#Not sure if this will stick but so far I like it

[457gf]

hwang inho who . . inho x fem!reader

₊˚ʚ warnings : smut, dark content, age gap, naive!reader, manipulation, sexual coercion, dubcon / noncon, slight somnophilia, inho being a creepy old man for you, use of the word 'rαpe'

hwang inho who loves taking advantage of innocent naive girls, practically drooling when he spots you nervously fidgeting with your fingers, eyes squeezed shut as you silently begged for others to vote x. you wanted to go home so bad, but of course inho couldn’t let that happen.

hwang inho who can’t help but throb in those stupid cheap sweatpants when your smile drops even further from the result of him continuing to stay. obviously you didn’t know the real reason he said yes, though thinking of the look of betrayal that would form on your face after he tells you makes his grin that much wider.

hwang inho who approaches you gently, almost as if you’re a porclein doll who could be broken at any moment. you’re understandably weary because of the blue O stuck on his chest for the time being, almost as if a mockery. he’s the one that sealed your fate of staying here, after all. instead of bothering you like you initially thought, he politely invites you to sit with him and a few other people, under the ruse of “you look like you needed a friend.” in actuality, he just wanted to make sure you didn’t stray from his sight.

hwang inho who does everything in his power to get close to you. promising he’ll protect you, stick by you during all of the game, and put your safety well above his own. not like he was in any real danger with the guards on his side, though those words did give him a few brownie points from you for his generosity. it wasn’t really a lie, because he would protect you through all of the games, and he had no doubt about that.

hwang inho who watches you at night, promising to keep lookout for the whole group, though he spends most of his time staring at you. pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your eyes so he’s able to see your pretty face better. inho can’t help but run his hands over your body, feather light touches across your perky tits and your hips, careful not to wake you up. you’re so god damn beautiful, you could be classified deadlier than the games because of the way you make his heart stop.

hwang inho who quickly pulls his hands away when you start to blink awake, eyes heavy with sleep. he’s a bit embarrassed he let himself be so reckless, but there’s nothing a little lie won’t fix. “oh, you kicked your blanket off so i was making sure you were cozy again.” “you were squirming so i thought you were having a nightmare. are you okay?” “i’m just checking on you, i’m sorry if i scared you.”

hwang inho who runs to the bathroom shortly after, unable to take more of the aching caused by your precious eyes. he’s pressed up against a stall, hand working fast over his thick cock as images of you flood his mind. you’re so cute and naive, he wants nothing more than to break you. you’re so stupid, you believed his little lie, not even questioning any further. and god, the way you called him “mister young-il” in that tired voice of yours before flopping back down, a sigh of relief escaping, made him feel even more perverted. you were so young and truly trusted him to look after you. he couldn’t get the thought of you underneath him, begging him to keep using you like a fleshlight out of his gross head.

hwang inho who can’t decide if he finds the idea of you crying out for him to stop and get off you hotter than you asking for more. definitely the former, he thinks. he wants to rαpe you, to sneak his hands underneath your pants in the middle of the night and play with your sopping cunt, the idea of your own body betraying you and giving into his sick desires and love for you makes his head fall back, roughly hitting the stall door in the process. he couldn’t care, he’s too far gone thinking about you.

hwang inho who can’t help but plot when the best time to take advantage of you will be, finally coming to the conclusion of mingle. the guards take a few minutes to clean up the bodies and some of the blood of each deceased after each round, leaving the players trapped in the locked rooms whilst doing so. all he had to do was wait for two people to be called out, tell the guards to take a little extra time, play your knight in shining armour, then push you against the wall and make you squirm.

[ptergwen]

im not sure if you’ll see this😭 but can i have reader being like maddy from euphoria, confident, bad bitch, short skirts and she’s dating peter and they have this secret relationship cuz shes popular and hes not so they both go to a party and makes out in the restroom and comes out together and then flash is making fun of them and then she just kisses peter right in front of everyone (im so srry this is long but i hope u see this

out of sight, on his mind ‎♡‧₊˚

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: making out, suggestiveness, drinking, like one swear

a/n: oh i looooved this idea thank you very much for your service babes :D also don't forget to join my new taglist y'all i only got a couple of you so far & happy reading!

you down a shooter, gagging at the bitter taste of the alcohol. you giggle and stick the tiny bottle in your bra. you're dancing with a group of your friends. one of them takes your hand, the two of you moving to the beat of the music. peter watches you from across the room with the hint of a smile.

he wouldn't typically spend his friday night in the corner of a packed houseparty nursing a cup of jungle juice, but ned insisted they go. his best friend is determined they both up their social statuses this year. they're not too popular at midtown, with the exception of the academic decathlon team.

if people only knew peter was dating one of the most popular girls in school; you.

it was peter's idea to keep your relationship secret. you'd wanted to show him off, but he's too shy. you're always the center of attention, and peter parker doesn't do well with attention. he'd much rather admire you with everyone else in public and be yours in private.

"come on, peter! it's a party! shouldn't we be, like, dancing or something?"

"i don't know, ned. just... drink your juice."

ned takes a generous swig of his drink and cringes. peter chuckles, sipping from his cup.

"what's in jungle juice anyway?"

"um, everything i think. you might blackout if you have too much."

"dude, that's the goal."

you catch peter's eye again. you're holding your friend's arm that's wrapped around your shoulders, hips swaying. you shout along to the music with the rest of the girls in your group. you look so carefree, and so damn good.

the pink, strapless dress you're wearing is hugging your body in all the right places. your hair is styled to perfection, tiny gems dotted along your eyelids. your look is complete with a pair of knee high boots. peter loves your style. there's no way to describe it other than that it's you, who peter adores an insane amount. he wishes he could be as bold as you are.

peter's phone vibrates in his pocket; it's a text from you.

are u watching me?

before he even answers, you send another.

come to the bathroom

peter briefly locks eyes with you. you give him a mischievous smile before slipping away, making some excuse to your friends. he bites his lip to suppress his own grin.

"hey, ned? how about i go get us some refills?"

"bet! i’m gonna dance."

ned hands peter his cup and claps him on the shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. instead of refilling their drinks, peter makes his way to the bathroom. there's a few people waiting in line. knowing you, you've already claimed it from them. he knocks at the door. a hand reaches out and grabs at peter's flannel, pulling him inside.

"hi, baby."

your glossy lips capture peter's in a kiss. he instantly leans into it, but you pull back much to his dismay. his big brown eyes go even bigger.

"woah... hi."

you laugh softly.

"miss me?"

"seems like you missed me too."

"maybe."

you run a hand through peter's hair. his hands settle on your hips.

"sorry for watching you, couldn't help it. you look so pretty tonight."

"i always look pretty."

your tone is playful, but peter knows you mean it, and he couldn't agree more.

"whatcha been up to? you having fun?"

your manicured nails scratch lightly at peter's scalp. he practically purrs at the feeling.

"mm, just been hanging with ned. i don't really know anybody else."

"you know me."

"but you're with your friends."

"so?"

"so... you know i’m shy, princess."

you giggle.

"it's just 'cause you're not drunk enough, baby."

"oh yeah?"

peter's thumbs run up and down your sides, face only inches from yours. you retrieve the shooter from your bra. there's still at least half a shot left.

"open."

peter does as you say and opens his mouth. you take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head back, pouring the rest of the strong, sweet liquid down his throat. he swallows. you toss the bottle aside. peter gives you a look, one that says kiss me. you shake your head, smirking.

you want him to kiss you.

peter's lips smash into yours. his eagerness makes you giggle into the kiss. you grip the collar of his shirt in both hands, lips moving slowly against each other's. peter backs you against the door.

"did i already tell you how pretty you look?"

"mhm, but not enough."

"you're right. you're so pretty."

peter kisses down your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume. you guide his lips back up to yours.

"you are too, y'know."

you peck peter's lips softly, letting your lips linger over his after, eyes searching his. they twinkle. you mesmerize him, truly mesmerize him. you kiss an awe-struck peter properly this time. he holds your waist, head tilted to deepen the kiss.

your make out session is rudely interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

"yeah, one second!" you answer. "let's get out of here."

peter groans and buries his face in your neck.

"but i don't want to. wanna keep kissing you."

"not here, baby."

"why not?"

he leaves more kisses on your neck. you coax peter away, laughing, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

"the line. wanna find somewhere else?"

peter perks up at that.

"okay, let's go."

you lead peter out of the bathroom. he follows, hand in yours. even though no one seems to pay any mind to the fact that you were in the bathroom together, peter can't help but blush. he doesn't make it out unscathed, though; none other than flash thompson notices him.

"penis parker, is that you?"

you stop walking, eyeing flash over your shoulder. peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

"what's up, flash?"

"you are."

peter looks down to see an obvious bulge in his jeans. his cheeks burn hotter, hand leaving yours to readjust himself. a few people turn around to look.

"y/n's a big step up from your imaginary girlfriend. where'd you say she was from again, canada?"

you narrow your eyes at flash, a hand wrapping around peter's bicep.

"do you know him?"

"yeah, we're... friends. sort of. we do academic decathlon together."

your gaze shifts to peter.

"friends?"

"oh yeah, we go way back. any friend of parker's is a friend of mine."

flash smirks at you. you look him up and down, face scrunched in disgust.

"ew."

more people are starting to watch the exchange. you glare at flash, who holds your gaze knowingly. peter can tell you're about to go into protective girlfriend mode. he squeezes your hand that's on his arm.

"anyways, just wanted to congratulate you on your first baddie," flash tells him. "try not to fumble."

before peter can process what's happening, your lips are on his, hands cupping his cheeks to keep him in place. maybe it's just because he's tipsy, but peter actually finds himself having the courage to kiss you back in front of everyone. you smile at this. he holds you by your waist, letting himself enjoy the kiss for a while longer.

peter's lips are puffy and covered in your gloss when you two pull apart. he draws you in closer to himself, giving you one more short kiss, then another. the two of you earn whistles and chatter from everyone watching. you giggle, thumbs caressing peter's cheeks and gaze meeting his.

there's something in his eyes that you haven't seen before; confidence. he might be shy, but not when it comes to you. not anymore.

you look over at flash smugly, his mouth dropped open.

"he won't."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee

[lizardinatrench]

The defenses only attacked jason because the others are liminal But not quite liminal enough for the Fenton House to pick up on He’s the only one who died and had it really *stick* thus why he’s the only halfa Sure the others died but they were all revived fully Death left a stain Not a chain Jason has one foot in the grave The others bat’s just have some graveyard dirt smudged on their pants cuffs I can keep going with the metaphors lol Anyway Their contamination is. Like. not worse than the average person living on the opposite side of the city as the Fentons (which is a lot compared to everyone else in the whole world but not much in terms of “will the house shoot me” Fenton ghost detecting devices aren’t that precise yet) The “files” aren’t super professional because like. They’re 14. It’s organized sure but it’s not gonna be scientific paper levels (& they’d feel uncomfy making it too scientific sounding) There’s powers missing on purpose (not thinking of thing as a power. All 3 forgot about it. Etc) So why did the JL ignore Amity you ask? Info blackout One does not simply ignore the Meta Protection Acts and pretend to be a gov’t agency without taking precautions Everything out of Amity Park is sanitized as hell. (ha and doesn’t that just fit the GIW clean-obsession) “But Mutable!” I hear you cry “What about Undergrowth & Vortex!” I don’t remember Undergrowth’s radius of effect but I’m saying my AU he was Amity-only and the GIW set up a blockade to intimidate witnesse Same deal with Pariah town-knapping the place (GIW base was JUST out of the town-knapping radius. Lucky them) As for Vortex the storms themselves made it impossible to track anything through normal means (ie no cams caught Sam & Tucker’s jet taunting Vortex except some people with cells on the street. But wind killed all the audio) So as far as the world is concerned there was a freak storm and it went awa

Ghost Chirps AU Part 5

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

Part 4

***

While “Jason” (i.e. Alfred with an empty jet that Jason will meet up with later in order to “arrive” in Amity) hops a private jet, Red Hood is busy searching the Fenton home from top to bottom.

The local police move slowly, and by the time they arrive Jack and Maddie Fenton are both tied up and disarmed in their living room under heavy guard.

They hadn’t been restrained immediately, Batman talking him into giving them a chance to implicate themselves first.

Hood let him take the lead, but he didn’t even get a chance to ask a question, being cut off at the first indication he might want to talk about their “work.” Less than 60 seconds in, and the pair had outright confessed to violating the meta protection acts - and in tedious detail.

The questioning didn’t suffer any from them being tied up.

Far from the mulish silence or crocodile-tear laden denial of most criminals, they instead doubled down, insisting that nothing they had done was illegal, then jumping to the assumption that they were “possessed” - and boy had it been a nasty surprise when the whole house came alive trying to attack them with a quick verbal command.

Well, trying to attack Hood. And only him, for some reason.

One laser also freed the Fentons, who turned out to have even more weapons built into their suits. 

Somehow. 

Despite them being skintight.

That had been a pain, but Red Robin was able to hack the system using one of the couples’ own devices while Hood dodged - and kept the stray fire away from the others - leaving everyone else to recapture the pair. A blessedly simple task once they found out the lasers would splash harmlessly off of their armor (save for a gross film of green goop left wherever they grazed).

They take turns knocking each unconscious to change them in order to properly disarm them - Batman and Nightwing taking Jack first, followed by Orphan and Spoiler dealing with Maddie. 

The only non-weapon laden clothing they own turns out to be pajamas. 

This is around when the police show up, looking hesitant.

They, too, cite the “Anti-Ecto Acts.”

Oracle had debriefed them on the supposed Acts and “Ghost Investigation Ward” on their short drive over. Both were utterly bogus - the Acts had never even been proposed, let alone been approved as law, and the so-called “GIW” had no ties to the government.

The Fentons had been furious and denied the information intensely when told, but the cops mostly just looked relieved.

Apparently there’d been a lot of property damage by the GIW and Fentons both that had supposedly been dismissed under the Acts as “necessary in the pursuit of ecto-scum.”

For the Fentons, half of this damage was in the form of broken fire hydrants, cracked sidewalks, and totaled cars - they’d never been good drivers, before, the cops disclosed, but they’d become even more negligent since the ghosts began appearing, to the point they had to have a news segment warning when they would be on the road.

The lack of fatalities thus far had been nothing short of a miracle, they claimed.

“Of course there haven’t been any fatalities!” Mrs Fenton defends. “Our work is to protect people from those things, not make more! Officers, listen to reason-” Hood snorts disdainfully -”The Red Hood is clearly a ghost! All our systems targeted him the moment they came online - and they only target ecto-entities. He’s clearly taken these heroes under his sway - why else would they be working with a murderer!? You have to do something before he starts up his killing here in Amity!”

The officers look at him a bit hesitantly, but Batman is unmoved and gives the cover story Hood had outlined back in the alley.

Any concerns the locals have are quickly assuaged.

But for the whole explanation, Jason is trying not to shake even as he falls apart in place.

Their little website called them ghost-hunters, making it pretty clear what “ecto-entities” meant. 

Their system supposedly only targets ecto-entities.

The system had only targeted him.

The system only targets ghosts.

Jason had died.

A lot of his family members had died, too, granted. 

But Jason was the only one who seemed to come back wrong - anger sticking in his throat and never quite fading, an inclination towards violence even when he wasn’t angry well beyond what he’d ever felt before, and a sea of other emotions (that he would never acknowledge aloud) and triggers for those emotions that he always struggled to make heads or tails of.

He doesn’t have the meta gene. He knows that. He knew that.

He just assumed that the test missed it, because he knows he doesn’t know magic - the All Blades being the only exception - and he couldn’t think of another explanation at the time.

But he came back wrong.

And as he stands there, he wonders if he came back at all, mind on Solomon Grundy.

Wonders if he isn’t just some ghost, wandering around possessing his own corpse.

He jolts, as the thought strikes him: what about Danny?

If he’s a ghost and chirping is a ghost thing then what about his KID!?

Absently, he notes that Bruce has started interrogating the cops on what they meant by “ghost attacks.” 

He ignores the discussion, hustling for the door in the kitchen down to the lab.

He slams and locks the door behind him - in Red Robin’s face - as he descends, making a b-line for the computer he’d seen when the Fentons had dragged them all down there to start bragging about their crimes.

The only thing Oracle could get out of the whole building was things that were openly available online; direct connections were impossible.

Opening up the screen, he gets to cracking.

Going for the surface level files first, it turns out he doesn’t even need so much as a password to find what he wants.

One of the video game sub-files has an unrelated file in it: ghost notes.

There are plenty of other notes, of course, but he’d only been skimming to start, looking for anything hidden.

The Fenton parents were too open to bother, of course, with plenty of more obvious files strewn haphazardly across the home screen, but it’s always better to check. That there is a hidden file means it was likely made by either Danny or Jazz.

And it’s a treasure trove.

Sub-files for rogues, allies, conditional allies, and “halfas” were what greeted him.

The last being the only term he didn’t recognize, he clicked.

6 files: Clones, Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, and Red Hood.

He clicks his own file.

What greets him is a picture of himself 4 days ago, looking just to the left of the lens in an alley that he distinctly remembers searching for the kid in.

Just below is text.

~~~

??? Name: Red Hood

Species: probably a halfa

Status: Nnnneutral? I think? I know, I know, heads in bags. But Valerie tries to kill me all the time! And we’re allies sometimes! Hood- uh- looked for me? Okay I guess I can’t really judge this yet but please read the first met section before you judge please you guys?

First met: Aug 17, 2005, was in Gotham to bother Batman, stopped to think a bit on some fire escape - decide on the first prank yknow - but then my ghost sense went off. It felt like a halfa so I thought “oh cool, must be Dani” so I chirped, but then Red Hood - who was chasing some guy down an alley at the time - froze and looked around. I dropped visibility and chirped again and yeah, he definitely heard it. Humans can’t so he’s definitely a halfa - no glow so he can’t be a full ghost and it felt nothing like an overshadowing. 

Ended up following Hood around the rest of week - forgot to prank Batman, damn - and playing hide-and-seek with the chirps. It was really funny. But he very obviously doesn’t know he’s a halfa. But the guy is, like, scary levels of smart, so I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own now that the chirp thing made it clear that something is up. Hopefully.

I figure I can go back in winter break - he should have it figured out and let his emotions process enough by then to at least hear me out when I explain the AEA and GIW and everything, then it won’t matter so much if he can, like, track me by voice or something if I talk since we’ll have MAD by then.

Despite his reputation, the people living in his haunt seem to love the guy. I can see why. On top of the whole smart he’s actually really nice to people he’s not shooting in the knees (which only even happened one time in the week I was there? It was actually pretty relaxing - most quiet week I’ve had since the portal opened THANK YOU TUCKER for hacking the portal hatch to be inoperable for a week). 

Where was I? Oh yeah, he’s actually surprisingly nice to people? So like, I think he’ll probably hear me out if I go back and be polite? I hope. Hate to leave the guy in the dark and him end up on the GIWs dissection table for “lots and lots of painful experiments.”

Not that those guys could even catch the Box Ghost. But uh, Hood doesn’t seem to have powers either? Or if he does he doesn’t know about them I don’t think - he only used the chirp the whole time I was their - not even to cheat with moving around.

Seriously. That guy's acrobatics could make Freakshow’s contortionist green - er, red??? - with envy. Actually wait, aren’t contortionists and acrobats different things?

SAM NOTE: help^?

Powers: 

?

~~~

Jason leans back, breathing deeply.

“Not a full ghost,” “not 'overshadowed'” - a term that sounds likke some kind of cousin to possesision - “definitely a halfa,” “humans can’t hear chirps.”

Halfa. 

Half. 

Ghost. 

Half Ghost.

It should sound absurd - you can’t be half alive and half dead.

But Jason has seen the Lazarus pits, has met Solomon Grundy, has met aliens and bullshit magic and can pull magical swords out of his own damn chest.

Half alive. Half dead.

Hopefully not just a fancy way to say possessing his own corpse.

