to run into trouble, getting dating advice from literal children,” you said. 

“It works in your favor, though. They always take your side.” 

Steve reached for your hand. You watched as your fingers intertwined and winced as his icy palm met yours. It felt more like holding hands with a popsicle than a warm-blooded boy.

“Come on,” you said, pulling him to his feet and starting the three-foot-trek to the front door. “Let’s go inside before you get hypothermia.”

“Wait.” A gentle tug of your hand brought you spinning back into Steve’s arms. “While I can still touch you without Mike Wheeler chiding us for PDA…” 

Steve pressed his blue-hued lips to yours. Somehow, his mouth was still warm-the only part of him, aside from his heart, that the elements could never truly touch, try as they may. Steve tasted of chocolate and sickly-sweet marshmallows from the hot cocoa Mrs. Wheeler had made earlier. This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed him. Yet, Steve still left you lightheaded after he pulled away, as though he’d sucked all of the oxygen right out of your lungs.

“I love you, you know that?” he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. “I really, really love you.”

“I love you, too, dork.” You kissed his cheek before untangled yourself from him and slipping your palm back into his. “Now, come on. I need to thank your friends.”

“Thank them?” Steve asked, tilting his head slightly like a confused puppy. 

“Yeah,” you said with a wink. “I’ve got to thank them for taking my side.”

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[wanderingdungeoneer]

War & Peace

War & Peace

This came to me a little while back as I had been reading a few different headcanons and fics. I figured I’d put in my own 2 cents and get in on the magic. I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I welcome constructive criticism. I know the perspective jumps back and forth a bit, and I tried to make it as simple as possible, but my brain likes to jump around before I finish stuff. I tried to keep them as close to in character as possible, but I’m sure I’ll get some notes about that :P This is a repost from my previous blog under the same name.   He stood at the top of the hill, his best friend by his side. He looked to her, taking in the curls in her blonde princess hair, now pulled up into a ponytail. The smoothness of her lightly tanned skin underneath the dirt and grime. Her stormy grey eyes, how her brows knit when she was planning something. He couldn’t help but smile. He had cared for her since he was twelve. Now, at twenty-two, he had a decade with her as a friend, eight years as his best friend, and five years as the love of his life. For ten years, he had faced the worst the world could throw at him. He proved his innocence at twelve. He helped retrieve the Golden Fleece and save his Best Satyr friend, Grover at thirteen. At fourteen, he traveled across country to save his best friend from a Titan. At fifteen, he braved Daedalus’ Labyrinth to stop an invasion of Camp Half-Blood with nothing more than the people he needed most by his side. At sixteen, he was responsible for the choice that saved the western world and he fought Kronos just to get there. At seventeen, side by side with his best friend and love of his life, he stopped Gaea from rising. He fought for every inch he and Annabeth took in Tartarus. It had changed him. It changed her, and he knew it. For months, even years afterwards, they both would have nightmares about their trek through the deepest, darkest pit. It only brought them closer, as only they knew how to soothe each other’s nightmares. Now, today, he was standing in front of a new army. An army seeking revenge for stopping the rise of Gaea. It really put a damper in what he had planned for today.

              “I love you Wise Girl.” He said, lacing his fingers with hers. He squeezed her hand three times in rapid succession, a habit he had fallen into a year and a half ago. She returned the squeezes. He turned his head at the vast army of monsters ahead of them. His smile faded. He reached into his pocket, feeling his pen having reappeared there. He pulled it from his pocket, and he felt her eyes on him.

              “I love you too, Seaweed Brain.” He looked at her. She had that smile across her lips, which usually meant he had done something stupid, but she still loved him. He gazed into her eyes for what seemed an eternity and she returned his gaze. Those stormy grey eyes had always enveloped him. At first, they had intimidated him, but for the past five years they had given him strength and solace. His smile returned.

              “Marry me,” Percy felt himself say, without thinking. Annabeth’s smile grew.

              “Ask me again when this is over. Then we’ll see.” She said, kissing him. “Come back to me,” she said, releasing his grip, drawing her knife. The look in her eyes told him that she was scared, but she wouldn’t show it.

              “Always. I’m never leaving you again.” Percy promised. He uncapped his pen, and it elongated into his xiphos, Riptide. His attention turned to the monsters ahead of him. He felt a familiar tugging in his gut, and a roaring in his ears. He was the Son of Poseidon, and the rage of the Sea was begging to be unleashed. He had felt this multiple times before, but this time, restraint wasn’t an option.

              He charged.

              Annabeth watched him charge the army, just as he had done many times before, with her at his side. His green eyes had enveloped her, just as it had done before. Today was a special day, Percy had told her, and he had planned a few things. She didn’t know what he was talking about, because it had taken her by surprise. Marry me. Was that it? A proposal? Annabeth couldn’t think about that right now. She had a camp to lead. Marry me echoed in her head, and something in her chest fluttered, and melted. She raised her arm to signal preparation for the catapults behind her. The Son of Poseidon, her seaweed brain, was going to be overwhelmed. A tear tugged at the corner of her eye, and she heard him shout the signal, “FOR OLYMPUS!”

              Her arm dropped, as she screamed, “FIRE!” and the celestial bronze boulders flew from over the hill. The boulders rained like brimstone falling from the sky, smashing into the enemy line, causing many to panic, while others were vaporized from the impact and the heat. Her leg muscles tensed, ready to charge, but the phalanx wasn’t in place yet, and the Romans from Camp Jupiter wouldn’t make it in time. A voice from behind her shouted, “Go get him, Wise Girl. I got it!” It was Clarisse La Rue. Her legs had minds of their own and she tore after Percy. I’m coming, Seaweed Brain. Behind her, she could hear the daughter of Ares shouting orders to form lines, and to immediately charge when formed.

              He was a whirlwind. Parrying, slashing, stabbing, rolling, dodging. Every monster his sword connected with, they exploded into dust. They weren’t going to take his life, his family away from him. Even if he had to go down fighting, he would make sure they were safe. But he could feel his strength waning. He felt a sharp, white-hot pain spring from his left side, and he let out a horrible cry of pain. He slashed with Riptide, and the monster exploded into dust. He dropped to one knee; his sword pointed to the ground to give him support.

              “Percy!” Annabeth’s voice was too far to help him. He breathed heavily, and he could feel his life force draining. Fear welled up in his chest as he gripped the hilt of Riptide in both hands. He was becoming surrounded. The monsters around him were laughing in delight. They finally caught up to the Son of Poseidon. He looked behind him and saw the love of his life charging toward him. He held out an arm, a signal for her to stop. He had a plan. He looked up at the heavens, offering a silent prayer to Athena. Please, I know you hate me, but please, please, pleeeease help me this one time! He glanced at the monsters around him. This was a horrible idea. The King of bad ideas. What choice did he have? Oh, gods. He was terrified, and he knew he was unlikely to receive any help from the goddess, Athena. Annabeth was coming, but she was too slow. He was on his own.

