#Though dead weight is better than the flailing ones

[caterpillarinacave]

Who needs a gym when you can carry a full, completely dead weight, toddler around an ice rink because they will not put their skates on a the ice

[help-itrappedmyself]

DC trans week day 1

prompt: "This isn't what it looks like", genderfluid

tw: panic attack, starts under the cut

Tim has spent his life sheltered, with strict rules. He does his best to adhere to all of them. He wants to, and tries to, but some days that lands him right where he is now. Breaking down.

Dick knocked on his door, but Tim doesn’t have time to respond before he comes in. He doesn’t get far, stops dead in the doorway when he sees Tim.

"This isn't what it looks like.” Tim tries to stay calm, but it’s not working. This was such a stupid idea, he shouldn’t have done this in the first place, he knew better.

There are footsteps coming up the hall and Tim panics at the thought of more people coming to see him. He doesn’t have time to change though, just a moment to flail around before there are more people in the doorway, all still and silent. 

He can feel their stares. The physical weight of their judgment. He is hyperventilating now.

“Tim, It’s fine, you’re not doing anything wrong.” Tim hears vaguely.

“What is he doing?” He hears someone else ask. Everything is coming from underwater now, voices drowned out by the waves crashing in his ears. 

They break through their shock at his panic and start to try and comfort him. “Tim, breathe.” “Can you tell us what you’re thinking? Maybe we can help.” 

“What do you do when there is no choice for you?” He asks everyone and no one. No one answers “I try so hard to be what I’m supposed to be. But there’s no one answer, never a right answer, because even though one option seems better some days the other option feels better the next?” 

He knows he isn’t being rational, he isn’t explaining himself well. He isn’t normally like this and he should calm down before he ruins everything. But panic isn’t rational, and he’s never truly calm because this anxiety-wrongness is always lurking in his brain. Always waiting to tell him That this, that, or the other thing is wrong wrong wrong. Wrong with him, because he isn’t a he, not truly. Not at the heart of him, the part that would be shared with anyone he let close enough, but never does. Never does because this mess at the center of him wasn’t meant to be seen. Wasn’t meant to be shared, because how could he expect others to understand and accept the things about him that he doesn’t understand either? 

He accepts them now, and that took work. Years of research and experimenting with clothes, pronouns, identities. Years to accept the fact that there is simply no answer inside of him. That for all he can fake it with the best of them, there is no option other than faking it. No way to live the way the heart beating inside of him is at constant war with his mind. The way his Body is somehow winning that fight in ways that make him sick some days and happy the next. But winning nonetheless through the sheer fact of its permanence. His body doesn’t change -can’t change- the way his heart and mind do. Like the beat of a metronome that’s impossibly unsteady, the swing of a pendulum that won’t ever still. Back and forth, one then the other. Brief moments in the middle where he thinks he should stay, but inevitably changing from that as well. Never one answer. Never this, that, never even both. 

“Everyone says that you have to choose, but my choice would be all and none at the same time. I don't know how to choose.”

He breaks down, fully crying. He can feel his family surround him, someone-probably Dick- is hugging him. They haven't left, and their not yelling at him. They allow him to process, and when he's done crying, they all sit down to have a discussion.

It goes better than Tim ever thought it could.

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 2

Exhaustion sweeps through her body as she wraps up her closing duties at the pub. She’s had a full night of plenty of drunk people and one, short but nice, visit from her new friend.

Hobie had been visiting semi regularly at the pub. He comes in enough that they have a decent rapport. If it’s a little flirty neither of them are mentioning it.

Hobie had popped in at the beginning of her shift to have a pint before he went to his night shift job. She had asked about it but he waved her off, saying it wasn’t special just night security.

“It pays the bills.” He had shrugged and that was that.

He was there for a half hour before walking off, giving her a quick goodbye. That was about as exciting as her night got.

Until she was roaming the streets to get back to her flat.

She hated this part the most, but usually she wasn’t so on edge when she walked home. She wrapped her jacket around her tighter, faux protection, but it made her feel better.

The streets are never fully dead in Old York, even in the early hours of three in the morning there’s always someone on the streets. Tonight, it’s eerily too quiet. She can hear some vehicles faintly in the distance and see some flickering street lights.

It all feels too far away though. She starts to quicken her pace, heart racing in her own paranoia. The lights no longer feel warm and welcoming, but dim and sinister. The night feels colder on her skin, especially for summer. It's wrong. It's just all wrong.

A motorcycle zooms by her, revving itself and it makes her jump. Her heart beating insanely out of her chest. She sighs and tries to talk herself down from the edge of panic. She's fine, she's done this walk a million times before. Nothings changed.

Too bad she doesn’t notice the real danger.

She passes an alley, one she's passed a hundred times over, and suddenly hands are grabbing her. Their firm and calloused and handle her roughly. She tries to swing her arms back but this person is much bigger than her. She inhales sharply, ready to shout, begging for someone to hear here. Then a hand covers her mouth trying to stop her from screaming.

Her anxiety spikes for a moment before she bites down on the hand. It's instinctive and she bites hard. She draws blood and the attacker hisses in pain, reeling back.

“Fuck!” He growls.

She takes her opening and yanks herself free. She elbows him in the gut, making a run and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! Someone help me!” She uses all the air in her lungs to scream.

The attacker swipes at her again, “Shut up!” He pulls on her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pins her arms down to her side.

It doesn't stop her as she starts thrashing her body against him. Her voice is raw from her screams, she flails her legs and kicks him in the shins. The man immediately releases her and gives his own shout of pain.

She rolls onto the sidewalk for a brief moment. She regains her bearings and jumps up to try and run. She doesn’t get to do more than stand up before the man punches her in the face. The force sending her to the ground.

She groans in pain and tries to get back up on shaky arms, but he’s on top of her within a second. His hands ripping her back pack off of her.

There's a loud thud and just as quickly as he was sitting on her, his weights gone, as if he just disappeared. She turns to look and sees a pair of combat boots with blue laces standing near her.

She knows who it is. Anyone in Old York would know who it was. Her eyes slowly travel up and she sees that Spider-Man has the man who mugged her up against the brick wall of the alley. The man’s struggling against the vigilantes tight grip. Kicking his legs and squirming.

Spider-Man slams the guy into the wall once more, “Mugging a young woman at night's probably the biggest cliché innit?” he says in a joking tone. How he holds the man is no joke from the thud she heard when he slammed him against the brick.

The man doesn’t respond, he tries to squirm out of Spider-Man’s hold. Her mugger locks eyes with her on the ground, clearly frightened.

She almost scoffs, as if he didn't scare the living daylights out of her a few moments ago.

“Nah, nah, nah, it’s too late!” Spider-Man grabs the man by his cheeks, making him look at the spider.

“You’re dancing with me now, not her.” He releases the man and he falls to the ground dramatically like a rag doll.

The mugger quickly tries to stand up to run off, but Spider-Man just lazily watches him for a few minutes, hands on his hips and looking thoroughly unamused. He sighs and easily shoots his webs at him.

“Too easy, just too easy muggers are.” He mutters easily walking over and webbing the guy up in a cocoon. He raises the man high up, hanging him upside down above the ground.

“Hope someone finds you before that web disintegrates! You’ll have a nasty trip to A&E otherwise.” He jokes dryly.

The mugger starts to scream. His loud screech is cut off almost as soon as it starts by a web.

“People are trying to sleep here!” The vigilante hushes him, putting a finger up to his mask playfully.

Spider-Man turns around to face MJ, she’s still on the ground looking up at him bewildered. She's breathing heavily trying to calm herself down. Her arms are shaking trying hold herself up.

He holds out his hand to her. She looks at it hesitantly for a moment before gently placing her hand in his. He pulls her up easily, “You got a pretty bad shiner there.” He tells her, pointing to his own eye on his mask.

“Oh,” She grabs her phone to use as a mirror, “Bloody fucking hell.” She mutters sighing and grabs her bag off the ground muttering under her breath.

“You okay besides that?” He asks trying to look her over.

“I think so?” She answers nervously. “I’m too tired to really tell you honestly. Thanks, by the way.” She says looking over at him.

She’s seen Spider-Man on the news, online, in a few stray papers left in the pub, but she’s never been this close. Never had any interactions with him. It’s got her head spinning. Or maybe it’s the blow from landing face first on the cement.

“Do you want help getting home?” He offers.

She pauses only for a brief moment, “No I wouldn’t want to put you out like that, really. What are the odds I’d get mugged twice?” she tries to laugh it off.

“It wasn’t really a question, it’s three in the morning, I’m helping ya home.” The offer turns more into a demand and he gestures for her to lead the way.

She gives a soft awkward chuckle shaking her head, “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She goes to step forward but three steps in and her legs give out, buckling underneath her. He reaches out to catch her.

“I know I make people weak in the knees but I haven’t even gotten to start yet.” He jokes.

She scoffs but it turns into a laugh, “I think I might be in shock.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, not shock, it’s the adrenaline wearing off. C’mon.” He slips his arm around her waist and gently moves to place her arms around his neck.

“I’d hold on if I were you, just tell me where to swing.”

She doesn’t have much time to prepare before they are in the air and she is clinging onto him like her life depends on it. She gasps as she feels the wind rush past them. She scrambles quickly to wraps her legs around him like a vice. Her stomach plummeting like she's on a roller-coaster.

She used to envy how Spider-Man swung around, now she just feels ill. It’s not for her, the swinging thing.

She somehow navigates him to her flat, bit it takes a while for her to open her eyes to even see. When he lands she is still gripping onto to him, knuckles turning white.

He gives a chuckle and pats her back. He whispers in her ear, “We’re on the ground now. You’re safe.” He teases.

She opens her eyes and sees her front door. Her face heats up in embarrassment and she almost falls over trying to pull herself off of him. “Sorry, sorry!” she says quickly.

He tilts his head and she just knows he’s smiling at her, she doesn’t know how, but she just feels it.

He reaches up and lightly brushes her cheek, “Put some ice on it.” He says softly.

She had almost forgotten about her eye entirely. His gently touch has her heart beating out of her chest. She just nods in silent acknowledgement.

As quickly as his hand had brushed her cheek he retracts it. He throws his arm back behind his head casually as he walks backwards.

“Don’t get caught up like that again okay? I’d hate for a gem like you to get hurt again.” He’s says cheekily and then he’s off, swinging away before she can respond.

She stands outside her door taking everything in. She’s a little stunned. She had been mugged and saved all at once and meet Spider-Man. Her heart was racing but she shoves it down, thinking it’s just her adrenaline.

What a weird night.

The next day she’s working again at the pub. She’s covered her black eye as well as she can with her makeup. None of her coworkers have seemed to spot it.

She’s serving a group of women when she spots Hobie coming in and she waves at him. He gives her a nod and sits in an empty seat along the bar.

When she finishes with her group, she makes her way over to him.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” She asks grinning.

He looks intensely at her, brows furrowed. “What happened to ya?” he asks softly brushing her cheek under her bruised eye.

She scoffs and pulls back for a moment, “Thought I covered it well enough.” She mutters brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

She turned to check the mirror attached the liquor wall and sure enough, purple was peaking through. She had hoped the dim lighting would cover it more.

“MJ…” he presses.

“Sorry. Um.” She turns back to him and gives him a tight smile, “No big deal really. Some guy tried to mug me after my shift last night.” She grabs a cup and cleans it avoiding his eyes.

She sees him tense up out of the corner of her eye. She keeps cleaning, trying to play it off. He stands and leans over the bar, gently cupping her chin to make her look up at him, “If someone hurt you, it’s a big deal.” He tells her.

She takes a shaky breath and pulls away slowly. Too intense.

Something about Hobie was just, too intense. Sometimes she loved it, like when he was recounting a story and never left a detail out. Loudly talking with his hands and just being passionate about everything all at once. She didn't enjoy it as much when he’s seeing through her craftily built walls.

“It’s fine Hobie really. Someone saw and stopped the guy and I went home. It coulda been worse.” She mutters putting the clean glass away and grabbing a new one.

He raises a brow at that, “Mmmhmm." He lets the silence hang for a moment, then he adds, "I’m walking ya home tonight.”

She whips her head to look at him incredulously, “No, you are not!” She sets the glass down to lean on the counter, eye level with him, “I have had this job long enough and closed many a night. It’s been one time something happened. I don’t need to be escorted-” she gives a huff and shakes her head.

“Yes I am. This isn’t about if you're tough enough MJ,” he grabs her hand and her eyes find his again. “This city just isn’t safe that late…” his tone is serious, more serious than she’s used too, but it’s gone as soon as it starts. “Especially for beautiful women.” He gives her a smirk.

She rolls her eyes and uses her cleaning rag to smack his chest lightly, “Stop taking the piss Hobie.” She shakes her head laughing.

“I’m not!” He’s chuckling too, “You are objectively, a beautiful woman.” She raises a brow at his flirtatious tone but she just smiles.

“You can walk me home tonight, but you can’t feasibly do it every night.” She tells him.

He gives her a grin in response.

[majickth]

Future-Tense Ghosts • [1] [2] [3]

-- --

Jimmy doesn’t go alone this time.

Food be damned, he’s not gonna run into the arms of another enderman. He’s not dying again, not when he can almost feel the invisible thread of Everything wrapping around him like a noose.

Instead, out of all the possible people, he manages to convince Joel and Etho to come along with him. The journey is…well, it’s a journey with Joel and Etho.

“I can’t see why you need us to come along,” Joel mutters, idly kicking a rock as he walks beside the two. “Shouldn’t your soulmate be the one holding your hand in the big scary dark?”

“I’m not scared of the dark!” Jimmy pauses, then flushes. “And…and he should, actually, but I don’t know where he is. More importantly, I wanted you lot to come along because—“

There’s the sound of air popping, of something disappearing and reappearing in mere seconds. A shadow moving in the dark. He should know better, but instinct is to raise his eyes up in alarm. A flash of purple, eyes briefly skimming over violet eyes, and then—

“Jimmy!”

The sound of distorted screaming hits him before the claws do.

Jimmy gasps as the enderman slams into him, a half-broken shield raised just in time to block the oncoming blow. Claws dig into wood. A shriek echoes in his ears and creature shoves hard. It’s enough to knock him sideways, his body slamming into a tree with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. Once more, the air rushes to fill a spot, pops apart, and with a vwoosh, the creature is in his face. It pushes against his shield, hissing through a splintered opening, claws inches from Jimmy’s neck, and…

And he should be scared.

He is, technically, absolutely terrified.

But there’s also a strange comfort in knowing what’s to come. Call it resignation, but he’s been down this route -- literally. He’s been here before. He knows it’ll hurt, a lot, and that in the back of his mind he’ll be screaming apologies to Tango. He knows that when the shield finally breaks, that’ll be it, and once more the canary will die first.

Jimmy closes his eyes.

Only it never comes.

There’s a blur of silver and red, and the weight of the enderman is gone. Jimmy gasps, lifting his head briefly to catch sight of Etho pinning the enderman to the ground, sword sunk deep into its lanky torso. It flails and screams, violet sparks gathering before it teleports behind the masked man for a bite.

The monster is quick; Joel is faster. He’s inbetween the creature and his soulbound in mere seconds, lips pulled in a wolfish grin as he drives the sword straight into the creature’s open maw before it can take a single bite. There’s a hiss, a choking scream, and then…

The forest is silent once more.

“Is it…?” Etho stands, dusting purple dust off his hands with a casual flick.

“Dunno. Let me check.”

Joel shoves the body off his sword. He wrinkles his nose at the corpse, pausing for a moment before driving a hard kick to the creature’s head. It’s supposed to look impressive. Instead, there’s a dull thunk that sends both soulbounds reeling, clutching their shared aching feet.

“Yup,” Joel manages between gasps of pain. “Definitely dead.”

“That was…” Terrifying. Scarring. Potentially how he was supposed to die. Definitely how he was supposed to die. Jimmy can’t find the right words, though Joel is more than happy to provide for him.

“Amazing? Yeah. I know. That’s just how us boat boys roll.” Pain receding, Joel smirks and fist bumps Etho. “No, but seriously, are you alright? You could’ve bloody died. Like actually.”

“I’m, um…” Jimmy looks down at the claw marks in his arms, and the familiar warmth of another’s distant attempts at healing fill his chest. He exhales. “Yeah, I’m, um, great! Just…feeling great. Thanks guys.”

“You can thank me by getting home safe, idiot.” Joel grabs Jimmy and pulls him up, usual cheekiness replaced with surprising concern. “And also giving us some spare sugar cane, if you’ve got any.”

“If I make it home, I’ll give you all of it. Promise.”

Despite everything, Jimmy laughs. It’s a stupid promise to make to Joel of all people, but he doesn’t care. Not now, anyways, because there’s two heartbeats in his chest and they beat with the steadiness of an older vow bound by the thread of everything. Something worth more than sugar cane.

He’s a canary who knows he’s made to die. But it feels so good to live a day longer.

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

[happyk44]

"Your work ethic has been outstandingly inadequate as of late."

Hypnos rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The weight of Hades' look - intense black eyes - nearly had his feet pressing into the ground. As it was, they were just grazing the carpeting in front of his desk.

"Sorry, Master," he said. "I, uh-"

"Hundreds of shades flock my halls and yet I only see a few dozen names listed," Hades carried on. His voice stung deep into Hypnos' head. "I have given you more chances than you deserve. Your insolence is becoming more than that of my son."