He doesn’t have time to deal with every file - he’ll “confiscate” one of their USBs with a copy of everything for himself before leaving the rest to Batman & co, of course, minus the halfa files (a small part of him wants to shove his condition in Bruce’s face and demand he kill the clown again even though he knows it’s a futile hope, but the rest - the same part that snapped and denied and refused to say he was a meta less that a day ago now - cannot stomach the thought of even more rejection. Of a Bruce that believes he’s a monster. Of a Bruce that mourns him even while he’s right there. Or at least, more than he already does.) - but while the files copy he take the time to look at Danny’s.

The image has two people, Danny Fenton on one side and a version of the kid in a black hazmat suit with white hair, tanned skin, and painfully familiar green eyes. And floating.

~~~

Human Name: Danny Fenton

Ghost Name: Danny Phantom

Species: Halfa (half-human, half ghost)

~~~

It’s the section after that that makes Jason’s breath catch in his throat.

~~~

Death: The Portal Accident

So like, there was no audio (thank GOD I do not want to hear myself screaming) so. Details: When the portal didn’t work when they plugged it in mom and dad left for fudge, Jazz went to try and talk them into a more realistic career choice than ghosts. Sam and Tucker came over and Sam dared me to climb in and check it out - it was broken anyway so no harm. Except it wasn’t broken, just that my parents put the on button inside. Which I caught myself on when I tripped on a wire.

Anyway, electrocution! 

(T - Danny for the love of god be more serious, the cheerful tone is creepy)

(D - Hey! I’m the one who died! Shouldn’t I at least get to write my own epitaph)

(S - …Danny this is not an epitaph. You don’t even HAVE a grave)

(D - wow way to rub it in Sam)

(T - yeah Sam)

(S - ugh! Whatever, just stop with the chatting in official files)

(T - “official”)

(S - Tucker.)

(T - shutting up now)

Electrocution! I got zapped to death, but the ectoplasm from the portal was also opening up on top of me and a lot got bonded to me I guess (S - probably because of the electricity with how you ended up with some of Vortex' powers for a little while) at the same time said electricity was reviving me? - probably getting my heart beating again or something, I was a little busy screaming to pay attention (T - yeah okay we're going to Nasty Burger after this. And playing Doomed) - not that it would’ve mattered without the ghostification preventing me from melting me all the way to death.

Status: Me!

Powers:

Chirps! (ghost echolocation of some kind! humans can't hear em - halfas can, of course, in either form)

Form Change (really Sam? This barely counts)

Human form

Ghost form (no need to breathe)

Flight (last clock speed 210mph) (T - and climbing. Dang dude)

Invisibility (S - don’t forget shareable.) (Shareable. sigh)

Intangibility (Shareable)

Ecto Rays (eyes & hands) (T - and butt) (D - dude! I’m deleting that. Tucker why can't I delete it. TUCKER) (T - bow down in awe of my ksill) (S - ksill) (D - ksill) (T - yeah okay it’s permanent now) (D - aw man!)

Ghost Sense (S - why do we never test your range?) (D - no need? They always make themselves obvious or are being sneaky specifically to annoy me so *shrug*) (S - I still think we should test it)

Power Absorption (that time with Vortex’s weather powers)

Cryokinesis (Wayyyyy to much ice. NOT testing max output on that) (T - yeah frozen city was enough, let’s not cause an ice age. Tech needs some cool but too much is still bad and I just upgraded Patricia)

Ghostly Wail (cone of destruction, very exhausting - always at max output. Not to be used)

GHOST FORM ONLY (but really just never)

Cartoon Body (D - what???) (S - Freakshow literally turned you into a puddle and you just turned back and were fine. I don’t know what else to call that) (D - okay fair. but:)

GHOST FORM ONLY

Physical Enhancement (better strength, speed, stamina, durability, reflexes, balance, etc much better than human) (T - why does this look like dnd knockoff stats haha)

GHOST FORM ONLY (S - obviously mr last place in PE)

Resistances (pretty solid on the overshadowing, avoided being taken in by Ember until targeted, didn’t get turned to stone during the Medusa thing) (S - which was pure luck! Be careful!)

Ecto Electricity (ghost stinger, but I really don’t think this counts Sam. I mean I just. Make my ecto zappy. But it’s still just ecto) (S - so is your ICE and you don’t just call that "just cold ecto") (D - fine, but it feels overly specific) (S - maybe writing it all down will make you stop. Forgetting. POWERS!) (D - come on Sam that was a lucky hit! I was distracted! And it turned out fine!) (S - Fenton…) (D - oop okay doing fire now)

Ecto Fire (made Dash’s shoes melty that one time by make the ecto hot) (T - really needs more testing)

Tech possession (chasing Technus into computers, not very tested)

Ghost form only, i guess?

Overshadowing (control people, copy their voice, invade dreams - the control one erases the person’s memory so they don’t know they were overshadowed just lost time. I hate Walker. SO much) (T - rip Danny’s reputation, you’ll be missed)

Probably ghost form only

Duplication (T - That’s optimistic) (D - I’M WORKING ON IT OKAY!?) (S - pretty sure it just falls under cartoon body until you can actually separate) (D - :( betrayal)

Probably ghost form only

More? (D - ugh I hope not) (T - hey don’t say that, maybe you’ll get a power to make the JL give a crap about Amity) (D - honestly I’m getting pretty close to letting Boxy loose in Gotham) (S - Danny, don’t stoop to their level!) (D - it's only box ghost!) (T - I mean he has a point)

~~~

Jason changes his mind, seeing the commentary, and deletes the entire hidden file from the computer as soon as his copy is made. He can go over everything and bring any important info to Bruce separately, the bat’s can just chew on the parents’ files for now.

Once the original files are thoroughly and irretrievably removed he pockets his shiny new USB, makes a second one with all the official files, and heads back up and out - carelessly brushing past a thoroughly irate Red Robin with a pair of firemen and broken jaws of life. And not a scratch on the door; impressive - just in time to get Oracle’s text that he’s got 2 hours and 16 minutes to be at the location on his HUD so he can “arrive” to Amity.

And a fresh set of civilian clothes will be waiting in the plane, Alfred as reliable as ever.

“Files,” he says, tossing the safe USB to Batman and interrupting his interrogation of the police officer.

He catches it effortlessly of course, but the officer stops paying attention to him to jolt at Hood’s reappearance - even outside of Gotham his reputation is fierce.

“I sent a copy to myself. I’ll review them and give you an overview, but other than that consider this the end of my involvement in this little shitshow,” he says, continuing smoothly to the door. “I’m heading back to Gotham.”

Now, he has a little over two hours before Jason Todd needs to arrive in Amity Park. He only needs to lay hands on a laptop that he can isolate from Babs’ influence and he should be able to review the Halfa files in full before he "lands" - after he figures out just why the kid has a grudge against the JL.

[rhiannonsknife]

Thinking about boss!rhiannon and secretary!r where Rhiannon isn't used to this kind of power and wants to keep it professional so badly... But it's not her fault that you're just so sweet, and your cheerful compliance just does things to her... And before she knows it, she's keeping you around in the office longer than usual, she's finding excuses to call you in to talk to her when it's not needed, she's even distracted watching you move about the office, doing little tasks...

So she calls you in again, making sure your progress report lasts a little over work hours, and that's when things get interesting...

-🔆

— BOSS!RHIANNON & SECRETARY!READER

— summary: boss!rhiannon & secretary!reader hcs

— warnings: coworkers(?) to lovers. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

rhiannon who’s new to this whole “being the boss” thing…

…and determined to prove herself by keeping things strictly professional. when she first meets you though, she’s completely unprepared for just how sweet you are. you’re efficient, and always one step ahead too, which should technically make her life easier, but instead, it leaves her flustered. she’s so not used to someone anticipating her needs that it is unnerving. obviously, she resolves to keep things strictly business, but the way you cheerfully ask, “is there anything else i can do for you, ms. lewis?” makes her heart skip every single time.

at first, rhiannon keeps your interactions short and professional.

she sticks to emails and curtly worded requests, but every time you pop into her office with a stack of papers or a fresh cup of coffee, she can’t help her gaze from lingering. there’s a subtle warmth to your presence that she can’t seem to ignore. whether it’s the way you organize her desk without being asked or how you always knock softly before entering her office, rhiannon starts to notice all the little things about you that make her day just a bit better.

but soon enough, rhiannon can’t help herself anymore…

…it starts innocently enough: she finds herself lingering on your emails longer than she should, rereading them even when they don’t need a reply. she catches herself looking forward to hearing your voice when you call to confirm her appointments or when you enter her office to hand her her coffee order.

she starts finding excuses to interact with you more often: a task that could easily be emailed becomes a reason to call you into her office. a question that isn’t urgent becomes an opportunity to stop by your desk. the first time she catches herself staring at you, really staring, while you’re bent over her desk explaining a report, she jolts back like she’s been burned.

your first late night with rhiannon…

…happens by accident. she’s so caught up in work she doesn’t realize you’ve stayed back to help. when she glances up and sees you at your desk, she’s surprised to find that you’ve stayed back to help. “you didn’t have to stay,” rhiannon says, leaning against the doorway to your office. “i didn’t mind, ms. lewis,” you assure, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

from this point forward, every week, there’s a new reason for you to stay late. whether it’s a ‘last-minute report’ or ‘urgent filing,’ she keeps you in her orbit well past office hours. rhiannon even goes as far as inventing tasks that don’t really need to be done, like asking you to reorganize a cabinet she just had you sort the day before or pretending she needs a second opinion on a document she’s already reviewed. she schedules unnecessary one-on-one meetings that drag on far longer than they should, and halfway through, she’ll forget what the meeting was even about because she’s too distracted by how intently you’re listening to her.

rhiannon, who eventually reaches her breaking point.

it happens late one evening, during another of her so-called ‘progress report’ meetings. you’re sitting across from her, flipping through a file as you explain the details of a project. she isn’t even pretending to listen anymore, her gaze glued to you.

when you glance up and catch her staring, your brows furrow. “ms. lewis? are you okay?” she inhales sharply at your question, barely managing a clipped, “i’m fine. keep going!” you hesitate before continuing, but the tension in the room is palpable now. her hands clench into fists on her desk, and her eyes flicker to your lips every time you pause.

finally, when you finish your report and move to leave, rhiannon’s voice stops you: “wait!” she blurts. you turn back, confused. “is there something else?” she stands abruptly, her chair forcefully scraping against the floor, and rounds her desk, coming to stand just a foot away from you. “you need to stop being so…” she trails off, visibly struggling.

“so what…?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, heart pounding. her hands twitch at her sides and she crosses her arms over her chest in a sudden movement as she looks for the right words. “so…kind. so sweet. so…you!”

you blink at her, stunned. “i- i don’t understand. did i do something wrong?”

“no,” she says quickly, almost desperately. then, quieter: “you didn’t do anything wrong. that’s the problem…” there’s a beat of silence where neither of you moves, the tension in the air so thick it’s suffocating. then, rhiannon steps closer, her hand reaching out but hovering just shy of touching your arm.

“we shouldn’t…” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

“shouldn’t what?”

rhiannon finally looks into your eyes, and whatever restraint she had left shatters. before you can respond, she closes the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s equal parts desperate and hesitant, as though she’s still testing the waters despite the need to have you. for a moment, you freeze, too shocked to even react. when her hands finally settle on your waist, pulling you closer, you melt into her touch, your own hands finding their way to her shoulders.

when she finally pulls away, her breathing is ragged. “we should not have done that,” she pants, reaching out to fix her hair. “i know,” you reply, your voice equally unsteady. neither of you moves to step away. her thumb brushes against your side absentmindedly as she adds, “i can’t- i’m your boss!”

“then why did you kiss me?” you demand softly.

“i couldn’t not kiss you anymore!” rhiannon reasons breathlessly.

rhiannon, who tries (and fails) to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

every time she sees you, her mind instantly flashes back to the memories of that night you fucked in her office kissed and she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. from this point forward, she’s touchier with you. she puts her hand on your thigh underneath the table, or rubs your back in passing. rhiannon starts leaving little notes for you on your desk as well, seemingly about work tasks, but the messages always end with something personal like: ‘you look amazing from where i’m sitting. just saying! xx’

you, giddy from the moment you read her note, obviously play along and send her your responses via email. ‘should i put ‘amazing’ in the subject line for future progress reports?’

rhiannon who starts calling you into her office more frequently.

things spiral fast after that first night together. “i just need you to clarify something in this report,” rhiannon tells you one afternoon. yet when you step inside and close the door behind you, she’s already standing, her hands reaching for you as the report lies forgotten on her desk.

“you’re a terrible liar,” you tease, wrapping your arms around the back of her neck as she pulls you close. “shut up,” rhiannon mutters playfully as her lips find yours. you both learn exactly how to rile the other up in a short time, even in the most inconvenient moments.

rhiannon who loves the secrecy.

there’s something so thrilling to her about the stolen moments in the office, the hurried, desperate kisses behind closed doors, the way she sneaks glances at you during meetings when no one else is watching you, knowing she’ll have you bent over this very desk later. still, rhiannon struggles with the power dynamic between you, often worrying that she’s taking advantage of her position.

“i don’t want you to feel like you have to-” she starts one night, but you interrupt immediately: “i don’t feel like i ‘have to do’ or anything,” you assure, your hand resting gently on her cheek. “i’m here because i want to be!”

rhiannon who somehow knows exactly what she’s doing.

you’re not sure how many women she’s slept with before, but she’s a natural either way. her touch is better than anything you’ve ever known, her fingers confident in the way they flick over your clit in one of the many hurried office hour escapades. she’ll sit you down on the edge of her desk, the door shut and locked securely, spread you wide open for her, and then put her head between your legs.

and she enjoys it!! she might not get any physical pleasure from it herself but -god- does she love the taste of you on her tongue, eating you out like a woman starved every single time.

“you taste so good,” she whispers against your pussy, her eyes darting up to look at you, her tongue flicking your clit simultaneously. you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip until you can taste blood to avoid screaming through the entire office and give yourself away.

rhiannon who uses you as her personal stress relief, rather than a secretary.

whether it is subconscious or not, after every single stressful meeting or business call that has tested her patience, rhiannon calls you into her office to blow off some steam. you’re not even sure if she’s aware and you’d never tell, but you love it when she gets like that: when she bends you over her table without another word, pulls down your panties from beneath your skirt, and pounds her fingers into you relentlessly. she’ll just go on and on about how terrible everything went and how incompetent some of her colleagues are while fucking you dumb from behind until your knees give out.

rhiannon who wears a strap to work.

when you first spot the slight bulge in her trousers, you convince yourself that you’re just seeing things. surely, there’s no way your boss would show up wearing a strap-on in the office, right?

yet, when she brushes up against you from behind, rhiannon makes sure you feel the silicone pressing against your center through your clothes. you can hear the way her lips curl up in a satisfied smile when she catches your surprised gasp. “come on,” she whispers, already pulling you along by the wrist.

rhiannon, who loves to watch you ride her in her chair.

whether it is during office hours, where she has to cover your mouth so you won’t be too loud, or after everyone has left and it is just the two of you, she loves to just sit back and watch you work for it. “look at me,” she gently instructs, tilting your head so you’re holding her gaze as you bounce on it. “that’s it,” rhiannon praises, reaching between your legs to rub your stiff clit simultaneously.

sometimes, she doesn’t stop after making you cum for the first time. she only maneuvers you so you’re sitting on the edge of the table, and she can fuck you with your legs wrapped around her waist. and rhiannon is relentless, not letting up despite your ragged moans against the crook of her neck.

also, after you’ve come down from your height and she’s slumped back into her chair, she’ll spread her legs so you can see the way the toy is glistening with your release.

“clean it up,” she urges. you hardly have any time to recover at all, immediately falling to your knees before her to suck her clean until you’re gagging on it.

rhiannon who loves to have you all over the place after all your coworkers have gone home.

whether you’re bent over her rhiannon’s desk, pressed against the window at night, or in that one colleague’s chair who’s been trying to flirt with you for the past weeks…she just wants to claim you in all these different spots. you love it though: you love becoming your boss’s personal fuck toy over time. you love it when rhiannon fucks you -hard and fast-when she makes you cry out her name in pleasure.

rhiannon, who knows that your relationship is not sustainable.

and she knows that you’re aware of it too. you tell her one night, as you’re sitting on her lap, facing her. rhiannon’s hand gently caresses your back, tracing the outline of your spine when you speak: “you know this isn’t sustainable, right?” you murmur against the side of her neck.

“mhm i know,” rhiannon murmurs. “let’s just…not think about that right now, okay?”

you nod, your fingers finding her free hand as you sit together in the quiet.

[amkyor]

Heya! Some ideas for mha guys reacting to:

Reader using a pickup line on them

Reader comforting them after a nightmare

Reader saying "I love you" for the first time

Reader giving them a handmade gift

Reader pranking them

MHA GUYS REACT TO...

Reader using a pickup line on them ᡣ𐭩

Short note: I'm sorry if most of them aren't pickup lines, I just didn't want to use cheesy lines like that :) I will be doing all of the suggestions though. Stay tuned!! Also, chapter 21 of my bakguo x Reader Fanfiction came out yesterday. Go check it out!! Link is that the very end of this post!!

Katsuki Bakugo ᡣ𐭩

The soft clinking of pots and pans filled the kitchen as Bakugo stood at the stove, focused on dinner.

His broad back was turned to you, muscles subtly flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt with each movement.

You were sprawled out on the couch in the living room, but the sight of him—effortlessly domestic yet somehow still rugged—was too tempting to resist.

The sight of him—focused, composed, and utterly unbothered by the domestic task—was oddly mesmerizing.

You watched him for a moment, the way his broad shoulders flexed with each movement, his ash-blond hair sticking up in its usual chaotic way.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about how far you’d both come, from chaotic high school days to quiet moments like this.

Unable to resist, you got up from the couch and made your way to the kitchen.

As you approached, you leaned against the doorway and crossed your arms, watching him for another moment.

“You know,” you started, your voice breaking the silence, “you’re surprisingly good at this cooking thing. Who knew the big aggressive Katsuki Bakugo would be so…domesticated.”

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the corner of his lips twitch. “Shut it, woman,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“I’ve always been good at everything. Don’t act so surprised.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, stepping closer. “But cooking? I thought explosions were more your style.”

He glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at you. “Cooking’s just another kind of chemistry, dumbass. And unlike you, I don’t burn water.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Excuse me! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable in the kitchen.”

“Sure you are,” he said, turning back to his pan with a low chuckle.

“Whatever,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

After a few seconds, you stepped closer to him, the sound of your footsteps muted against the floor as you approached him.

Closing the distance, you slipped your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

His body tensed slightly at the contact before relaxing when he realized what was going on.

“Do you always look this hot while cooking,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “or is it just the stove?”

For a moment, Bakugo froze. His hand, mid-motion stirring a pan, stopped abruptly.

You could feel the slight hitch in his breathing, and you knew you’d caught him off guard.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he muttered under his breath, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Without responding further, he reached over and turned off the stove with a decisive flick of his wrist.

Before you could react, he spun around to face you, his crimson eyes locking with yours.

His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a wave of heat through your body.

“What are you—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

In one swift motion, Bakugo leaned down, wrapped his arms around your wasit and thigh, and effortlessly lifted you off the ground.

A surprised laugh escaped your lips as he carried you over to the kitchen counter.

He set you down gently, his hands bracketing your thighs as he leaned in close.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

His face was inches from yours, his smirk equal parts cocky and affectionate.

“I don’t think,” you replied, matching his tone. “I know.”

He let out a quiet scoff before closing the distance between you.

His lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss that sent your heart racing.

His hands stayed firmly planted on either side of your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

The kiss was over too quickly, though, as Bakugo pulled back, his lips barely brushing yours. “Stay put,” he muttered, his voice a little hoarser than usual.

You blinked, still reeling from the kiss, as he turned back to the stove.