              “Perseus Jackson, you are mine!” a monster sneered and prepared to pounce. Percy returned the monster’s gaze with his wolf’s stare. It recoiled for a moment, but regained its posture with a snarl.

“No,” Percy growled, “I will never be yours. I’m spoken for.” He gripped his sword and lifted it up, and with a roar like a wave crashing upon the shore, he drove his sword into the earth.

              Annabeth stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what Percy was doing. Think! Annabeth thought, but the earth began to quake underneath her feet, and fissures opened around her beloved. He turned to look at her, and he began to sink into the earth. She stared in horror, “Not again…” she muttered to herself, and sprinted for Percy.

              Percy pulled up his sword and leapt for his life. He wasn’t really the best at rock climbing, but when adrenaline filled his veins, he felt he could do anything. His sword fell into the pit he had just created, and for a moment he panicked, thinking it would be the last time he would ever see that sword. Still, he began to climb. Twice, he nearly lost his footing. Twice his hand holds slipped from his grasp. Above him, a figure appeared. “Percy! Take my hand!”

              Annabeth. He gazed up at her, and the ice-cold feeling that had gripped his heart began to melt. His arms ached. He was shaking. His arms finally came under his control, and he began to crawl back from the depths, each breath burning in his lungs. He was finally within arm’s length of the love of his life, and he used what left of his strength to reach for her. He missed. As he was starting to slip once again, but Annabeth didn’t miss the second time. Her hand grasped his forearm, and Percy found his purchase with hers.

              “You made a promise Seaweed Brain! Never again!” Percy couldn’t help but smile. He could see her face, hidden partially in shadow. Her eyebrows knit in concern. He thought he could almost see a tear in the corner of her eye.

“I’ll always come home to you, Wise Girl.” He grunted; Annabeth helped haul him up. A second face appeared next to Annabeth, then a third, then a fourth. Clarisse, Connor, and Travis Stoll. They each grabbed a part of Percy’s arms and helped pull him up. Behind them, a roar of victory from the campers erupted. Percy didn’t care. Annabeth was there, her hands cupped around his face.

“Hey, Wise Girl.” He whispered.

“Hey, Seaweed Brain.” She replied, pulling him into a kiss. He happily returned the kiss, but finally, the searing pain returned to him. His Orange Camp Half-Blood tee shirt was soaked on his left side with blood. His vision lost focus, darkness creeping up on the outskirts of his vision. He slipped from her grasp and rolled to his side, the blood pooling beside him. It was all he could do to reach up to caress Annabeth’s face when his vision finally fell dark. The last thing he could remember hearing was his name being called and pleading for a medic.

No. No. No. NO! Annabeth cradled Percy’s head in her lap. His pulse was getting weaker. She quickly tore his shirt off him. Percy was more toned than most people would have given him credit for, with a plethora of scars from various encounters with monsters. With his tanned skin, it provided a kind of network of stories most people wouldn’t have understood. She had compared his scars to that of a mature great white with various scars on its flesh the first time she had gotten a good look at a few of his scars. The thought had made Percy laugh, of course, but she knew he liked it. He had once described how some of the guys on the swim team had been put off by the scars when they had first seen them. Percy refused to tell the mortals about how he got them, because 1) they wouldn’t have believed him anyway, and 2) he liked that it gave him an air of mystery that the guys couldn’t figure out. It also freaked out the competitors when they saw him. But that was years ago.

Under different circumstances, she would have marveled at the sight of her… boyfriend? Fiancé? She had thought about this before. He wasn’t just her best friend or even boyfriend. He was far more than that, and for much longer than what the mortals in their school in New York had thought. Did she already think of him as her husband? Probably. With all that time with him, he might as well have been. He had inadvertently proposed to her when they were twelve, though it wasn’t strictly binding. But the more she thought about it, the more she preferred to think it was. Marry me. With all her attention on Percy, she didn’t notice that the army hadn’t advanced to go in for the final blow. When she took her eyes off Percy, she saw why. A large crevasse had been opened in front of Half-Blood Hill, fifteen feet wide and maybe thirty feet long. under normal circumstances, she would have marveled at the amount of power Percy possessed, but she was more concerned with how big of a chunk had been taken out of him.

Will Solace had appeared next to her, “Annabeth, I know you’re worried, but I need your help. I need you to hold down on his wound and keep his head elevated, okay?”

“He’s weak, Will.” Annabeth stated, doing as he asked. “I don’t know how much longer he’s got… Where’s Nico when you need him?”

“Oh, I’ve been asking myself that question for the past two days. He’s late.”

“Focus, Solace!” Annabeth urged. He immediately got back to work wrapping Percy’s wound. The dressing was finished within moments, in which Will Solace moved on to his next step: Pulse check. Weak and getting weaker. He muttered a curse in ancient Greek. He pulled out some ambrosia and nectar.

“Keep his head steady. I don’t want to choke him.” As Will began to drain his canteen of nectar, Annabeth felt a sense of dread come over her. Please… Don’t leave me, Annabeth thought. She planted a kiss Percy’s breath was shallow and labored but became deeper with every passing moment. It appeared that the ambrosia and nectar were doing their job. This was her chance.

“Solace, help me.” She said, slipping Percy’s right arm over her shoulders. Annabeth placed a hand over the small of his back out of pure instinct. It wasn’t his Achilles heel any longer, not since he had to cross the Little Tiber, but she couldn’t let go of the memory of when he had told her where he could be killed. Will made a look of protest but thought against voicing his concerns. He slipped Percy’s left arm over his shoulders and together, they lifted the fallen hero to his feet. He made a groan of pain, his eyes fluttered open for a moment.

“Annabeth–?” he croaked.

“I’m here Seaweed Brain. You bought us some time. Now come on! Put your legs to use!”

He groaned a reply but managed to gain a footing. He grasped the shoulders of Annabeth’s and Will’s shirts. The phalanx at the foot of the hill split open, allowing the trio to enter the camp. Percy started muttering curses in ancient Greek.

“Put me down, by the tree. Thalia’s tree.” Percy growled. Annabeth and Will looked at each other but complied. They sat him up against the Pine tree; he grimaced as he looked once again to the heavens. He looked past them, at the army past the fissure he had created. Will looked at the two of them.

“I’ll need to make sure the medical supplies are ready to go. Need me to grab anything while I’m at the big house? I can grab Chiron…”

“A bottle of water?” Annabeth replied, remembering a crucial piece of information, “And a cup of salt? And don’t get Chiron. He needs to make sure the party ponies won’t destroy anything.” Will arched his eyebrow, thought about it, and nodded. He sprinted down the hill towards the big house.

“Today did not go as I planned.” Percy winced, holding his side. Annabeth knitted her brow, a smile fighting to show.

“You were going to propose.” Annabeth said matter-of-factly. Percy looked at her, a glint in his sea green eyes. A smile crawled across his paled face, and he nodded silently.