"I don't mean to be insolent, Lord Hades." Hypnos wrung his wrists. A yawn stifled in his mouth, his tongue sluggish in his attempt to hold it back. "It's just awfully exhausting greeting shades every day and night."

"How exhausting can it be when you are lazing about, in pathetic belief I cannot see you?"

"Oh!" Flustered, he stared down at the floor. "I wasn't aware you had noticed that."

"It is near impossible to avoid my notice," Hades growled. "You seek to spend your hours asleep, as though I would continue to pay for services unrendered? Perhaps you will be better suited to the deepest depths of Erebus then."

"Ah, I would prefer to avoid Erebus, if I could, Master."

"You provide me with little benefits these days, Hypnos." Hades folded his hands over one another. "I'm sure your mother would be happy to visit."

A chill burned down his spine. "That's not…. really my concern, Master."

"Then you should have thought of that beforehand." His growl rolled so thick in the air, Cerberus perked up in curiousity, his muzzles snarling before he recognized the tone.

"You of all people should know my sole duty is to house the dead. The living must prove themselves worthy of remaining in my home, lest they find themselves banished. If you are so fearful of Erebus, perhaps you should do as Zagreus does and appeal to the Olympians good graces."

His feet hit the ground. The sensation shuddered up through his soles. His thighs shook. "But I am the god of sleep. It just comes so naturally to me, sir!"

Hades' black eyes bore into him. His knees quaked. "And your brother is death, yet I do not see him dying every minute he should be working!"

"Ah, well, Master-"

"Silence yourself, Hypnos." Hades glowered harder at him. Hypnos near fell to his knees. The trembling began to vibrate throughout his whole body, almost shaking the plush cloak from his shoulders.

He whimpered, averting his gaze. Beside him Cerberus let out a soft woof and began cleaning his center muzzle with one paw.

"You think I shouldn't punish you for your insolence?"

"No, Master. I just…" He did not want to be sentenced to Erebus.

Bleak and cold with no one to visit. And his dreams would not penetrate very far under all those layers. He glanced up once more. The firmness of Hades' stare made his voice crack. "I can do better! I swear!"

"You've sworn the same all too many times!" Hades bellowed. "I cannot sit idly by and allow you to continually disappoint me! The dead do not stop flowing! I cannot have months of backlog on my desk, the hall filled to the brim with shades, so thick I can barely see past them!"

He thumped a mighty hand against his desk. The walls and floor shook. Hypnos squawked as he landed in an ungraceful heap on the ground. His ass burned.

"Their chattering is meaningless and bothersome, Hypnos! I prefer to see them moving out rather than lingering."

"But- but-" He flailed to his feet again, stumbling back.

"I have no use for someone who lacks such productivity! Even Zagreus in his administration days worked as well as he could! You-" The snarl echoed throughout Hypnos' head. Heated tears brimmed at his eyes. "-do nothing of the sort."

"My responsibilities to the sleeping are-"

"Inconsequential!" Hades shouted. He stood to full height and Hypnos collapsed back down once more. "People will sleep, people will die! You are not the reason it exists! People died long before your brother was born. People slept long before you were born! Wars were waged long before that blasted Ares was born! You are the belief of it! Not the thing itself!"

He spluttered, flailing.

"You think you do not deserve a punishment as horrendous as Erebus, fine!" Hades appeared in front of him in a flash of flames and shadows. He whimpered. "Then tell me, Hypnos, what should I do with someone so incapable of doing something as simple as greeting the dead."

Such venom dripped from his name that he hated it. Never had he been spoken to with such contempt before. "I-" He looked around for help but the hall was completely vacated of anyone but shades. "I-"

Cerberus ignored him, cleaning the other two heads. He swallowed thickly and weakly whimpered out, "I can do better, Master."

"You can barely stay awake to do better."

"I- I- I can stay awake!" He frantically gripped at his own clothes to avoid desperately clawing at the towering man in front of him. "I'll have the chef make me coffees or-or-or I can- I-"

Hades' large hand gripped through his curls and yanked his head back. His knees buckled.

The pull of his curls sent shocks and shivers down his back. He whined loudly, reaching up to alleviate the pain but Hades only slapped his hands away and forced him even farther back. The angle only sought to prove how terrifying Hades could be up close and in person.

Tall, large and completely imposing. Black eyes like a starless void, whispering nightmares.

"You think you should be allowed to impose your uselessness on the Head Chef?" he hissed. Tears burned at the edge of Hypnos' eyes. "If you cannot keep yourself functioning on your own, then what purpose do you serve me?"

"I can- I can still serve you, Master!" His hands drew up to Hades', still clenched tight in his curls. This time the man didn't bat him away but only tightened his grip.

Pain spiked down the back of his neck.

Don't send me to Erebus, he begged voicelessly, squeezing his eyes shut.

Like a chariot collision, his thoughts were firing rapidly, slamming into each other at high speed. His voice slurred together, endless promises echoing.

"I can!" he swore again. "I can service you!"

Hades' raised an eyebrow. Brief amusement coloured his pastel gray skin.

His slip of the tongue hit him like a spear to the chest. He sputtered rapidly but nothing came out.

"Service me?" Hades' voice crawled over his skin like a shroud of chilling flames. Burning so hot it felt as though he'd been buried alive in the snow. It froze him still in Hades' tight hold. His lips fell open but nothing but a wheezy gasp slid past his tongue.

"Perhaps that would be where you would be best suited, Hypnos."

He whimpered. "Master, I-"

"Silence!" The boom of his voice echoed throughout the filled hall.

The shades lingering began to shuffle away, sliding through walls in fear. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the tell-a-tale clack of shoes turning in the other direction and Dusa's nervous gasp before she'd likely ascended far and out of view.

No one else wanted to become privy to their Master's

[amemai]

ok. hi. five times safe. yahiko.

five times. . . / tentatively accepting still.

one

there was no one there to pull her out from the rubble of her own house. she emerged from the debris herself after days trapped beneath, helpless & waiting. she crawled out, soot covered and nails cracked, bleeding. she remembers her parched mouth, she remembers the dehydration, the taste of morning rainfall -- or was it evening? the clouds were so black, riddled with smoke, impossible to tell -- on her mouth. there was no one else who emerged from the ruined remnants of her neighborhood.

but there was a boy.

there was a boy she ran into first. or did he find her? the memory is confusing and hazy. but they found each other. they stared at each other like cautious rabbits. he had a water canteen in hand, perhaps fearful she was a knife - wielding thief who would pry it from his hands. or so she thought. did she say something to him that day? she can't remember, her ears were ringing and her tongue was a dry, dead weight. perhaps she was still hysterical, suffering from trauma, on the verge of cracking. he approached her first, that she remembers, his hands gently gripping her biceps to keep her upright. the gentleness of his boyish tone ; hey. hey. it's gonna be alright. you're alright. here, drink this. . .

he's lying through his teeth telling her everything will be alright. his own parents have died the day prior. he's all alone. but he's the world's greatest liar and for a split second, she deludes herself into thinking the sun has come out.

two

they've gone out earlier one morning, in fact, it's barely even dawn itself. master jiraiya snores so painfully loud sometimes, that they might as well be out & about doing something. no use in wasting time trying to gain fruitless sleep. besides, there is plenty to be done -- the two of them have shared enthusiasm about mastering their skills as soon as possible. controlling their chakra flow to be able to walk on water is a basic feat for shinobi, yet together they've struggled. the last time they practiced was a day of embarrassment and drenched clothes. not this time, they're determined.

and they think they've got it. steady, though nervous, their stances are. it's as though they're walking on ice itself. yahiko is the one whose legs shake with uncertainty, while konan likens herself to floating. she thinks she's mastered it better than him when suddenly -- without warning, without any sign that something was amiss -- she is sucked beneath into the icy black depths of the river. she is startled, somewhere between a gasp and the formation of a sound, of his name. she has no idea if he saw her.

she can swim, of course, but the water at this time of year is brutal. it's like a thousand needles stabbing her all at once. she's sent into shock & unable to react. she's already sunk too deep before her brain's signaling for her legs to kick. she's pathetic, flailing dead weight . . . and then she's not. and then from the darkness, there is yahiko at her side. an arm around her, the two of them trying to move against the tides. she doesn't know it then, but yahiko's not actually a good swimmer, but she's believing it at this time. the truth is, the both of them very nearly drowned. it was master jiraiya's perfectly timed appearance -- sensing something amiss, the house being unusually quiet with only nagato inside -- and his strong pair of arms pulling them both up.

breathless and lips bluer than her hair, a shivering konan tentatively placed a hand beside the still - panting yahiko's cheek and whispered ; ❝  thank you.   ❞

three

it's only a moment, a single moment in a seemingly insignificant point in time. things are going unusually well for their organization. she hates to be the pessimistic one -- that's nagato's job, all three of them mutually joke -- but there haven't been any setbacks as of late. the war against hanzo's tyranny is still ongoing with no sign of end. their people are still deeply affected. things are still happening but . . . not everything's bad.

she's quiet, observant in the meeting as yahiko goes over the table map. he is candid and upbeat, there's a riveting energy to him when he speaks. he looks up and their eyes meet, and he flashes her a smile. yahiko always smiles, but there's something special reserved for the ones given to her. it is like being enveloped by the sun's warmth. there is an unspoken promise in it, things will get better.

she believes him. she believes in him.

four

nagato had a dream about you. she hates even speaking of it, as though it will physically manifest. there are knots in the pit of her stomach. she chewed her nails after nagato told her, they are uneven nubs now with bloodied cuticles. she's not this superstitious, but nagato's dreams are prophetic. they are rare and always to be taken seriously, in her opinion. which is why it frustrates her to a degree when yahiko playfully leans into her touch -- his embrace warm and inviting, his scent comforting to her -- and prods her only with ; and. . . ?

she is practically trembling, reembering the emphasized dread in nagato's own tone. hanzo is going to kill you.

he laughs. he laughs. he has the audacity to laugh. her ears burn, her cheeks fluster. it's not meant to mock her, nor nagato. no, yahiko so boldly laughs in the face of death.

i bet he'll try. he says when the laughter dies down, taking her into his arms, soothing her. he's so relaxed, so nonchalant. there is so little worry. threats roll off his shoulders these days. he kisses her forehead. he'll have to get in line first. i'm sure there's a queue for my head at this point.

and in spite of herself, she laughs with him after that. his attitude is infectious. she scolds herself for succumbing to paranoia so easily. nagato worries too easily and his worrisome outlook gets the best of her too easily. yahiko makes her believe that it's no matter at all.

five

her head rests against his chest, counting each slow heartbeat of his. the relaxed rhythm soothes her to sleep, or at least, settles her mind. today, it does neither for her. but only because she is so preoccupied with a matter that rattles inside her chest, trying to pry her jaw open to speak.

yahiko, her tone is off. it sounds so nervous, so unlike herself. she hears his hum for reply, feels the way he cranes his neck up ever so slightly to gaze down upon her. but she cannot look upright to face him. her hands tighten into nervous fists, she forces out a breath. and then. i think i'm pregnant.

a beat. a heavy silence. she hears his heartbeat stutter first before his breath staggers, before his entire body freezes. before she gives him a chance to speak, the words tumble out gracelessly out from her mouth first. i-- i think. i don't know. i'm not entirely sure. nagato suspects there's a spy in the organization, and our intel reports line up with that, i'm too afraid to go to a medic right now. but later, when i do go, if i am-- what do you. . . what do we do?

and he's terrified, just as terrified as she is. but his smile is sunlight itself and there is joy beneath the fear. he pulls her up closer into his arms, he's breathless & hysterical himself. he can't say if this is good news, it might not even be true at all. to others, saying we'll figure it out, sounds callous and dismissive. but not from him, not the way he says it. there's immense love poured in his words, despite the fear of the future and the unknown.

they are a pair of grinning, giddy idiots. she kisses him, and though her fears don't lessen, in his embrace she feels safe against the world's potential wrath out for them both.

( sadly, it would all be for nothing. )

[lunaicfantastic]

masterpost of my stranger things fics!

figured i'd compile all my fics in one place for shits and giggles

on the hunt tonight (love at first sting)

jackrabbit heart (series)

the day the earth stood still

dance in the garden (in torn sheets)

caught the last train for the coast

descriptions under the cut!

Complete Works

In which the former queen bee of Hawkins High and the local freak have a heart to heart while walking through hell.

Robin and Steve are dancing, swinging each other around like little kids at a wedding, singing off-key into each other’s faces. They emanate joy like a neon sign in the middle of the night, and Eddie feels so warm for them, something bright and airy and miraculous expanding in his chest.

A broom leans, discarded, against an empty shelf nearby, the task of sweeping abandoned for their impromptu dance recital.

As Eddie watches them, cataloguing the way they flail and spin, he realizes that he recognizes the song playing, and he’s dying to know how, exactly, they know it.

Robin throws an elbow around Steve’s shoulders, Steve singing the lead melody while Robin crows the response.

Steve has a surprisingly nice tenor, even though he’s more than a little pitchy as he sings, “By R.K.O.”

Robin’s voice is offkey and flat and Eddie thinks it sounds better than any Stevie Nicks record as she responds, “By R.K.O.”

Or: in which Eddie discovers he has more in common with Robin and Steve than he thought, all thanks to Tim Curry in fishnets.

I, uh, think I know how you felt, a little. After Billy. I know he was, like, not a great brother, kind of the worst brother, no offense, but he was still your older brother. I know, I know, you know all this shit already, I can hear you now, “Get to the point, dumbass.”

He says it in a high pitch, and it’s a piss-poor impression but she feels like smiling, because she would be saying that, if she could say anything at all, if the mention of his name didn’t make her lock up, every time.

Um, I guess the point is, I kinda get it, now. Not all of it, not even close, but—

He stops, like he’s trying to force the words out of his chest, like they’re stuck between his ribs. His voice has gotten tight and Max understands it, has felt that same tightness whenever she said his name or smelled the godawful cologne he used to wear.

—The part where they die on you, I—I think I get it now.

Oh.

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

after the end of all things, two kids sit in a hospital room and deal with the weight of an older brother, dead, in your arms

Works In Progress

Munson comes into the Family Video every two weeks for three of the cheesiest horror flicks he can find and a box of Sno-Caps. And it’s not weird that Steve has Munson’s order memorized, it’s not, Robin, he’s just very dependably here for three horror movies and the same box of candy, even the most oblivious person in the world could pick up on that.

Steve takes in a shallow breath, expecting to get another wave of alpha-stink coming his way, but there’s only a very mild smell of earth, pine, and a surprisingly pleasant musk, as well as what Steve thinks is Aqua-net. Huh. Looks like there’s at least one alpha in Hawkins who knows what scent blockers are, and it’s Eddie fucking Munson.

After unexpectedly presenting at the age of 19, Steve Harrington is surprised to find he's apparently super into metalheads who have a penchant for Dungeons & Dragons and horror movies with terrible special effects. Now, all he has to do is get Munson to give him the time of day, which turns out to be harder than he expected.

JACKRABBIT HEART

(Complete)

Munson and his daemon turn their attention to Steve’s badger, and a grin crosses Eddie’s face.

Guinevere jumps down and hops closer to the two of them, her comically large ears alert and angled towards Caroline. She circles Steve’s daemon, like she’s not at all afraid of Caroline’s claws and the fact that she’s half the badger’s size.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Stripes. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Steve feels his cheeks get a little warm. Is Munson’s daemon flirting?

Caroline watches the other daemon pace from her seat on the floor, face stoic as ever.

“Careful, bunny, these fangs aren’t just for show.”

Or: If the Upside Down doesn't give Steve Harrington a heart attack by the age of 25, Eddie Munson and his daemon will.

Holy shit, is Steve’s daemon flirting back?

Eddie would be lying if he said he’s never thought much about Steve Harrington.

Or: Eddie Munson just wants to survive the Upside Down and the crazed masses of Hawkins, Indiana. His daemon has bigger plans.

Namely, wooing Steve Harrington's badger.

[deartouya]

THE NIGHT WE MET — IZUKU MIDORIYA

★ ˛˚ . little mermaid themes, after nearly drowning and being saved by… something, you’re met face to face with your home towns legends, sending your relaxed summer break taking care of your uncle spiraling.

★ pairing: mermaid!deku x marine science student!gn!reader

★ word count: 8.2k

★ content: fluff, modern fantasy?? au, reader is in college/studying marine biology (only briefly mentioned), bestie bkg, reader is from a fishing village, swearing, mild mention of injuries, semi-graphic drowning, mentions of hospitals, eating/food mentions, fruit as a love language.

i realized when writing some of the bestie bakugou parts that i was… showing my bias just a bit :’) so to remedy it i wrote myself in as his off screen partner :) this is the first part of right below the surface mermaid series !!

YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO COME BACK HERE. You always hated this place — it was small and even when you were a child, it was dying — and you quickly find nothing at all has changed. Everything's standing still — stagnant. You hate it. You feared getting stuck, it's why you clawed so hard to get away, being just as stagnant as the rest. You'd promised yourself. You told yourself you'd graduate, get into a good college, and never look back.

But you've always been bad at keeping your promises. And when your uncle broke his leg falling off his fishing boat, forcing him to be house ridden and work less, you couldn't say no.