Casually, as if nothing had happened, he turned the burner back on and resumed cooking.

“Seriously?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, a small, smug grin tugging at his lips. “What? Gotta finish dinner, don’t I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re distracting,” he shot back, his tone light but still carrying that signature Bakugo edge.

Despite his words, you could see the faint blush dusting his cheeks, and it made your heart swell.

You stayed perched on the counter, watching him cook, a smile playing on your lips.

Even when he was gruff and tough, there were moments like this that reminded you just how much he cared.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Izuku Midoriya ᡣ𐭩

The dim glow of the television bathed the living room in a soft, warm light.

The faint hum of background music filled the air, mingling with the soothing rustle of pages as you turned another in the book resting in your hands.

It was one of those quiet, perfect evenings—the kind you cherished most.

Izuku lay sprawled between your legs, his broad frame draped over you like a human-sized weighted blanket.

His head rested comfortably against your chest, rising and falling with each steady breath you took.

His arms were wrapped securely around your waist, and his fingers splayed lazily across your back as if anchoring himself to you.

Your legs stretched out on the couch, framing him on either side.

The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against your skin with every slight movement he made.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this position, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to move.

With your free hand, you absentmindedly scratched at his scalp, your nails trailing through his unruly green curls in slow, gentle strokes.

Each time your fingers grazed his scalp, you felt him relax further into you, his body melting into yours like he was made to fit there.

The weight of him against you was comforting, grounding, and you couldn’t help but smile as you continued reading.

Well, “reading” might’ve been a stretch.

You’d been stuck on the same page for the past five minutes, distracted by the soft, contented hums Izuku made whenever your nails caught just the right spot.

He hadn’t said much since he collapsed onto you, but you could tell he was enjoying himself.

His breathing was slow and even, a telltale sign that he was teetering on the edge of sleep.

You glanced down at him, your gaze drifting from the slight pout of his lips to the faint pink dusting his cheeks.

His freckles stood out even more in the dim light, scattered across his face like a constellation you’d memorized long ago.

You raised your book slightly, letting it rest against the couch as you took in the sight of him.

He looked so peaceful, so utterly at ease, that you almost didn’t want to disturb him. Almost.

“You tired?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle him.

“Mhm...” he hummed, his eyes still closed as he nuzzled further into your chest.

The sound was low and warm, vibrating against you like a gentle purr.

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, his lashes fluttering slightly as if he were fighting to stay awake.

You continued scratching his head, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

You knew how hard he worked and how much he pushed himself every day.

Seeing him like this—relaxed, vulnerable, and utterly content—felt like a rare gift.

He shifted slightly, tightening his hold on your waist as though he were afraid you might slip away.

The action made your chest ache in the best way, and you couldn’t help but brush a soft kiss against the crown of his head.

You studied his face for a moment longer, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips as an idea popped into your head.

You couldn’t resist.

"You know," you began playfully, your voice teasing and light...

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curling upward as you gazed at Izuku’s serene face.

The moment felt suspended in time, wrapped in the tender quiet of the living room.

The faint glow of the television cast shifting shadows across his features, making him look even softer than usual.

With a warm chuckle, you let the words slip from your lips, their sincerity surprising even you. “I don’t know what it is, but you have this way of making everything around you feel softer.”

Izuku’s eyes fluttered open at your voice, blinking slowly as he adjusted to the light.

His emerald gaze, still slightly hazy with the remnants of sleep, met yours.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable yet filled with an unspoken tenderness.

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned a little closer, your fingers still trailing through his hair as you added softly, “How are you so good at making ordinary moments feel special?”

Your chuckle was light, almost self-conscious, but genuine. It broke the silence like a gentle ripple across still water.

Izuku’s reaction was immediate and heartwarming.

His cheeks flushed a deep pink, the color spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to respond, but no words came out at first.

Instead, he buried his face further into your chest, letting out a muffled groan.

“Y-You can’t just say things like that,” he mumbled, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

Despite the protest in his words, there was no mistaking the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, the sound light and melodic in the quiet room. “Why not? It’s true,” you teased, your tone playful but laced with sincerity.

Izuku lifted his head slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes were impossibly soft, brimming with affection that made your chest tighten.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your hand moving to cup his cheek.

His skin was warm under your touch, and he leaned into your palm instinctively, like a sunflower seeking the sun.

“I just wanted you to know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The room was filled only with the soft hum of the television and the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

Izuku’s hand found yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers curling around yours as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “For saying that. For... being you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Always,” you whispered against his skin.

Izuku’s arms tightened around your waist as he buried his face against your chest once more.

“You’re the one who makes everything feel special,” he murmured, his voice muffled but no less sincere.

You smiled, your fingers resuming their comforting motion through his hair.

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and you realized that no matter how ordinary the moment, being with him made it extraordinary.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Shoto Todoroki ᡣ𐭩

The warm glow of the small lamp in the corner of the room cast soft, golden hues across the walls, giving the space a cozy and intimate ambiance.

You were seated on the floor in your apartment, cross-legged on the plush rug, with Todoroki sitting directly across from you.

His mismatched eyes watched you curiously, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips as he observed the items you’d brought back from the bathroom.

In your hands were two face masks—both contained in sleek, colorful pouches—and a pair of headbands.

You had been gifted the masks a few days ago by a friend who swore they were amazing for relaxation, and the idea of doing them with Todoroki had popped into your head immediately.

Surprisingly, he had agreed without hesitation, his calm demeanor making it clear he didn’t mind indulging you in small things like this.

"Alright," you said, breaking the silence as you placed everything on the floor between you. "First things first, we need to keep our hair out of the way."

Todoroki’s gaze shifted to the headbands, his brows furrowing slightly. “We’re wearing those?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with faint curiosity.

You chuckled, holding one up for him to see. “Yes, we are. Unless you want face mask goo in your hair, which I’m guessing you don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words before nodding. “Fair enough.”

With a smile, you picked up the other headband and slipped it over your own head.

The stretchy fabric was soft against your skin as you carefully positioned it, pulling back the strands of your hair that framed your face.

You adjusted it a few times, making sure it sat just right, and then tucked any loose pieces behind your ears.

“There,” you said, sitting back and giving him a small grin. “See? Easy.”

Todoroki watched you intently, his heterochromatic eyes following your movements as if committing every detail to memory.

Though his expression remained composed, you could tell he was slightly intrigued by the whole process.

“You look cute,” he said suddenly, his tone as straightforward as ever but carrying a certain warmth that made your cheeks flush.

You laughed softly, brushing off the compliment as you reached for the second headband.

“It’s just a headband, Shoto,” you teased, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

He shrugged, leaning forward slightly as you prepared to hand him the other headband.

“Still,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

Shaking off the sudden flutter in your chest, you turned your focus back to the task at hand, ready to guide him through the next step in your little self-care ritual.

You handed Todoroki the second headband, watching as he stared at it like it was some foreign object. “Just put it on like I did,” you said, demonstrating with your hands how to stretch it out and slide it over your head. He gave a small nod and attempted to mimic your movements.

The result was… less than perfect.

The headband sat askew, one side bunched up near his temple, while the other was twisted and barely holding back his hair.

A few strands stubbornly stuck out, and the sight was so adorably Todoroki that you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“You’re—” you tried to speak between giggles, “you’re not supposed to wear it like that!”

Todoroki blinked at you, completely unbothered by your amusement. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, his tone as calm as ever.

You leaned forward, still chuckling. “Everything is wrong with it, Shoto. Here, let me fix it.”

Without waiting for his reply, you scooted closer and reached out to adjust the headband yourself.

He sat still as you worked, his eyes fixed on your face as your fingers carefully untangled the fabric and smoothed it over his head.

The world seemed to slow down as you pushed his hair back, revealing more of his face.

His dual-colored strands fell neatly under the band, and his forehead came into view, unencumbered by the usual fringe of hair.

Your movements faltered for just a moment as your eyes fell on his scar.

With his hair pulled away, it was more visible than ever, its jagged edges a stark contrast against his otherwise flawless skin.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, not out of discomfort but because of how striking he looked.

“There,” you whispered softly, finishing the adjustment and making sure the headband was sitting properly.

You were inches away from him now, your hands lingering near his face.

His mismatched eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you moved.

Unable to help yourself, you let your fingertips brush against his cheek, your thumb instinctively tracing over the edge of his scar.

His skin was warm under your touch, and the texture of the scar was slightly raised but smooth.

“Shoto…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

His eyes softened, and though he didn’t say anything, the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch spoke volumes.

Todoroki’s mismatched eyes widened slightly at your words, the faintest hint of surprise flickering across his usually calm expression.

He blinked, as if trying to process the depth of what you’d just said.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the heater in the background.

You kept your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing over his scar again as you offered him a warm smile. “I don’t see a flaw when I look at you; I see a story that’s made you who you are,” you said softly.

The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, and his lips parted slightly as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

“Scars are like badges of courage,” you continued, your voice filled with sincerity.

“I can tell you’ve faced something and come out stronger. That scar doesn’t take away from your beauty—it adds to it. It’s a part of you that makes you uniquely beautiful.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and you could see the faintest dusting of pink creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

His gaze softened further, the hard lines of his face melting away into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“You really think that?” he finally asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

You nodded without hesitation. “I don’t just think it, Shoto—I know it.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, his hand came up to rest over yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping your fingers.

He held your hand against his cheek, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a quiet gesture of gratitude and affection.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, you should,” you said with a small laugh, trying to ease the intensity of the moment. “You’re pretty amazing, Shoto. Scars and all.”

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, a genuine one that reached his eyes. “I think you’re the amazing one,” he replied, his voice still soft but filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying more weight than you could have imagined.

You smiled back at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and love in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Always,” you whispered back.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Eijiro Kirishima ᡣ𐭩

It was a quiet evening, and the warm golden light of the bedside lamp cast a soft glow across the room.

You and Kirishima were sprawled out on the bed, each immersed in your own little worlds.

He was propped up against the headboard with a manga in his hands, his crimson hair slightly mussed from the day.

You lay on your stomach beside him, scrolling on your phone while your feet swayed lazily in the air.

The room was peaceful, the only sound being the occasional rustle of pages as Kirishima flipped through his book.

You glanced over at him, a small smile tugging at your lips as you admired how focused he looked, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

It was one of those quiet, cozy moments that you cherished, but your mischievous streak couldn’t resist stirring things up a bit.

An idea popped into your head, and you bit your bottom lip to keep from grinning too much. You shifted slightly, propping your chin on your hand as you turned your attention fully to him.

“Hey, Eiji,” you said, your voice light and playful.

Kirishima glanced up from his manga, his red eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, babe? What’s up?” he asked, his voice warm and affectionate as always.

You tilted your head, your smile growing wider. "Are you a ninja? Because you just snuck into my heart, believe it!" <those who know...>

For a moment, Kirishima just stared at you, blinking slowly as if trying to process what you had just said.

Then, his expression morphed into one of exaggerated disbelief, and he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"Babe, no." he said, his voice filled with mock horror. “That’s so corny.”

You burst out laughing, rolling onto your back as his reaction sent you into a fit of giggles. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad!” you said between laughs, looking up at him with teasing eyes.

Kirishima shook his head, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement.

“It was terrible,” he said, closing his manga and setting it aside. “Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, waving a hand dramatically. “I just have a natural talent for these things.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah, sure. A talent for making me cringe.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “Cringe? That was romantic! You just don’t appreciate my artistry.”

Kirishima laughed, his deep, hearty chuckle filling the room. “Okay, okay. Let’s hear another one, then. Show me your so-called ‘artistry.’”

You grinned, sitting up slightly as you prepared your next line. “Alright, how about this: Are you a time traveler? Because I see you in my future.”

Kirishima groaned again, throwing his head back dramatically. “Stop, you’re killing me!”

You couldn’t help but laugh even harder, clutching your stomach as you watched him squirm. “Oh, come on! That was a good one!”

“It was something,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “You’ve got more, don’t you?”

“Oh, you bet I do,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, okay, here’s another: Are you a volcano? Because I lava you.”

Kirishima cringed so hard he practically slid down the bed, covering his face with his hands. “Babe, please. You’re gonna make my teeth fall out, this is so sweet it’s painful.”

You were laughing so hard at this point that you had to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Okay, last one, I promise,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. You paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Are you a bank loan? Because you’ve got my interest.”

Kirishima groaned loudly, flopping onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. “I can’t take it anymore. You’re too much!”

You were laughing uncontrollably now, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Admit it, Eiji,” you teased, poking his side. “You secretly love it.”

He turned his head to look at you, his crimson eyes soft and full of affection despite his exaggerated protests.

“I love you,” he said, his voice quieter now, a playful smirk on his lips. “But those pickup lines? Not so much.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Fair enough,” you said, still giggling. “But don’t think for a second that I’m done embarrassing you with them.”

Kirishima laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

“As long as it makes you happy, I guess I can survive a few more,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “Just... maybe not all in one night, okay?”

You laughed, snuggling into his side as the two of you settled back into the cozy quiet of the evening, your heart full from the simple joy of being with him.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Denki Kaminari ᡣ𐭩

It had been a quiet, peaceful afternoon.

Denki and you were lounging in your shared living room, each of you doing your own thing.

He was sprawled out on the couch, his legs stretched across the cushions, while you sat comfortably on the floor, leaning against the coffee table.

The soft hum of the TV in the background was the only noise filling the room, besides the occasional shuffling of papers or the tapping of Denki’s fingers on his phone.

You were trying to focus on the book in your hands, but every now and then, you’d sneak a glance at Denki.

You couldn’t help it.

He had this lazy, carefree vibe that made him endearing, even when he wasn’t trying.

His hair was slightly messy, as usual, and the way he was sprawled out lazily on the couch made it clear he was in one of his “relaxing” moods.

As you turned the page, you heard a soft shift in the cushions beside you.

Glancing up, you saw Denki sitting up, that familiar cheeky grin spreading across his face.

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing what was coming.

His mischievous glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway, and you could practically hear him about to ask one of his signature ridiculous questions.

He leaned forward slightly, his arms coming to rest on his knees as he locked eyes with you, his grin growing wider.

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying that playful edge you had come to know so well. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You sighed dramatically, not even bothering to hide your exhaustion at this point. You knew exactly what was coming.

“Please tell me you aren’t about to ask me another one of your insanely stupid questions,” you replied, setting your book down with a soft thud and looking at him with an almost exasperated expression.

Denki’s grin only grew wider, clearly amused by your response. “Aw, come on! You haven’t even heard it yet!” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

You knew there was no way you could resist him, not when he looked so ridiculously charming in that moment.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but fine. What is it this time?” you asked, leaning back against the coffee table again.

Denki’s grin turned mischievous, and he stretched his arms above his head, as if preparing himself for the most profound question of his life.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his theatrics; he was such a goofball sometimes.

“Well, here it is,” Denki said, lowering his hands and leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Are you ready for this?”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued, but also already bracing yourself for whatever cheesy thing he was about to say.

"I'm not sure... but go ahead." you said, leaning back slightly, crossing your arms as you watched him.

He gave you a mischievous grin, clearly pleased with himself.

Then, he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a dramatic tone as he said, "Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the ridiculousness of it. "Seriously, Denki?" you said, trying to act unimpressed, but failing miserably.

"You’ve been sitting on that one, huh?" You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at his over-the-top delivery.

Denki sat back with a satisfied smirk, looking way too pleased with himself. “What? It’s a classic,” he said, clearly proud of his attempt. “You can’t deny it’s effective.”

You raised an eyebrow, an idea forming in your mind. “Alright, alright. If we’re going cheesy, let me show you how it’s done.”

You leaned in slightly, putting on an exaggerated, sultry tone, though you were doing your best to hold back a grin. “Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”

Denki’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed, but he quickly recovered, giving you a playful eye roll. “Okay, okay, I see how it is. You wanna play with the big leagues, huh?”

You smirked, leaning back to get comfortable again. “I’m just getting started,” you said with a wink.

He chuckled and sat up straighter, his grin widening as he prepared himself.

“Alright, alright. Here’s one for you. Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘FINE’ written all over you.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest in mock shock. “Denki, no! That one was so bad.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’ve got to try harder than that.”

Denki threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just warming up! You’ll see. I’ve got a whole arsenal.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, already thinking of your next move.

You leaned forward once more, this time lowering your voice just a little for dramatic effect. “Are you a campfire? Because you’re hot and I want s’more.”

Denki’s eyes widened, and you could see his thoughts race as he tried to come up with something equally cheesy in return.

His lips curled into a grin, but it was clear he was impressed. “Okay, okay, I see how this is going,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got some skills.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how competitive he was getting. “I told you,” you said, sitting back again, feeling pretty proud of yourself.

“You’ve got to bring your A-game if you want to keep up with me.”

Denki laughed, running a hand through his messy hair as he tried to think of something better. “Alright, alright. I’ve got the perfect one for you. Ready?”

He waited for you to nod, then leaned in with a smirk. “Is your name Google? Because you’ve got everything I’ve been searching for.”

You gasped dramatically, throwing a hand over your heart as though he’d just knocked you out with the most romantic line ever. “Okay, that was actually pretty okay. I’ll give it to you,” you said, laughing.

“You’ve won this round, I guess.”

Denki’s grin widened, clearly pleased with himself. “I knew I could get you with that one,” he said, leaning back against the couch, looking smug. “You can’t out-pickup-line me, babe.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him, still laughing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something even better next time.”

You leaned in and added in a teasing tone, “You may have won this round, but I’m not done yet.”

Denki shook his head, chuckling. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store. But for now, I think I’ve earned the title of Master of Pickup Lines.”

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head with a relaxed smile.

You rolled your eyes again, but your heart was warm, knowing how much fun you were having with him.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, settling back into your spot on the floor and grabbing your book again.

Denki watched you for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I think I could sit here and do this with you all day. Just… hang out, make each other laugh.”

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m all for that,” you said, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone as goofy and sweet as him by your side.

For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable silence, the only sound the soft hum of the TV in the background.

You sat there, both of you content, knowing that even in the midst of the silliest games, the best moments came from just being together.

☆ ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION ☆

[in1-nutshell]

Hi! Glad that the requests are open! Happy late Thanksgiving Day!

What about a Cybertronian Buddy with Wolverine's abilities? You know, retractable claws, healing factor, enhanced senses? Looking tough as nails, yet a big ol' overprotective softy? That would be a great addition to your collection of Buddies!

Oh, you can make Buddy (him) to take a special liking to the Team Prime kiddos (TFP)

Hope you have a good day!

P.S.: the name's Casey. Your writing is awesome!)))

Hi there Casey! And a Happy Late Thanksgiving to you too!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who is like Wolverine

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injuries, Cybertronian reader

TFP

Buddy was one of the last outliers to join the Autobots.

There used to be other outliers around, not a lot but enough numbers to notice.

Now as far as he could tell, Buddy was the last one left.

The bot was a peculiar outlier.

Most outliers had just one thing that set them apart from the average bot.

Buddy had a multitude of abilities.

For one, his frame seemed to mend even the deepest of stab wounds.

Something very unusual for a Cybertronian

Buddy stares unbothered by a large slash across his chassis. Bumblebee: “Are you okay?!” Buddy: “Eh.” Bumblebee: “What do you mean ‘Eh’!? You need a medic!”

Buddy’s servo’s had retractable ‘claws’, something he made as his signature weapon on the battlefield.

They could slash through some of the hardest and densest metals know to Cybertron.

Buddy: “Hey Screamer! You want to see my servo transform?” Starscream gets the birdy. Starscream: “What is—ACK!” Buddy leaps to the Seeker and tries to slash him with the birdy. Starscream: “How dare you—WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!”

But probably one of the most uncanny ability Buddy could do was sense danger.

He didn’t have a scanner or and readings, he just knew something was going to come and it wasn’t friendly.

Buddy suddenly stops in his tracks. Helm finals twitching and tensing. His optics go wide. Buddy: “GET DOWN!” Tackles Bulkhead out of the way of incoming missile attacks. Buddy: “BULKHEAD GET YOUR BLASTED FENDER OFF THE GROUND AND RUN!”