“I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it to be memorable for the best reasons,” the smile faded from his face into a frown. Percy broke eye contact briefly to look at the army he had fought single handedly. Annabeth sat down on his good side, as Percy wrestled a small, black velvet box from his pocket. Percy struggled to open the box, until Annabeth finally took it from his hands and opened it for him. She gasped, taking in the details of the ring.

The band was a polished silver, with the sides of the inset in the designs of Athena’s cabin symbol: The Owl. The rest of the band was simple bonded silver, with an inscription on the interior, reading as

Κάτι μόνιμο

“Something permanent,” Annabeth sighed. She continued studying the ring. There were two gems inset on the ring. The gems inset were a Ruby and a Peridot. Their birthstones. She looked at Percy, a glint in her eye that said You’re incredible. She slid the ring down her left finger, and it fit perfectly. Percy gleamed, the answer clear, even to him. She wrapped her arms around her fiancé’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his lips. She let her lips attack his, cupping his face in her hands. He returned the kisses, with just as much fervor. His lips were as salty as the sea.

“I love you, Perseus Jackson.” Annabeth breathed into his ear.

“I love you, too, soon-to-be Annabeth Jackson.” Percy replied huskily. A tingle went down his spine when she said his full name.

“Did I miss something?” Will said, panting as he charged back up the hill. He had the ingredients in hand. The couple looked up at Will, and Annabeth couldn’t keep her smile down.

“He’s going to be okay.” She said, reaching for the water bottle and cup of salt. Will handed over the ingredients, blinking in confusion. She poured some of the water into the cup of salt and handed the remaining bottle to Percy. He started swigging down the water. The color began to come back to him almost as fast as it had when the nectar and ambrosia were administered. Annabeth quickly mixed the salt with the water. It was counter intuitive, making salt water to drink. Any rational mortal or demigod would tell you that. Even Poseidon himself would tell you that. But this was Percy, the son of Poseidon. In between purified freshwater sips, he would take in a bit of the salt water. Annabeth’s brain was screaming at her to stop him from drinking, but before she could act, Percy made the one logical move she could think of: After only sipping twice from the salt water mixture, he dumped the rest over his head. This gave Percy just enough strength to stand. He took a deep breath and thrusted a hand in his pocket. He retrieved his magical sword, Riptide. His shoulders fell an inch, as if a weight had been lifted. It was then when Will took notice of what really had happened.

“Well, damn. Now I miss all the fun. Congratulations, you two.” Will smiled. Percy looked at Will, and then to Annabeth. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

“It wasn’t what I had planned, but what matters is her answer.” Percy had that trouble-maker’s side smile on his face. Annabeth looked up at him, a good couple inches shorter than Percy and gave her signature lip curl at him. Almost as soon as it was there, it was gone, as her brow knitted and looked at the hostile forces. The sun was beginning to set.

“Oh, gods.” Annabeth breathed. Where had the time gone? It was just the early afternoon.

“Damn.” Percy cursed. “Looks like we’re gonna be late for that reservation dinner.”

[conceptstage]

Hey Molly

For Mollymauk Lives Fest Day Five: Resurrection AO3

The diamonds are heavy when they carry them in. Five years of scrimping and saving, of taking dangerous jobs because they paid so damn well, of taking low paying jobs just to make something instead of sitting around the Xorhaus moping, and it had all come to this. The table was draped with several blankets and pillows as they poured the diamonds out of the bags and into the center, spreading them out in a single layer. Jester was bouncing on the tips of her toes, biting her lip nervously. “Do you think we have enough?” she asked. Her hair had grown out in the last several years, though she had pulled all of it up into a high bun on the back of her head to keep it out of her way for this. There was a single strand of curled blue hair that dangled near her nose and she blew it away.

Her style had matured over the years, though her dress this day was still pink. It was less frilly and puffy and hung to the middle of her thighs. She’d ditched the corset and her old, green, short cloak but the Traveler still had a prominent place on the sash around her hips.

Caduceus was standing next to her with a large, kind hand on her shoulder. It had been a while since he’d come to visit them. The Grove was doing well now but Shady Creek was always a threat to the Wildmother’s expanding reach and influence in the area so he preferred not to leave Nila and her tribe alone there more than a few times a year, though he made a special trip out when they sent him a letter saying that they had finally acquired enough money. His hair was so long now it reached his still thin hips and was beautifully braided over his shoulder. He still wore the same armor but there were dents and cuts on it that told the story of his adventures. When he had left with them the very first time, the carapace had been spotless.

“I’m not the best at math, but Caleb has assured me that he has done the calculations. It will be enough.”

Fjord carried in the next bag and dumped it over onto the table, using his scarred, calloused hands to spread them out. He gave Jester a playful smile. “I’m surprised Veth hasn’t nicked any of it yet.” His real accent sounded smooth and Jester still felt a little thrill when she heard it, even after so long. His undercut had grown out to match the rest of his hair and there was only a bit more black than gray in it anymore. His usual armor had been put aside for today and he was wearing a loose gray tunic and black pants. The amulet around his neck had the Wildmother’s symbol carved into it, handmade by Caduceus for the Wildmother’s champion.

Veth kicked him in the back of the knee. Her dark brown hair was trimmed short with a shiny blue sapphire comb pushed through it. The comb had been a gift from Caleb after she’d been changed back into a halfling almost a year ago. She was wearing a handmade dress decorated with buttons and embroidery. Jester had helped her design it but she had sewn it all herself. “Dick!” she said, her three month old daughter in one arm and a small bag of diamonds in the other.

Fjord chuckled. “When Jessie’s first word is ‘Dick’ I’m gonna laugh so fucking hard.”

“So the fuck will I, what makes you so goddamn special?” Luc and Yeza were standing off to the side, leaning against each other and watching the scene with interest but not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a Mighty Nein moment. Veth handed off Jessie to Fjord so that she could climb up the step stool to dump the gems.

Fjord grinned at the baby and held her close, letting her hold onto his finger. “Hey there, little baby. Are you excited to meet-” he paused. “What will she call him? I’m Uncle Fjord, she’s Auntie Jester…”

Veth shrugged and held her arms out to take her child back. “He can pick. I get the feeling he’s not gonna like Uncle or Auntie. Those are too standard, he’ll want something more dramatic.”

They both looked up with Yasha stepped in the door of the war room, three bags of diamonds in her fists. Veth gave her a small smile and hurried over to stand beside her husband and clear the way. Fjord stepped around the table to stand beside Jester, gently pulling her close and kissing her hair. She looked up at him with a smile.

Yasha hesitated in the doorway, then stepped fully inside. “Beau has the last bag,” she said, sitting down two of the bags on the ground beside the table and dumping them out one by one. Her hair was fully black now, still braided in some places but mostly still loose around her shoulders. There was a scar, almost three years old now, across her left eye, leaving it milky white and difficult to see through.