And so here you are, nestled in overheated sand and letting the same water you spent your whole life resenting lap at the soles of your feet. That fear, the creeping feeling of stagnation—of never being better—haunted you. The idea of standing still terrified you, watching the world grow while you were stuck in your tiny, unchanging hometown.

Though, even then, you can't help but melt in the familiarity.

"You're gonna have a damn heatstroke if you spend the whole day holed up on the rocks."

“Awww, it’s almost like you care about me,” you have to squint up at him, hand a poor shield from the sun. Bakugou scoffs, trapping the notebook he was holding against the back of your head.

“You fuckin’ wish. Just don’t wanna have to haul your ass to the doctor when you pass out in the sand. And I need you to help me run some errands.”

You groan, flopping boneless against the sand, “why me?” He doesn’t entertain the whine, pulling you up by your wrists. “Can’t you get one of your idiot friends to help you?”

“I am getting one of my ‘idiot friends’ to help me- you, dumbass.” You try your best to act as dead weight behind him, dragging your feet through the sand, “and they're errands for your uncle so you're lucky I'm doing them at all. Should make you run the boat while he’s holed up.” 

“You know he hates it as much as you do, Katsuki. He’s been driving me crazy trying to take care of himself.” He’d always been that way. Stubborn. Your mother used to tell you that you reminded her of him. It didn’t feel like a compliment. 

Katsuki looks back at you, fingers loosening around your wrist, like he knows what you're thinking. “Trust me, I know how stubborn that bastard can be,” his arm is hooked around your neck to drag you into step next to him, “we’re buttin’ heads constantly.”

You flail a bit in surprise before teeth sink into the juncture of his arm and he lets you go with an affronted gasp, “you fuckin’ gremlin.” Bakugou rubs at the indents roughly, “thought the city was supposed to civilize ya.”

The walk into town is longer than you remember, but maybe you just forgot how expansive the town really was. Katsuki was right, it’s uncomfortably hot, air thick and sticky — it feels like every breath takes effort. It gets worse the closer to town you get, the smell of iron and gasoline pressing down on you. The dock is empty, most boats already out for the day, but the smell lingers.  

Main street is busy, as busy as the town can get, and you can already hear the cheesy nautical music being played in the little tourist shops. You always found it funny just how many there were. Little brightly coloured shops filled with novelty plates and mermaid-themed mugs and shirts. When you were little you’d always buy something absurd for your uncle, a windchime carved like a giant crab or a snowglobe whose red glitter looked morbidly like blood. He always kept them.

There’s only one grocer on the island, boxed in by countless fishing supply stores and boat shop repairs. It’s always been so overcrowded you were tempted to start up a rival just so you could get your strawberries without shoulder checking a grandmother. 

“Gotta stop by the boat shop before we head back,” Katsuki says, nudging you with an elbow, “yer uncle’s needs a new cleat.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” 

He rolls his eyes, pushing the door to the grocery open for you. It’s oddly empty, with no one but the distant sounds of shuffling in the back and a very sunburnt teen closely reading the back of a cereal box.

The shops are rather unchanged, sole for a couple of aisles of sugary cereals and chips, you find it easy to navigate the crates of fruits, “he give you a list?”

“Nah- here for pickup.” Katsuki’s moved to the front, flicking the little bell on the counter, “always buys the same shit anyways.”

The shopkeep, a grinning mess of familiar dark hair, pokes himself from the back. Kirishima’s stayed the same, too, you think. The same horrible cut-off novelty Hawaiian shirt he wore during summer breaks and strong arms, hoisting the heavy crate of plums easily.

“Hey!” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you step up beside Bakugou. He gasps audibly, quickly moving around the counter to yank you into a hug, “I forgot you were supposed to be back today!” 

He pulls away, still gripping your forearms, to do a once over. 

“Kiri, it’s nice to see you again.” And it is.

“I’ll say- feels like you’ve been gone a decade.” A very apparent thought crosses his face, an audible little oh escaping him as he grips you tighter, “you should come to the bonfire with us tomorrow morning!”

You huff a laugh at the enthusiasm, “us?”

“Yeah! Mina, Denki, and hopefully Bakugou planned on going out to look for shells and teeth! It’s supposed to storm tonight, perfect weather!"

It’s sweet that they’ve kept up with that — combing the beach in a futile effort to find whole shark teeth or the decorative shells tourists seem to always leave with. You used to do it for the grocery store, back when Mina’s grandma owned it, and she’d string up the little shells and pieces of sea glass found into windchimes or bracelets. 

Katsuki lets out an exaggerated groan, head tossed back, “Kirishima. The groceries?”

“Oh! Right.” Kiri ducks behind the counter and rummages around before remerging with two packed paper bags of meats and vegetables. You can see the tops of a celery stalk leaned against the little homemade cookies your uncle likes so much. When Katsuki reaches for the handles Kirishima pulls them back, “you are coming, too, right?”

“I really don’t have the patience for this right now,” his snarl doesn’t seem to phase Kiri, though, who continues to slide the bags out of his reach.

“Katsuki!” He whines, lip pulling into an exaggerated pout, “please come?” Kirishima looks pointedly at you, his little way of making you feel included, and grins, “you can come too! It’ll be like back in the day!” 

He groans, scrubbing at his face roughly, “I don’t know, ‘t’s date night, y’know.” You huff a quiet little laugh, it’s nice to know Katsuki hasn’t learned how to lie since you’ve been gone.

“Date night is on Wednesdays, which means you’re free! So you’ll come, right?” Kirishima leans onto the counter, resting his chin in hand, “unless you want me to ask them? I’m sure she can give me a straight answer.”

“No- don’t! Don’t fuckin’ threaten me with that. Fine, I’ll go. But I’m home by 12.” Kirishima beams, sliding over the prior hostage groceries before turning back to you.

It’s cute how well Kirishima’s threat worked on him. But the closeness sends a little pang of hurt through you. They know each other. Now that you’re back, faced with the lives that moved on without you, you regret never settling. Even if it was just a little: trying to date or befriending more than the people you’d known since birth. Anything but burying yourself in jobs and school and breaking up with the only boyfriend you’d had so you could finally get out. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so… alien in your hometown.

“You too, right?” You’re startled by the attention, meeting Kirishima’s earnest eyes. “You’ll come?”

“Of course!” It’d be a lie to say you didn’t want the company. Or that you’d missed them after you’d left. “You know I love shore hunting.”

“Great!” He beams, revealing a third bag of groceries for you to carry, “Bakugou can give you a ride and everything! Mina will be thrilled to see you again — Denki, too.”

He flashes one last smile before disappearing back behind the shop's little door, avoiding Katsuki’s pointed hey! and leaving you to follow a fuming Bakugou to the boat shop across the street.

Maybe it’d be nice to see everyone again .

“You’re a lot of fuckin’ help, y’know,” Katsuki grunts from the hull, struggling to haul the metal cage over the side of the boat. It hits the water a moment later, sinking below the choppy waves. “I’m so glad I brought you along.”

You snort, head lolling against your shoulder so you can grin at him, “awww, you knew what you were getting into. You’re the one who said it was ‘my damn uncle’s boat’ and I needed to ‘get off my ass’,” his eyes narrow at the impersonation. “Even though, technically, I came to sit on my ass and watch my uncle’s leg heal. Not to run his crab traps.”

It was his job, technically. You'd started going with him to check the traps after your uncle got better at using his crutches. You hated to admit that it was nice to be doing something other than reading old boat manuals and eating the shrimp chips your uncle bought in bulk.

He grumbles, tossing the ropes back to the boat’s deck before making his way to the helm. You had five more traps to set before the storm moved in, stirrs up the smell of the bait and the water stays warm. 

But the skies are darker than they should be. The rain wasn’t supposed to start until noon, and the wind wasn’t supposed to pick up until hours later. You had time, but you still found yourself worrying.

“Are you sure we should be out here? Why can’t the traps wait until after the storm,” you grumble, tucking your hands underneath your arms. Katsuki glares at you from where he’s steering and you can hear your uncle’s rant pooling on his tongue.

“Stop fuckin’ complain’,” he barks, tossing another rope onto the hull, “not even makin’ you do shit and you still find something to complain about.”

You huff, sitting up to glance over the edge of the boat. The water’s dark and choppy, waves slapping against the metal and hissing. Bakugou drops another cage, sending more waves against the boat's side.

The cage sinks slowly, pushing against the current as it disappears into the dark. There’s another splash in front of you, louder than the cage, and you jerk upright. Katsuki shouldn’t have dropped another trap already and it sounded too far away. 

You pull yourself up, leaning against the rails as you search the churning waves. There’s nothing, any ripple from the movement hidden in the vicious waves caused by the storm. 

It’s raining now, your boots squeaking against the metal floor as you chase the noise. There’s a flash of color—green, the green you’d seen on the beach—and you lean to see more. 

“What’re you doin’ dumbass? Get away from the sides!” Katsuki drops the rope he was holding, gripping the railing, “gonna get yourself swept over.”

You ignore him, heart beating out of your chest as you see another flash of fins, “did you-” lightning cracks over you, and you feel the boat start to tip with the waves. It happens so quick, a wave beats against the side and spills over. Your feet, already slipping on the slick metal, are swept out from under you. 

You’re too shocked to react, hands clawing at the railing but too slick to get traction as the waves drag you back. The water’s cold, shocking a gasp out as you're pushed under—even though you tell yourself you shouldn’t- that you know how to handle this. 

But you don’t. You’ve never drowned and the tightness in your lungs feels ready to burst, your head hits the ground again and your ears begin to ring. You can feel yourself being pushed further to sea by the currents, further away from the boat. 

Something moves above you, quick and shadowed and for a moment you think you’ve seen a shark, of all times, but it looks too big. Your vision darkens, blurred green as you feel your hands, too cold, press into your sides, something rough wrap around a leg. Eyes find yours, more green swimming against pale color and the hands start to yank, pulling you up through the water. 

You want to see more, to figure out what has you — who saved you, but your vision finally darks, ringing worsening.

You're thirsty when you wake up.

They must have the window open, the saltiness of the air sheening your skin. The room’s silent when you wake up, deathly quiet. As if everyone had established an understood quiet game once you’d been situated into a bed. Your uncle is next to you, propped awkwardly in a chair and gripping at your hand.

Katsuki is behind him, leaned against the wall holding a box with a bow, one that looks suspiciously unlike anything he’d do. He’s the first to notice, straightening in his seat and nudging Kirisihma awake, with much more force than necessary — nearly pushing him from his chair, before moving to the bedside.

“You’re awake,” your uncle sounds out of breath, like he’d spent the entire morning pacing the floor. You wouldn’t have been surprised. Normally, you’d laugh at the observation — obvious — but your throat still aches and breathing hurts.

His palm finds your back when you sit up, coughs raking your lungs. It’s comforting, even if it does little to help, and you find yourself curling in on yourself. “You’re okay, everyone’s okay.”  

Your hands fist into the back of his sweater, soft and loosely knitted. The iv aches at the movement and you finally look down at yourself. The skin of your arms seems greyer, as if the water had sucked the very warmth from you, and dry. 

You recognize the hospital, you think, from the view. It’s a tiny little clinic downtown which can house a max ten patients at once. The room itself doesn’t feel much like a clinic, walls painted a warm green and gauzy curtains blowing over the opened window. Even the bedding, though spread over your usual hospital bed, comprises soft sheets topped with a worn patchwork quilt. It feels like you’ve fallen asleep on a friend's couch. 

“Uh, I brought you flowers,” Kirishima was standing, now, though he looked incredibly out of place. He was wearing another cut off Hawaiian shirt, this time covered in pink and purple turtles, cradling a wilting bouquet of asters like a newborn. “It’s, uh,” he’s shuffling slightly as he stares down at the blooms, “they’re not really in season.”

You laugh a little, despite yourself, which he seems to take great pride in. Your uncle takes the bouquet from him and lets you dunk them in the little pitcher by your bed. “Thank you, Kiri. I love them.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

The little bit of laughter dies with the words. It’s as if something cold has slipped down your spine — you almost died. It’s a grim thought and your shoulders tighten at the memory.

You could’ve died.

Katsuki hasn’t looked at you yet, eyes locked on the little wrapped box in his hands. He rubs a thumb over the corner once more before finally handing it to you, “it’s, uh, brownies. I didn’t make ‘em but they’re still pretty good, I guess.”

That’s high praise, you think and if it didn’t hurt so much you’d laugh. “Tell them thank you, then.” He nods slightly, still picking at the beds of his nail. And you know what he’s thinking.

“Can I — uh, why don’t you and Kiri get me a new thing of water?” Both of them understand, you think, glancing between you and Katsuki, “since I’ve used mine as a vase.”

Katsuki doesn’t look at you until they’re gone, eyes red-rimmed and glossy, “real subtle, dumbass.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

It’s quiet. Not that you expected him to talk first, but you’re still a little annoyed that he’s making you strain your throat this much, “Katsuki — ”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He’s staring at the floor again, voice so quiet you’re almost sure you missed it, “why? It’s not your fault.”

Bakugou stands suddenly, pushing himself from the rickety lawn chair, and you can see his jaw clench. “I was the one who made you come with me. I could have done it alone — I could have set those damn traps without you. But I made you come.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Katsuki. And if I hadn’t gone, it could’ve been you that got swept off and then what? Who would’ve been able to get you out?” That was half the reason you’d gone to begin with. You never liked when your uncle went out by himself, let alone a less experienced sailor. “The storm came in quicker than it was supposed to, the sea got rougher than we expected. It’s not your fault, Katsuki, you can’t control the weather.”

He huffs, lifting a hand to scrub through his hair, and you realize you’ve won. 

“Now, I do expect ice cream. And I don’t expect to pay for it.”

Katsuki barks a little laugh, “fine. But ya gotta promise not to try and drown yourself anymore.”

You hate that you need looking after, now. It’s minimal, really, considering you nearly died. But you were supposed to be looking after your uncle. Supposed to be making his recovery easier, not sitting on his couch with an icepack tucked against your ribs and earning sympathetic glances whenever he hobbled by the living room.

You hated it. You understood your resemblance, now. 

Even though you’ve been cleared, now, your head still aches and your lungs sting with every intake of breath. It’s miserable, feeling so helpless. 

The walk to the beach is easy, second nature by now, and you let your feet drag through the sand. The little rock path to the cove isn’t covered, letting the full force of the sun beat down on your neck and you can feel yourself already sweating. The glossy cover of the hardback book you brought along sticks to the underside of your arm and the oranges you’d picked up the week before were already sweating.

Summer hasn’t quite taken over the town, yet. Still too early to be peak tourist season but you can’t help thinking the beach does look a little picturesque — like something you’d see on a cheap motel postcard. 

Finding a tree nestled between the rocks, you settle into the plushness of towels and cool sand. The ocean’s slow today, waves lapping against the rocks and pulling at the shore.

This is what your summer break was supposed to be — easy, slow, boring. You were supposed to be able to lounge on the warm sand you hate, read your novel, one about runaway lovers, and peel your oversized oranges Kiri’d made you take.

It’s odd to hear the ocean be natural background noise. You’d been so used to hearing it over a speaker, distorted, then the easy hiss of waves crashing melts comfortably against your skin. 

The sound nearly lulls you to sleep, head lolling to rest against the tree's smooth trunk, until you hear a splash — heavy and loud and too close.

You sit up, a book falling from your lap, and see a flash of green — a fish? But it sounded large, larger than anything should be so close to the rocks. Pompano’s are green, but those are deepwater game fish and they weren’t that big.

You’re beginning to wish you’d stayed on the mainland and hadn’t ventured out into the cove. You eye the place where the shores connect, now totally submerged by the tide. Dumb.

“Maybe it’s friendly,” you don’t sound convinced, “most fish are skittish, anyways.” 

And so you let yourself relax, settling back against the sand. You can’t keep fearing the ocean, you’ve built your whole future around the sea and you can’t let it be ripped away now. 

You're not sure why the noise — a soft little blurb, like a buoy had surfaced quietly, made you look up but it did. At first you see only seaweed — dark green and soft floating amongst the waves — but then you recognize bright eyes and damp curls, clinging to sun-kissed cheeks and nose bridge. 

“Hey,” the word comes out fumbled, unsure and a little dumb. You don’t remember anyone being out here or seeing a pile of someone’s belongings on your walk over. So… where did he come from? “I -”

Whatever you were planning on saying frizzles up and dies in your throat when you see it, a tail — at least five feet, maybe more, long curls over the water. It’s the same green you’d seen, paler than his hair but richer than any fish you’d ever seen. The fins, spindly stalks ending in a wide lobe, remind you of a glauert's seadragon. 

You scuttle back a step when he moves further out of the water, pulling up onto one of the exposed rocks. “I’m glad you’re okay,” his voice is softer than you’d expected and he looks incredibly non-threatening with his chin perched on his own folded arms, “I was worried you’d gotten too deep.” 

“So it was you, then.” His head tilts, and you clarify, “in the water, that pulled me up.”

His tail whips through the water, like he’s pleased, “of course! I was worried, your boat was the only one out on the water.”

You move a little closer, butt-shuffling until the water starts to lap at your skin again. His eyes follow you, zeroing in on everywhere the waves hit before finding your face again. He seems like he’s looking for something, checking for a sign of… something hidden in your expression. 