The bot arrived on Earth shortly after most of Team Prime made it to Earth.

It took some time to get adjusted to team life once again, but it came just in time for the arrival of the kids.

Now, Buddy had already shown a bit of a soft spot towards Bumblebee in the beginning.

But no one thought much about it, everyone had a soft spot for the youngest bot.

With the children around, their fellow guardians were a bit worried about what Buddy’s reaction would be.

The bot wasn’t too found of humans after some had egged him in his alt mode.

The kids felt a bit uneasy seeing the bot glaring at them for a couple of days.

Jack: “Hey Arcee, what’s going on with… umm… him?” Arcee looks where Jack gestured. Buddy was brooding in the corner while buffing some old dents out. Arcee: “You mean Buddy?” Jack: “Yeah… why has he been all… what’s the word?” Miko pops up next to him. Miko: “Brooding? A Stick in the mud? Looking like a Con double agent?” Bulkhead: “Miko! Buddy isn’t a spy.” Miko: “Could have fooled me.” Arcee: “Buddy is just like that Miko. He’s actually been better these past few days.” Jack: “This is better? I’d hate to see him on a bad day.” Bulkhead: “Buddy’s been in a good mood since you guys showed up now that I think about it.” Miko: “Ha! Yeah right! He probably wants to kick us for being around.” Arcee and Bulkhead recall Buddy carefully holding a sleeping Raf, looking so stressed because he didn’t know what to do and didn’t want to wake him up. Arcee and Bulkhead: “Sure…”

Jack and Raf had no problem with the grumpy bot.

Buddy had attempted to bond with them after awkwardly asking if they wanted to join him on a drive so they wouldn’t be couped up in the base too long.

Buddy was parked in an empty lot letting Raf and Jack eat a bit in his alt mode. Jack: “You seriously don’t mind?” Buddy: “I don’t see the problem.” Raf: “Thanks!” Buddy: “… Just try and not to eat anything glittery or those spicy chips.” Jack: “What’s wrong with spicy chips?” Buddy: “The smell stays on the seat for days and I’m not exactly too fond of that.”

Miko feels like he targets her in particular.

Buddy always seemed to be around the corner whenever she tried to do something deemed ‘Mischievous’.

He has absolutely no problem scolding the girl for doing things she wasn’t supposed to do.

Buddy has Miko in his servo. She is kicking and tries to get out of his grip. Buddy puts her down and crosses his arms. Buddy: “What in the name of Alpha Trion where you thinking!?” Miko crosses her arms. Miko: “I just wanted to help!” Buddy: “By what!? By running into the groundbrigde all willy nilly, head first straight into battle, provoking STARSCREAM of all bot! WITH A ROCK! Are you trying to get yourself terminated!?” Wheeljack and Bulkhead try to step in. Buddy sends them a glare. Buddy: “No! You are not saving her this time! She needs to know there are consequences for these kinds of actions!”

Yes, they butt heads a lot.

Miko is convinced that he hates her.

Buddy doesn’t, he just worries for her safety as the human with the least amount of self-preservation.

Bulkhead does take some time to defend his teammate and friend.

Buddy had lost a lot of bots he considered family, he just didn’t wan this new one to go up in flames either.

The girl does tone down the aggression a bit and starts leaving doodles for Buddy to find.

Buddy acts like he throws them away.

… But a little yellow bot told her that he keeps every picture in a special drawer in his habsuite.

You have no idea how much I want to give this Buddy a Deadpool partner! I need to start thinking on ideas!

[amediocregamer]

alright, so you guys have been way too fast with these!!! anyway, as i said, here are some sprites and info about the game, as well as a few extra tidbit sprites i made in another project. (also, you may notice that these are all screenshots from the editor and not actually the full exported sprites. this is because i am but a sludge and make my sprites wayy too small to appear satisfyingly)

This is the player character, though I've yet to name it. first person to suggest a name gets an image of an egg. they're meant to be a robot with a screen head, but it may be a bit difficult to tell from a 22x22 sprite. there's not much (like. at all) story to them yet, but I'm hoping to do something fun with them. maybe a nuclear bomb. they also do this fun arm swing when they walk which i find adorable. if i ever find a way to record that, im sure someone would enjoy that.

this is the temporary block sprite that I'm using as a standin before i get a solid sprite down or even make the mechanic!! as you can see there's a heavy inspiration from portal, lol. the purple middle part rolls around in a point (aswell as i can show in 3 frames of animation) and the outer purple lines fade in and out.

these three images are the tile system i've set (as in drawn and thought about lol) to be in the game! the leftmost tile (black and gray) is ones that the player will mostly walk on, but the block cannot be moved onto. the middle one (gray) is the ones that the block can be moved on, and the rightmost tile (red and black) is a button that the block would need to be pushed onto! when added together, they look pretty matching, but it creates a weird and sort of annoying effect when you're trying to watch yourself move, so I might change it later on.

this is the wall sprite! there's really nothing to say about this one. it's a wall.

When added all together, the room looks something like below:

as for the main plan? literally none. im going to do these things as they come. im going to catch the hat when it hits me. im hoping i stick to a puzzle game game, and maybe add some witty dialogue or story, but until then, nada. zilch. third word meaning nothing.

and that's about it for the game so far!!! what follows is just some sprites i made for fun in a previous (now very canceled) project that i might use as easter eggs later on. you get an egg if you can name each of them.

Note Post!!!! note post!!!! note post post notes!!!

so for the one, two mutuals that have actually seen my art share posts I have mentioned that I have been trying to get into game design and development as I want it to be my future career!! i do really enjoy it but unfortunately I'm having a bit of issues getting motivation to do that. so!!! notes.

5 notes - I open Gamemaker Studios to check over my code, all about 15 lines [Completed!

15 - I share sprites and general story/plans for game (do NOT expect much, I am but baby and this is basically meant to be an exercise!!) [In progress

30 notes - start trying to code a planned push block puzzle mechanic which the game will center around [In progress

50 - try get a second and more levels to work, somehow [In progress

100 - add sound to my game, again somehow because I have no idea

200 - add new mechanic for each new level (max of like. 5)

300 - add some semblance of dialogue, little and bad as it may be!!!

500 - set up an itch.io (probably won't be final platform) and release first drafts or play tests on it for free!!!

700 - uh I don't know. I'll add a 2 minute long video of Wheatley from Portal 2 somewhere

RULES RULES RULES!!!! max of *10* reblogs!!! maybe 30 comments. tag whoever.

tagging @enemylv1 because I know you'd kill for a chance to reach post limit for a goal. @k1m4r4 @liv-log @spongebob-ssnail

[impactrueno]

I absolutely love Beetlejuice’a expression when he’s looking at the scrapbook Lydia made. It’s a very simple expression, but it just says so much. He’s sad he missed out, he’s proud of Lydia… you draw expressions so well. It reminds me of that quote, “a picture is worth a thousand words”

thank you so much!!

that was one of the hardest expressions i had to draw for this comic by far, i'm still not too convinced but i'm glad you got what i was trying to convey there. it's a very bittersweet moment for him. going through that scrapbook is gonna hurt a bit, but i know it's also gonna be healing. lydia went through the trouble of making that for him, how can he not love that? and yet, it's really gonna put into perspective how much he actually missed. he hadn't realized so much time had passed. that's painful no matter what.

lots of things going through his mind right now but the loudest thought is most definitely "i knew she would do great, look how amazing she is"

lydia says it's all thanks to him but in a rare instance of humility for bj he doesn't actually feel like he's earned such an honor, and after looking through the scrapbook he's sure that this was all her.

he didn't need to stick around for her to thrive. so...should he stick around now...?

[riality-check]

It comes to him in pieces. The slight scratch of worn cotton sheets. The steady whirrs and drips next to his head. The too-clean smell of too-dry air in a too-cold room.

Viktor opens his eyes to the expected sights of a blank ceiling, a too-narrow window, and a smoldering little fireplace too far from his bed to do much good. He has rarely been in hospitals - only when his health was exceptionally poor were they ever deemed worth it - but the few he has seen have all had the same blank, interchangeable features.

He laughs slightly, a brief exhale through his nose, when he realizes that this, the sterility of hospital rooms, is the only constant he has recognized between the Undercity and Piltover.

“Viktor,” someone says from beside him.

He turns his head. It is a slow process, one that feels like wading through honey. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, gritty as sand. 

“Is there anyone you’d want me to send for?” Professor Heimerdinger asks before Viktor can begin to consider forming words. “I would have done so earlier, only… only I didn’t know if you wanted anyone to see you in this state. Or who you wanted. Some people can be sensitive about this sort of thing. I’ve had some students in the past who certainly were. But I can certainly send for your parents-”

“You would be sending for ghosts,” Viktor rasps.

A tool belt and a spoon sold for stale food. Snatches of faded songs in the language most familiar to me. Care in the form of sacrifice, in deprivation for my sake. Holding my hand, pinning me down, propping me up.

And no address to locate any of it.

“Oh.”

Rain begins to patter against the windows.

“I didn’t know,” he follows, after a moment.

Viktor disguises his bitter laugh as a cough.

“Is there anyone-”

“No.” Another beat. “But I appreciate the offer, Professor.”

There are people, back below, that Viktor owes for being here. To say that he is alive completely of his own merit would be a lie. In the years after his parents passed, in the nebulous period before he could completely get his bearings, cooks gave him meals at the end of the day. Shopkeepers permitted him to sleep in their back rooms. Tailors taught him to mend his clothes, clockmakers taught him more about the intricate workings of their machines, and the women at the brothels taught him how to defend himself against stronger opponents. 

It was a lonely existence, no doubt, but to pretend it was a solitary one would deny the fact that Viktor owes a thousand small debts. Most of these, he will never have the opportunity to repay.

A thousand people helped him stay alive long enough to make it here. But none of them ever saw him delirious or incapacitated. To them, he was simply the tenacious, crippled child who required assistance every so often and repaid them by constructing little machines or fixing mechanical problems.

And he has no intention of changing that for them.

Heimerdinger nods distractedly. His nose twitches, and the silence stretches like taffy - distorting the longer it goes.

Viktor knows this feeling. Not well, but enough. It has been confirmed with the slowness of his thoughts, his movements, and his speech.

“They sedated me,” he states.

“Yes,” Heimerdinger says, visibly relaxing at the opportunity to give a certain answer. “You were-”

A mess. A nuisance. A member of the rabble making far too much of a scene for our comfort.

“In a tremendous deal of pain, I’m sure.”

Every conversation with a topsider feels like balancing on ice. The moment Viktor convinces himself that he is confident in the direction, it changes underneath his feet.

“It was bad,” he admits when the silence stretches again. “I could barely walk to class. I was delirious, I suppose, when I finally arrived. I was not in my right mind, and I foolishly thought that I could solve the problem of my knee locking in place if I used my cane for leverage behind it and… yanked it bent.”

As he talks, he twists his hands in the coarse sheets of the bed, focusing on their scratch instead of the way that describing it all feels like gargling glass.

Ashamed is not the word. Viktor is not less than due to his ailments. He has never been something to pity, and he has never, of his own volition, wanted to hide. He did not care before crawling up, before Heimerdinger opened this door and beckoned him inside. Only after blinking aside the glaring topside sunlight and taking in the entirely foreign world in which people still want but rarely need did he consider that these people with their gilded smiles and full stomachs might think differently.

They think Viktor is something to pity. They consider him an oddity. They wish he would limp back down to where all the other trenchers go to die, down to a place without family names or clear air.

He is not ashamed. But he is frustrated, embittered, and a hundred other emotions he must swallow back because he is not allowed to be any of them.

Instead, he must be grateful.

“It was foolish of me, and I apologize for disrupting your lecture,” he concludes, swallowing back anger and bile.

Heimerdinger all but gapes at him. Briefly and ridiculously, Viktor wishes the pain medication would lose its efficacy, and he could lose consciousness again. It would rescue him from this conversation.

“My boy, I don’t care about the lecture,” he says slowly. “I care if you’re alright.”

Bullshit, Viktor cannot help but think.

“How much do I owe for this?” he asks instead, gesturing down at his legs, covered by the sheet.

Heimerdinger’s fluffy eyebrows furrow. “Nothing. It’s included in tuition.”

“I do not pay tuition, Professor.”

I am here on your whim. I am here because you offered an opportunity to me, and I grabbed it with both hands like the greedy creature I am. I know you can take all of this away from me if you wanted.

I know this. Why do you not?

“Don’t worry about it,” Heimerdinger dismisses with a small wave. “You have more important things to worry about, like resting.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Viktor throws the sheets off his legs. Through the haze of the medication, the pain simply throbs, a dull ache akin to hearing sound underwater. It is manageable and distant. Without the medication, he knows it would be agony. Sharp. Consuming.

He could manage it. He has managed it before, without this cushioning, and he can do it again.

Bite down.

His right knee has been heavily wrapped and splinted, neatly and professionally immobilized.

“Viktor,” Heimerdinger says firmly, “you dislocated your knee and sprained two ligaments. Plenty of students have missed for less.”

“I am not the same as other students.”

Heimerdinger frowns. “Of course you are.”

“I am not,” Viktor snaps. “No other student is from the Undercity, and no other student is a cripple.”

When Heimerdinger’s jaw drops open in shock, he recognizes that he has all but abandoned the rules he has set for himself to be polite and adherent and grateful. 

Jump when they ask how high and bite down against the pain. Outwork them for a fraction of the recognition. Be their example, their photograph, their comfortable little abstraction brought to pallid life.

There is only the work until there is not. Until there are unfamiliar rules in a language second to his tongue. Until loneliness wraps its chilled arms around his ribs and squeezes. Until his leg screams in protest of being forced into normalcy. Until his body reels from the adjustment from near starvation to plenty, until the tapping of his cane is all he can fucking hear inside his skull, until it is the only sound they ever associate with him, introduction and trail in every space he will ever occupy.

And they punish him for it, for his habits and his inadequacies, in a thousand small, cutting ways, until he bleeds out and crumples. When he inevitably does, they will step over him like they do every other sump rat.

At least, until he pushes himself to his feet. Again, and again, and again, he stands. Damn the pain. He will hold his chin up and stand on his own two feet, cane firmly planted on the ground. Because fuck this place and what it has done to him. 

Viktor knows what he is: a crippled trencher. Simple and absolute. Resilient with rough edges. This glittering, smooth place was not designed for him.

Resultantly, he was not designed for its rules.

“I am not the same as the other students,” he repeats coldly. “None of them have ever starved or slept using trash to keep warm. I highly doubt any of them ever breathed in fumes smelling of hell itself, or that they had to be held down by their parents when they tried, again and again, to fix a leg that simply refused any and all intervention.”

“Viktor-”

“No,” he snaps. “No, Professor. I listened when you met me for the first time and told me of the Academy. You told me it was somewhere perfectly suited for me. The Academy, you said, was somewhere I could flourish. It would be good for me. I was wasted where I was. I deserved to be there. All of that is what you said. So, now you will listen to me.”

Heimerdinger’s face shutters. After a long moment, he asks, “Did I lie to you?”

“What?”

“Was anything that I said untrue?” Heimerdinger inquires. “You were wasted in the Undercity. You have flourished at the Academy, so it’s been good for you. And you absolutely deserve-”

“I know I deserve to be here,” Viktor snaps. “But the Academy is not suited for me.”

Heimerdinger frowns, clearly upset at being interrupted, but Viktor seizes his opening regardless.

“I experience pain, daily, that would send most students to the infirmary in tears. I have missed classes because they are in locations so inaccessible to me that it is better for me to make up the work than risk the pain of attending them. I had to fabricate my own keys to the library and to classrooms so I could arrive early for comfortable seats.”

“You did what?” Heimerdinger says, missing the point. “That’s against the rules.”

Viktor waves him off. “I am from the Undercity, Professor. We are not known for following the rules.”

“You’re more than that.”

“Correct. I am a trencher, and a cripple.”

Heimerdinger freezes, much like he did that first day in his office, when he noticed Viktor’s cane for the first time. His eyes shift side to side, and he swallows uncomfortably.

“If you tell me that I am not a cripple,” Viktor says slowly, “I will lose every ounce of respect I ever had for you.”

This is not an empty threat. He learned early in his life that empty threats were often violently challenged, and so he never makes them.

The professor is… on thin ice already. Viktor is one semester away from graduation. He lays in an infirmary bed, half-sedated. He has already been incredibly rude.

He has very little left to lose.

“You are not only… your leg,” Heimerdinger finally ventures.

Viktor chuckles, a mixture of bitterness and amusement at Heimerdinger’s discomfort. “That is the first thing everyone sees. It will take a miracle to convince them beyond it.”

Heimerdinger quiets again, but this time, his brows furrow in contemplation, not anger.

Outside, it rains harder. The little fireplace still smolders uselessly. Viktor watches it, and in the time it takes for Heimerdinger to speak again, he nearly falls asleep.

But only nearly.

The professor says, “I’ve been teaching for more than two centuries, Viktor. I have never met your equal. If anyone can make a miracle, it’s you.”

He puts his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor musters all of his will to not shrug it off.

They remain like that for a few seconds. Then, Heimerdinger rises from his chair and totters out of the room with a kind look over his shoulder.

A week later, the staff release Viktor with a set of well-made crutches and strict instructions for care. They would have released him earlier if he had not, immediately after Heimerdinger’s departure, broken two fingers as he punched the stone wall of the infirmary.

The rest of this series, if you're so inclined: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

[sairenharia]

Of Hedgehogs, Chaos, and the Warrior's Heart

So here is the thing.

We don't know why Longclaw wanted to hide Sonic.

Sonic 3 spoilers ahead.

So upon rewatching the movies and Knuckles miniseries before movie three, this thought has been niggling my brain. Why was Longclaw hiding Sonic. We know Longclaw wanted to hide Sonic for his power, and the first real thought is his superspeed.

Except, when you think about it, superspeed is rather hard to use against a person's will and one of the harder people to contain. Freedom of movement is necessary for full usage, and if you have a speedster with freedom of movement, they can do a lot of things to escape. And really, what do you use it for? Super soldier, maybe, but it gets into that containment thing. Have in a hamster ball forever? Sure, but how do you keep him running and keep him optimal?

When it comes down to it, being used for his speed doesn't warrant Longclaw's actions.

Longclaw wanted an apprentice for the Master Emerald and selected Sonic for being superpowered? Well, possible, but that would mean Longclaw was doing EXACTLY what she was warning Sonic to watch out for. More over, its a pretty terrible thing for Longclaw to DO. If protecting the Master Emerald required isolation, that is a terrible thing to do to a child, especially a child as extroverted and friendly as Sonic is. So no, I don't think Longclaw's hiding away of Sonic had anything to do with the Master Emerald. I think she had ANOTHER reason and since she was already raising and isolating this kid anyway, might as well have him as the guardian after her. The Master Emerald duty was one of convenience, not intent.

So Sonic isn't wanted for his superspeed or his relation to the Master Emerald.

So obviously, I'm getting at his unlimited power source quills and EMP abilities. Or at least what they indicate.

Because let's be real, those abilities are weird. Those are not base Sonic abilities. Whatever is going on is something different from usual canon.

Now, a seemingly infinite power source like the quills able to grant things superspeed is definitely a hell of a thing people would want.

Then there's the sticking point.

Because Knuckles has the same thing going on. Why didn't Knuckles need to be isolated?

Especially as the Prequill comic implies Sonic is a known entity to a certain degree. His speed is well known despite his being a child at the time. Longclaw is known. Tails knows a fair bit about their relationship and what Sonic could do as a child. Sonic, himself, was a KNOWN entity as a toddler.

Which is weird because he wasn't doing heroics then as far as we know.

What is the difference between Knuckles and Sonic. And it was driving me up the wall because Longclaw is hiding Sonic for some reason, and Knuckles was allowed to run free, and the power ups isn't a Mobian thing in general, because Tails has yet to be a sparky sparky LED eyeballs with fur that grants superpowers.