When she had dumped out the last bag, Beau stepped into the doorway, a single bag tossed over her shoulder. “This it?” She asked, meeting everyone’s eyes one by one. She still routinely shaved her undercut but had grown out the hair on top of her head and it was braided down her back. Jester said it made her look like a storybook heroine. She didn’t wear blue anymore, not since the falling out with the Cobalt Soul and Dairon. She wore a dark green crop top and tan harem pants with jade on her wrists and neck and a gold ring in her nose.

Fjord nodded. “Caleb said there were ten bags, that’s nine empty bags over there. I think we’re ready once you pour out yours.”

She nodded and stepped towards the table, dumping out the last bag of diamonds. Veth and Yeza exchanged a silent glance and he nodded, kissing her cheek and taking their daughter. He lead Luc out of the room but the boy paused to kiss his mother’s cheek as well. She smiled, her eyes a little wet and whispered to him that she would see him at dinner.

After they left and Beau finished dumping her diamonds, Caleb stepped into the room. He paused in the doorway and took a deep breath, looking over the table and doing some math in his head. He nodded, confident that they had enough. His red-brown hair was about shoulder length and tied back at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a nice shirt and a leather vest. His pants were pressed and his shoes were shined. He only broke out this outfit on special occasions. None of them had seen it since Luc’s last birthday party. He had a silk scarf around his neck to half hide the slowly fading burn scar that crawled up his neck from under his shirt and ended just under his ear and behind the back of his jaw.

“You look very nice, Caleb,” Jester said, smiling kindly.

“You look fucking uncomfortable,” Beau said, smirking. “You sure you want him to wake up and think you still have that giant stick up your ass after all these years?”

Caleb flipped her off. He had become very free with that over the last several years. She secretly considered it a bonding moment every time. When he came up to the table she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He sighed and laid his hand over hers to comfort her back. They had both been waiting for this moment since they’d seen their friend murdered five years ago. Everyone started forming a circle around the table, looking down at the pile of diamonds. Beau reached out to put a hand on Yasha’s arm. Her expression was stoic, but they knew her well enough to see how nervous and excited she was.

“Ready?” Fjord asked.

“As we will ever be,” muttered Caleb.

Beau grinned. “Let’s get the fucking show on the road.”

Caduceus held his hands out over the table. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath and, suddenly, the diamonds shattered. They started floating around in the air above the table like a collection of stars, glittering in the moonlight that shone in the Rosohna sky outside the window.

After a few more seconds of quiet muttering, the diamonds started to coalesce in the shape of a body. There was a pop and the diamonds disappeared, leaving a tattooed purple body on the table in their place. At first, no one breathed. No one shifted, no one spoke.

Then, red tiefling eyes blinked open and looked around at them in confusion, then recognition. He grinned tiredly with pointed teeth and the entire room let out the breath it’d been holding.

“Hey, Molly.”

[colorofyourhair]

Hung Jury

Prompt:

Prompt Rating: M/E

Note: Requests are open again so please see [this] post for rules if you’d like to make one! As tumblr is the only site that will let me list an individual rating per chapter I’ll rate them as content demands. However the larger compilation on both FFN and AO3 are rated M.

Also posted here:

FFN

AO3

“I know what you're thinking,” the boy said with an arrogant grin. Jellal cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. The heat of the room was starting to bother him. Ridiculous that the department hadn't fixed the air conditioning yet.

“And what's that?”

“If you keep me in this dank ass room long enough I'll give you a name.”

“First of all, punk –” Laxus pushed off the wall and poked his finger toward Erik irritably. Jellal bit back a sigh and stood. He grasped his partner's sleeve and tugged him toward the door. Erik's grin didn't fade even as Jellal shut the door closed behind them. “Can you believe that kid?” Laxus muttered, smoothing his shirt before rolling up his sleeves.

“Yeah, I can. It's you I can't believe. Are you really going to snap on a seventeen year old? His ego doesn't need the boost, Dreyar, get your shit together.”

“It's a fucking sauna in there and if I have to look at his dumbass grin –”

“Go get a snickers. I'll handle the rest.” Laxus's scowl deepened but he didn't argue. He yanked his sleeve up and over a final fold and stalked away. Jellal followed suit with his own sleeves and stepped back into the interrogation room.

“Your partner can't handle the heat?” Erik asked, grin still in place. Jellal's mouth curled into his own grin and the boy's smile flinched for the first time. He pulled a file from the stack and flipped it open. Erik shifted in his seat when Jellal slid a pair of security footage photos toward him.

“Do any of these look familiar?”

“No,” Erik mumbled.

“No?” Jellal leaned forward. “Are you sure? Not even a little?”

“Look, man –”

“What about this one?” Jellal slid a third photo across the table. The image was not of the best quality but the facial scar and hair were unmistakable. Erik slumped in his chair. “Ringing a bell now?”

“You can't prove that's me,” Erik said, grasping at previous bravado.

“You know I can. I'd rather not, though. We know who did the breaking and taking, that much is on camera.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“This.” Jellal collected the three photos and provided a fourth. “Who is he?” He watched Erik glance at the picture and then divert his eyes to pick at a scab on his arm.

“I don't know.”

“You're sure about that?”

“I never seen him before.”

Jellal sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What's going to happen to your sister if you get sent away again, Erik? You're old enough to be her guardian now and that's a big job you can't do from jail.”

“I can handle it.”

“Yeah? Then why are you running around with drug dealers? That's a far cry from what went down last night. That's serious jail time.”

“I – I haven't done any of that.”

“Not yet, no. These people, Erik, they don't care about you and they're not the type to let you just dip a toe in.” Erik said nothing and Jellal pursed his lips. He pulled out the last photo in the file and slid it across the table. “What about her?”

Erik stopped fidgeting and glanced at the photos again. He flicked the photo of the unknown man away from him as if it would burn him, and tapped his finger on the edge of the woman's. “I can help you with her.”

He found Laxus standing in front of an oscillating desk fan sipping a can of soda. Jellal snorted and tossed the files on his desk.

“Comfortable?”

“Damn right I am,” Laxus muttered. “Did you get a name off the kid?”

“Not the one I was hoping for.”

“You weren't gonna get anything important out of him. He's a grunt. Did you book him?”

“No, it's not worth it. His sister's only eight and I can't fucking stand the idea of calling social services.”

“He'll just do it again.”

“He's our only lead on the Six Prayers right now and I know I can get him to give me a bigger name. I'm not locking him up just to prove a point. It's stupid and the little girl will be the one who suffers.”

Laxus barked out a laugh and flopped into his desk chair. “You're a softie.”

“Maybe.”

Ultear Milkovich's presence was announced by the click of her heels on linoleum and the cloud of perfume that always followed her around. She rapped her knuckles on the edge of Jellal's desk and smirked.

“Detectives,” her smile dripped with something that made Jellal's skin crawl. “Do you know where I just came from?”

“Man Eaters Not So Anonymous?” Laxus asked nonchalantly, sipping from his soda can. She didn't flinch in the slightest – which only served to make Jellal feel even more uneasy.

“The courthouse,” she said, not skipping a beat.