“So… you’re… a mermaid?” 

He smiles, then, all sunny and dimpled and cheeks rounding up, “yeah! But Izuku’s my name, please.” 

It’s pretty, you think. Suits him. He’s still looking at you, this time brows raised expectantly. You’re about to question it when it hits you, a soft little oh before giving him your own name. 

He smiles again, warmth spreading over the apples of his cheeks, and he tests the name on his tongue. The sound tightens your chest and spreads warmth to the very tips of your fingers. You like it.

His — Izuku’s — brows pinch as he spots something behind you. Looking over your shoulder you notice it. The unpeeled oranges. 

“Oh, are you hungry?”

“Hm, oh! No, I just… I’ve never seen anything that looked like that before,” he lifts himself off his arms and you notice his hands for the first time, dark and short claws curling into the rock. “What’s it taste like?”

You turn, dragging the little knapsack to you and carefully peeling the fruit. Izuku watches you the entire time, wide green eyes rapt. Like he’s never seen something so interesting.

“Here!” Izuku takes the slice delicately with his knuckles, claws tucked into his palm and his nose scrunches cutely.

“It’s… squishy.”

“It’s supposed to be, it’s fruit — most of it’s squishy.” 

When he finally eats it, after some overly thorough sniffing, his eyebrows pinch together. It’s almost humorous how you can see the flurry of emotions which overtake him — disgust, confusion, then interest — before his face softens back out, “I… I like it. I think.”

You snort, which makes his attention snap back to you and his smile returns tenfold. “It’s spicy but like… in a sweet way.” A laugh breaks free before you can stop it. Sour would be better, you think, but you also suppose you don’t know what anything in the ocean tastes like. 

You gasp. He does.

“Wait! You’re a mermaid, right?”

“Uh, yes- yeah, I am.”

It’s like it only just hit you, that you’re only just able to connect the dots, “That’s! Oh my god, what’s it like? The ocean?” You barely give Izuku the time to breathe, “what do you eat? Is there… is there a government? Do you migrate — oh, oh, how deep can you swim?”

Izuku looks startled, completely lifted off his arms and staring at you with parted lips, “I… it’s warm and incredibly full of life.” You scoot towards him, nodding quickly, “I usually eat fish, stuff that’s already in the ocean. I like crab a lot, which is why I’m usually so close to crabbing boats.” His flush has worsened a little and he’s staring determinedly down at the rock, like he’s reading from a script. “I can’t swim all that deep down, the pressure gets really bad and it’s too cold for me.”

“We have a King, but it’s not really decided by blood, it's just whoever is the most capable!” Izuku’s looking at you know, propped up on his elbows, “which is a really good system, I think! Helps keep corruption out of power and the King right now is so good! You’d love him, I bet. He’s the coolest.” He seems to realize the rambling, but you only urge him to continue, “some of us migrate, but it’s more a personal choice! I had a friend that moved further south last year, but we’re not like turtles or anything.”

“That’s so cool,” you're not really talking to him anymore — voice so quiet only you can really hear yourself, “it’s like a mini-society.” You scoot closer to the ocean, “is there, like, species of mermaid? Like freshwater, saltwater, deep water ones?”

He nods and you notice his hair has dried, green curls bouncing with the movement, “mhm, the deep-sea ones barely ever get spotted though! They have their own little world down there, I bet.”

The idea conjures a, arguably, fantastical image in your mind. The haunting appearance of all those deep-sea fish science has captured projected onto human forms. Bioluminescent mermaids whose skin is so light it’s nearly see-through, showcasing glowing veins and bones. Mermaids with dangerous teeth and long claws dug into the wreckage they call home. 

You haven’t noticed the tide rising, water now gently lapping at your hips instead of your thighs until Izuku says something, “you probably shouldn’t be in the water — it’s late.”

Something odd is lurking in his eyes as he watches the water lap at your clothes and you nod, “yeah — yeah I should check on my uncle. Make sure he hasn’t strained himself.”

You feel his eyes on your back the entire time you're packing up, tracking your every move, until you’ve crossed the quickly vanishing bridge from the mainland to the cove. Izuku’s still perched on the rock, chin resting on his arms in a deceptively lax position. You can tell he’s alert.

“I’ll — I’m gonna come back, okay?” He seems to shake whatever had bothered him earlier off, grinning brightly.

The walk back to your Uncle’s house is quiet. You can’t help but think about Izuku and the look on his face. It was like he was… worried about the water touching you, like he didn’t like you sitting in it. And the way he’d watched you until you were back on dry land. Like he wanted to shelter you.

You see Izuku practically every day after that. After getting your uncle situated for the day and running whatever errands Katsuki needed help with, you’d make your trek down to the cove.

He tells you more about the ocean and starts bringing you gifts. Little things, usually, broken shark teeth and full sand dollars. You start bringing him different foods, mostly sweet fruits or fluffy breads.

Izuku asks a lot of questions, you learn. You also learn he’s not the biggest fan of citrus, preferring the muted sweetness of a mango or peach. Though you also quickly learn to remove the pits before he gets ahold of them so he doesn’t attempt to split them on his molars. 

The little walk to the cove has become routine, by now, despite being thwarted by thickets and grass, you find it easy to navigate. Your bag has a combination of kiwis — which you don’t expect Izuku to like — and mangoes, covered by a soft beach towel from when you were young. 

Izuku’s there when you arrive, perched on top of a large smooth rock close to the water's edge and fiddling with something in his hands. It looks large, from where you are, and pale. 

He jumps when you settle beside him, fingers tightening around the object — a shell — before he relaxes. Izuku says your name like a laugh, “you startled me.” His grip on the shell loosens and you can make out the details. It’s a conch, a beautiful swirl of pink and burnt orange and nearly half the length of his forearm. It’s beautiful. 

Izuku notices your stare and holds the shell up, nodding to you, “I found this the other day and I thought you might like it.” He barely lets you process the words before his breath stutters, “you, um, you don’t have to keep it or anything! You could give it to one of your friends or sell it or anything! It just made me think of you. Not that I. Not that I think of you.”

“Izuku,” you breathe, voice heavy with mirth and adoration, “I love it. It’s so pretty.” The fins on his tail shiver against the rocks when you take it and the blush coating his cheeks deepens. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, not verbally, but his tail curls up against your thigh and the fins protruding from soft curls flatten against his head. Izuku’s eyes alight and he preens under the attention, shuffling even closer. He mumbles something under his breath and you have to lean in to catch even a word of it. 

You make a quiet hm? in an attempt to have him repeat it, occupying your hands with running over the notches of the shell in your lap. He jumps again when he glances at you, like he’s surprised that you’re still perched on the rock next to him. 

“I,” clawed fingers flex against your calf as he stares, lip caught between his teeth, “I wanna show you something. Next time you come.”

“Oh,” you’re not really sure why you’re surprised, “like underwater?” He nods earnestly, lip still caught between sharp teeth. Your hand curls over his own, fingers slotting together, “I’d love to, Izuku. I’ll dig my old snorkeling equipment out tonight.”

He lets out a breath, shoulders sagging as he melts into your side, “thank you.” Izuku makes a soft noise, low and rough like a purr, when your thumb rubs against his knuckles.

“I have more fruit.” You say it more as a distraction, a way to ignore the puffs of air against your throat, “mangoes and kiwi’s this time.”

“Kiwi?” His head lolls against your shoulder until he can look up at you.

“It’s kinda like… an apple and an orange mixed together,” you fumble. How are you supposed to describe the taste of something to someone whose pallet is so narrow? “Like, the same texture as an apple but a little softer and a little more citrusy.” 

His nose scrunches up and you laugh, “I didn’t think you’d like them all too much. But I figured you could eat the mangoes.”

You take to digging through your bag, his chin still balanced on your shoulder. The three fruits you’d brought are still cool from the grocer, sweating slightly in the sun. You’ve gotten good at cubing the fruits without anything to cut against, prying the pits from the cloying flesh. Though you suppose you’re entertaining any easy audience since Izuku usually eats fish straight from the sea. 

It’s easy to melt into the familiarity, no matter how odd the situation really is, of being around Izuku. You should probably still be weirded out by him — you’ve only known him for a couple weeks — but it feels right. Spending your day laid out on sun-baked rocks eating cooled fruit feels somewhat… inevitable.

The moment’s interrupted by a noise, heavy footfalls which sends Izuku shooting up and pushing himself halfway into the water. His hand curls against your ankles and a sound, low and crackly — a hiss — you realize, erupts from the back of his throat.

Then a head of blonde hair, spiky and soft, emerges from the trees. “Katsuki?”

“Kacchan?” You don’t have time to question why Bakugou’s here, too focused on the recognition in Izuku’s voice. The nickname, you assume, sounds too personal and you’re so confused. 

Katsuki ignores him, staring pointedly at you, “your uncle needs ya. Now.” 

Izuku’s still halfway in the water, fins pressed flat against his temples and claws dug deep within the rock. You apologize quietly as you gather your things, eyeing Katsuki over your shoulder.

The walk back into town was quiet again. Unnervingly so as Katsuki was determined to keep his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. You do the same, just to avoid the question, and interestingly sand looks the same in every single spot you check. Cool.

“So,” you start to regret the words before you even speak them, “you, uh, you already knew about mermaids, then?” 

He grunts in a way you take to mean ‘yes’ and you continue, “so did you know that’s what happened that night, then? Why I ended up close enough to the boat for you to be able to get to me?”

Another grumble.

“So… how’d you… how’d you meet?” Katsuki would’ve been the last person on the island you thought knew about mermaids. Denki maybe, who’d tried to convince you that every minor problem the town faced was aliens. Or even Eijirou who was so open-minded sometimes you worried about him catching flies. 

He sighs heavily. It was a fair question all things considered. “You’re not the first one in town to get swept off a fuckin’ boat.” A muscle in his jaw spasms, “and you’re not the first one that dumbass has rescued.” 

Katsuki stops talking after that, like he answered your question in any way satisfactorily. Then, he scrubs a hand over his face — pressing so hard against his eyes you think he’s trying to dig them out — before scoffing, “Just. Just don’t leave the fuckin’ beach without him around, alright?”

“Katsuki, I can swim, you know? I’m not a child.”

He pointedly ignores you, “alright?”

“Fine.”

“Planning on snorkeling later?” Your uncle’s gotten better, only needing a walking stick to be able to move around the house. You worry less about him now, too. “Didn’t know you still had those.”

“Yeah, I saw something at the cove yesterday,” you smile. It’s not a total lie, at least. 

He chuffs a laugh, turning the heat down on his bacon, “you remember how much you’d begged for us to finally take you? You hated being under. Had to hold you above the surface so you could just put the mask in.”

You do. You’d always had a weird relationship with the ocean — you loved the idea of it, what it held, but were terrified of the power. The destruction you’d seen it cause to not only the village itself but the people within. 

“Didn’t stop coming, though. You’re stubborn,” he turns to wink, “get that from me.”

The flippers don’t fit into your bag, bright green ends pressing against your arm and squishing the plums you’d bought yesterday. It’s earlier in the day than normal — sun not as bright and the sand cool beneath your feet.

Izuku’s waiting for you when you, his tail cutting impatiently through the water, when you finally arrive at the little cove. He schools his expression when he sees you, lifting out of the water with a bright smile and calling your name. “You came!”

“Of course I did! I promised, didn’t I?” He makes room for you on the rock, watching as you work the bright rubber flippers onto your feet. They’re uncomfortable and you can feel sand clinging to the sides of your feet.

“I was just… worried.” There’s an underlying tone that makes you think he’s not talking about you showing up. That he’s talking about this is—the water—what he’s worried about. “It’s not too far, promise.”

You’re not convinced he’s really telling you, more a reassurance for himself. But all the same, you smile down at him, “I trust you, Izuku.” 

He seems to relax at that, hands coming to brace your shins as you scoot closer to the stone’s edge. It is a little unnerving, being in the water again, but not so bad with him there. His palm slides up your leg, clawed hand curving over your hip—bracing you—as you finally shimmy down the rock.

Izuku’s hand moves to the back of your head when you start to sink, cradling your skull as a wave pushes you back against the rock. “Careful,” he murmurs. He doesn’t let you go once you’re fully in the water, tucking you easily in the crook of his arm and helps you slip the mask over your face. 

The water’s colder than you’d hoped, shudders racking you and you press closer into his side, “thank you.”

He swallows, visibly, and you can feel the anxious squirm of his tail against your leg before he settles. You float there, your back still pressed against the rock, for a moment before he grins again. Izuku’s grip tightens minutely before he lowers himself in the water, “ready?”

The flippers make it easier to keep up with him—a feat made even easier as Izuku refuses to let go of your hand, pulling you close to his side—and it doesn’t take much to reach what Izuku had wanted to show you.

There’s a reef, bright and colorful, just beyond the cove. The water’s colder there and bluer. The floor is covered in life, thickets of seaweed and bright clusters of pink and orange coral. The fish are smaller, but colorful and they don’t seem to fear Izuku when he pulls you in.

He still never lets go of your hand, following close behind you whenever you need to breathe. Izuku’s smile hasn’t left either—dimpled even as he watches you bob with the waves, wiping at the air slicking against your forehead.

You take to following him, cutting languidly through the water as he shows off his tiny world: bright pink plates of encrusting and fish no bigger than your palm. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, of course, but it feels like you’re seeing it differently. 

You’re grinning when you break the surface, pulling your mask up your forehead and hands gripping at Izuku’s forearms, “that’s so cool, ‘zuku.” The taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, clinging to your teeth but you don’t mind. 

Izuku grins, the fins buried in green curls twist forwards, “good?”

“So good! I forgot how pretty the reefs out here are. I’m so glad you brought me,” he preens under the attention and you can feel his tail brush against your calf. You think he’s going to say something when he stops, staring at something over your shoulder, and gasps.

“One more,” his hands curl around your wrists and tug you forwards, following whatever he’d seen in the water. You have half a mind to try and slip the snorkel over your face but you don’t. You trust him.

He stops a little ways away, pulling you against him and staring down in the water, “look.” 

Your grip on his arms tighten when you do—a large manta ray is below you. It’s moving slowly, wings cutting lazily through the water barely a foot beneath when you’re floating. There’s a few more of them, deeper in the water, below it and you watch as they glide easily through the waves.

You laugh, quiet and startled, as you watch the creatures disappear from sight. The sound draws Izuku’s eyes to yours and he watches you for a moment. His hands move on your back, readjusting their grip and he knocks his head against your own, “ready?”

Your legs are screaming by the time Izuku’s leading you back to the cove. He seemed to have noticed you slowing, insisting you wrap your arms around his neck to let him pull you along. 

The air feels colder after being submerged for so long, and you shiver against his back. Izuku’s breathing is odd. You’ve always noticed it, it’s so much slower than your own, but the feeling’s soothing. You start to count them in your mind, letting your cheek rest against his shoulder as he moves. 

You barely notice that you’ve gotten back to the cover or that he’s started to move you. You follow him sleepily, letting him tuck your head under his chin and legs into the crook of his arm. 

He hoists you up onto the same rock you’d sat on before, slipping the rubber flippers off you. You don’t expect him to follow after you, arms on either side of you and hips framed by your knees, “did you like it?”

“I did,” you hum and tuck a drying curl behind his ear, “it was beautiful.”

Izuku grins again, so bright your chest tightens, and leans to press his forehead against yours. You feel his lips skim your cheek when he finally parts from you and slips back into the cove.

You wish you’d thought about this more—the inevitable—before you forced yourself to confront it. You’d always been meant to stay for just the summer. Help your uncle get back on his feet, enjoy the break before your semester started, and maybe figure out what you were going to study long term. You never planned on staying.

Izuku’s words replayed, the seemingly insignificant fact from when you’d first met. Most mermaids never left home. He’d spent his entire life here. You didn’t expect him to want to leave. 

And how would that work, anyway? You didn’t think he’d enjoy living in your bathtub nor do you think you’d be able to get him back home without more than a few questions. 

So the conversation had to happen. You just wish you’d prepared better. Or at least not keep avoiding it.

Izuku had started sunning with you. You’d spread out your plush towels by the water’s edge and he’d flop next to you, squinting at the sun and pressing himself into your side. It was easy, nice. And incredibly hard to think about leaving.

You’re sunning now, Izuku’s face tucked against your collarbone and curls dried against your jaw. His breath warms your neck, spreading across your chest. 

“Izuku?” He hums, fins twitching minutely, “do you think about the future?” You can feel his brow crinkle and have to fight yourself from smoothing it out with your thumb. “Like… what-”

You’re not sure how to ask. How do you tell him you’re leaving, that you were never here for long and your time has more than run out.

“Are you okay?” He’s propped himself up on flat palms, peering down at you, lip caught between his teeth, “what’s wrong?”

You regret bringing it up, wishing you could sink into the very sand and never emerge. But you can’t. And you can’t keep putting off this conversation. “Summer’s almost over,” you sigh.

Izuku’s head tilts, confusion washing over him before it hits. Oh. You’re leaving. His bottom lip escapes his teeth, wobbling slightly, and he pushes himself further away, “you’re leaving?” You don’t say anything—afraid the burning in your eyes will spill over—but you nod. “When?”

Your breath is shaking when you answer, “in the morning.”