And then we saw Amy Rose.

And the Metal Sonics.

And a lot of things started clicking into place, including a lot of weird things that have cropped up along the way.

The Metal Sonics teleported in as an army. Now generally Metal Sonic is made by Robotnik, but he didn't really have time to do that. More over, why is Amy here in time to deal with them at all. If Robotnik survived the Eclipse Cannon exploding (and let's be hones,t he almost definitely did), Tom is still injured. We max a few months after the Eclipse Cannon and Robotnik probably needs to recover himself.

So I don't believe he's the one who made Metal Sonic in this universe.

So the question is who.

And why.

First weird thing: The Scavengers. Here is the weird thing about the Scavengers. They dress as birds. They're not bird people and it seems the Owls may have made the same path as the Echidnas.

The scavengers, and the Metal Sonics are working in the same vein. Because its known that Sonic was raised by an Owl. Dressing as birds could be a ploy to put Sonic into a false sense of security, lower his guard for them to get the jump. The same for designing the Metal Sonics that way. They want to put Sonic into a false of security.

But that is a lot of work for a Hedgehog that they may or may not know is still alive. Its been years and he was on his own as a literal child.

Weird thing number two. Tails calls Sonic a legend. Why? Because by that point, literally the only thing of note that we know of Sonic that he's done is hide away most of his life and fight ONE guy with a moderately sized robot and stopped some petty crime. Now at first this could just be Tails seeing someone weird being cool getting some hero worship, but we see in the Prequill that Longclaw's home is considered a sacred site.

And we see Tails is cracking chaos energy. Sonic was confused for a place destroyed by chaos energy.

Weird thing number three. Knuckles and Tails say Sonic and Shadow look alike, which is weird when they would be around more mobians and aliens in general. Sonic looking at another Hedgehog and thinking 'they look like me' tracks because Sonic doesn't remember seeing another Hedgehog. If you see a pack of wolves, you're gonna think they all look the same until you're around the pack enough to tell the difference. Knuckles and Tails should be able to tell the difference, while the Hedgehogs are new to seeing any pack.

Weird thing number four. Knuckles says its impossible. That's a weird word to describe meeting another Hedgehog. They knew they were going to see an alien. Why not another Hedgehog? What about Hedgehogs makes it such a surprise?

Why does Longclaw need to hide Sonic?

Because Hedgehogs are hunted down.

The Scavengers dress as birds because there is a long history of Owls trying to protect Hedgehogs.

The Metal Sonics are Metal Hedgehogs, with a paint job because they're aware of Sonic's existence, so they made it more specific.

Amy is dressed like a survivor type because she is being hunted down too and she has to keep herself covered up and she's on Earth to protect some fellow Hedgehogs.

Why is Knuckles different from Sonic (and Shadow)?

The Echidnas may not be so different and that's why their numbers were decimated since not ALL of them should be hunting down the Master Emerald. A lot of Echidna's might have died in pursuit of power, but they may be close enough to Hedgehogs that they get tracked down for either use or destruction.

But they're not as scary as Hedgehogs.

Because Hedgehogs can access Chaos Energy with ease and Echidnas have to work at it.

We know in the Knuckles Miniseries that Knuckles knows he's had chaos energy all his life, but he wasn't able to access it. Not without training and hard work and a warrior's heart.

Sonic and Shadow, we know, never had a day of training in their lives before they were going nuclear.

Echidnas are a crafted blade.

Hedgehogs are a lake of gasoline.

Longclaw needed to hide Sonic because he was a Hedgehog and someone wanted Hedgehogs either to use or destroy. Hedgehogs in the wild are rare enough that his natural abilities were taken stock of.

Sonic is a legend because, by being a Hedgehog, he is destined to be something powerful. He was weird. He was unique. He was amazing. And he choose to help people with these abilities and that's why Tails considered him a legend.

(There is also a possibility there is just straight up a prophecy and Tails hasn't quite caught on how much Longclaw did NOT tell Sonic things. A bit of a 'this is a normal fact to Knuckles and Tails so it doesn't enter their minds Sonic DOESN'T know it' but that is very speculative without a lot of evidence to go off of.)

Circling back to the idea of the Warrior's Heart and the importance of the Hedgehogs we see.

Here is the thing, Sonic the Hedgehog has established that the power of friendship/family/love is, in fact, a thing that happens. We see Sonic go from on the floor to fighting Robotnik with the Wachowski's and town reaching out. We see the Chaos Emeralds react in face of a familial love. We see Knuckles go from the ground and drained to raring to go for his home. We see Sonic get the upper hand on Shadow when his love for Tom is provoked, and we see Shadow use his love for Maria to move the Eclipse Cannon.

And throughout the series we see a human do an act of superhuman ability without any aid of technology or magic gems a grand total of once.

Wade Whipple.

In Flames of Disaster, he does a standing jump inside of the cage, through the roof, several feet above it, and land without getting seriously hurt. While we may not know the exact material of the roof and it looks like cardboard, the standing jump is not a realistic human feat, let alone for Wade Whipple.

But he was selected to be the inheritor of the Echidna's way. Sure, his selection may have also been about getting Knuckles to live his life, but I think his selection was two pronged. One part was to help Knuckles learn to live his life, but another was Wade had a potential.

Chaos Energy.

How much, who knows, but it was enough that when Wade figured out how to connect to the Warrior's Heart, he was able to access that power he had to jump through the roof.

And Wade's journey is about trying to be good enough for his dad. The daddy issues were real. He wants to prove he's a warrior, prove he's good enough, to be able to reach his dad again. That was his motivation for his way of the warrior.

Connection is key for chaos energy.

Which makes it funny because the used of a lot of it have largely been those who experienced great loneliness.

Which can also go a long way to explain why the quills retain their power. Because the quills are weird. The quills being pulled off should mean they're dead tissue so while retaining some energy for a while isn't such a hard thing to believe, we know they can last one to fifty years with no problem. And that is base Hedgehogs. That points to an active connection with the quills. Which also goes along with Sonic's quills lighting up when he gets worked up.

Which goes into the Elephant in the room.

What's the deal with Shadow?

He wasn't created by GUN or Gerald. He may have been a natural born Hedgehog for all we know. But here is where we get into theories.

Because the other known factor for Shadow's creation is Black Arms.

And why I think Hedgehogs are hunted down.

And why Longclaw focused so hard on Sonic's heart and to not let himself be used.

And why GUN got real lucky Maria existed in the first place.

My firs thought is Black Arms like to target Hedgehogs for infection. Usage. Hedgehogs are so intune with Chaos Energy, they're prime candidates to convert into their hivemind and Shadow was the first experiment into that. Make him the hybrid.

Which may be the case.

A friend mine proposed another theory that feels more secure in what we've seen.

Hedgehogs ARE Black Arms.

Chaos reacts to connections. It doesn't have to be a positive, it just has to strong. The want to protect family, the home, tradition, is just as strong as grief, vengeance, and loneliness. Connection is the key.

Much like a hivemind.

And it would explain why the quills are active so long. To tap into chaos is to tap into a hivemind and then every part of someone becomes part of the entity. The quills don't lose charge because they continue to LIVE, even if they don't have THOUGHTS.

Its also why the quills so READILY give out their powers to others. Knuckles grants strength. Sonic grants speed. Shadow just grants pure, unfiltered power.

Its also why Sonic and Knuckles are able to absorb their power back from stolen quills or energy drains.

Maybe its why Shadow survived the Eclipse Cannon, its his power, he just needed to be able to absorb it again.

They're calling back the power from a hivemind.

It may be why Knuckles can see ghosts of his ancestors, because they have accepted this lowkey hivemind when they embrace chaos.

Other creatures need to work to achieve this state. To connect to Chaos, to have all of their body alive with chaos, and potentially connect to other in Chaos.

Hedgehogs are scary because they don't need to work for it.

Sonic didn't want to knock out the power in several states and a sattelite. He just wanted so desperately to connect to anyone, his powers reacted and called out anyone who was interested in him.

Shadow, despite his introverted nature and treatment from the scientists, connected hard with Maria and she became the light in his life. A light that caused madness in its absence until he formed an empathetic connection that let him see it could still exist.

And then there's Amy Rose, known advocate for all things love and friendship.

Hedgehogs have two ways they can go.

They can become the Black Arms, who are going to be scary, dangerous beings in the galaxy, enough to warrant scavengers to disguise as birds to put them at ease whether or not they're looking for them specifically. To warrant a robot army.

Black Arms who lean hard into the hivemind, the connection to others, to lead them to take and take and take for the betterment of themselves.

Or, what the Owls have discovered, if they can get to Hedgehogs early enough, they can teach them to love and care in a less destructive way. Perhaps something they learned in their long standing feud with the Echidnas, who have tapped into the power, but remained more sane than Black Arms. Their hearts can be good and pure. They don't need to let others use them for their powers. They can be an individual and remain free, even if their quills are in the hivemind.

Teach Hedgehogs to be good people who can do great things, as long as they are allowed to make decisions for themselves. Instead of being used by the larger group.

Shadow may be a hybrid. He may have been just someone who converted early into the state of Black Arms, but crashing into Earth cut him off.

But either way, whatever is going on with Hedgehogs, I'm pretty sure they are indeed an endangered species.

[kaiyunsim]

night to remember —

pairing : student!yushi x student!reader (no pronouns. written with male in mind)

summary : after meeting yushi thought a mutual friend, you have a hangout in a dorm with everyone, while also having a night to remember with yushi.

warnings : fluff, teasing, college au

a/n : erm… i wrote this at 2am.

~ requested ! ~

— wc: 1.4k— not proof read —

the first day of college is chaotic, to say the least. dorm assignments are a mess, people are frantically trying to find their classrooms, and yushi is already late to his first lecture. you spot him sprinting across campus, backpack bouncing wildly, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles from what must’ve been a rushed morning. he’s juggling a half-empty coffee cup and a folder that’s threatening to spill its contents onto the pavement. you can’t help but laugh at the scene, the sound of your amusement catching his attention. he glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours for just a second before he vanishes around the corner.

later that day, as fate would have it, you meet properly. it’s outside the student union, where a group is forming, introductions buzzing through the warm afternoon air. sion, the friend who seems to know everyone, is at the center of it all. "this is yushi," sion says, clapping him on the back. "he’s a disaster, but we love him."

yushi looks embarrassed, his cheeks tinged pink as he gives a small wave. "hi," he says quietly, his voice soft and a little uncertain. his gaze flickers to you briefly, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction, before quickly darting away again.

you introduce yourself, offering him a reassuring smile, and when he reaches out to shake your hand, his grip is tentative but warm. "nice to meet you," he says, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. it’s a quiet moment, but something about it feels significant.

soon enough, a friend group starts to take shape. there’s sion, riku, ryo, jaehee, sakuya, yushi and now, you. the dynamic is lively, full of late-night hangouts in cramped dorm rooms, bursts of laughter over terrible jokes, and endless snacks shared among the group. yushi, however, often lingers at the edges, his quiet presence blending in until he warms up to the rhythm of the conversation. he’s thoughtful, his laughter always genuine when it does come, and it lights up his face in a way that’s hard not to notice.

with you, it’s a little different. there’s a hesitance to him, like he’s testing the waters, unsure how far he can go. the first time he teases you, it’s so subtle you almost miss it. the group is sitting on the floor of riku’s dorm, empty soda cans and snack wrappers scattered around. someone suggests sharing embarrassing high school stories, and you’re midway through recounting yours when yushi speaks up.

"wait," he says, holding up a hand, his voice tinged with nervous humor. "are you telling me you actually wore that to prom?"

his tone is teasing, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as though he’s worried he might’ve pushed too far. you cross your arms, playing along. "it was a bold choice," you say defensively. "and i pulled it off."

"oh, i’m sure you did," he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. "but i’d pay good money to see the pictures."

you roll your eyes, but the banter feels natural, and you notice the way his cheeks pinken slightly when the group laughs. as time goes on, this playful dynamic becomes a staple between you. yushi starts sitting next to you during hangouts, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that feels almost deliberate. his teasing gains confidence, his quiet wit shining through in moments that make your heart skip.

one friday night, the group gathers at sakuya and sion’s dorm, planning to play mario kart and hang out before diving into midterm prep. the energy in the room is chaotic, filled with the sounds of controllers clicking and mock threats being exchanged. you and yushi end up on the same couch, the space between you narrowing as the night goes on.

"you’re going down," he says, holding the controller with a mix of determination and nerves.

"big words for someone who just crashed into a banana peel," you reply, your character zooming past his on the screen.

yushi groans dramatically, leaning back against the couch. "this game is rigged."

"or you’re just bad at it," you tease, your tone light.

his cheeks flush, but he narrows his eyes at you with a playful grin. "oh, you think you’re better?" he playfully nudges you.

"i know i am," you reply, throwing a blue shell that sends his character spinning off the track. you glance at him, triumphant. "see?" you nudge back, a bit harder than he did.

yushi huffs, but there’s a glimmer of admiration in his voice. "beginner’s luck," he mutters, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrays his amusement.

the game drags on, full of dramatic comebacks and loud laughter, until sion declares he’s starving and suggests a late-night food run. most of the group agrees, but you and yushi hang back, both sticking to the original plan and want to head to the library for some last-minute studying.

the campus is quiet under the glow of streetlights as you walk together, your steps echoing in the stillness. yushi stays close, his arm brushing yours now and then, each touch sending a small jolt through you. the night air is crisp, and at some point, yushi notices you shivering. it was stupid to walk outside with only a shirt.

without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to you.

"here," he says, his voice soft. "you’ll catch a cold." he continues. he still has a hoodie on so offering his jacket wasn’t going to change much for him.

you hesitate for a moment before accepting it, the fabric still warm from his body. "thanks," you say, slipping it on. it’s a little big, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and you catch yushi glancing at you with a shy smile.

inside the library, you find a cozy corner tucked away from the main study area. textbooks and notes are spread out between you, but focus is hard to maintain. yushi looks more tired than determined, his head drooping as he attempts to read.

"you okay over there?" you ask, trying to stifle a laugh.

he nods, though his eyes are half-closed. "just... resting my eyes," he mumbles.

moments later, he’s fast asleep, his head leaning against your shoulder. at first, you’re surprised, the warmth of him catching you off guard. but as his breathing evens out, you find yourself relaxing, the weight of him oddly comforting. you stay like that, letting him rest, the quiet hum of the library surrounding you.

when he wakes up, the embarrassment is immediate. his face turns crimson as he sits up, avoiding your gaze. "why didn’t you wake me up?" he asks, voice muffled as he buries his face in his hands.

"you looked comfortable," you reply with a shrug, trying to hide your amusement.

yushi groans, but there’s a small, shy smile tugging at his lips, as if part of him doesn’t entirely mind.

the walk back to sakuya’s dorm is quieter, the night wrapping around you like a blanket. when you rejoin the group, they’re sprawled on the floor, empty takeout containers littered around. sion looks up with a grin, his gaze flicking between you and yushi.

"you two took your time," he teases, waggling his eyebrows. "what were you doing? having a heartfelt conversation?"

yushi stiffens beside you, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "we were studying," he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

riku smirks, clearly not buying it. "studying? is that what they call it now?" his gaze drops to the jacket you’re still wearing, and his grin widens. "or were you borrowing yushi’s wardrobe? because you look pretty cozy in that jacket."

yushi’s eyes go wide, and he starts to stammer. "i—it was cold! i just—"

sakuya leans in with a playful smirk. "sure, yushi. let’s go with that."

the group bursts into laughter, their teasing lighthearted but relentless. yushi groans, burying his face in his hands, and you can’t help but laugh along, the warmth in your chest spreading at their playful ribbing.

as the night winds down and the group starts to disperse, yushi pulls you aside, his expression a mix of embarrassment and something softer. "sorry about... them," he says quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"don’t be," you reply, your voice equally soft. "they’re not wrong."

yushi looks up at you, his eyes wide, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. then he smiles, small and shy, but it lights up his face in a way that makes your heart skip.

as you decide to stay for a sleepover in the shared dorm, the memory of yushi’s smile lingers as you glance at him sleeping peacefully beside riku, like two cats beside one another. you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the group is right.

[shivayagojo]

BAHRAIN GP, crashing hot mess

masterlist

f1

It's time for the Bahrain Grand Prix. Round 4 kicks off the second race of this triple header.

see comments below

florence4ever: Ava coming into this GP with a big lead is just what she needs

> greenbanana: hopefully that podium streak continues

madmax: Max has been fast all of practice. Please Max string it together 🙏

bbisbroke: Ferrari please step up your game! Lewis needs his 8th 🏆

> team44: As much as I love LH, Ava is having a much stronger season right now.

youtube.com

Porsche F1: Ava or Duds

Admin: Welcome, Ava, to your first challenge for the Porsche YouTube channel. We've got a set of quotes and you have to tell if you said that or we made it up. Ready?

"I feel I'm about to be real exposed right here. I don't where to went to find some of these, but sure. Let's do this."

"Someone get this guys eyes checked. He's driving like he's seeing colors for the first time."

"Oh that's definitely me. It was like in my F3 days or something. Don't remember the guy I said it to."

Admin: Correct.

"This isn't driving on rain, this is ice!"

"That doesn't sound like me. I would never come about the rain. It's rain too much in Belgium for me to hate it."

Admin: That is correct. It's not you.

"If I see another damn backmarker on this lap, I'm going to crash into them."

"Hah. That definitely sounds like something I would say, but I don't think I said that one."

Admin: Correct.

"My biggest fear in the world is garlic getting in my nails when I cook."

"... That's not me, is it? There's no way I said something as stupid as that."

Admin: That actually is you.

"What? When did I say that?... I mean, yeah, I definitely do think that's annoying cause when you cut or grate garlic it has their weird texture that stick to everything and digs between your... Damn, I think I did say that. How the hell did you guys find that?"

          SATURDAY'S are beginning to look like hell for Ava. She has the pace, the raw pace, to put this car on pole every time. But every time something goes wrong. In Australia it was the setup, in China it was the whole car. Somehow she managed to bag pole in Japan, but here in Bahrain her chances of pole were looking bleak.

          MAX VERSTAPPEN was on fire the entire weekend. Bahrain always favored the Red Bull cars and Max was a driver who could drag a tractor to the podium. Though surprisingly, he had not gotten a single on this year. So Bahrain was redemption for the Dutch. He set the fastest laps in all three sessions, bagging pole by more than two tenths of a second. His old rival, Charles Leclerc, was right behind him. Charles had beaten Max on this track before. And he was looking to do it again.

          WHERE WERE THE PORSCHES? Well, Vettel had managed to slide up into P4 after Russel slid wide in Turn 3. Florence was down in P6 however. No biggie. It could've been worse. What's the worst that could happen on race day?

f1

Quite a mixup for Qualifying. What does Sunday have in store?

see comments below

madmax: MAD MAX ON POLE!!

> undiagnosed: DU DU DU 

chuckleclerc: Max vs Charles is back!

> vettel_forever: Hopefulky Seb can make it an exciting three way battle!

> delulu: Max and Lando was fun, but this was what everyone wants 💪

heavyoncopium: Ava Florence to come from P6 to the dub 🥇

ava_fan_12: Ava Florence's race pace is insane. P6 today, P1 tomorrow. Let's goooo!! 🚀

> f1fanatic24: This is her year!! P6 today, P1 on Sunday 💪🔥

BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX STARTING GRID

MAX VERSTAPPEN

CHARLES LECLERC

LANDO NORRIS

SEBASTIAN VETTEL

GEORGE RUSSELL

AVA FLORENCE

LIAM LAWSON

LEWIS HAMILTON

OSCAR PIASTRI

CARLOS SAINZ

FERNANDO ALONSO

ALEXANDER ALBON

ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI

PIERRE GASLY

ESTEBAN OCON

NICO HULKENBERG

OLLIE BEARMAN

LANCE STROLL

YUKI TSUNODA

JACK DOOHAN

GABRIEL BORTOLETO

ISACK HADJAR

          FLORENCE HAS THE LEAD of the championship. With 2 wins and a podium in every race so far, she's been consistently at the top. But the world of F1 never seems to make it easy for Ava and she knows it. P6 would be a fine condition for any top tier driver like Ava. But this was just the beginning of her test.