“How shocking.” Laxus muttered. Despite his partner's flippancy with the District Attorney, her eyes zeroed in on Jellal.

“I have a new ADA,” she said coyly. “I personally find her to be over qualified for this position and too much of a bleeding heart – kind of like someone else I know – but she'll do. We need some fresh blood around here.”

“What's that got to do with us?” Laxus asked, crushing his soda can. Ultear's eyes never left Jellal's.

“Just thought you should know,” she said in an overly sweet voice. She sashayed away on her typical pair of ridiculously high heels.

“I can't stand that woman,” Laxus said under his breath. “I know, I know, we're all on the same side but still. There's something about her that rubs me the wrong way.”

Jellal stared after Ultear and jumped when Laxus threw his empty soda can at him.

“Hey, Fernandes!”

“Hm?”

“You got a thing for her or something? I'd watch out, she's the type to suck your soul out right through your dick.”

Jellal curled his lip. “No.”

“Let's bail on this heat trap and get some lunch. I'm starving.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jellal grabbed his jacket and followed Laxus from the building. The sun wasn't much better than the broken AC in the station but the diner Laxus made a bee-line for would be cool enough on the inside. There was much better food nearby but Jellal knew they weren't going to Mira's for the burgers.

The courthouse wasn't his favorite place to be. High ceilings and the pomp of Lady Justice made him feel claustrophobic. Jellal hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugged. Even now, as an adult and on the proper end of the law, Jellal couldn't shake the first impressions this building had left on him when he'd been nothing but a scrappy kid like Erik.

“Detective Fernandes?” The title was formal but the voice was so familiar it sliced him right in two. Jellal whirled around. He saw her hair first – always the hair – it was like a sickness with him. She had it twisted up and off her shoulders but he felt trapped by it all the same.

“Erza?” he breathed. Her name, her hair, her voice. All the broken pieces of himself came tumbling from the closet he'd stuffed them into all those years ago when she'd been a clerk and he'd still been in a uniform riding around the city writing traffic tickets. The closet door had never been hung right in the first place and the hinges were bound to fail at the first sign of pressure.

“Ms. Scarlet is probably better,” she muttered, and shifted the bag on her shoulder. Erza's heels weren't nearly as high as Ultear's but even if they had been she'd still be several inches shorter than him. He stepped back so as not to tower over her.

“Right. My apologies, Ms. Scarlet.” Jellal's heart pounded violently against his chest and it hurt – it hurt so good.

“Uh, I just needed to –”

“There you are Ms. Scarlet.” Ultear's voice rattled the marbles in Jellal's head and he frowned. Erza's eyes hadn't left his but he had to tear his own away. He had to. “I see you've found him. Detective, Ms. Scarlet will be handling the Six Prayers case. I assume your witness is ready?”

“My witness still hasn't been properly protected,” Jellal snapped, focusing entirely on Ultear.

“The state agreed to –”

“He's seventeen with an eight year old sibling he has sole custody of. The state can do better.” Jellal enjoyed the frustrated way Ultear's eyebrows drew together.

“He's a minor component to a street gang. This isn't a federal case, Detective”

“Then I guess you don't have a witness.” Jellal spun on his heel and counted his steps away from her. He made it to five before Ultear stopped him. It took every ounce of maturity not to smirk.

“Fine! We'll work something out. I'll send Ms. Scarlet over tomorrow with an offer.”

Jellal turned back around and slid his hands into his pockets with an arrogance he knew Ultear hated. “How generous of you. We'll look it over.”

“Since when are cops on the side of criminals?”

“Somebody has to look out for who falls underfoot when cases get moving. My witness isn't the one on trial.” Jellal couldn't bring himself to look at Erza again. He moved quickly down the hallway and out of the building. Once through the doors, he sucked in a deep, shaking breath.

“So the new ADA is your ex?” Laxus asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Yep.”

“And Milkovich knew that the other day when she came through the station?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds messy,” Laxus grunted.

“Divorce usually is,” Jellal mumbled, finishing off his coffee. He didn't have to look up to know Laxus was pulling his signature eyebrow twitch.

“Divorce?” he hissed. “I didn't know you were married! Why didn't I know that about you? We're fucking partners, man.”

“Sorry, I guess it didn't come up what with all the small talk we have time to do.” Jellal finally glanced at his partner. Laxus was clearly offended. “It doesn't matter. Everybody does stupid shit in college. We were too young to know what we were doing and it ended in a great big mess. I don't know why she's back here, but it doesn't matter.”

“You aren't going to ask?”

“It's none of my business.” Jellal eyed Laxus's incredulous expression. “You've been hanging out with Mirajane too long. You're turning into a gossip.”

“Any other skeletons you've got in your closet, Fernandes?” Laxus asked, returning to his familiar gruff tone. “Is this gonna change the case?”

“Nope.” Jellal crumpled his napkin and left it on his plate.

“Full immunity and a safehouse?” Jellal muttered as he looked over the official papers Ultear had sent.

“You aren't even an attorney, much less his,” Erza said with annoyance. “It's not really up to you.”

“My witness is seventeen. He may be considered an adult in the eyes of the law but he's still vulnerable.” He glanced up at her and couldn't stop himself from grinning. “This all came from Ultear? She signed off on it so quickly after huffing and puffing in the courthouse yesterday?” Erza looked away and Jellal openly enjoyed the fact that she still blushed easily.

“It's my case, Detective. She trusts me to handle it appropriately.”

“I see. Well I appreciate your consideration, Ms. Scarlet. I'll be in touch.”

“We're going to court in a week.”

“Yes, it says that right here,” he said, still grinning. Jellal didn't know where his obnoxious confidence was coming from but he didn't hate it. Making Erza huff in indignation still pleased him.

“I was just making sure you understood that. When you say you'll be in touch, I need to know when that'll be.”

“Still a stickler for schedules, huh?” Jellal's internal voice of reason was screaming at him to stop messing with her.

“This is serious, Jellal.” She didn't realize she'd called him by his first name until it fell from her lips. Her face turned red and his grin widened. “I didn't – I mean –” Jellal enjoyed her floundering but decided – in his first reasonable act since she'd approached his desk – to have mercy.

“It's fine, Ms. Scarlet. It happens. I'll be in touch before the weekend. How's that?”

“Thank you,” she said in an embarrassed breath. Erza's hair swished around her shoulders when she spun around to vacate the station, leaving a puff of lavender scented air behind her.

“What the fuck was that?” Laxus asked – he'd almost forgotten his partner was even there. Jellal fell into his own chair and sighed. Now that the high had worn off, he wished he'd kept things shorter. More professional.

“What was what?”

“You were ruthless with her.”

“You haven't seen ruthless,” Jellal murmured.

“She's giving the kid a really good deal to roll on his buddies. Why'd you bat her around like that? Overkill, man.”

“Leave it alone.” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “I'm getting out of here. It's late and I'm starving. You staying or do you want to grab dinner?”