You can see the words hit him, his shoulders sloping and tears bubbling to the surface. Izuku stares at you for a moment and you can feel his slow breathing speed, tears finally spilling over freckled cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, thumbing the tears from his face and pressing your forehead to his, “I have to go back to school and my uncle’s healed but I, I’ll visit.” You’re crying, too now. “I’ll come back every break if you want me too, I promise.” 

Your throat burns as you look at him, he looks so distraught. You want to fix it, but there’s nothing you can do.

“I’m sorry, Izuku.” Your thumbs continue to wipe at his cheeks, ignoring your own tears, “I wish there was a way—but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do, I can’t stay here and—”

“And I can’t leave.” Izuku’s voice is brittle when he speaks, waterlogged. You hate it. 

Your forehead knocks against his, nose nudging his own, and your arms drag him down against you, “I’ll come back, I promise, anytime you want me to.” The words come out weaker than you’d hope and you hope your actions are stronger, fingers tangling in his hair. “I wish I could take you with me.”

He tenses, breathing evening out suddenly. Your phone buzzes from the beach and you glance at it, “it’s probably my uncle.” You smooth a hand over his cheek, “I’ll figure something out.” Something odd has overtaken his expression, the sureness he had before he’d given you the shell or asked to show you something new—determination.

You gather your towels quickly, avoiding the water and Izuku’s heavy eyes. You know you’ll stay if you look.

You almost leave the shell. It’s the very last thing you pack, sitting on your windowsill beside a vase of dried flowers. It’d be easier to leave everything, you think. Bury it in your childhood chest of drawers and forget this break ever happened. 

But you can’t. So you wrap the shell in a soft sweater and tuck it into a corner of your suitcase. 

The bags a lot fuller leaving than it was when you first arrived. Stuffed with all the little shells Izuku’d given you and the small crate of creamy chocolate bars Kiri had insisted you keep to “remember him” by. He and Sero had also surprised you with an armful of hawaiian shirts, every single one already had their sleeves cut off for you. “Saving you time!” Sero had declared when you’d sighed heavily.

You still pack them.

You’ve cleared out everything but the tiny closet when you hear your uncle talking to someone. He sounds pleased, someone he knows then, and you only recognize the second voice when they’re at your door. Katsuki.

The door is pushed open, revealing a disarrayed Katsuki whose comically out of breath, gripping your doorknob and grabbing at your forearm.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He ignores you, pulling you out the door and down the stairs. Yanking at his fingers accomplishes very little, and complaining about your incomplete packing seems to make his grip tighten. 

“Katsuki! What’s wrong?” You dig your heels into the ground, finally becoming a big enough resistance for him to huff and turn to you.

“The cove.” Izuku.

Your breath catches and you let him pull you quicker, mind racing. Is he hurt? Did something happen? You’d seen him a few hours ago, how’d it happen that quickly?

The water’s empty and still when you finally breach the trees. And you fist at Katsuki’s sleeve. Then, you see him. He’s bundled up in a towel near the shore, curls damp and dark against his forehead. “Izuku,” you gasp. You notice the lack of fins first, nothing but achingly human ears protruding from his hair, then the fact that the beach towel ends in feet, pruned from the water. 

He smiles when he sees you, pained but still achingly bright and you choke on a sob, scrambling to kneel in front of him. He catches you easily, melting into your arms as soon as they find their way around him.

Your heart is still beating against your ribs as you cup his face, running your thumb over the curve of his cheek to collect the tears and saltwater. The absence of his tail becomes glaringly obvious when he shuffles closer to you, knees knocking against your own. “Izuku…why did you… what did you do?”

He shakes his head softly, curls dragging against your cheek as his nose presses into yours, “doesn’t matter.”

You laugh, bright and relieved, and he pulls you further against his chest. His lips skate across the curve of your cheek before his mouth meets yours, chaste and sweet. His arms wrap around your waist as blunt hands curl into the back of your shirt. You can feel his heart beating beneath your palm, skin warm and sticky with the sea.

He noses at your temple when you part, sighing softly, “I, uh, I can go with you, now.” He says it a little hopefully, like you’d ever say no and you nod hurriedly.

“Of course you can, ‘zuku,” nuzzling into his palms, “you’re gonna be hard-pressed to get rid of me.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! I love your writing! Please can you do something with a male villain chasing a female hero and then pinning her down with a boot to the back? I love your writing sm xx

"Ah, ah." The villain clicked his tongue with gentle disapproval, and slammed his boot down on her back with rather less of the gentleness. "Stay down."

The hero's breath crushed out of her as he pressed her to the dirt, pinning her from rising to her feet once more. It seemed impossible that he could exert so much force, and yet - he could crush her spine, if he wanted to. His strength was not exactly human after all. She twisted her head to glare at him, spitting hair out of her flushed face. "Get off me!"

"Go still. I don't want to hurt you."

"Fuck you!"

He pressed down a little more, idly almost.

She dug her nails into the ground but it did little to brace her. Her exceptional speed did nothing to save her, not so long as his foot was there, with all of the cliché positioning of a hunter boasting over his conquered prey. She thrashed.

He pressed down more, and she grunted in pain and stilled. The pressure eased. Her back ached. She didn't think he'd broken anything though; for now, at least, he wasn't trying to. For now.

"Aris." Her teeth gritted. "Don't do this. Don't bring me back there. You were my friend."

"I can't pretend to hunt you forever," he said. "It's what I'm known for. There are only ever so many near misses I can get away with - even with you. If you wanted freedom you should have killed me when I had the chance."

"So this is my reward for mercy?"

"It wasn't mercy that stayed your hand, it was sentiment and arrogance." He eyed her, carefully, as he reached into his pocket for the tranquilizer. "You were so sure I would never catch up with you again."

She had been.

She was one of the fastest creatures in the world; running should have been her victory. It would have been, if the order had sent any other hunter after her. His strength helped, sure, it let him move barriers aside with the ease and ruthlessness of a juggernaut charging for its prize. But the larger problem was that he knew her better than anyone.

He trained the tranquilizer, but didn't fire. Not yet.

She didn't know if that was mercy, or sentiment, or arrogance.

"You should have stayed down," he said, again, finally. "If you hadn't risen so high they wouldn't be so desperate to clip your wings."

He would never had said that once. He wouldn't have been someone else's weapon. Someone else's monster.

"You disgust me." Her voice cracked.

His was dead. "You know what they'll do to me if I don't bring you in."

She couldn't stand to look at him, at that. She struggled to push herself up again, and once again it did nothing. The weight of him could cave the world if he wanted it to. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes.

"You could run with me."

He crouched down, then, even if he must know risking getting close was a bad idea, even when she was pinned and exhausted. She flailed an arm. It bloodied his nose, before he caught her wrist in a vice grip, hard enough to shatter the smaller bones whether he meant to or not.

His free hand pressed the syringe to the back of her neck.

"You know I'd never keep up with you, Di."

And then he plunged a prison into her skin.

[prettyboykatsuki]

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comforting sleep deprived s/o | bnha

➳ incld  ;; bakugo and kirishima 

➳ warnings ;; none, just fluff, pro-hero!au 

➳ wc ;; 1.8k overall. 

➳ a/n ;; i haven’t slept properly in days. running on empty so this is how im coping. i love them. 

»» — {♡} —— { ♡ } —— {♡} — ««

i. bakugo katsuki 

- doesn’t like napping cause he insists on keeping his sleep schedule tight. not that you can really get mad at him over that - hero work is busy and he doesn’t like being tired cause it makes him more aggravated than usual. 

- so he avoids naps almost at all costs and rarely gets tired. his sleep schedule is really, really good. 

- not so much the same for you though. 

- bakugo accepted pretty early on that you were something of a night-owl. bad sleep anxiety and just generally having too much energy at night made it so that he rarely ever saw you go to bed. you were at least lagging a few hours behind him like. at all times. 

- he didn’t really mind at first, but at some point he realized just how little sleep you actually got. one time he woke up at 7am, surprised to see you also awake - only to find out you hadn’t slept the entire night. 

- he was pissed. after almost blowing up your kitchen, he sighed and basically told you that if you need helping sleeping to just “fucking ask him” or else. 

- needless to say, it didn’t get that much better. you two compromised by setting a time that you had to be in bed by, even if you weren’t asleep. whenever bakugo has time, he’s always trying to get you to rest but sometimes his schedule doesn’t really allow him to check up on you how he likes. 

- he’s coming home from a long mission. not super tired but just tedious work. he just wanted to relax. it was late, 3:37am on the clock when he finally walks in. 

- to his surprise - there’s a light on in the kitchen. when he walks in, very confused, he sees you sliding cookies off of a sheetpan into a little plastic tupperware. he stops. he stares. 

- why the hell were you baking at three in the fucking morning 

- “what the fuck are you doing awake?”

- you jump back with a hand over your chest, barely catching your breath. you blink a few times before sighing. 

- “baking. i didn’t think you’d be home so soon” 

- he hears it before he sees it. your voice is absolutely tattered - he can literally hear how exhausted you are. he pumps the breaks, walking towards you swiftly before staring down at you hard. 

- “when was the last time you slept,” 

- you press your lips into a tight smile, and he sees the dark purple under your eyes. he feel his heart hurt a little. his hands come up to your face as he brushes his thumb every so slightly against your lashes. 

- “it’s uh.. hard to sleep without you. more than usual, you know” 

- “Y/N” 

- “i don’t know. maybe two or three days ago properly? i mean i got some sleep in between but -,” 

- he stops you before you can start. he shuts the cookie container and leaves the tray in the sink before grabbing your hand a little forcefully and tugs you to the bathroom - lifting you up onto the counter. you know to stay put. 

- when he comes back it’s with a fresh change of clothes for the both of you. you blink at him owlishly as he strips himself off of his clothes - grateful he took time to shower at the agency. 

- he takes his shirt off and then takes yours off too, before pulling you right towards him. your arms instantly are around his neck, the warmth of his body pressed against your figure with his chin tucked over your shoulder. 

- and god - he’s so comforting you kind of want to cry. he smells like clean soap and deodorant and a little like smoke. feeling his skin against yours makes you feel instant relief. just hugging in the bathroom has you falling half asleep. you were just so tired. 

- when he pulls back, his whole face looks so damn worried it makes you want to cry. you put your own hands on his face and cheek, brushing your thumb on his cheek bone as he rests his forehead on yours. 

- “dumbasss. i can leave something with you if it’s that bad - fuck, you could’ve called me, you know?” 

- and you sigh and smile and kiss him a bit before pulling away again. man, you’re tired. you’re so, so tired. 

- “yeah.. i know,” 

- he helps you get undressed and freshened up, even rubs your facewash into your skin and rubs all your skincare in before hauling you off the bed. he turns the lights dim and just holds you, rubbing circles into your back as he holds you right to his chest. 

- “go to fucking sleep,” “love you katsuki” “..love you too” 

- he doesn’t sleep until you do, and wakes up the next morning to call in sick for you while you sleep against his chest. he should probably wake up but.. sleeping a bit longer won’t kill him. 

{♡} —— { ♡ } —— {♡}

ii. kirishima eijirou 

- kirishima likes to wake up pretty early so he can workout and do his cardio at the start of his day and his weightlifting later on. sleeping well is important to him cause his workout routine is super unforgiving if he’s not resting properly on rest days and the like. building muscles absolutely requires sleep! 

- that being said - he doesn’t mind not sleeping early if he has something to do. drinking especially normally keeps him up on weekends. overall, it was good but he doesn’t limit himself. 

- overall, it’s not something he paid a ton of attention too. life is all about balance so kiri goes with the flow. his rule of thumb is trying to get at least 8 hours a night tho. 

- but because kirishima is so go with the flow - it took him a long time to figure out that you were a night owl and something of an insomniac. he assumed that when he wished you goodnight everday, you fell asleep around the same time as him. 

- but one drunken even, he finds himself stumbling to your apartment. knocking on your and barely standing upright - he immediately is planning on apologizing for disturbing your sleep. 

- but then you.. open the door and you’re literally wide awake. you look tired but you’re clearly not sleepy. kirishima, once gain, blasted - pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and grins toothily. he’s just excited to see you at that point and forgets about the whole ordeal until a few weeks later. 

- he ends up texting you about it a couple weeks later, assuming it’d be a once off thing that you’d explain to him. 

- ... is upset and shocked to learn that you rarely, if ever fall asleep before two am like on a good day. poor man is in shock for the rest of the day and proceeds to ask you about why you have a hard time to sleeping to try and see what he can do. 

- he wants to help but you just keep brushing it off and it honestly made him so upset he didn’t know what to do with himself. he couldn’t sleep a wink that night because the whole thing is bothering him so damn much. 

- what really sets him off is when he finally has a chance to see you after a few weeks. you were busy with uni and didn’t really have a ton of time to see him so the two of you couldn’t see each other properly for a few weeks. 

- he’s elated to see you. he’s missed his baby so much and he’s pulling all the stops out when he’s getting dressed. jeans cuffed, his best cologne, fresh shaved, brand new sneakers. he really wants to impress. 

- he’s wrapping you up into the tightest hug when he see’s you. your dressed comfortably but he still thinks you look so beautiful and he’s complimenting you, giving you kisses and overall just doting on you. he wraps your hand in his yours and just talks. 

- in fact, he’s so excited to see you, he doesn’t notice how..deflated you are. not at first anyways. 

- but as the date goes on, it becomes more and more obvious you don’t share his enthusiasm in the same way. 

- sure, he’s talkative but you haven’t said a word about how your week has been. all of his jokes have been met with mere huffs and forced chuckles and your eyes seem really distant. 

- it hits him all at once at the end of your date when you just seem so... out of it. he’s about to take you somewhere else but you stopped listening a while ago. kirishima stops dead in his tracks and holds your hand nervously, calling you a few times to get your attention. 

- “Y/N.. are you mad at me? is something wrong?” 

- your eyes go wide, flailing your hands to reassure him. you knew you were acting strange but to see kirishima this upset makes you feel awful. 

- “oh kiri - god no, it’s not you. sorry for being so.. distant - it’s not you,” 

- “well then.. what’s wrong?” 

- kirishima feels his heart get pierced when he sees you laugh. you look... so exhausted. your eyes are so heavy and the makeup on your skin is only barely concealing your dark circles. why did it take him so long to notice? 

- before he can even reply, he remembers that little tidbit about your sleep schedule. his heart so genuinely aches. 

- “Y/N.. when was the last time you got any proper sleep?” 

- you flinch, visibly at the question. with an awkward laugh you inform him that it had been at least a week since you’ve had the time to actually sleep. 

- “why didn’t you sleep today? on your day off?” 

- “i uhm.. wanted to see you. i know you had a date planned and i was excited to see you. sorry for.. ruining your plans” 

- he’s devastated by how cute you are. hugs you so damn tight. 

- “baby, you can see me whenever. im happy being with you even if all we’re doing is napping together” 

- when you mumble a soft “oh” in his chest, he can’t help but melt into a sigh. before you can protest, he’s dragging you back to his car and driving you home ignores your protests and buckles you, covering you with his jacket before kissing the crown of your head and telling you to sleep on the way back to his place. 

- he watches you like a hawk the whole time until he arrives at his place. he wakes you up and carries you on his back until he gets inside. all he does is kick his shoes off before pulling the full weight of you down on his body, kissing your whole face. 

- “sleep well baby. ill wake you up in a few” 

»» — {♡} —— { ♡ } —— {♡} — ««

[tossawary]

2,500 words of the Moshang Forced Marriage AU, in which the PIDW plot is turned off and Tianlang-Jun doesn’t fall, but this only causes even more problems for Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua. Written on my phone. 

- 

Shang Qinghua stumbled back into his leisure house with a jar of Zui Xian Peak’s best light wine in one hand and a sack of Qian Cao Peak’s tastiest specialty melon seeds in the other. He kicked the door closed, kicked off his shoes, and then kicked back for some quality lounging. 

   “Ahhh, now this is more like it!” he declared, wiggling into the cushions worthy of a head disciple’s house. “It’s all shoving off my chores onto other people from here on out! Having flatcakes on order with a snap of my fingers! Making some other poor bastard deal with Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge - at each other’s throats even at Yue-Shixiong’s nice dinner to celebrate our future ascension, eugh. I’ve really earned this! I’ve suffered enough!” 

   He dropped the sack of seeds onto the side table and fiddled with the wine, embarrassingly clumsy despite the fact that he was sober. As always, he’d been much too chicken-shit to really indulge around other people. He needed his fast reflexes for ducking and running away when he was out and about! Plus, people would freak the fuck out if a transmigrator started running his mouth, giving everyone existential issues and shit, so him waiting until he was alone to drink was really more of a societal service here than sad. 

   The Transmigration System had also been a concern before, but not anymore! 

   Shang Qinghua raised his jar and laughingly declared, “The plot is dead! Long live the free author! Ah, this toast is a little late, but better late than never, huh?” 

   At long last, this transmigrator had managed to get into the Transmigration System’s settings and turn off the plot! It had honestly been a little infuriating just how easy it had been, once he’d hit on the right combination of things to open the right settings menu. There may or may not have been a lot of outraged shrieking and frustrated crying, after all the sweat, blood, and tears he’d shed to become the head disciple of An Ding Peak. All Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had needed to do, in the end, was flick a few buttons from “on” to “off”. Outrageous. 