"Welcome to Bahrain International Circuit where we kick off Round 4 to this already eventful championship. Let's have a look. We've got 57 laps ahead of us here under night lights. 5.41 is the track length. And the lap record set by Pedro de la Rosa in 2005. On the grid, we've got Max Verstappen starting on pole. He's won twice in a row in Bahrain. 2023 and 2024. He's looking to make it three times."

"Yup, tracks like these certainly favor the Red Bull as they've got both cars in the top ten. So Liam Lawson has a great opportunity to score some big points today."

"That great number of points we'll see as we've got five lights on... AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! Immediately, a quick start by Florence. She catches Russell napping on the start. Behind, Norris trying to make a move on Leclerc as they head down into turn and OH RUSSEL LOCKS UP HIS BRAKES AND THERE'S IMMEDIATELY CONTACT WITH SEBASTIAN VETTEL!  LECLERC IS ALSO CAUGHT UP IN THE MIX AND IT LOOKS THEY'RE OUT OF THE RACE!"

"So that's Russel, Leclerc, and Vettel all effectively out of the race. They've all hit the barriers as Max sails on ahead. And where's Ava?"

"She's down in 17th, Martin. It appears she might have also been caught up in that accident... and yes, she has. Her front wing has been damaged. So she's going to need to pit. That is not the start she would've wanted. The championship leader, effectively dead last as the Racing Bull passes her. Up ahead, it's still Max Verstappen leading the race. Now with Norris behind him. So the both of them got cleanly away from the damage. And Norris benefits hugely from because he's up to P2 and his championship rival is down in last. Nothing could be better for Norris here."

FLORENCE I've got damage! Front wing.

HENRY Understood. Bring it into the pits as soon as you can.

FLORENCE This absolutely bloody idiot.

LAP 2:

"Here is Ava Florence coming into pits. She going to change her front wing. At least the good news for her is, instead having to overtake 21 drivers to win, she only needs 18 as Vettel, Leclerc, and Russell are out of the race."

LAP 5:

"Here comes the first of her victims. Yuki Tsunoda just having no pace here in Bahrain. Coming into Turn 3, Florence had the DRS and that was really no competition."

LAP 9:

"Verstappen comes into the pits. He's going to be coming for a set of new soft tires. Norris is now leading the Grand Prix. But I have a feeling he won't have that lead for very long."

"I think so too. Let's have a look at where Ava is. She's gotten past some of these drivers that are coming into the pits. But now here she is side-by-side with Gabriel Bortoleto. These two have given us some amazing battles before."

"Through Turn 10, Bortoleto remains ahead, but Ava has the DRS, she has the slipstream. She's going to try around the outside in Turn 11. Full throttle up into 12 and now it's Ava with the inside line. She'll get the move to stick on Bortoleto."

"Just superb racing from both drivers. Bortoleto was keen on not giving up that place, but Florence was just hounding through the entire sector to get it. And just about gets her through. Tremendous stuff between the Audi and Porsche."

LAP 13:

"From one rookie to another, Ava Florence lunges into Turn 1 on Antonelli and moves up ahead into P11. So, that's already 8 places she's covered. Florence is just on fire."

"Antonelli didn't stand much of a chance therd, did he? Just kind sat there as she took the inside line. Goes to show how powerful that DRS is on that Porsche."

"Indeed, Martin, and as now — once again — Ava going for the overtake. She dives into the inside for Turn 8, around the hairpin, brilliant overtaking and she gets past Alex Albon. That's two positions in one lap."

LAP 18:

"Ava Florence comes in her for her pit stop. So does Lando Norris. Both of these drivers on the longer end of the soft compound tires. We see it'll be the hard compounds for Norris and for Ava... that'll be the softs again. So she will be going for the medium tires on her final stint."

"Definitely an interesting choice considering Norris lasted about the same amount of time on these tires. Now we'll see whose strategy works out better. McLaren or Porsche."

LAP 20:

"We're onboard with Ava Florence chasing down Oscar Piastri as they exit Turn 4. Ava gets the speed out of the corner. She's right on Piastri's tail. Could this be another overtake for Florence? No, not yet. She backs up on the hairpin. But now, as they cross the DRS detection zone, Florence will have the DRS. Sharp turn and down the straight they go. Florence with the DRS, she's in slipstream, she pulls out and it's another overtake for Florence! She's up in P9."

"Yeah, once again, brilliant move. I think she just very good awareness of the track. She knows where the DRS zones are, so shes braking to behind Piastri so she gets the DRS and not him. Very smart overtaking by her."

LAP 24:

"So far, things have gone quite well for the Porsche after their catastrophic start. Vettel is out of the race, but Florence is up into the points. She's staring down the back of Fernando Alonso as they come down the main straight to begin Lap 24. Florence has the DRS... Just a little too far back though. Doesn't get an opportunity into Turn 1."

"She's going to be really close to him into Turns 3 and 4. Florence again has the DRS. She's closing in the gap even more. Tucks her car on the outside of the hairpin-"

"Ooo, so close they are together. Alonso and Florence, side-by-side, who is going to get the push. Alonso trying to squeeze her out, but Florence just gets ahead! She moves up into P8! Brilliant!"

"That's a very tough overtake to make. Around the outside into Turn 4, never leave the throttle once after the exit and narrowly avoid a crash. That's just beautiful racing from two talented drivers."

"That was Fernando Alonso and Ava Florence. Ironic, isn't it? We've Florence take some Fernando's iconic celebrations. I wonder if she'll do another one if she gets to the podium this race."

"Well, the chances are looking strong for her. Blinding pace. Let's see where she goes from here."

LAP 29:

"Alright, our second set of pitstops are beginning as Hamilton comes into the pits for a fresh set of hard tires. Hamilton, not really finding a good grove in those soft tires in his first stint, but did in his second. So hopefully it'll be prime time for him to gain some valuable points in Bahrain."

"Ferrari need him to perform badly, too, with Leclerc out of the race and he's going to come just behind Florence. So, let's see what she's doing."

"Well, Martin, Florence is still out on her second stint. She did drag her tires longer than everybody else and we've her extend the life of grip throughout the race before. Right now, she wants to overtake Liam Lawon in that Red Bull."

LAP 31:

"My goodness she's fast Martin. Two laps ago, the gap was 2.3 seconds. She's cut it down to just about a second. She's going got get DRS on this main straight and all of a sudden, she's right there. Liam Lawson is definitely going to see her in mirrors."

"She is super fast on these tires. Lawson has already done his second pitstop for hard tires, but Florence is still finding a stronger pace than him. It reminds a bit of Kimi Raikkonen in his hay days. How he would just find tremendous pace anywhere on the track? If that's just the beginning of Ava's development, then she's got a wonderful career ahead of her."

"Indeed so, Martin. Only 19 years old, a rookie no less, and atop the championship charts. Last time we saw this was with Lewis Hamilton, but uh, Lewis couldn't quite get the championship that year. Maybe Ava will be the first."

LAP 32:

"Back onto the main straight to start a new lap. Florence with DRS, she's in prime position for the overtake - DIVES INTO THE INSIDE... MAKES IT STICK! And it's goodbye to the Redbull and hello to the podium for Porsche!"

LAP 42:

"Everything has gone quite swimmingly for Ava here. She managed to extend that gap to Lawson quite a bit. And now she's coming into the pits..."

"Norris and Vertsappen are just a little too far off for her to catch up with these older tires. So she's gonna have a crack at it with these these fresher mediums."

LAP 47:

"Is that who I think it is, Martin? It's Ava Florence behind Lando Norris. She's cut down that gap significantly. So that pit for the medium compounds definitely helped as she's found tremendous pace here in Bahrain and with 7 laps to go, she's looking to take P2 for herself against her championship rival."

"So, her streak of podiums is going to continue, isn't it. This is going to be four podiums in a row for her compared to Lando's one. I think that's where majority of the lead came from. Just her consistency."

LAP 49:

"Down the main straight, the start of Lap 49. Florence less than a second behind Norris. Gets the DRS. Norris is going to have a hard time defending on these older tires. And Florence just cuts down that gap even more! Down into Turns 2 and 3 they go. Another DRS zone. Florence is looking to make the move stick on the hairpin as she's done before. TRIES THE INSIDE - LANDO COVERS - OUT THE OUTSIDE SHE GOES. NOT ENOUGH. Lando holds on."

...

"Third DRS zone in Bahrain. Ava once again lunges to the outside, is going to try to convert this to the inside, but Lando just has that extra inch of space to cut her off into Turn 13."

LAP 50:

"The laps are counting down for the Belgian driver. I'm sure both drivers are feeling the pressure at this point. One driver who isn't: Max Verstappen. Lead the race since pole till now. He's five seconds ahead of both drivers. He's going to very comfortable-

"Sorry to cut you off Crofty, but Florence tries to overtake down the inside of the hairpin again, but locks her brakes, goes too far ahead and doesn't make the turn in time. So, still behind Lando."

"Very interesting stuff to see here and that's going to help Lando as the gap between them as extended slightly."

LAP 53:

"This is all she has. The final lap of the Bahrain Grand Prix. Lando. Ava. Separated by three tenths of a second. Hard on the brakes into Turn 1. Into Turns 2 and 3 they go. Martin, can she do it?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it? Second DRS zone, Ava's pouncing on Lando. No attempt at the overtake in Turn 4, but I think she's looking for another DRS zone. Minor left hand turn and then the fast right-to-left sections in sector 2. Crossing the DRS detection zone into Turn 9, and the tricky Turn 10-"

"Lando's skirts a bit on the exit. You saw him try to readjust his steering and that's just what Ava likes to see as she's pouncing on the DRS. Side by side they go. We've seen song and dance before, Martin, AVA HAS THE INSIDE LINE IN TURN 12 BUT LANDO IS GOING NO WHERE. THEY SO CLOSE. AVA JUST AN INCH BEHIND HIM. SHE TUCKS IN HIS SLIPSTREAM FOR THE FINAL STRAIGHT - TURN 14 - AVA LUNGES TO THE INSIDE. ENOUGH SPACE FOR HER TO TRY. SIDE BY SIDE THEY ARE DOWN ON THE FINAL STRAIGHT. THE CHECKERED FLAG AS FALLEN. VERSTAPPEN AS ALREADY CROSSED. BUT IT'S ABOUT AVA AND LANDO AND NO! IT'S NOT ENOUGH FOR THE PORSCHE! SHE CROSSES THE LINE JUST A HUNDRETH OF A SECOND BEHIND LANDO."

"What a nail-biter? Down until the checkered flag she stayed on the side of Lando. You really didn't know if she was going to get ahead until the flag fell. Tremendous."

"I'm sure for Lando, but Ava will not be too happy about that. Podium still, but not the exact position she wanted."

FLORENCE F***. I'm sorry.

HENRY That's still P3, Ava. Tremendous work.

porschef1

Good drivers drive. The best survive the carnage.

see all comments

delulu: Alright admin, we see you 😭

moistbananas: Someone could tell me the admin as a crush on Ava and I'd believe them.

> gp2engine: lmao it's clear as day they're in love 🥰

meep: Does the admin reply?

> porschef1: only for Ava

> delulu: 😭😭

florence4ever: That should've been P2 but we'll take it it.

> chuckleclerc: Could've been so much more if George "He turned into me" Russell didn't fumble Turn 1.

BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX RESULTS

1. MAX VERSTAPPEN (+25) 2. LANDO NORRIS (+18) 3. AVA FLORENCE (+15) 4. LIAM LAWSON (+12) 5. LEWIS HAMILTON (+10) 6. OSCAR PIASTRI (+8) 7. CARLOS SAINZ (+6) 8. FERNANDO ALONSO (+4) 9. ALEXANDER ALBON (+2) 10. ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI (+1)

11. PIERRE GASLY 12. ESTEBAN OCON 13. NICO HULKENBERG 14. LANCE STROLL 15. JACK DOOHAN 16. OLLIE BEARMAN 17. GABRIEL BORTOLETO 18. YUKI TSUNODA 19. ISACK HADJAR

20. CHARLES LECELRC (DNF) 21. SEBASTIAN VETTEL (DNF) 22. GEORGE RUSSELL (DNF)

BAHRAIN POST RACE INTERVIEW

Interviewer: Max, third year running you've been the winner at Bahrain, but this is your first win and podium of the season. Can you tell us about that?

Max: Yeah, I mean, the first couple of races, I didn't the car that much pace to even qualify for the podium. Obviously a bit frustrating for the team, but then we were able to do something good today and I'm sure it'll be a massive boost for everyone.

Interviewer: Lando, congrats on your second place finish, but you were very close to loosing it. What happened there?

Lando: Don't really know too much to be honest. I thought I had a comfortable lead until I started seeing Ava in my mirrors. So, it was just a tough battle. She was very quick out there, but we managed to hold out until the end.

Interviewer: Ava, you had a rollercoaster of a race, first with the accident at the beginning of the race and then to almost taking P2 on the final corner. Can you tell us more?

Ava: You know I'm really glad you're here because at least I can look at something pretty while I'm sulking. Yeah, it was a tough race. Seb was taken about my this walking torpedo and then I had damage so I was basically last on the grid. We made some changes to our strategy to big thanks to the team for that. And then yeah just frustrating at the end. So close to a P2 finish but Lando just held it out. I should be happy with the results, but I'm not. But whatever. We'll see what we can do next round.

f1_leaks:

Footage from the cooldown room in Bahrain. Max and Ava discussing George Russell's incident:

Max: Dat incident met George was echt bizar. [That incident with George was crazy.]

Ava: Ik weet het. Hij kwam als een raket aan. [I know. He came crashing like a missile.]

Max: Heeft u schade? [Did you have damage?]

Ava: Ja. Hij spinde en chipte mijn voorvleugel. Ik verloor al mijn positie in bocht 1. Gekke gek. [Yes. He spun and chipped my front wing. I lost all my position on Turn 1. Crazy madman.]

see comments below

disguised_cope: Nothing see to here. Just two half-Belgian drivers dissing on Russell.

> delulu: Ava 🤝 Max: Hating on Russell

burntmellows: George has fumbling other people's races so many times it's not funny.

f1

George Russel to receive a 5 page grid penalty in next race's qualifying for causing a collision in Turn 1 of Bahrain.

see comments below

bottas: KARMA!

florence4ever: KARMA!

delulu: KARMA!

vettel_forever: KARMA!

chuckleclerc: KARMA!

toasted_waffles: KARMA!

avaflorence

Bahrain: Hi. That's the best introduction I have.

see comments below

florence4ever: No MAMA you already have the black and white aesthetic, don't fall into depression now!

> delulu: it's happening. She's turning into a Ferrari driver. 😭

> kachow: Ava to Ferrari confirmed?

lando: That was scary for a few laps.

> avaflorence: I'm coming for you in Jeddah 🔪 🔪

fernando_alonso_official: You did well chica 👍

> elplan: Help why is typing like a grandpa 💀

> avaflorence: Thank you, El Padre. Does this mean you'll let me win in Spain?

> fernando_alonso_official: No.

WORLD DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP

WORLD CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP

A/N: Semester about to start soon. It might slow me down, but I'll try best to get as frequent updates for you guys as possible. 👊

By the way, I also have a book out on Amazon. It's called The Human Art of Film on Amazon.

taglist: @freyathehuntress @allthings-fandoms

[kingqueensoobscene]

hear me out hear me out Lil’ Pootis BLU Scout but with like a nice partner, someone who’s like really nice and sweet and it’s a personality difference for the two but they get along so well!!

WOOO YOUR GIRL IS BACK!!!!!!! I’ve been so busy, but now I’m slowly getting back to it. Don’t guarantee anything ;3 this was such a cute ask!!

LIL POOTIS!BLU!SCOUT X A KIND READER

-Ok, so, Spy is definitely going to say to his son how he can’t make fun of his marriage to Engineer because Scout just found someone who is the total opposite of him as well. You two are pretty much like Spy and Engineer, Scout just hates to admit it.

-You are a rock to Scout. Being on the Blu team is rough in the first place since they’re on the short end of the stick and they get roughed up more than they win. Even if you are apart of this mess as a fellow mercenary, it is a shock how you managed to find a balance with your emotions. None of them have had a good day since they got assigned to payloads for the week, so you’re a good presence to have around. Always helping out, making jokes, distracting the others. 

-Which is why they were shocked when you started dating the Scout. It wasn’t an issue, you were on the same team. It was just a surprise to everyone else. Sure, you stood out in the cold with him when he was told to quit smoking indoors (though, him and Sniper still did on occasion), he gave you pointers on that rifle of yours and he was always asking where you were. But it didn’t seem that serious. No one really cared, everyone does their own thing. It’s still a shock though. 

-It’s best when you two are on the field together. He runs through the line of sight so you can sneak your way to the control point without even a cut. He doesn’t ever want you to get needlessly hurt on the field, even though you are a trained killer. So, he just goes before you get the chance. He was always taught you look out for those you care about (Thanks Spy). If you’re quicker than him, he will just run past you. Either way, you’re not getting shot. You will respawn either way, but he does not care. 

-Spy and Engineer are happy about your relationship. More Engineer than Spy. Del wants Scout to be closer with him, so he comes extra supportive. Even before you and Scout dated, Engie was always kind back to you. He is always waving at you with a smile after his entry shot the enemy Demoman. Spy will always remind Scout to treat your kindness back and to not take advantage of it. To always take you out to a nice place or buy you that thing you have been talking about as your birthday gets closer. Scout is not a very selfish guy, he has proven that to you before, though Spy worries. 

-Speaking of, any time you two go out, Scout will assume you want to do something fancy. If there is anything his dad has taught him, it’s that you do overly romantic things. If you hate going out to eat or you don’t have anything nice to wear, just tell him. He’s fine with just going to the corner store and getting some snacks. At least, he cleans up well and owns at least 2 two-pieces. He hates slicking his hair back though because you can see how far back his hairline has become.

-If you tell him straightforwardly how handsome you think he is, he gets super cocky. Like the “I know, thank you.” kind of way. Especially if you compliment his form. He has been working out for a couple years since joining his dad, he knows the progress he has made and how in shape he is. You do not even have to tell him, he knows you do. But once in a while, he will do something stupid like do a pull up on a random, low hanging pipe in the hallway to   impress you. If you’re the type of person to go crazy with compliments, he looks like he does not care. That is until he can’t help but smirk and say, “You’re alright.” before laughing and giving you a kiss on your hand to apologize. 

-By the way, he loves hand kisses. Not even in the romantic way. He will shake your hand limply and then kiss you with a big “Mwah!” and start laughing at how cringe that was.

-Since the days rotate on who is going out on the missions, you two have days where you don’t see each other. He will get home with his nose red and his clothes damp from the blowing, snowy winds outside and he just lays next to you on your shared bed, reading until you hug him at his side and kiss his shoulder. PDA isn’t a big thing to him. I mean, you’re with him, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two are in a established relationship that does not violate the Administrator’s rules, so why not show off a little? An arm will be wrapped around your back and the magazine on his lap. 

-Sometimes, he likes the silence when he comes back into the base. Of course, you know this too. As previously mentioned in my other post with the Lil Pootis Scouts, Blu Scout likes to go to the boiler room where the heaters and generators lie to get some privacy and warm up. It’s sort of hard to hide that you two cuddle in there, not that anyone goes there anyways, so eventually everyone found out. Though, if you are a girl, I would say Miss Pauling would allow you your own private room as a courtesy, so the others would only notice Scout’s absence and assume he disappeared to have a smoke. 