“Nah, I need to finish up these reports.”

Jellal left Laxus squinting at his laptop screen and stalked through the station. In truth, he didn't know why he'd behaved that way with Erza. Their relationship had been a lesson in pendulum swings. The highs were amazing and being with her had made him happier than he'd ever been in his life but the lows – Jellal didn't care to revisit the lows. Too many hours working and not enough hours talking. They'd walked away mad with words still in the queue – which he now realized was not the way to end anything.

“Stop itching your wrists,” Jellal hissed. “It makes you look like a junkie.”

“I can't help it!” Erik shot back, tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves. “This thing itches and I don't even want to be wearing it.”

“It makes you look less like an urchin.”

“Well, I am an urchin. So the fuck what?”

“Don't fucking swear in the courthouse!”

Erik smirked. “You just did, Detective. Such a good role model.” Jellal rolled his eyes and sighed. As much as he hated the courthouse, he needed to make sure Erik didn't bail at the last minute. “Where's my sister?”

“Don't worry about it,” Jellal muttered. “She's with one of the clerks.”

“All you tell me to do is worry about her and when I do you tell me not to?”

“You need to focus on your testimony. Your sister will be fine.” Erik slumped over on the bench and Jellal joined him. “I hate it here too. It'll be over soon enough.”

“You're a cop,” Erik muttered. “Isn't this like your second home?”

“Not anymore. Hopefully you won't be back here too often after today.”

“Trust me, all this bullshit is enough for me not to mess with the Prayers ever again. I'm taking my sister to my grandma's and we're gonna do things right.”

“Good.” Jellal leaned back against the wall. “If you manage that you'll be doing better than me at your age.”

Jellal wasn't allowed in the courtroom during Erik's testimony. He waited anxiously on the bench outside and counted every fleck in the berber carpet between his feet. When he reached eight-hundred and fifty-seven, the door swung open and Erza escorted Erik back into the hallway. Jellal stood and his eyes flit between them.

“Well?”

“I think we have a solid case. The jury is out and all we can do is wait.”

“Can I see my sister now?” Erik asked under his breath. He wouldn't look at Jellal or Erza.

“Of course,” Erza said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The motion caught Jellal's eye and he looked away quickly. “I'll get her and the two of you are free to go.” She disappeared around the corner and Erik exhaled heavily. He fell back onto the bench and gazed up at the ceiling.

“What's the matter?” Jellal asked.

“That lawyer lady.”

“What about her?”

“She's hot. I can't even look at her.” Erik shook his head. “Every time she asked me a question I felt like I was gonna die.” Jellal snorted and then caught himself.

“She's an Assistant District Attorney. It doesn't matter what she looks like.”

“You weren't the one under fire, man. It was like being murdered in the best way possible.”

“Yeah well –” Jellal bit his tongue and glanced back down the hallway. Erza rounded the corner and knelt in front of the little girl. He couldn't hear the conversation but the girl smiled and took a packet of cookies from Erza.

Erik stood at their approach and took his sister's hand. “Hey, squirt. Ready to get out of her?” She nodded and waved to Erza one last time. “Hope I don't see you again, Fernandes,” Erik said before leading his sister away.

When Jellal turned around, Erza had gone.

“Vodka cranberry, please. Two limes.” The voice beside him was soft and Jellal knocked back the rest of his bourbon.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the empty glass.

“Well, I thought I deserved a drink for winning my first case as an ADA.” Jellal's eyes slid over to where the bartender placed Erza's drink on a fresh napkin. “I didn't expect to see you, though.”

“No?” He finally turned to her. “Your boss didn't mention this is a popular spot for courthouse stragglers?”

“She didn't.” Erza sipped her drink and smiled. God he still loved her smile. It was a beautiful disaster waiting to happen. “But since you put it that way, I should be asking what you're doing here. The courthouse hasn't ever been your haunt. Unless things have changed now that you're a detective.”

“They haven't,” he muttered pushing his glass toward the opposite side of the bar and signaling the bartender. In not so many words she'd stripped him down. He'd come here on purpose like a fucking addict.

“I see.”

“Why are you in Crocus, Erza?” He watched her stir the ice and lime wedges. She'd always left the rinds in her glass instead of leaving them on the napkin.

“Because I needed a change. Magnolia is boring.”

“So your big change was to come back here?”

“Should I lie, Jellal? Should I say I meant to never run into you? I think you'd know that's bullshit.”

“You took a job you knew would be incredibly stressful just because we might run into each other?” Jellal snorted and watched her finish off her cocktail. The ice left her lips sparkling in the low light of the bar.

“Not exactly.”

“I always forget talking in circles is part of your job.” Jellal dug out his wallet and left enough cash on the bar for his tab and tip. Trying to get Erza to say what he needed would be harder than prying confessions from smartass kids like Erik. He turned to leave but her hand shot out to grasp his wrist and he froze.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Don't leave.”

“We've played this game already, Erza,” he said turning his head only halfway back toward her. “We know how it ends.”

“If you're so sure, why did you come here tonight?” Her question stung like the worst – best – kind of salve.

“So what if I'm not sure? What does that mean? Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results?” Her grip on his wrist tightened and he turned the rest of the way around. Her eyes were wide. The vodka cranberry hadn't been her first drink of the evening just like the bourbon hadn't been his.

“Maybe we're insane, then,” she whispered. She slid off her stool and stepped close to him. Her fingers brushed over the buttons of his shirt and Jellal couldn't even stop her. Instead, he pulled out his wallet again and added to the pile of cash. If he hurt her again he wanted to at least know he'd bought the drinks.

Her lips didn't taste like cranberry or vodka. The flavor was the kind of red wine so dry and bitter it would bring anyone who wasn't Erza to tears. She'd always liked the bite.

He wasn't familiar with her apartment but the wall nearest her front door was perfect. Jellal pressed her against it and kissed her with a wild force. Her breath caught in her throat and her nails dug into his shoulder through his shirt. Erza had always been skilled with buttons and his didn't last long – the shirt wound up on the floor quickly. He tugged the zipper of her dress down and didn't remove any of it before his palms were greedily taking in the expanse of her back. She was still as smooth as he remembered.

“Erza –”

“We can talk later, Jellal,” she breathed tugging at the button keeping his pants clothed. “Just fuck me.” There was a certain lilt to her demand that made him smile wickedly. His pants hit the floor at the same time as her dress. Determined to learn everything he'd missed in the last several years, Jellal's eyes took all of her in. Her bra was black lace and his hand still knew the exact swell of her breasts – even if she no longer wore cheap cotton.

Jellal hooked his finger into the waist of her panties – more black lace – and pulled them down. He didn't bother to find out if she was wet because he didn't need to. The way she closed her eyes and bit at his bottom lip reminded him of so many times before. His hand grasped her thigh and hitched it over his hip. Her back slid against the wall and he thrust inside of her with years worth of frustrated want.

He would always want Erza.