   “No more missions! No more restrictions! And no more bad endings for anyone! Ah, at least for everyone besides Huan Hua Palace Sect’s old master, that is… but, heh heh, I really think that I and the new Empress Su Xiyan can live with that,” Shang Qinghua muttered, then took a drink, wiggling deeper into his lounging and feeling very good about himself. 

   He felt as free as a bird! As free as the wind! Why shouldn't he celebrate his newfound freedom and future as a Cang Qiong Peak Lord by doing a little bit of nothing at all? 

  Shang Qinghua shamelessly did his best to become a lump. As he toasted to the distant happy couple and the bouncy baby protagonist on his way, with wine and melon seeds both, he removed all but one layer of clothing, tossed his belt and his jewelry on top of the pile, and yanked everything out of his hair. He slid from a sitting position to a totally horizontal one without realizing how it had happened, then he let heavy eyes fall closed with the knowledge that everything was going to be so much better now. 

   A person knew things were good when they could fall asleep just like this. 

   Then a burst of cold air startled him into looking up at a shadowy figure stepping out of nowhere above him. Shang Qinghua shrieked with terror. 

   "SHUT UP!” the shadow snarled. “Get up!” 

   “What- my king?!” 

   Mobei-Jun didn’t wait and grabbed Shang Qinghua by the front of his robes, hauling him to his feet. The wine sloshed against the floor and the melon seeds scattered around them. Shang Qinghua yelped, choked, and then wheezed and flailed, and then yelped again as his loose robes got a little looser with the rough handling and he slipped in Mobei-Jun's grip. 

   "What- get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped, and then dragged him into the bedroom right away. 

   "The sight of my naked chest offends you this much, bro?!" Shang Qinghua thought, stumbling along. "There's not enough room in this house for two tits-out outfits?! What the fuck is going on?!" 

   Mobei-Jun threw Shang Qinghua towards the dresser. He just barely managed to catch himself, taking a hard wooden edge to the gut and stubbing his toe on its base, instead of falling and concussing himself at least. Shit! It still hurt, though! 

   "Get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped again, pointing at the dresser for emphasis. "Now!" 

   "Right away! Right away, my king!" With shaking hands, his heart thundering in his ears, Shang Qinghua pulled out the first set of robes his fingers touched. 

   "Not those!" 

   "Aah!" 

   Shang Qinghua dropped the robes onto the floor. They were the regular everyday robes of an An Ding Peak disciple, plain and sturdy, something that the demon had seen him in many times before. 

   "Wh- what's wrong with th-these?" 

   "Too plain!" Mobei-Jun barked, and stalked forward to shove Shang Qinghua aside and go through the dresser himself. 

   Shang Qinghua stumbled away and took shelter near his bed, quickly retying his current robes to prevent another fucking nip-slip or worse. He watched with wide eyes as Mobei-Jun threw his clothing to the floor as not good enough. The next drawer was yanked open with so much strength that it splintered and tilted crookedly to one side. 

   "My king, why-?! What's happening?! Are- are we going somewhere?! Who does this servant have to impress?!" 

   Mobei-Jun finished throwing aside everything in this drawer and tried to shove it back in, but it was too broken to be moved. The demon snarled, yanked the entire drawer from the dresser with another terrible splintering sound, and threw the drawer out of his way. It hit Shang Qinghua in the chest and sent him sprawling back onto his bed. 

   He lay there and wheezed without shoving it away, just feeling the impact rattle through his ribs. He heard another drawer splinter. 

   "Ah, so this is how I die?" he thought. "Just as expected: with a bang AND a whimper." 

   He pushed the drawer to one side and sat up, only to be smacked in the face with the robes thrown at him. They were the nicest robes he owned. The An Ding Peak Lord had ordered them for him for the coming ascension of a new generation of Peak Lords, so they had all sorts of fancy embroidery and several heavy layers, which meant Shang Qinghua fell back against the bed again under their weight when they hit his head. He sat up again and then gawked at these robes he had never worn and wasn't supposed to wear yet- 

   "Tianlang-Jun." 

   "Aha, what?" Shang Qinghua looked at the demon lord scowling at him. "My king…? What about Tianlang-Jun…? This- no. What?! My king, you can't mean to take this servant before the Demon Emperor, that would be ridic-" 

   "Get dressed," Mobei-Jun snapped. 

   "It's not Tianlang-Jun, right? Why-?! What's really going on here? Are we going somewhere? Are we meeting someone?" 

   Shang Qinghua got to his feet, but he didn't dare put the fancy robes on, like being nearly naked would save him from being dragged off anywhere else. No amount of nice clothing would ever make the likes of this displaced author impressive to the likes of the OP Demon Emperor, finally sitting on his late sister's throne. 

   "This servant can't serve his king to the best of his abilities unless he knows what the-" 

   "My father is dead!" 

   “...Wh… what?” 

   Mobei-Jun’s expression was like a thunderstorm. Shadows curled around his clenched fists, as light and heat fled this room that was suddenly even smaller than Shang Qinghua remembered it being. 

   "My father…" Mobei-Jun repeated, slowly, daring Shang Qinghua not to understand a second time. "...is dead." 

   Shang Qinghua stared in horror, the robes slipping out of his hands, which itched to count all the years that had just been skipped even though he knew he didn't have enough fingers. Thirty years or so? Definitely more than twenty. His breath came out in a trembling fog as he demanded: 

   "H-how?!" 

   "Tianlang-Jun," Mobei-Jun said again, through gritted teeth. 

   Good point! Good point! Who the fuck else could it be? The real question was why the fuck?! And also what the fuck was Shang Qinghua of all people supposed to do about clashes between OP demon lords?! 

   Mobei-Jun advances on Shang Qinghua, the shadows in his fists writhing like he's strangling them. "Tianlang-Jun took offense to some of my clan's foolish disrespect towards his human Empress and he made an example of my father. He has threatened to destroy the body unless a suitable gesture is made." 

   "But… the power of your ancestors…" 

   Mobei-Jun, looming over him, shoved him down to his knees to pick up the robes he had dropped, and snarled: "Get dressed." 

   Shang Qinghua snatched up the robes and skittered away to dress himself up for the slaughter. His heart was racing fast, but his mind seemed to be going even faster, almost too fast to actually think and also do things like make sure clothes weren't inside-out as he put them on. 

   The power of the Mobei clan rested in the ascension ritual in which the new king "consumed" the body of the old king. Spiritually and… er… possibly also physically? Shang Qinghua had no idea if the System had picked up on those implications or not. Anyway, if Mobei-Jun's father's body was destroyed, then he wouldn't receive that power-up necessary to enforce his rule, which would make him the target of every ambitious cousin and every greedy neighbor. The Mobei clan would probably fall into civil war and the rest of the northern kingdoms would follow them into bloody battle. 

   Shang Qinghua's favorite character, currently glaring at him for the fancy clothes probably making him look even less fancy by comparison, was sure to die. Mobei-Jun's shitty uncle had probably already picked the poisoned knife with which to stab him in the back. 

    "My king… what… what gesture is being made here…? This servant… this servant really needs to know how he's supposed to be of service…" 

   Shang Qinghua also needed to know whether or not he needed to take the first available window to run away. He definitely wasn't above leaping out of literal windows. If Mobei-Jun intended on hanging him over to Tianlang-Jun as a human sacrifice or some shit, then promises of loyalty might expire a lot sooner than originally planned! 

   At the question, Mobei-Jun's expression only darkened and the room darkened again with it. The cold seemed to spread from Shang Qinghua's skin deep into his twisting chest.

   "Marriage," Mobei-Jun said, again through gritted teeth. "Tianlang-Jun has suggested marriage to a human as a worthy gesture." 

   "M-marriage?" 

   Mobei-Jun looked so fucking murderous that Shang Qinghua knew he hadn't misheard. He had to have misheard, though, because this was absurd. 

   "Marriage betw-between me and- and…?" 

   "Yes." 

   "And… you?" 

   "Yes." 

   Shang Qinghua should have been given an award for not fainting dead away. The System should have given him a million points for every second he managed to stay conscious, except… the System had essentially been turned off. No more points. No more plot. 

   No more Proud Immortal Demon Way plot, at least. 

   Ah, was this some kind of warped vacuum effect? A new plot come to take its place? 

   "There will be great riches." 

   Shang Qinghua refocused on the demon glaring at him. Riches?! What the fuck did riches have to do with anything right now?! 

   "Mobei Clan is the second strongest in the Demon Realm," Mobei-Jun informed him, but the demon was kind of scowling like he resented this now, instead of bragging. "You would not have to work again." 

   It was a really fucking weird day when being told that his Dream Guy wanted him and that he'd never had to work again was somehow bad news. It almost sounded like Mobei-Jun was… was… trying to persuade Shang Qinghua to marry him by offering wealth, power, and a life of indolence. All things that would tempt most people! Especially blindly greedy, thigh-hugging sect traitors like his character! 

   "Did… did Tianlang-Jun tell you… to just pick any human?" Shang Qinghua asked faintly. "There weren't… there weren't any requirements…?" 

   Clearly Mobei-Jun didn't want to be tied to Shang Qinghua of all humans! 

   "He asked - laughingly - if none of us knew any humans. I said that I did." 

   Okay, Shang Qinghua fully believed that Mobei-Jun didn't know any other humans. Mobei-Jun was on a deadline and didn't have time to go find the most acclaimed matchmaker or anything. By default, Shang Qinghua was the best, most handsome, most skillful, most wellborn, most desirable, and altogether most marriageable human Mobei-Jun knew - and he was not feeling super fucking thrilled by this victory. 

   "What… what did my king say about me..? What is the Demon Emperor expecting?" Shang Qinghua could only hope expectations had been set on the floor, preferably into the floor or maybe even underground. 

   "A disciple of Cang Qiong in my service." 

   "Oh…" 

   "Fix your robes." 

   "What? Oh, shit. Right away!" 

   Shang Qinghua didn't have a lot of experience wearing robes this nice and Mobei-Jun barking at him to look less like shit wasn't helping. The fact that he was sweating from nerves and his fingers were still shaking a little also wasn't helping. He skittered around to add tasteful ornaments and jewelry, some of which got violently rejected by Mobei-Jun as too ugly to show anyone, but looking down at himself, he mostly just felt like he was throwing shiny gold onto a pile of crap. How could this really fool anyone?  

   "My king, what… what am I supposed to say to the Demon Emperor? Do you want me to lie? To the Demon Emperor?!" 

   "Do not speak unless spoken to." 

   Sure, Shang Qinghua could do that, but was he really supposed to leave the talking to Mobei-Jun?! To Mobei-Jun?! The protagonist's right-hand man had not been known for his silver tongue! Did he think people weren't going to have questions? Like, "How the fuck do you know some random human?" Or, "Holy shit, you're really going to marry THAT one?" 

   "Isn't… my king, isn't Tianlang-Jun well known for his interest in humans and human stories… though...?" 

   Love stories! Shang Qinghua was pretty sure that the man loved a good love story! How the fuck were he and Mobei-Jun supposed to pull off a love story? And make it a love story compelling enough to convince a pissed-off Tianlang-Jun to grant the Mobei Clan mercy? Shang Qinghua wasn’t totally sure he was going to be able to do anything besides break down sobbing and curl up into a pathetic ball on the floor. 

   Mobei-Jun's face twisted slightly, in the way of an angry demon who didn't want to admit that his lowly human servant actually had a super great point. Tianlang-Jun had already proven himself a man who liked to play with his food a little. 

   "Do not tell some story," Mobei-Jun snarled finally. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not lie." 

   "Of course! Of course! Very wise not to lie to him!” Shang Qinghua told himself to focus on the logistics here; he was the logistics man; it was what he did. If he just kept focusing on the details, he didn’t have to think about the bigger picture. “This servant will remain silent until called upon, which… when… my king, when will that be? Tomorrow morning? I have to tell-" 

   "Now." 

  "-my martial sib- what?!" 

   "Now," Mobei-Jun repeated. "He is waiting." 

[jungshookz]

skate a little piece of my heart; jjk

➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader

➺ genre; rollerskatinginstructor!jungkook!! sfw!! fluff!! honk honk humour!! jungkook is a very handsome instructor and y/n can’t tell if that’s a bad thing or a good thing

➺ wordcount; 6.3k

➺ summary; your two left feet and complete lack of balance isn’t the only thing that’s making you weak in the knees this valentine’s day. 

➺ what to expect; “rollerskating is already hard enough as it is, and now i have to do it in front of him?!” 

➺ currently spinning on the record player; how deep is your love; bee gees

                                     »»————-　💫  ————-««

“this is so dumb.”

“safety is never dumb, y/n!” taehyung raps his knuckles against the top of your helmet and you scowl before swatting his hand away, “now, where are your kneepads?”

you let out a groan before tilting your head back slowly, your eyes widening in slight panic at the surprisingly hefty weight of the helmet

your arms flail for a second and you immediately reach up to grip both sides of the helmet before forcing your head back up

jesus

you nearly snapped your own neck there

of course, snapping your own neck would mean not being able to skate because you’d technically be dead… so maybe that’s not such a bad idea after all…

(by the way, it’s concerning how many times you’ve considered literal death just to get out of doing something.)

“are you going to lift your leg for me or do i have to do everything for you?”

you look down to see taehyung down on the ground in front of you holding one of the knee pads and you frown lightly before lifting your leg and placing your sock-clad foot on his knee

“please tell me this is the last of the safety gear…” you whine, “tae, i literally look so dorky right now- no one else is wearing helmets or knee and elbow pads!” you gesture to seokjin and namjoon who are busy putting on their skates over on the other bench before scoffing lightly and crossing your arms 

if namjoon (arguably the klutziest one out of this group of people) isn’t even wearing a helmet, then what does that say about you??

you’ve seen him trip over nothing and scrape both his knees so why are you the only one wearing all of this junk?!

“i took you ice-skating over christmas and you fell flat on your ass more times than i could count, and you insisted that you didn’t need any safety equipment even though it was alarmingly clear that you did. i basically spent two hours making sure you didn’t die-” taehyung looks up at you with a raised brow, “do you want to fall and split your skull open in front of everyone?”

“if it means not having to gear up in all this dorkware- then, yes. i would love to have my brains splat across the rink in front of everyone. in fact, that would probably be less embarrassing-” you grumble, flinching slightly as taehyung suddenly yanks hard to tighten up your laces, “i’m an adult, taehyung! grown-ups don’t need to wear all of this!” 

“grown-ups don’t throw tantrums either, but here you are…” taehyung mutters under his breath, putting your foot down before giving your knee a slap, “perfect! we’re good to go!”

“yeah, yeah…” you reach under to scratch at your elbow only to feel your nails scrape against the smooth surface of the plastic protection shell and you resist the urge to rip it off out of frustration

taehyung decided that it’d be a great idea to bring everyone to a rollerskating rink for valentine’s day this year instead of… letting people go out to intimate dinners and celebrate on their own… because, quote, ‘i just want all of us to spend more time together, and what better day to do that then on valentine’s day?? …ooh, we should call it pal-entine’s day. ha! get it?? because we’re all pals-’

(he was dumped recently, so everyone’s kind of letting him run the ship for now. …basically, no one can say no to taehyung unless they want to see him burst into tears. he’s still in a very delicate state.)

but, honestly… a rollerskating rink!

out of all the places to go to!

you already have two left feet, so forcing said left feet into shoes with wheels is a horrible idea

“i think it’d be best if i just sat back and watched you guys!” you try for the umpteenth time to get taehyung to let you off the hook, “plus, they sell chilli dogs here and they actually smell really good and i kind of want to order one for myself even though it might end in me having to get my stomach pumped-” you gesture back towards the refreshments counter and taehyung shakes his head before sticking his hand out for you

“there’s plenty of time for you to scarf down a rubbery hotdog later- now, c’mon-”

“i don’t even know how to skate!”

“that’s fine, you’ll learn! it’ll be like riding a bicycle except you are the bicycle-”

“you know, i’m just going to be complaining the whole time, and it’s going to ruin your time here. honestly, tae, why am i here??”

“because i’m not emotionally stable enough to spend valentine’s day alone yet and i need to surround myself with as many people as possible otherwise i’m going to be alone with my thoughts and i’m going to spiral!” taehyung’s voice cracks as he snaps at you and you immediately press your lips together and avert your gaze, trying to ignore the weird glances the two of you are getting from the strangers around you

…

“okay, well-” you push yourself up off the bench before wobbling slightly and reaching over to grab onto taehyung’s arm for stability, “i don’t know about you, but i’m most certainly ready to tear up that rink!”

“perfect!” taehyung chirps, quickly reverting back to his ‘everything is fine and i’m definitely not dying on the inside’ state, “and don’t worry. rollerskating is much easier than ice-skating, so there’s less of a chance of you potentially embarrassing yourself here-” taehyung gives your hand a pat as the two of you shuffle your way towards the entrance gate, “trust me, you’ll get the hang of it as soon as you start!”

“you saw me on ice…” you snort, your knees already wobbling as you take your first step into the rink, “i really don’t think i’m going to be any better on wood-”

“well, lucky for you…” taehyung lets go of you and you immediately cling to the railing in panic, “i went ahead i hired an instructor for you!”

you frown as you pull one hand away and rub your fingers together 

god, why are the railings so sticky-

“you- woah, hold on a second-” you look up and over at taehyung with wide eyes when you finally catch on to what he just said, “i’m sorry, you did what?”