-If you’re a persistent person who will do anything for someone, you have absolutely gone outside with Scout while he was smoking. Spy has scolded him more than once, so now he has to make a habit of it. He hates when you come with him as he does not want you to get cold, but he knows you are stubborn. It’s not the company he minds, rather that you are withstanding the cold and the smell of cigarettes to be with him. He thinks you are the most thoughtful person ever for even bringing his lighter that he forgot or brought him some hot chocolate. Often, the other mercenaries catch you two chatting by the water tunnel while you rambled on to Scout about your day. 

Wafting against the cold, the flame kissed the tip of the cigarette and burned bright. The silver box shut at the pressure of your thumb and you put away his lighter. Grey puffs floated across the frozen air and danced with the deep shades of a painted blue and speckles of white. Your head against his falling shoulder. His hand at your right side, rubbing along your coat. He dragged his cigarette and blew away from you. Then he smiled. A soft smile that few could see. Sure, he was always smiling, but not like this. You are the person he wants to smile this way to. Because you are the person that melts him down, that makes him warm to the touch and wear down the usual tense. Overwhelmed, he did not like you when you first met as trainees. You would not last, he thought. You were too much. You did not shut up, you were too nice, you would be knocked before you could speak another word in no time. Sometimes, he looks back at his young self and wants smack him silly. Someone compassionate, someone who balanced out his mellow wanted to be his friend. Before he was good at what he did, before he got stronger and better at everything, you liked him.

Now, you are out in the cold with your shivering spine and twitching head. Eyes rolled and he’s off the boulder. It was freezing for you, you should warm up. But you had his lighter. And you kept your hands in your pockets. Unamused eyes looked at you as he prodded you to hand it over. You only backed up and smiled. He only got more demanding and he moved closer. You shook your head and giggled. A sigh comes from him. Then he pulls off his scarf and moves up to wrap it around. 

Now you felt a little bad. Smoke blew again. He smirked. A hand on your chin and your lips on his. Something sweet, then bitter. Ash was not a pleasant taste. And he knew it. 

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter ten

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈:

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Astarion throws the knife aside, uncaring where it scatters itself as it clangs against stone with a sharp sound, before he cups her paling face within his palms. 

“Rin!” It will do no good yelling in her face when she’s very much not conscious as she lays still on the ground; but he can’t seem to help it, running his thumb over her cheek as something inside him snaps with a painful twist.

It’s a very strange feeling, the one bubbling up in his chest and throat to pierce his unbeating heart through, only carnage left in its wake. 

A part of him, one long forgotten about and buried deep into the forsaken corners of his mind, recognizes it for what it is. 

Fear.

𝒶/𝓃: hello again! apologies it's taken me so long to get this out. I ended up having to split this chapter into 2 due to the length, so here is the first part! hopefully the other half (which will now be ch 11) won't take nearly as long since it's about 75% done. love you all sm and let me know what you think in the comments! kisses xoxoxo

read on ao3 | masterlist

With blurring vision, Rin can see Karlach fell the last of them from her position on the ground as blood leaks out of her at a rate that she feels should probably be alarming, though she can’t quite find the energy to be all that concerned about it at the moment.

In hindsight, it was perhaps not the brightest idea she’s ever had to send herself leaping off a rock and into a horde of enemies in an attempt to distract them from the large, whirling portal that Halsin had disappeared into.

It was probably a very stupid idea.

It worked rather well in the end, though, so Rin will consider it a success in the long run; provided she doesn’t bleed to death on the cold, hard ground before they can celebrate their victory.

But fuck, if the consequences of her actions didn’t hurt.

This was far from Rin’s first time to be stabbed—that honor went to when she was a gawky and awkward teenager, hair chopped short and dressed in overlarge clothing; and had found herself cornered in an alleyway following a foiled escape attempt after snatching several gold pieces off a tavern tabletop. 

She had earned herself a small, pocket-sized knife to the side, slid neatly between two of her ribs. The blade had been barely longer than her fingers, the metal of it brittle and cheap; and so while it had certainly hurt she can’t say it really compared to the one she’s presently dealing with.

It was a good thing, in Rin’s opinion, that she couldn’t move. 

Because if she were able to look down and see the size of the dagger sticking out of her chest, she fears it might make the pain even worse. Some things were simply better not to know, and she’s convinced this has to be one of them.

She had been able to feel it as the blade had spiked through her leather armor before piercing into her skin; pain erupting in her chest and spreading through every inch of her body, so agonizing she could barely take a breath as she had staggered back.

She managed one last spell, a shockingly well-executed thunderwave towards a group of shades off to her side—she’ll need to be thanking Gale for helping her perfect her technique on that one, she reminds herself off-handedly—before she had sank to her knees and eventually down onto the bloody dirt. 

She doubts anyone even noticed her defeat in the chaos of it all, but surely they’ll notice soon. They have to, don’t they? Wasn’t she their leader, or whatever it was they liked to call her?

In the near distance, she recognizes the booming of Halsin’s voice as it resonates through the air and though she can’t focus on his words she can make out the vague sentiment that it was done and that he had succeeded in his mission. 

Rin manages a sigh of relief, the motion inordinately painful in this position. If she had more strength she would roll herself over or perhaps even call out for help, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort at a time like this.

Where was Shadowheart, anyway? She desperately needed the cleric and her healing touch, in the event she’s even closer to death than previously assumed, a fact that was looking more and more likely by the minute.

And what a truly awful place to die this would be, so dark and with nary a beam of sunlight to be found. Perhaps her companions would give her a nice burial somewhere, at least, were she to perish in the next few minutes. 

At the pretend funeral Rin oversees in her mind, she imagines a lovely hillside with wildflowers of all colors blowing on a gentle breeze—but there aren’t any of those nearby thanks to the curse.

Utterly depressing. 

She sighs again, sending another concerning stab of pain through her form, hands gripping on nothing but air as she suffers through it with a quiet, pained whimper.

Karlach, at least, would probably cry at her funeral; she was wonderfully soft-hearted like that. Gale, too, seemed like the sobbing type; the ones who always go all teary-eyed at weddings and funerals and baby celebrations. 

Astarion would—well, actually, she doesn’t want to think about what he would do at her pretend funeral. She hopes he would mourn her in some way, but in the end he’s already lost plenty and she’s just another person and someone he hasn’t even know that long on top of that and— 

An errant thought hits her, and oh, poor Astarion. Who else would he drink from were she to perish here? She’s certain none of their current companions would willingly offer up their necks (or any other parts, for that matter) to him.

There’s a quick pattering against the earth that reverberates against her head where it lays on the trampled and singed pine needles—footsteps, she realizes a bit too slowly for her liking—and it’s as if she’d summoned him with her thoughts as a familiar set of gloved hands turn her over with less finesse than she would expect from the rogue. 

Rin bites back a sob at the motion as she finds herself settling in Astarion’s hold, her head tucked into the curve of his arm and the elf’s features carefully blank, though there’s something that looks curiously like panic sparking across his claret gaze as his eyes meet her own.

“Hardly the place to be on your back, darling,” He manages as his eyes hone in on her newest accessory, unfortunately still attached to her. Or inside her, more accurately. 

Astarion’s voice is surprisingly smooth and soothing despite the increasingly frantic look in his eyes as they dart back and forth between her face and the dagger currently embedded deep in between the leather scales of her armor.

Rin likes the sound of it, she decides. He should speak to her in such a way more often, the dulcet tone of his words nothing short of lovely.

He could probably lull her to sleep if he were to keep talking, and she vaguely considers the idea. Astarion seemed to be decidedly opposed to the idea of them resting together in any other way, but maybe he’d allow it while she’s on her potential deathbed.

A pity that it had to be that way, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they?  

“Apologies,” Rin winces as she speaks, another wave of pain cascading through her. “I shall try to die closer to your bedroll next time around.”

Astarion tsks, the sound of it wonderfully familiar and a hazy smile settles on her lips as she lets her lashes slowly drift shut, only for a moment.

“Oh, I think there’s life in you yet. You’re far too pretty to die, dearest.”

She’d blush if her blood weren’t busy elsewhere, namely flowing out from her chest.

Distantly, Rin notices that his words aren’t quite so soothing this time around, something that sounds an awful lot like concern tightening around the edges of them; but it’s good enough for her and will do just fine as the darkness behind her eyes begins to beckon with a siren song that she’s unsure she can resist for much longer.

She’s bleeding all over Astarion, and not in the way she knows he would prefer; the bright ruby of her blood falling in a steady stream from where the knife is buried deep in the skin below her collar, hilted into the soft flesh of her breast and mere inches from her blessedly still-beating heart.

Gods, she must look like a mess.

Rin settles further into the darkness as she finds the strength to turn her head towards Astarion’s chest, nose bumping the darkly spun armor he wears (and fits him rather beautifully, she thinks) as she takes a shuddering breath, the sound wet and heavy.

Strange, she didn’t think breathing was supposed to make that noise.

“No, no. No sleeping,” Astarion says sharply despite what she thinks must be his thumb running up and down her armor where he holds her, his touch calming even through all the layers between them. “You can rest later, but now’s not the time.”  

But it was so tempting, what does he expect her to do? There’s a knife in her chest, her head feels funny, and he’s holding her so delicately in his arms. Going to sleep was the only logical solution at a time like this.

There’s more pounding of what Rin assumes must be footsteps and she somehow manages to catch pieces of Shadowheart and Halsin’s conversation from afar, their voices sounding far more distressed than they should be following success. 

Not a great sign, all things considered.

“Hey Soldier, you doing alright?” Karlach bends down from several paces away, trying to get a good look at her as heat still steams off of her from the battle, sweat and blood beaded upon her fiery skin in equal measure before directing her words towards Astarion. “She’s not kicked the bucket yet, has she?”

“Still here. Sorry to disappoint.” She manages a weak smile Karlach’s way as she forces her heavy, tired eyes to open. “However, I think I could do with some healing.”

Karlach smiles at her and Rin is suddenly dizzy despite not being in motion, inky black clinging to the edges of her vision as she blinks slowly in an attempt to clear the troublesome vignette encroaching upon her, its presence yet another decidedly bad sign of the state of her health.

Rin isn’t exactly sure whether its minutes or seconds that pass as she lays in Astarion’s arms, something strange in his gaze as he looks at her, but finally she feels the vibration of a final set of feet making their way towards her. 

She hears Shadowheart before she ever sees the cleric, her clear voice ringing out from beside Rin as she appears within her field of vision while she still lays tucked into Astarion’s chest. “Stay still so I can get a look at you.”

“How lucky for you that I can barely move,” Rin muses. 

The cleric only responds to her with a familiar, wry look laced with a touch of warmth before turning her attention to meet Astarion’s hard gaze, his thumb still brushing in sweeps across her arm.

“We’ve got to get the blade out before we can heal her.” Rin isn’t quite sure why Shadowheart is addressing Astarion and not her, the injured person, but she’s not in the mood to entertain the reason. “And fast. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Oh, you don’t say?” Astarion scoffs with a baleful roll of his eyes, tugging her infinitesimally closer to him and Rin doesn’t even mind the lance of pain because she realizes she can still smell him over the scent of battle—rosemary and brandy and earthy citrus far preferable to the fire and acrid brimstone of battle. “Did Shar herself teach you such sagely medical advice?”

“At least I have medical advice to give. Vampires aren’t known for their healing prowess last time I checked.” Shadowheart cuts an imperious look Astarion’s way, chin raised.

“Can someone please just do me the honor of removing it, then?” Rin interrupts with a heaving sigh, the effort required peculiarly difficult.

There’s a beat of silence that has her contemplating the merits of falling asleep again, and she’s fairly certain she’s willing to risk the ire of her companions for a cozy little nap at this point.

“Astarion, your hands are likely the steadiest. Can you remove it without doing extra damage?” Shadowheart queries, her tone far more serious now.

“Of course I can,” He snaps in reply before he redirects his glance back to Rin’s face, expression softening. “I’ll be gentle. Or as much as I can be.”

She would hope he would be.

Carefully, Astarion shifts her back onto the ground and Rin mourns the loss of his arms, and it’s a very unfair exchange in her opinion—she’d much rather die in the comfort of his hold than on the impersonal chill of the ground.

She whimpers when his fingers meet the handle protruding from her chest, the slight motion managing to jostle it, sending another cascade of agony through her.

“Ready, darling?” His grip on the dagger is sure as he swallows, unease swirling in his eyes as they meet her own. A terrific sign of her fate, on all accounts. “On the count of five.”

Rin manages a nod as she stares up at him with clouded, hazy eyes that she doesn’t realize only serve to alarm him even more before speaking softly, tasting blood on the syllables as they weakly leave her lips. “I trust you.”

He looks as though she’s gutted him with her words as his brow creases and eyes widen as if stricken, which is rather ironic considering she’s the one with a knife inside her and he is practically free of any sort of wounds aside from a bloodied lip and a darkened eye as far as she can tell, still just as handsome as ever.

“One, two, three–” Astarion takes a deep breath and pulls, and the last thing Rin remembers before darkness overtakes her is the look of genuine apology on Astarion’s face as a searing pain erupts in her chest, her very last thought that he’s a downright liar for not waiting until he reached the number five.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The first thing Astarion feels when Rin loses consciousness, the handle of the dagger that had just been buried in her chest now enclosed within his palm, is sheer, illogical panic.

It rings in his ears and sets his chest aflame, and if it weren’t for his terror that she was now dead and that he was the one who had accidentally killed her in his attempt to save her life instead, he would be concerned that something was awfully and horribly wrong with him instead.

Astarion himself was no stranger to pain or injury, having bled enough over the centuries to probably fill several fountains worth of his blood; and while her injury was undoubtedly quite pressing in the nature of its severity, the blade had thankfully avoided the important bits when it had imbedded itself into her skin.

If it hadn’t, she would have already been dead by the time he had reached her. 

But the sight of it, the blood pouring from the wound in rather copious amounts, the look of agony etched across her features, and then her eyes falling shut and body going lax—it was all very dramatic of her. 

A bard, indeed, if that performance was anything to go by.

Astarion throws the knife aside, uncaring where it scatters itself as it clangs against stone with a sharp sound, before he cups her paling face within his palms. 

“Rin!” It will do no good yelling in her face when she’s very much not conscious as she lays still on the ground; but he can’t seem to help it, running his thumb over her cheek as something inside him snaps with a painful twist.

It’s a very strange feeling, the one bubbling up in his chest and throat to pierce his unbeating heart through, only carnage left in its wake. 

A part of him, one long forgotten about and buried deep into the forsaken corners of his mind, recognizes it for what it is. 

Fear. 

Astarion has known fear, of course. 

He’s spent so many years afraid, alone, and hurting—he still vividly remembers the potent fear of death as it had loomed over him and then struck all those decades ago, only for him to awaken six feet underground with a hunger he’d never known the likes of before in the pit of his stomach as he had clawed his way to what he thought was to be his freedom.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He remembers each and every moment of fear instilled in him by Cazador with an unfortunate, visceral clarity; every trembling ounce of it as he had waited for a punishment to be handed down, for the door to slam in his face to lock him away for Gods knew how long, for whatever other horror had been divined up for him—all of them perfectly designed to break body and soul and spirit.

But he’s not quite sure he’s ever felt fear like this for someone else before.

Astarion immediately hates the feeling with every fiber of his being.

“What’s happened to her?!” He demands at Shadowheart and there’s something frantic that shakes in his voice, the sound of which he’s wholly unfamiliar with as his eyes fixate on Rin’s face, looking as though she had simply fallen into a deep sleep, though the pained furrow of her brow tells a different story.

He hates that he hates the sight of it as his thumb continues to brush foolishly across her now pale cheeks, the freckles dotting her skin in familiar clusters standing out against the pallor of her face, as if the motion would coax her back awake and ease the pain causing it somehow.

“She just fainted, Astarion.” The cleric sends him a look that he does not appreciate, and he scowls back at her in response. “She’ll be fine so long as you let me focus.”

Karlach takes a step closer behind him, the heat emanating off of her hitting him like a wave. “Aw, did she pass out? Poor Rin.” 

Normally, he wouldn’t mind the warmth from the infernal engine that churns inside her chest, but now all it does is make the cold sweat that’s beading on his skin that much more noticeable, sending an unshakable chill through him instead.

“Her pain tolerance leaves much to be desired, it seems,” Shadowheart drawls before she sighs, raising her hands in front of her and hovering them over Rin’s increasingly still body.

Too still for his liking, her chest moving up and down with only the slowest of motions. Much longer, and it would simply stop moving altogether. 

Astarion ignores the way his throat tightens at the thought, unable to swallow down the rampant terror surging through his chest.

“Can you just heal her already? Insult her to her face when she’s awake.” 

“I’m getting to it.” Shadowheart cuts a glare towards Astarion, though it doesn’t have half the bite the Sharran thinks it does. 

“Te Curo.”

Slowly, waves of glowing blue begin to emanate from Shadowheart’s palms, enveloping Rin in a familiar, soft effervescence and Astarion can imagine the feeling of it—a cooling sensation followed by the telltale itch of skin reknitting itself, the feeling vaguely uncomfortable and slightly sickening.

He’s been healed enough times to know that Shadowheart’s spell should be enough to close the wound, but the strange panic slicing at his insides seems intent to not let up despite the spell’s conclusion, that icy cerulean haze slowly evaporating from the air like the clearing of mist.

“We need to get her out of this armor, I want to make sure the wound healed fully. Karlach, since we’re so close, can you carry her back to camp?” Shadowheart queries with a glance up.

For once, Astarion agrees with the cleric though he’s not about to admit it, and only gives out a murmured affirmation in response as he counts the breaths moving Rin’s chest.

The tiefling walks up behind him and he begrudgingly stands to move out of the way for her to take his place, and he once again hates the feeling that resonates through him at having to leave her side. 

How tiring this all was beginning to be.

“Up ya go,” Karlach gathers her up as carefully as she can, and Rin looks pitifully small and slight in Karlach’s hold. “Ooh, light as a feather, isn’t she?”

“It’s because her head is mostly empty,” Astarion edges out. “It’s a wonder the worm even has anywhere to hide itself in that brain of hers.”

If she had a brain, she certainly hadn’t used it today. Her logic—provided there even was any at work—was infuriating, and anger threatens to intercede over the slowly lessening grip of fear that had taken ahold of him. 

He considers allowing it. 

Anger was a much more palatable emotion, after all. One that he understands. 

Being angry was comfortable, easy; something that he knows all too well how to wear like an armor that he can summon up at will. He doesn’t like the way this newfound fear has settled over him, clawing up his throat to choke him and paralyze his heart even though it no longer beats.

Anger would be much preferred, in the end. 

But the anger doesn’t yet come, not really—or at least not in the way he would expect.

He can feel it burning there, a slow simmer in the depths of his chest at the sheer stupidity, the idiocy of her forgetting that she was very much mortal and therefore quite liable to injury; but a foreign sort of relief intercedes over it, taking control of and transforming his anger into something else that he doesn’t quite understand or yet have a name for as he keeps his gaze trained upon where Rin rests near motionless in Karlach’s arms. 

She might not be conscious, but she was very much alive.

And he’s damned to the hells and back for caring about that fact.

Part of him—the irritating part that seemed to be upset, of all things—wishes he were the one holding her instead.

But at the very least, out of everyone to get to carry her, Karlach was the next best option so Astarion shall allow it as he walks on beside them, his eyes on the lookout for any trouble heading their way despite the fact that they’d already walked back into the shimmering dome of Selûne’s light.

They’re bustling into Rin’s tent within minutes, Karlach settling her onto a still-unmade bedroll, the threadbare blanket kicked into a messy heap at the foot of it, yet to be pulled back up for the day.

“Right then,” Shadowheart says in a no-nonsense tone as she steps inside, briefly glancing around the tent before kneeling beside Rin’s still sleeping form. “Armor off.” 

They set to work and no one mentions Astarion’s ease at undoing her armor or the way his now-ungloved fingers know exactly where the next buckle or tie is before discarding it to the side with practiced finesse. 