Her thighs gripped him tightly and her tongue entered his mouth with an equal force. Erza's breaths reached a peak and her mouth tore away from his and rolled back to hit the wall. In a show of forethought he didn't leave a mark on her neck but he could've. She wouldn't have stopped him.

“There, right there,” she bit out, kissing him again with the intent to bruise. Jellal lifted her leg higher and relished every clench, every spasm, every pulse of her climax.

“Fuck,” he gasped and emptied himself inside of her without a thought to pulling out. He hoped she was still on the pill. Erza's feet hit the floor but she didn't let him go.

“Bed,” she whispered, digging her fingernails into his forearm. Her bedroom was dark but the light from the window was good enough. Before she fell into the mattress, he pulled her against his chest. Careful not to damage the expensive bra he unhooked each clasp and tossed it aside.

Jellal filled his hands with her breasts and held her back against his chest. The scent of her lavender shampoo filled his nostrils and her hair brushed over his lips. Strands of scarlet twisted over his fingers when he finally bent her over the bed.

It crossed his mind to get the fuck out before she woke but he couldn't. For all his greedy roughness the night before, he didn't want to go. The softness of morning soothed every sting she'd left – both on his shoulders and on his heart.

“You didn't leave,” she whispered drawing his attention. His instinct was to smile but Jellal pushed it down. He wasn't sure if it would be real and lying to Erza wasn't something he wanted to do even now.

“No, I didn't leave.” His eyes never left hers as he reached for a curl of hair stuck to her shoulder. It was one thing to have it tangle in his hands as he fucked her, but this... this was something else.

[digitalyogesh]

POST INFLAMMATORY HYPERPIGMENTATION

Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation (PIH), those dim stamps or spots abandoned after a pimple recuperates, can be much more irritating and troubling than pimples themselves. PIH is staining of the skin that follows a fiery injury. It is the skin’s regular reaction to inflammation.1 Why do those dim spots create, and how would you be able to deal with dispose of them?

the most effective method to treat dull skin break out marks

Verywell/Emily Roberts

Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation Symptoms

Post-incendiary hyperpigmentation as a rule resembles a level space of staining on the skin. It can go in shading from white, pink, red, purple, earthy colored, or dark, contingent upon your skin tone and profundity of the staining.

PIH can create in all skin types, however it will in general be more extreme and longer-going on for individuals with medium to dim compositions. PIH influences the two people similarly.

This photograph contains content that a few group may discover realistic or upsetting.

SEE PHOTO

post-provocative hyperpigmentation between eye foreheads

DermNet/CC BY-NC-ND

Causes

PIH creates when an injury or disturbance, similar to a scratch, rash, or pimple, makes the skin become aggravated. As the skin mends, it delivers an excess of melanin. Melanin is the protein in the skin that gives the skin its tone. It’s the abundance melanin that obscures and stains the skin.1 This staining stays even after the injury has totally recuperated.

The vast majority with skin inflammation have some level of PIH. Also, it’s not simply the large imperfections that cause these spots: Hyperpigmentation can follow even moderately minor pimples and papules.1

All things considered, the more excited a breakout, the bigger and more obscure the PIH spot will in general be. Picking or popping a pimple builds the opportunity of creating PIH, basically in light of the fact that you’re expanding irritation.

There are different reasons for PIH, including burn from the sun, synthetic strips, dermabrasion, and laser reemerging.

Skin inflammation Scars versus Post-Inflammatory Hyperpigmentation

You might be assuaged to discover that PIH isn’t accurate scarring. It is frequently called “pseudo scarring” on the grounds that in spite of the fact that it leaves an imprint on the skin for a while, it doesn’t really harm the follicle.

Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation skin break out on brow

DermNet/CC BY-NC-ND

Genuine skin break out scars happen when there is either a deficiency of tissue, causing a hollowed or discouraged region, or an excess of tissue leaving a raised scar.2 PIH, then again, is level. It’s not hollowed or raised, basically hazier than the encompassing skin.

Blurring Over Time

Fortunately PIH can disappear after some time, even without treatment. However, time is the usable word here. It can take three to two years for PIH to completely fade,3 albeit at times it might take longer.

The timeframe it takes for PIH to blur relies upon how dim the spot is contrasted with the encompassing skin. The greater the differentiation between the macule and your normal skin tone, the more it will take to blur.

PIH doesn’t generally disappear all alone. Sometimes, it’s pretty much perpetual.

There are medicines that will help. Some may not totally eradicate dull imprints, yet will in any event ease up them extensively. Treatment can likewise help accelerate blur time in case you’re not quick to trust that spots will ease up normally.

Treatment Options

Over-the-counter (OTC) items can be useful in blurring more unpretentious imprints. For more profound imprints or those that have been around for quite a while, a solution cream is a superior decision. Your skin health management specialist has a flock of items that can get the job done.

Another valid statement to recall—in the event that you beat skin inflammation you’ll likewise quit creating hyperpigmentation. This is a significant advance in clearing up PIH, and another progression with which your healthy skin specialist can help. Whatever treatment alternative you pick, comprehend that improvement will require some serious energy.

Alpha Hydroxy Acids (AHAs)

Alpha hydroxy acids, particularly glycolic corrosive, are a decent beginning stage for treatment.4 Alpha hydroxy acids (AHAs) help accelerate the skin’s regular shedding measure, which can help improve the appearance of PIH.

You can discover these fixings in a plenty of OTC “lighting up” medicines. Leave-on medicines like moisturizers, creams, and gels will give you preferable outcomes over wash-off items like chemicals. Other OTC fixings that can be useful in blurring hyperpigmentation are N-acetyl glucosamine, niacinamide, and nutrients An and C.5

More grounded AHA medicines are accessible with a remedy. AHAs are frequently utilized as hostile to maturing medicines as well and will leave your skin delicate and smooth.

Hydroquinone

Hydroquinone is a broadly utilized treatment for PIH.6 It’s accessible over the counter in 1% to 2 percent qualities, and in 3% to 4% remedy creams. Hydroquinone works by obstructing the protein answerable for melanin creation, along these lines easing up the skin.

Hydroquinone creams frequently contain extra easing up fixings, for example, kojic corrosive, glycolic corrosive, tretinoin and other retinoids, or nutrient C. These mix creams can give you preferred outcomes over utilizing hydroquinone alone.1

Hydroquinone creams ought to be painstakingly applied to obscured regions just to forestall the undesirable easing up of your regular skin tone. Hydroquinone may cause skin bothering for certain individuals so it merits conversing with your PCP prior to starting hydroquinone treatment.

Effective Retinoids

Effective retinoids are frequently endorsed to treat acne.7 Retinoids help clear skin break out by accelerating cell turnover rates. This fast peeling can likewise help blur PIH.

Retinoid creams incorporate Retin-A (tretinoin) and Retin-A Micro, Tazorac (tazarotene), and Differin (adapalene). The way that they diminish post-fiery hyperpigmentation as they treat skin inflammation breakouts is an additional benefit.1

Except for Differin, these drugs are accessible by remedy as it were. Clear outcomes may not be evident for a little while to a while subsequent to starting treatment.