“what? i can’t stay by your side and watch you all night.” he shrugs, placing his hands on his hips as he stands in front of you, “we were moving so slowly on the ice that i was sure it was starting to melt underneath our skates-”

“you just told me you don’t want to be alone and now you’re handing me off to someone else instead of spending time with me??” you frown, manoeuvring your stance so that both your hands are gripping onto the railing behind your bum, “why force me to skate if you’re not doing it with me?”

“i mean, i obviously want to spend time with you, but i also don’t want to be skating, like, one mile an hour-” taehyung snorts, “i’m forcing you to skate so that one day, we can skate together without me having to worry about you slipping and sliding all over the place like a baby giraffe!”

“well, why can’t you teach me instead of paying for someone else to do it?”

a brief moment of silence passes as taehyung rolls over to get you to release your iron grip from the bars

“…because teaching you how to skate instead of actually spending time skating sounded really boring-” he mutters quickly, your eyes widening as you turn to look at him

“wha-”

“also-” he cuts you off, placing his hands on your hips from behind as he starts to roll you forwards slowly (though, you haven’t noticed this yet because you’re still focused on the fact that he didn’t want to teach you - you’re a great student!!), “there was a girl who kept smiling at me when i was strapping you up in all your gear, and i need to find out if i still have game or not-”

“this sounds more like you’re trying to fill the empty void inside of you with meaningless sex, which, by the way, isn’t a very healthy coping mechanism-” 

“i will fill this empty void inside of me in whichever way i want, thank you very much-” taehyung snorts, shaking his head, “plus, it’s too late to back out because the policy states that they don’t take refunds and he’s already here-”

“wait, what??” you immediately look back to the front, the fact that you are being rolled towards someone now sinking into your brain, “who- oh my god, stop rolling me-!”

taehyung’s fingers dig into your hips as he comes to a sudden halt, “what??”

“spin me around.” 

taehyung blinks before slowly turning you around so that you’re facing him and you pray to god that you don’t look like some kind of rotating rotisserie chicken right now  

you open your mouth to speak when you finally see taehyung’s face again but he continues to spin you slowly so that you end up in the same position you were in a second ago

...

“for god’s sake, taehyung- spin me around so i’m looking at you, you moron-”

“ohh, okay, i thought you just wanted to spin you around for fun-”

“why would i want you to spin me around for f- okay, that’s not important right now-” you shake your head, “i just want to say that the only reason why i’m doing this is because you kind of sprung this on me last minute and i don’t want to inconvenience anyone, but just know that you now owe me big time- now, spin me back around and wheel me to whoever i’m going to be stuck with for the next couple of hours.”

“noted!” taehyung chirps as he rolls you back so you’re facing the front, “he’s right over there by the other entrance- the guy in the yellow-” your eyes flit around until they land on the guy in the yellow and you immediately feel your heart starting to beat a little harder in your chest at the sight of the guy in the yellow, “his name’s jungkook, he has a shining five-star rating, he’s a wonderful teacher according to all the parents whose kids he’s taught- i’m pretty sure you’re his oldest student so don’t embarrass yourself-”

you feel your mouth go dry when jungkook reaches down to adjust the bottom of his tied button-up shirt before opening the sides of it a little more to show off his chest

he reaches up to twirl a loose tendril of hair around his finger before gently pushing it back and running his hand through his hair, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek briefly 

oh no

oh, no

he’s attractive

he’s very, very attractive

“tae.” you keep a polite smile on your face as you slink your right arm behind you to attempt to blindly punch him in the gut, “why didn’t you tell me that the instructor was cute?”

“oh, i’m sorry.” taehyung responds sarcastically, “i didn’t think attractiveness was an important factor when considering an instructor.”

“well, it is when the instructor looks like that-” you feel your cheeks warm when jungkook smiles brightly at the two of you before waving enthusiastically, “rollerskating is already hard enough as it is, and now i have to do it in front of him?!”

“i don’t know what there is to freak out about. the guy’s handsome- so what?” taehyung waves back at jungkook before giving your hips a playful squeeze, “if anything, you should see this as a bonus - you get some eye-candy while you learn!”

“okay, well, don’t make me sound pervy-”

“not to mention, he’s your age! so it’ll be like you’re just hanging out with a friend-”

“a friend?! taehyung, i’m wearing overalls, my hair is in pigtails, and all this protective gear that you shoved me in makes me look like an eight year old-!” you gasp when you feel yourself suddenly bump into something hard and taehyung quickly loops his arm around your waist to keep you from toppling over

it’s a second later that you realize the something hard that you bumped into was jungkook’s obviously broad chest, so obviously this rollerskating lesson is already off to a fantastic start 

“woah, you got it?” jungkook holds both his hands out in case you fall over and you let out a nervous chuckle before reaching up to push your helmet up slightly

“i’m fine!” your voice cracks and you clear your throat quickly, “…hello.”

“hi! it’s nice to meet you- y/n, right?” jungkook sticks his hand out for you to shake and you smile nervously before reaching out to take it, “my name’s jungkook! i’m super excited for today. we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

you don’t know if it’s just because he’s clearly one of those fun and overly friendly! instructors or if he’s just naturally bubbly but he’s talking to you like you’re a child

(you probably could’ve ditched the pigtails today.) 

“okay, i’m going to go off now so let me just hand y/n over to you-” taehyung arm slips from your waist before he gently rolls you towards jungkook, “you two have fun!”

your hands immediately slap down on the railings right as you feel yourself about you slip and you let out a breath of relief

that was a close call

“we will!” jungkook smiles, waving at taehyung as he skates off, “you enjoy yourself out there!”

you watch helplessly as taehyung skates away, jungkook turning back to look at you with a (very handsome) smile

you feel your heart skip a beat once again and you immediately curse in your head 

…you’re screwed.

                                    »»————-　💫  ————-««

“because of the balance and control required, it’ll take a little bit of getting used to- but once you get the hang out it, rollerskating is super fun!” jungkook reaches out so you can take his hand, “do you wanna let go of the bar for me?”

there are a lot of things you’d like to do for jungkook but letting go of the railing and potentially falling in front of him is most definitely not one of them

“you know, i think i’m good!” you chuckle, your knuckles practically going white at how tightly you’re gripping onto the railing, “why don’t you just keep talking while i… you know, get used to the feeling of just standing while wearing skates?”

“okay, if that’s what you’re comfortable with, that’s what we can do. let’s see… ah!” jungkook perks up, clapping his hands together before gesturing down to his own feet, “so, you’re gonna wanna keep your feet shoulder-width apart. can you do that for me?”

you look down at your feet, not at all surprised to see that they’re practically glued to each other

okay

shoulder-width apart

you can do that, right?

you lift your right foot up slowly before quickly moving it farther away from your left foot, your skate skidding slightly against the floor as you stomp down

goD these skates are clunky

you’ll never understand how people find this activity genuinely enjoyable

“see? not so bad, right? now, i’m really going to need you to let go of the bar for me so that we can move onto the next step- i swear i won’t let you fall if you take my hand.”

your eyes flicker down to his outstretched hand and you twist your lips uncertainly, “you promise?”

jungkook places his hand over his heart, “i promise.”

you lift one hand off the rail and quickly take jungkook’s hand, pausing for a second to make sure that everything feels okay before quickly lifting the other hand off the rail

you practically slap your hand down on jungkook’s other palm and let out a breath of relief as soon as he grips it tightly, and you look back in concern when jungkook starts to pull you away from the railing

“there you go! see?” jungkook smiles brightly, giving your hands a squeeze to get you to focus on him instead of the bars, “not so bad, right?” 

“yeah, i guess so…” you puff out, feeling your heart starting to pound harder not onLY because the safety of the railings have been taken away from you but also because jungkook’s hands are… very soft.,,. and very warm,.,. and very pretty.,., and all-in-all very nice

“okay, step two. so, this next part is going to make you feel a little silly, but we have to walk like ducks because it just makes the process of walking easier. you kind of have to point your toes outwards- yeah, just like that! and don’t forget to squat a little-” jungkook hums, leaning over a little so he can look to see if your stance is okay, “perfect! we’re just going to keep practicing until you get used to walking...”  

“you know, taehyung actually took me ice-skating over the holidays and i fell, like… ten times.” you snort, keeping your eyes on your skates as you take one small step after another, “i thought rollerskating would be easier but i feel like there are more rules to worry about…”

“oh my god, don’t even worry about it-“ jungkook snorts, shaking his head, “i’m an awful ice-skater. you’d think it’d come naturally to me because i can rollerskate- plus, i don’t see the fun in ice-skating! i know it’d never happen but i’m always paranoid that the skates are going to slice-”

“-the ice open and you’re going to fall through and plunge into the icy water?”

“exactly! see, you get it.” jungkook grins, leaning down a little to check your posture again, “you know, you’re a complete natural. i don’t know why you were so nervous to begin with!”

you snort in response and resist the urge to tell him that his face was one of the major things that contributed to your nerves 

“ooh, and you know what else i hate about ice-skating?” jungkook gasps, “that if i fall and get my hands on the ground, someone’s going to skate over them and amputate all of my fingers.”

you immediately burst into giggles and he gawks playfully

“are you laughing at a genuine fear of mine, y/n?? i didn’t take you to be someone who could be so cruel…”

“no, i’m not laughing at you!” you smile softly and you can’t help but note how warm and comforting his presence is, “i’m just- i said that exact same thing to taehyung when we were ice-skating and he said i was being ridiculous, so it’s nice to know that someone shares the same opinions on ice-skating as i do.” you instinctively squeeze jungkook’s hands when you feel the wheels roll out from underneath you a little and you end up jerking forward a little 

“woah-! you’re okay- i’ve got you…” jungkook rubs his thumbs over your knuckles reassuringly as he waits for you to regain your balance and start walking again, “i told you i wouldn’t let you fall, remember?”

“yeah…” you smile shyly, feeling your cheeks heat up a little

you don’t feel as nervous anymore

no wonder jungkook has a five-star rating as an instructor

he’s great!

“also, you do realise we’ve walked, like, an entire round around the rink, right?”

“what? we have?” you pause, looking up from your skates for the first time in ten minutes 

you’re almost at the spot you were at right when you first started

woah

wow!!

you didn’t even realize!!

that’s so cool!!

you walked an entire round without falling (a lot of almost-falling, but you’ll take it)!!!

“i mean, i don’t know about you, but i feel like we can move on to gliding now…” jungkook whistles lowly, “you’re a very fast learner so i’m not worried.”

“gliding is…” you lean over a little when you notice taehyung having a blast at the other side of the rink with his new companion, the two of them skating side by side

she laughs at something he says before playfully swatting at his arm

it’s just good to see him smiling and not crying for once 

one of the things that you love most about taehying is that he’s so in tune with his emotions, but when his ex (he forbade you from saying her name) broke up with him, he cried so much that you were pretty sure he had completely dehydrated himself 

so it’s nice that he seems to be enjoying himself! 

“so, gliding is-” jungkook steps over to get right into your line of vision and you quickly look back at him with an attentive smile, “basically turning your steps into smoooooth strokes. instead of dropping your foot straight down, you’re going to be pushing it forward and out. it’s kind of hard to explain gliding… you kinda just have to let momentum carry you forward and do its thing, you know? it’s literally just a one foot after the other situation.”

“well, if you can glide backwards, i’m sure i can figure out how to do it normally.” you point out, jungkook snorting in response

“trust me, you’ll be able to pick it up quickly. remember that when you’re gliding on one foot to keep your other slightly hovering above ground so it doesn’t interfere-” jungkook stops himself when he notices your brows knitting together (you seem to do this a lot when you’re focusing too hard on something), “ah, you know- i find that it’s easier to glide when you’re not actually focused on the gliding!” he chirps, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, “if it helps, you can keep your eyes on me instead of staring down at your skates.”

hAh

if anything, staring directly at jungkook is going to throw you off your game compared to keeping your eyes glued on the ground

“okay, i will... try not to focus on the gliding while simultaneously focus on the gliding.” your tongue instinctively pokes out slightly in concentration as you push forward with one foot, being sure to keep your other a little above ground just like jungkook said 

you quickly switch to the other foot when you feel your right foot slowly starting to lose momentum, pushing off with your left instead and lengthening your stride so you can skate a little further 

hey

look at that! 

not bad!! 

“look at you go, superstar!” jungkook cheers encouragingly, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you gliding flawlessly, “you were born for this!” 

“you know, you may have a point- woAh-” your skates roll out a little from under you and you lurch forward, jungkook quickly sliding his grip from your hands to underneath your elbows to keep you from falling, “...yeah, so i spoke too soon.” you huff, blowing a strand of hair away from your face as you glance up at jungkook, still bent over at a ninety degree angle

“it’s my bad, i think i may have blown up your ego with all my compliments-” the sides of his eyes crinkle as he laughs, “all good?” 

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and feel a piece of your soul float out from your body when you realise you basically look like a little old woman clutching onto one of those rolling walkers

wow

the possibility of jungkook being interested in you was low to begin with, but now it’s probably been squashed entirely

“uh, yes!” you clear your throat as you force yourself to stand up stick-straight, your knees clacking together for a second before you get back into position, “all good! i’m all good. we’re good.” 

oh boy 

if it makes you feel any better… it can’t get any worse than this, right?

“i-” you jolt when the music suddenly clicks off and is replaced by the shrill ringing of microphone feedback

“youch.” jungkook winces, raising his shoulder slightly and tilting his head down towards it so he can try to cover up one of his ears 

your brows furrow in confusion as you look up towards the speakers, unsure of if there’s just a technical difficulty or if something important is happening, “what’s going o-”

“sorry for the interruption, skaters! we just wanted to cut in and wish every single one of you a happy valentine’s day...” 

a large disco ball lowers from the ceiling as the lights begin to dim, the room suddenly engulfed in a warm pink glow as visions of glinting sparkles and hearts reflect from the disco ball onto the wooden floors along with the velvety walls

oh, god

seriously?!

you look up towards the speakers and resist the urge to curse and shake your fist at them like an angry old man

haven’t the people here considered that there might be single people in the rink?! 

…on valentine’s day…??

yeah that doesn’t make much sense

“grab your lover and glide along the floor as we play you some romantic tunes on this romantic evening… also, to the owner of a baby blue mercedes-benz convertible- i repeat, a baby blue mercedez-benz convertible... your car is parked in a tow-away zone. that’s all!”

the bee gees’ how deep is your love starts to play and you quickly pull your hands away from jungkook’s, your face flushing in embarrassment at the sudden change in atmosphere

you wobble slightly as soon as you pull away and immediately stick both your arms out in a poor attempt to keep balanced

okay

all you have to do is glide your way towards the exit so that you’re not just awkwardly standing in the middle of the ring while lovey-dovey couples skate around you

it’s only then that you realise that jungkook is facing away from you and seemingly looking for someone

you tap him on the shoulder and he turns to glance at you, “yes?”

“who... who are you looking for?” you frown, leaning over to peer over him so you can see what he’s seeing

“hm? oh, i was just looking for your boyfriend…” he trails off, continuing to look around the rink, “the two of you probably want to skate together right now and you’ll get to show off your brand new gliding skills, which is exciting-”

“boyfri- are you talking about taehyung?” you snort, quirking a brow in amusement, “he’s… oh my god, he’s definitely not my boyfriend. i’m only here for emotional support because he just got out of a relationship- we don’t have to get into it- the point is, he’s not my boyfriend. i don’t, uh, i’m not in a relationship at the moment. i’m… very single.”

why are you still talking?!

you clear your throat as you look for the nearest exit gate

“oh!” jungkook blinks before turning back around to face you, “in that case-“ your eyes widen in surprise when he sticks his hand out for you to take, “shall we?”

you blink down at his outstretched hand cluelessly before suddenly realizing what it is he’s asking

“oh, i-” you snort, immediately shaking your head, “no, you don’t have to do that…”

“what do you mean?” jungkook frowns, tilting his head curiously, “you don’t want to skate with me? after all we’ve been through?? y/n, you’re breaking my heart here!” he jokes, clutching at his chest before pouting (quite cutely) at you 

“n-no!” you laugh lightly, shaking your head, “i mean, of course i’d love to skate with- i-it’s very nice of you to offer, and i know you’re obviously being paid and stuff but you don’t… ah, you don’t have to force yourself to skate with me if you don’t want to...” you mutter, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “like, i’m sure taehyung’s already planning to give you an extra big tip for basically babysitting me all night so you don’t have to force yourself to do anything extra-”

“no, i wanna skate with you!” jungkook interrupts, skating over so that he’s standing next to you instead, “plus, it’ll be good practice, right?”

“well, i-” you don’t get a chance to respond before jungkook’s suddenly slipping an arm around your waist and holding onto one of your hands for extra support, “i don’t know, i suppose i’m just not used to gliding without holding both of your hands so i’m just worried i’m going to make both of us fall somehow which would be mortifying-”

“that’s alright, i can hold both your hands if you feel safer that way,” jungkook chuckles, his arm sliding away from your waist so he can swivel around and stand in front of you again, “after all, it’s better to be safe than to be sorry!” he takes your hands gently as he starts to skate backwards, his thumbs rubbing the tops of your knuckles comfortingly

-‘cause we’re living in a world of fools... breaking us down... when they all should let us be... we belong to you and me...

how deep is your love continues to echo all around you and even though you feel a little awkward skating around with your instructor to a very romantic song, you have to admit that this was a great choice of song for valentine’s day 

it’s a timeless classic! 