Her shirt’s a bloody mess when they finally peel the scaled leathers and ruined gambeson off her form, now stained the deep, dark crimson of her own blood down the front in a ghastly splash, tainting the simple embroidery along the hem.

“Off with it.” Shadowheart gestures with a nod of her chin towards Astarion. “The shirt, I mean.” 

“You want me to take off her shirt?” He narrows his eyes at her before lowering his gaze back down to the garment in question.

“Well, you certainly have the most practice at getting her out of her clothes, do you not?” 

Astarion scoffs and rolls his eyes, but can’t exactly refute the fact. 

Nor would he want to. 

“Why, is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Shadowheart?”

It’s not escaped his knowledge that some of their companions had made their own invitations to her once upon a time—she herself had said so before she had chosen him, after all—and he can’t help the slight hint of gloating in his voice as he jeers at the cleric. 

He’d never questioned Rin as to who had, exactly, professed their interest; but he knows how they all look at her. The sight of it has certainly annoyed him enough the past few weeks.

“You’re hearing things,” Shadowheart responds sharply as she glares his way. “Now, are you doing it or am I?”

“Oh, I’ll do it,” He grumbles in defeat, though he’s not certain there was ever any sort of actual debate on his answer. 

As if he’d let anyone else undress her under his watch. Even if it was only for very valid medical reasons. 

The tunic was undeniably wet with blood, sticking to her skin as it begins to dry. His eyes flit up to Rin’s face, brow blissfully uncreased as she still sleeps on, wholly unaware of his apparent inner turmoil. 

The sight of it and the knowledge that she’s perhaps no longer in much pain sends a wave of relief through him that he didn’t realize he needed, and it’s yet another strange feeling that he’s not used to.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s even bothered to consider someone else’s well-being, and he’s unsure what to make of it. 

Caring in such a manner is crossing a line he’s had drawn for centuries, and he fears once it’s been stepped across, there will be no turning back.

“Can’t you just…rip it off her? Like they do in the books?” Karlach queries from beside him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she sways from foot to foot, her non-broken horn mere inches from snagging on the canopy.

“I would have thought that was in your particular skill set, Astarion.” Shadowheart agrees, quite unhelpfully in Astarion’s opinion, from beside him.

He was very capable of tearing off clothes when inclined to do so, thank you very much.

“Even if it is—” Astarion cuts a sharp look towards Shadowheart before continuing. “She’d burn me alive if I ripped her shirt. Without her permission, at least.” 

He knows he doesn’t need to add on the last part, but it felt necessary in order to preserve his image as a rakish, no good sort of man. Which he most definitely is, of course.

Astarion remembers the last time she threatened to burn down his tent (and him with it), and he has no intention of inciting another threatened ignis from her; or at least not for this,of all things. If he must be threatened in such a manner again, he’d rather it be for a much more enticing and scandalous reason, not because he was trying to do something as tedious as saving her damned life.

“Can you not just peek underneath it? Why must it be taken all the way off?” He demands, unable to pinpoint why, exactly, he’s so bothered by this.

It was just a shirt. And she was just another person, in the end.  

He’s lost count of how many times he’s undressed others and undressed her—the contours of her form an image he could envision in his mind and conjure the feeling of against his fingers without a second thought.

He could do it easily. In seconds, probably, even with all the blood sticking to her skin.

It would be rather uncomfortable for her to stay in her tunic like that. He can imagine the stiffness of it, knows the feeling all too well firsthand, and he shifts uncomfortably with a frown as he stares at her.

“Fine,” He relents with a groan while Karlach just watches on amused, though he doesn’t understand what she seems to find so humorous about this entire debacle. 

Astarion suddenly wishes the others weren’t here, that he wasn’t here and being forced to face the fact that she had practically died and that he seems to feel rather strongly about that fact, but he pushes the unhelpful and unnecessary chatter in his mind aside as he works her tunic off of her sleeping form instead.

It takes all of his dexterity to keep his motions soft and smooth, jostling her as little as possible until he’s finally pulled it up and over her head before bringing the fabric up to his face to examine the slash.

A clean cut through the weave and it’s really a wonder she managed to live through the battle at all. He’d have to mend it for her, later on. It wouldn’t take too long and with any luck he could return it before she’d even noticed it was gone in the first place.

The shirt may have been utterly drab and boring to the point of offense, but if he’s not careful, she’ll pick something worse next time around—Gods know the rags they’ve found so far on this journey have been downright awful.

Shadowheart leans in as he stashes the ruined tunic beside him and out of sight from the others, and she lets out a pleased hum as she checks the wound, poking at the reknitted skin with a gentle touch.

There’s a swish of fabric that has Astarion’s head swiveling towards the entrance of the tent, reflexes at the ready and hand reaching for one of the daggers at his side when none other than Gale, of all people, sticks his head inside.

“Is everything alright in here?” The wizard asks in a manner he likely thinks is helpful, when in reality it’s actually just plain irritating, at least in Astarion’s opinion. “Is anyone in need of my expertise?”

The wizard’s gaze peruses the interior of the tent, wandering from object to object as he takes in the space for what Astarion assumes must be the first time. His eyes stop, though, on the form lying in the middle of it all.

Gale of all people would not be seeing Rin’s nearly naked body if he has anything to do with it—and thankfully, he does!—so Astarion shoots a cold glare the wizard’s way as he maneuvers himself in front of her form, shielding her from the pair of wandering eyes.

“Out of here, mate. No one invited you,” Karlach sighs out at the same time as Shadowheart says cooly, “No, Gale. I seem to have things perfectly under control without your help.”

“Well, I didn’t realize this was an invite-only sort of thing. I simply wanted to check in on our fearless leader’s well-being and offer up some of my rather extensive knowledge, if needed. That’s all, nothing more.” He holds up his hands in mock-surrender, the gesture infinitely grating.

“Her well-being is very much already being taken care of,” Astarion snaps, words as cold as ice. “So go find something else to use all of your ‘expertise’ on.”

“And with that—” The wizard sends him a pointed look which Astarion merely glares back in response to. “—I shall go busy myself elsewhere. Good luck and goodbye!” 

The wizard backs out of the tent as quickly as he had peeked his head in, gone in a flash of garish purple to go do whatever the hells it was that he did when not annoying someone else. 

Good riddance.

Shadowheart releases an audible sigh as she moves to stand to her full height post unwanted interruption. “Well, she shall live another day. Once she wakes up, she’ll probably be back to her normal self and serenading us all drunk at the campfire by dinner. My work here is done.”

He looks at Rin’s sleeping face once more—still so dreamy, sweet, and unaware. 

Defenseless as a fawn. Terribly mortal. The definition of an easy target.

“I can—” Astarion starts, back stiff. “I will watch over her.”

The two women turn to him, their expressions both far too intrigued by his words for his tastes.

“Well, then, Astarion.” Shadowheart says, brow raised in skepticism. “We’ll leave her in your…capable hands.”

Karlach affords him a genuine smile as she ambles towards the exit and he swears she lets out a noise that sounds an awful lot like an ‘aw’ to Shadowheart as she ducks between the flaps, though he will not be acknowledging that at this present moment. 

The two of them share a final look—highly unnecessary, in his opinion—as they leave together, and the tent is rather abruptly very empty and very silent, the soft sound of Rin’s breathing the only noise.

He stands frozen, staring at her sleeping form—she looks so much more human in her sleep, so mortal and delicate without her sharp words to act as armor—as a barrage of thoughts hit him all at the same time, warring together against him.

He’s not even sure why he’s still here, why he even volunteered for such a thing, considering she was fine now. 

More than fine, honestly.

She was alive, which is what matters. She doesn’t really need someone to just watch her sleep, for Gods sake.

But he’s compelled to stay by some unknown force that he relents to despite the blaring in his head telling him to leave and get out while he still could. Nothing good could come from being this near to her sleeping form, for who knows what that ever-present traitorous voice will tell him to do. 

Likely something sweet—a sickening thought, as always.

Astarion shifts from foot to foot, unsure of what quite to do with himself. He’s never really been much of a caretaker, so to speak. 

The opposite of one, really. 

But Rin, for all her lack of consciousness, seems settled enough; her lovely face clear of any discomfort despite the speckles of drying blood scattered across her cheek and neck as her chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm. 

With unsure hands, he reaches out and tugs the blanket at her feet, pulling it up until it rests underneath her chin, covering her nakedness and guarding her from the ever-present chill of the curse that hovers around them. 

His bare hand brushes against her neck by accident, her skin soft but still just a touch too chilled and he’s quick to yank it back, flexing his fingers before balling them up into a fist as his stare becomes harder the longer he fixates on her sleeping face.

Astarion, unfortunately, remembers watching her go down in unnervingly stark detail. 

He hadn’t seen her jump off that rock and into the chaos, otherwise he would have done more, done something at the very least, to cover her. 

But he did see it when that dagger hit her, a warning immediately going off in his head as he had noted exactly where the blade had been directed. It was a kill shot, certainly, and frankly he’s surprised that the cultist who threw it had managed such precise aim. 

In his mind, he could still hear the startled gasp that left her lips as the knife had hit and she had fallen to her knees, sending off a final spell before collapsing into the dirt.

It was the least he could do, in the end, to show the cultist what precise aim actually looked like.

An arrow to the throat, perfectly placed to cut through the windpipe, was all it took to down his new number one target and though he unfortunately did not get the opportunity to watch them suffocate—he had more important things to deal with—he knows that at the very least it was an appropriately miserable way to die.

He had feared the worst when he had finally reached her; fully expecting to turn her over and see those vibrant green eyes he liked so much staring blankly ahead, devoid of life, and her chest frozen on her final breath. 

Discovering her still alive, though hurt, was a much better outcome. 

Rin even still possessed the wherewithal to respond to him with some semblance of her usual irreverence and it had taken all of his self-control to not do something rash like profess his relief at the sound of her voice and the life still held within it.

Still, she managed to have the last laugh in the end, those damned words of hers clanging around in his head regardless whether he wishes them to or not.

‘I trust you.’ 

Gods. She may as well have staked him in the heart with that little sentence, for he doesn’t deserve her trust. 

Not after the way he’s been playing her like a fool for weeks and months now—he forgets which it is sometimes, the days and nights of their exploring and killing blending into one another; the only moments that stand out to him those that feature her in the center of them recently, the number of which seem to be increasing by the day and if he’s not careful she will be the only thing on his mind, her name and face a constantly repeating banner in his thoughts.

Although at this point, he’s not so certain he isn’t actually playing himself as well.

He must be set on his own demise, clearly, to harbor such…feelings toward her, even if he doesn’t—and won’t—admit the existence of them to himself most of the time.

What is he supposed to do with such useless things, anyway? He indulges in her enough as it is, any more will only put him at a level of risk he can’t afford.

With a sigh, he steps away from her figure, blanket securely pulled up around her to preserve her warmth and preferred modesty, a quirk about her he finds to be so very entertaining with how quickly and with such great enthusiasm she seems to shed her clothing for him. 

As it were, she wasn’t keen to show terribly much of her pretty skin—a loss for humanity at large, in his opinion, as she looks very lovely wearing very little; but a win for him, as he gets to enjoy the sight all on his own with no one else the wiser of the beauty she keeps hidden beneath those drab tunics of hers. 

Comfortable, she calls them. He scoffs at the idea.

No wonder she never made much money as a bard. Perhaps if she indulged in some of the more risqué fashions he’d seen others don over the years, she would have been more successful at her art.

With little else to do he resigns himself to waiting, though he isn’t quite sure what for. For her to awaken from her slumber, perhaps? It would invite a rather awful amount of questions, though, were he to be present at such a moment. 

Questions he is unwilling to answer.

So, Astarion doesn’t count the time as it passes and simply busies himself with a variety of other things instead. Time, he has found, can be quite strange when one finds themselves immortal and so he has gotten rather good, if he may say so himself, at filling the minutes and hours as they leisurely pass around him.

He pays half-attention to the errant thoughts that swirl in his head as he cleans the sharp edges of his many blades—though he avoids the ones that center too intensely around Rin, for now.

He looks at her makeshift vanity and at the only makeup she apparently possessed in an attempt to decipher why, precisely, he always seems to find her lips to be so enchanting— he finds a pretty rose colored balm that he knows can be used on both lips and cheeks, however the discovery does little to solve his mystery.

He uncorks the almost empty bottle of perfumed oil she uses to sniff at it for himself, another foray into his prior investigation—it smells so much better on her than it does in the bottle, but he isn’t quite sure why or how that is, and again leaves him with more questions than answers.

He stares at the single stalk of purple foxglove she had somehow procured and placed into a small decanter to act as the singular decoration in her tent and he counts every bell-shaped flower—he’s impressed she managed to find a living plant in a place so cursed, even if it is still poisonous in the end, but it adds a certain warmth to her tent that feels so very her he can barely stand it.

He’s flipping through one of the books she has stacked in a corner—The Druid Who Daredaccording to the worn and broken spine, the decidedly indecent contents on several dog-eared pages of which he will definitely not be forgetting about—when he comes across something hidden in between two thin pages.

It’s nothing unusual, especially in her tent, just an innocuous piece of parchment folded thrice. 

The same way she happens to fold all of her letters.

Astarion’s brow quirks as he takes a glance back at Rin, still snuggled peacefully in her blanket and none the wiser.

He shouldn’t. He knows better. 

Most people don’t read other people’s personal letters, especially when said person is something like a lover, even if their situation is somewhat complicated.

But Astarion considers himself to be infinitely worse than most people and can’t help the curiosity that fills him when he sees what looks an awful lot like his name written many times over in dark ink bleeding through the thin vellum.

He’s seconds from reaching into the book, intent on grabbing the slip of parchment to open and read it, careful and covert, when he hears the soft rustling of movement behind him. 

Astarion slams the book shut as if it had grown teeth and threatened to eat him, setting it back onto the stack where he had found it lightning-quick as he turns back around, expecting to be heavily berated to when he inevitably meets what he assumes will be a very angry bard.

When he does turn, however, he’s greeted instead by the sight of Rin not yet fully awake, only just stirring with soft groan and her back arching in a stretch, head tossing to the side.

Luck, it appeared, is on his side today. 

In more ways than one.

Despite his apparent good luck, however, he’s now faced with the issue of leaving. Because he certainly can’t be found in her tent standing over her like some guardian angel.

How could he possibly explain to her that he’s been watching over her like some nurse, caring for her like he has any right to—even if only by watching her from afar.

He doesn’t have the words to explain himself and so he will not. 

But he doesn’t plan on being too far away tonight, either way. Someone needs to keep an eye on her in the event something happens. He doesn’t know what that something might be, but his point still stands. It may as well be him to take on the job.

And so, Astarion grabs his gloves along with her ripped, bloodied blouse and flees with every ounce of stealth at his disposal, sneaking out of her tent just as Rin’s eyes begin to flutter open.

[dosesofcommonsense]

On 12/26, Catturd laid the smack down on a GOP fraud and Globalist named Dan Crenshaw. It was brutal and TaraBull nails the theme. How did we get here? Hillary and Bill picked up the NWO mantle left by GB the 1st and took that for a ride. Bill got caught being blown by interns and revealed he didn’t categorize oral SEX as sex. Hillary got caught stealing the silverware when they finally vacated the White House. Their work improving the government’s image only worsened when she climbed the public service ladders. Oh, she worked for promotions. Unlike Kamala and Bill’s girls, she stayed off her knees. Her work was more hands off and mysterious. In her wake, people were increasingly distrustful of her and government (yet didn’t say much else they go the way of Seth Rich).

Hillary’s motto was “it takes a village” where the news would replay her waking through a set of an African village was a slow roll intro to communism. Oh, it sounds pretty that your friends and family will help you out, until your friends and family take your kids away because you’re teaching them to read and think and not drink the Koolaid.

The thought plantation doesn’t really care what you say so long as you stay within the guardrails and don’t encourage thoughts beyond the perimeter.

Happy Holidays had been around for years, but switching Christmas to the Holidays coincided with the DNC removing more and more of Christianity from their platform until they eventually swore off God and cemented their government is god complex for the platform. I remember lots of cheering during that DNC televised event (back when the news was the news + my outspoken DNC relatives who denied that the DNC would go so far as to remove God from the platform).

Distrust of the government was always there from those who paid attention. Yet, when the Clintons were in office and were campaigning for each other, that was the sizzling fuse on the dynamite stick that completely blew up with GW2, the 9/11 lies, and The Patriot Act. Had the Clintons not primed the public, 9/11 would not have gone over so well.

Now, when crazy shit happens, most Americans expect some sort of shady background story that’s going to get glossed over.

Meme dump

Why is the book on the list? Did you read or see pages from the most recent book in the banned book debate? It was from Bill and Hillary’s daughter. In that book, it talked about men and boys touching each other like it was normal. The media freaked over parents asking libraries to ban the book. I mean, sure, Globalists can ban books but not self-informed parents (breaking from the thought plantation).

[kloss-karliee]

taking both of her hands she covered her face to try & hide her laughter, the bag dangling in one of them. "you're awful! Oliver that was just horrible! but funny. i see i'm not the only one with a dark sense of humor." setting the bag down she sat on the couch directing him to the location of the milk, obviously being in the fridge. amongst a load of other things, little carrot sticks as snacks for the boys in individual wrappings along with some small yogurt cups with different cartoon characters on them. just a stereotypical single mother's fridge.

she was already three bites deep by the time he had made it back. looking over at him she nodded, swallowing the bite that was in her mouth. "i wouldn't lie to you! it's like they put drugs in it or something, it's so good! i could eat this every day for the rest of my life. i'd probably be as big as a house but i'd be happy!" giggling she dug into a few more bites.

occasionally, in-between bites, she would glance up at the television. completely wrapped up in the happiness & comfort she felt being here in her own home. he had brought a comfort & loving feeling into this place that made it feel not like a house, but a home. she felt that there couldn't have been a place on this earth that could've felt better than right there. she was sure that others would've paid money to sit there where she was.

Karlie turned her head to see his face covered in powdered sugar, she reached up & wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb, bringing the remnants of the sugar to her lips & cleaning her thumb of it. "y'know if you got as much in you as on you, you'd probably be far more satisfied with the meal."

pulling her legs up under herself she began to finish off the last few bites of her meal. she dabbed the few bits of powdered sugar from the bottom of the container with her fingertip. licking off the last little bit before sitting back into the couch, releasing a satisfied moan. "i don't think that i could make better French Toast myself. that is always amazing!"

Oliver laughed and squeezed her bicep a little "Damn, I didn't know you were taking me to a gun show today." He lifted his arm up and showed off his own muscle. He looked from his to her "I have to say I think you are going to give me a run for my money with those guns. I am going to have to work as twice as hard to keep up with you." Oliver wrapped her up in a tight hug and gave her little tickle "I don't do yoga, so I think you might have to teach me some moves."

Right before the door closed Oliver yelled out "Thanks Logan!" He giggled softly to himself and when she came back in he shrugged "I couldn't let him think you eating all that breakfast alone. Damn that smells so good." He took her hand and pulled her down onto the couch. "I can get us drinks, you sit down and get cozy and I will be back with milk for both of us."

Pushing himself up off the couch he turned and gave her a kiss before he walked into the kitchen. Coming out with two glasses of milk he sat back down and pulled her legs over his lap and got them all settled before he started eating. "Oh my god, you were right." He groaned. "This is amazing." He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the couch. "Screw working out, I will just eat this forever."

How did this happened, he wondered as he looked at her. How did he get here and become so comfortable with her, it was like he knew her his whole life. Like she was a missing piece he didn't realize he was missing. All he wanted to do forever now was sit on this couch, eat french toast, and cuddle her. This was his forever, he could see it. He could feel it. He just hoped that she felt that way too, he had been down the road of being all in and the other person not being there. So he really hoped that she was feeling this way too. Only time would tell him. So for now he would happily eat his french toast and be blissly happy for a few days.

He put another piece in his mouth, getting some powdered sugar all over his lips. He looked at her and smiled.