Be keeping watch for unreasonable dryness, redness, and aggravation. This can trigger PIH all alone.

Which Retinoid Is Right for You

Azelaic Acid

Azelaic corrosive is another prescription used to regard skin break out just as PIH.1 It works by diminishing irritation and accelerating cell turnover rates. Azelaic corrosive is some of the time utilized related to glycolic corrosive or tretinoin.

A few examinations have shown azelaic corrosive to be pretty much as successful as Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation .8 It is a decent option for the individuals who might be not able to utilize hydroquinone.

Azelaic corrosive is accessible by solution as it were. As usual, screen your skin for redness and disturbance and let your PCP know immediately on the off chance that you experience these results.

In-Office Treatments

More tireless instances of PIH can be dealt with expertly at your dermatologist’s office. Medicines incorporate different compound peels,1 lasers, microneedling, and microdermabrasion.

In any case, only one treatment isn’t sufficient to blur hyperpigmentation. You’ll probably require a progression of medicines separated two to about a month separated (contingent upon the technique you’re having done). Your primary care physician can help figure out which of these medicines, assuming any, would be best for you.

Treatment Tips

Before you bounce in and begin treating your PIH, utilize these tips to make way for the most ideal outcomes.

Your skin break out ought to be leveled out. Something else, each new pimple could cause another dim spot and you could never stretch out beyond the bend (and never see the unmistakable, even skin tone you’re searching for). Over-the-counter skin inflammation items are compelling for treating gentle acne.9 More obstinate or serious breakouts should be treated with remedy skin inflammation drugs in the event that you need to see genuine improvement.

Use sunscreen consistently. The sun may obscure the discolorations1 and increment blurring time. Additionally, numerous PIH medicines (and numerous skin break out medicines, as well) can make your skin more delicate to the sun. In case you’re concerned that sunscreen could aggravate your breakouts, don’t be. There are numerous sunscreens accessible that are suitable for Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation skin.

Screen your skin for aggravation. Despite the fact that they are assisting you with clearing your skin, skin break out medicines and PIH medicines the same additionally have the potential for causing irritation.1 Unfortunately, aggravated skin could prompt significantly more dim spots and lopsided skin tone. In the event that PIH is an issue for you, let your PCP know whether your skin gets aggravated from your skin break out medicines.

A Word From Verywell

At the point when you’re prepared to start treatment, you have a lot of alternatives. Be set up to show restraint. PIH sets aside a long effort to blur, regardless of which treatment choice you pick. Think as far as months as opposed to weeks. Consistent and reliable treatment is your companion.

Keep in mind, this is certainly not a far reaching list. Different medicines might be accessible. Your skin health management specialist can help control you to the right treatment for your skin Post inflammatory hyperpigmentation .

[quietharmonystarfish]

I'm sorry I scarred our body. Looking at you now, running and shrieking as your childhood friend chases you, I can see your smooth, fragile arms poking out of the purple t-shirt that you love. I can see how your skin glows under the summer sun, as your face lights up as if it’s the happiest you’ve ever been. It is – well one of them. As you grow up, you’ll keep thinking of this memory, this freedom. You’ll grow and mature and long to be back under the warmth of the summer sun, with the only worry on your mind being if your friend was going to tag you. Enjoy this moment. Relish it. Pause and stand with your arms out wide and your face turned into the light of the summer. Please, I want to feel like that again, make sure you make this moment last as long as you can, think of everything you see, smell and touch, listen to the sounds of childhood and commit them to memory. Make sure to remember the look of happiness on your best friend’s face, focus on her wide-eyed smile and bubbly laugh, remember the way she smiles as she shouts your name as you run away from her, with your hair blowing into your eyes. Make sure you remember this in the coming years too, because soon enough it will slowly fade. She’ll no longer shout after you smiling, instead she’ll be sat next to you, with tears forming in her eyes as you tell her what you do to yourself. You’ll look straight ahead, afraid to see the disappointment on her face, not wanting to remember how you made her feel. Just make sure that you are kind and gentle and understanding. Be patient with people and remember to look out for them. Be cautious of the boy, you’ll know which one I mean when he comes into your life in a couple of years, make sure you ask if he’s okay and look out for him but don’t get attached. Seriously, don’t. Remember he’s not your responsibility, try and help him but leave when it gets too much – you are allowed, you’re allowed to leave if it starts to break you too. I wish someone said that to me, so, I'm saying it to you instead, hoping it could maybe help us both. He’ll be okay, trust me, he will. It won’t seem like it and it won’t mean anything me saying this, but he will. Make sure that you’re considerate of everyone, they all have lives and big worlds inside their minds, look out for the people who may seem to be trapped inside of their own for a little too long, but again, don’t burn yourself trying to put out their fire. Another thing: before you pick them up (you’ll know what I mean) make sure you think. Just think. Take a moment and pause. Ask yourself if you’re able to commit to hiding the scars from everyone, and I mean everyone. Even though most people don’t notice, the few do, because they’ve been through the same. Do what your best friend told you to do if you felt like that and call her. I know she doesn’t understand but she tries to, truly she does, she loves you, even if it doesn’t seem like that sometimes. You’ll just be grateful to talk to someone about it. In a few years, I know you’re young now, but in a few years, remember that when you feel as if the world is caving in and you’re stuck in the middle, you’re not going crazy, the racing heart and the shaking doesn’t mean you’re going crazy, it doesn’t mean you’re losing your mind. Talking helps, it really does. The girl with green eyes and orange curly hair goes through similar things. Talk to her about it, but listen to the things she says, pay attention to the meaning behind the words. Some are not jokes, even though she may say them as such. I'm sorry, I don’t mean to scare you. But just maybe keep that in the back of your mind. Keep in mind that people are human with their own thoughts, feelings, souls and minds. A quick little thing: things do get better, they really do. As I'm sat here looking at you from a far, I can feel things lifting and becoming lighter. I'm just sorry you still have to go through the heavy parts, just keep looking up, don’t look down, don’t let your chin fall. If it does, its okay, breathe, pause, and reset. Because that’s a thing you can do. You can restart your day at any time. Make sure you do everything that you have the opportunity, especially that assignment, it will turn out good, I promise. Ps: don’t think about cancelling lunch with the new boy, he’s one of the good ones.

a letter to my 9-year-old self || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[did-we-imagine]

But doesnt the skin of his scar look smooth? I have a slashing scar on my leg (12cm~ish length and 1 cm width or slightly larger) and while the color is slightly darker than my skin, it s suuuuuper wrinkly and reflects off light. Textured. Even 20-21 years later.

Just my 2 cts.

Id expect sth more like this

Less rough than this but textured.

Do all the people complaining that Zuko’s scar in the Netflix live action adaptation of Avatar “isn’t gorey enough” realize that how it looks in said live action is legitimately how real burn scars look after having about three years to heal