“so, you, um…” jungkook clears his throat after a minute or two of comfortable silence, turning back for a second to glance over his shoulder and make sure he’s not about to crash into anyone, “what kind of things do you like doing?”

and it’s me you need to show... how deep is your love?

“rollerskating. is it not obvious?” you joke, looking up at him and reminding yourself that you should make more of an effort to look at him and noT constantly at the ground, “um, i don’t know! that’s kind of a broad question, i guess. i like... i like... i like painting-! i mean, i’m not good at it, but it’s a pretty relaxing hobby...” 

“painting is nice!” jungkook nods slowly in agreement before perking up slightly, “say, have you ever been to a pottery studio?” 

“you know, i actually haven’t!” you shake your head before staring past jungkook’s shoulder in thought, “i should go to one... it sounds like a lot of fun! do you...” you cough quietly and avert your gaze slightly, “do you go there often with your... uh, significant other?” 

“me? oh, i’m not in a relationship.” jungkook chuckles before giving you a shrug, “none of my co-workers wanted to take the valentine’s day shift because they actually have someone to spend valentine’s day with, so... that’s why i’m here!”

“oh! so, you’re…” you trail off before pressing your lips together and giving him a firm nod, “i see.”

so you’re both single?

interesting

very interesting 

you can’t help but wonder if he’s looking to change that  

“i-”

“incoming!”

you don’t even get a chance to turn around to see what’s going on when suddenly someone’s basHING into you from behind and making you lose your balance

and the next thing you know you’re stumbling forwards and poor jungkook’s reflexes aren’t fast enough because-

“oh-!” you land on top of jungkook with your legs on either side of him, your knee pads clacking loudly against the ground, “oh, shit-” 

“sorry! my bad!” taehyung glides past you with a sheepish smile before not-so-subtly gesturing to the girl he’s got on his arm and giving you an obnoxious wink and a thumbs up as a way to let you know he’s definitely getting boned tonight

you want nothing more than to rip your skates off right now so you can chase after him and bash his head in 

you turn to look down at jungkook, immediately raising your hands up off his (broad, broad) chest as your entire face flushes bright red, “i am- i am so sorry- are you okay?? is your head okay?? i can- i can give you my helmet!” you wince, reaching up to unbuckle your helmet before hastily taking it off and tossing it aside

“don’t sweat it, i’m completely fine-” jungkook laughs lightly before shaking his head, propping himself up onto his elbows and blowing a curled strand of hair away from his eyes with a puff, “my head’s fine! luckily i didn’t hit it on the ground or anything like that, but my ass-”

“oh, god. i’m so sorry- here, i’ll-” you attempt to get up off the ground only for the wheels on your skates to roll out from under you and for your knee to smack against the ground again, jungkook grunting as you bounce on him a little harder than intended, “oh, jesus christ-”

great

there’s no way you’re going to be able to get up because of these stupid skates and now your very cute instructor is a hostage in between your thighs!

“this is so humiliating, i am... so, so sorry- i’m definitely forcing taehyung to give you a generous tip after all of this is over-” you laugh uncomfortably, your hands about to place themselves on jungkook’s chest again before you quickly move them so that they’re on either side of his head instead

of course, this position isn’t any better because now you’re just staring down at his face directly 

little white hearts from the disco ball float over his face and though you know this is hardly the right time, your heart can’t help but go badumpbadump at the reminder of how pretty jungkook is 

“okay, wait, what if i-” he suddenly sits straight up and your eyes immediately cross at the close proximity of your faces, “hi.”

you don’t know if it’s even possible but you feel your face get even redder and you find that you’re unable to look away from jungkook 

he has very sweet-looking eyes 

they’re a very nice shade of brown 

“i- uh, hello.” you clear your throat quietly, pressing your hands as close to your own chest as possible so that you’re not touching jungkook, “hi.” 

the last thing you want is for him to accuse you of groping him

but maybe it’d be a good thing to get a lifetime ban from the rollerskating rink

then taehyung will never be able to force you to skate again!

“we should take your skates off so that we’re not stuck like this all night.” you twitch when you feel jungkook’s hand slide down the side of your calf before reaching the top of your skates, “do you think you can undo your other one for me?”

“ah- yes. yes, i can do that.” you turn away so you can look back at your skate, reaching down and ripping the velcro strap before hurrying to undo the laces

you feel jungkook fumble at your skate, yanking the tie loose before trying to help you wiggle your foot out of it, “okay, just pull your foot out-”

“yeah, lemme just-” you have to shuffle forwards in order for jungkook to pull the skate off of you and your nose crinkles when you realize you’ve just gone ahead and fully pressed your chest to jungkook’s 

wonderful

just wonderful 

(for the record, he smells really good... but you’re pretty sure you sound like a creep right now, so maybe you should go ahead and scrap that thought.) 

“what happened to not letting me fall?” you joke lightly as you get up off the ground, hoping to ease the tension a little from whatever all of that was, “are you sure you’re okay? i didn’t break anything?” 

“i promise you i’m totally fine-” jungkook gets back up onto his feet and bends down to pick up your skates before popping up to look at you with a grin, “and it only happened because i was distracted!” he pauses for a brief moment before tilting his head, his smile softening, “can you blame me? you’re very pretty.”

oh

you weren’t expecting him to say that

“oh, that’s- ha… that’s very nice of you.” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck before letting out a nervous chuckle, “you are… also… quite… visually appealing.”

quite visually appealing  

why are you speaking like an alien trying to convince everyone that they aren’t an alien?!

“so, there’s still about half an hour left of your lesson left, but i feel like you’ve had enough of skating for now.” jungkook changes the subject quickly and you can’t help but notice that his ears are starting to get red, “we can just sit on the bench and rest... or do you... uh, do you maybe want to share a chilli dog with me?” he asks quietly, and for the first time since meeting him he’s the one who looks away from you first 

“...you know, i think that might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” you giggle, reaching over to loop your arm through his when he sticks it out for you, “i would love to share a chilli dog with you.” 

“not to flex or anything, but i do get the employee discount…” jungkook clicks his tongue, reaching up to pop open his collar obnoxiously before turning to give you a wide grin, “and if that doesn’t impress you, i don’t know what will.”

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

And Tomorrow, Too.

I'm back!

Much love and many thanks to @stinastar @hailhailsatan @newnamesamecharlotte and @veritasrose for helping me yank this thing out of my brain!

Please enjoy this hurt/comfort that ends with glorious, glorious fluff.

TW: Blood, canon typical injury, infection

Jaskier was having a very rough day, objectively speaking.

He’d just finished dressing after a dip in the river when a lone bandit surprised him, shoving him to the dirt and kicking him in the ribs to keep him down. Having dealt with a gut-punch from a Witcher, Jaskier had recovered faster than anticipated and tackled the stranger to the ground.

“Foolish troubadour,” the bandit snarled. There was the quick flash of something silver and a sudden white-hot pain shot up the bard’s side from his hip to his ribcage.

“Shit,” Jaskier gasped, clutching desperately at his slashed doublet. The panicked bandit scooped up the largest of the bard’s travel bags and darted into the woods, leaving his bloodied weapon lying atop a pile of leaves beside his victim. When Jaskier pulled his hand away from the wound on his ribcage he grimaced; that was more blood than he’d been hoping to see. “Fucking cock.”

After he stripped to the waist and rinsed off in the river a second time, Jaskier took inventory of himself. The cut started at his left hip and slid up his ribcage to just beneath his left shoulder, and it was practically impossible to bandage; any attempt to wrap the upper half of his injury made him bite his lip to keep from screaming in anguish.

It was agony to move more than a few inches in either direction, since the twisting motion pulled at his torn skin and stung like hellfire. All he could really do was apply a loose poultice of chewed mint leaves to ward against infection and tie his shirt around his torso in lieu of a bandage. His cloak would have to work even harder than usual to keep him warm until Geralt arrived.

“Alright, well,” he muttered to no one as he accounted for the rest of his scattered clothing and supplies. “I need to find somewhere to rest and gather what wits I still possess… somewhere that’s still close enough for Geralt to find me. Shit, this isn’t good.”

The bard thanked every god he knew when he managed to find a small cave less than a hundred yards from the enormous oak tree where he met Geralt every year. He limped his remaining belongings into the slightly cramped space and deposited them against the left wall.

---

Fortunately for Jaskier, the idiot bandit had declared his beautiful elven lute “too bulky and annoying to carry”, and had left Sexy well enough alone. Unfortunately, the ruffian had still made off with all the bard’s coin from at least two months’ worth of contracted performances, most of his medical supplies, and most of his rations, as well.

But Jaskier had spent years at Geralt’s side and the Witcher had taught him how to deal with emergencies of every variety. Jaskier wasn’t about to disappoint his companion by flailing about ineffectively like some noble-born dunce at a time like this. No, Jaskier was determined to be healthy and ready to travel again by the time Geralt arrived in Kaedwen to find him. They only had a week or two together before they separated again for the winter and he wasn’t going to lose a single precious second in Geralt’s presence due to some silly highwayman.

Lovelorn fool that he was.

The bard used his remaining strength to gather a few armfuls of firewood and light some dried leaves with his flint and steel. He laid out his bedroll against the back wall so that he could see clearly if anyone approached from outside and wrapped his arms around Sexy to keep her safe. He re-wrapped his wound with more crushed mint and laid down to try and get some sleep.

Hopefully Geralt would arrive soon with his medical supplies and more water.

Hopefully.

---

After two long days spent huddled in a miserable lump at the back of the cave, anxiously scanning the horizon for any sign of another bandit (or Geralt) and unable to gather food or kindling, Jaskier was exhausted from lack of sleep. The wound in his side ached and burned far worse than it had on that first afternoon, aggravated by sweat and debris that had crept through his makeshift bandages.

Any added pressure around the edges of the cut made the skin nearly creak with the building strain of infection. He whimpered involuntarily every time he took a breath and trembled at any shift in the autumn breeze. It seemed as if his very bones were aching as his body flashed between the white-hot and freezing cold of a raging fever.

Slowly, and with a great effort on the part of his illness, Jaskier succumbed to the injury and sank into the quiet warmth of unconsciousness.

---

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, guiding Roach around another circuit of the old oak tree. “Are you there, Jaskier? We need to make it to the fork in the Pontar before the harvest ends and I’m in no mood for practical jokes.”

Nothing.

All his Witcher hearing picked up on were leaves twitching in the wind and a few rabbits foraging off to his left. Not even Jaskier could stay so still, even for a joke; his heartbeat and the uptick in his breathing would give him dead away.

“Well, I’m going to town.”

Geralt was about to wheel Roach back toward the road in search of a nearby inn when he caught a whiff of something on the wind - something that sent his heart plummeting into his boots.

Blood.

Jaskier’s blood. And it wasn’t fresh.

He dropped silently from the saddle and gave the signal for Roach to stay put. After a few careful breaths and some shuffling through the autumn leaves, Geralt discovered the bandit’s discarded dagger, still rusty-red around the tip and left edge.

“Fuck! Jaskier!” Geralt called, glancing around the small copse in the woods. “Jaskier, where are you!?”

The Witcher closed his eyes and tilted his head back to better clear his airways. He took a deep breath in through his nose and focused every one of his heightened senses on locating the bard. There it was again to his right, but slightly stronger. “Fucking hells.”

Geralt did his best to follow the trail without panicking. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he lost his head while the bard was in mortal danger. If the bard was in mortal danger, he tried to reassure himself.

But if Jaskier had recovered he would have been waiting at the oak. Geralt knew that. He knew it with every fiber of his being, though he wouldn’t admit anything aloud. Jaskier’s long autumn absence had already set him on edge when he’d caught the blood-smell. “Gods-dammit, bard. Please be alive. Please, Jaskier, I can’t-”

Geralt bit his tongue and continued to follow the bard’s weak scent into the woods. After too many minutes - perhaps five or six at the speed Geralt was moving - the Witcher reached a small cave. The mouth of said cave was nearly covered-over with dry leaves and Geralt could tell, even from this distance, that Jaskier was not faring well at all. The whole area smelled like rot. Like decay. If it weren’t for the bard’s fluttering heartbeat echoing faintly from within the tiny cavern, the Witcher would have fallen to his knees and wept with despair at his untimely death.

When Geralt ducked inside and reached to pull Jaskier into his arms, the bard struggled weakly. “No, please,” he rasped. “D-Don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Jaskier,” Geralt replied softly. He shifted the thick leather strap of Sexy’s case over his shoulder and hefted the bard into his arms in one swift movement. Those usually brilliant blue eyes looked up at him in utter confusion. The irises were dull and foggy with sickness; the Witcher’s heart lurched in his chest and he turned back to the path, doubling his speed in his hurry to reach Roach. “You don’t have to worry any more, sweet Julek. I’m going to get you to safety.”

“If you must kill me-” Jaskier continued, muttering frantically as if Geralt hadn’t said anything at all “-then p-please do me one last f-favor. I need you to p-please find a Witcher. F-Find the White Wolf. Tell h-him… Tell him that I…”

Then the weight in Geralt’s arms seemed to increase by a fraction and the bard went silent. The Witcher shook the sweating, shaking bundle in his arms but Jaskier remained quiet.

“What do you want to tell him, Jaskier?” Geralt glanced down. His eyebrows furrowed deeply when he realized the human had fallen unconscious. The hummingbird pace of Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat began to hammer even faster and his breaths were far too shallow. The Witcher rumbled out a determined, desperate plea the universe to save his darling songbird, followed by a quiet but emphatic, “Fuck.”

---

“Eskel!” Geralt kicked down the door to the kitchen of Kaer Morhen with one solid boot. He hadn't slept in two days and his body ached from sprinting up the path with a full-grown man in his arms. “Eskel, Vesemir, please!”

“Fuck, is that Geralt!?” Eskel came whipping around one corner at a sprint. Lambert and Vesemir were close behind, Lambert with a sword drawn and a scowl on his face. He lowered it when he saw that Geralt wasn't being pursued.

“Please, Ves, Eskel, please, help him to survive because I can’t- I can’t-” the White Wolf, for all his bravado and stoicism, was panting furiously. His kinsmen knew that he'd be crying if he had the capability to do so and crowded closer to help. Geralt immediately handed a warm, damp bundle to his Eskel with incredible gentleness and care. He looked up at the slightly taller Witcher and begged with all the strength he had left: “Please. I can't let him die.”

---

Jaskier woke up with a sharp gasp. His side radiated a dull, persistent kind of agony and he felt sick to his stomach. With a low groan he turned to retch off the side of the bed, into a conveniently placed bucket. He shouted when the movement made his wound ache all the more. “Fuck!”

The bard heard a heavy thud from his left followed by some clattering and a quietly whispered, “Shit.”

“G’ralt?”

“Jaskier!” the Witcher appeared at his side in a flash. Geralt leaned over him with a damp cloth in hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth. “You’re alive! Melitele be thanked. Do you need to be sick again? Would you like some water?”

“You’re o-oddly verbose,” Jaskier managed to half-smile.

“Was worried.”

“There’s my monosyllabic Witcher,” the bard grinned through his blinding pain. “It hurts, Geralt. Rather terribly.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t- We’re all Witchers so it’s not…” Geralt sighed and turned away to rinse the cloth in a bowl of cool water that had been resting on the sill. “We didn’t know which kind of herbs were safe for humans and which weren’t.”

“We?”

“How’s the patient?”

Jaskier's snapped to the doorway and his body automatically jerked in surprise. He whimpered at the reaction it elicited from his injury, his ribs blooming with a sharp sting. “Shit!”

“Fuck!” the red-headed man in the door replied, slamming his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry. Shit in the fucking nine hells.”

“Uh…”

“Jaskier, this is my brother Lambert. Lambert… This is Jaskier.”

“Ah yes,” the shorter Witcher smirked. “I’ve heard so much about you, Master Jaskier.”

“That I’m a royal pain in the ass?”

“Quite the opposite, really. In fact, when the two of you arrived, Geralt was nearly-”

Lambert’s statement was interrupted by a small wooden bowl to the side of the head, chucked across the room by a grim-faced Geralt.

“Nevermind. Anyway, glad to see you’re awake. I’ll let the others know that he's no longer going hand-to-hand with Death.”

“Others?” Jaskier glanced between Geralt and Lambert with wide, confused eyes. “Am I… Am I in Kaer Morhen!?”

“Aye,” Lambert winked. “And you slept through the first two days of snowfall, so I’m afraid to inform you that you’re stuck at Kaer Morhen for the rest of this season. I’ll let you and Geralt hash the rest of the details out in private. Tootles, Buttercup.”

And just as suddenly as Lambert had appeared, he was gone.

The bard turned to make eye contact with the White Wolf and blinked owlishly. “Wh-What did he mean about being here all winter?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t lying,” Geralt returned to the stool beside Jaskier’s bed and sat down slowly, as if waiting for Jaskier to order him out of the room entirely. “Your injury was heavily infected and you were close to death when I found you in that cave at the base of the mountains. I ran the Killer in two days instead of one and brought you to Eskel and Vesemir for healing; they were the closest people I could think of who knew what to do to save you. I’m so sorry for trapping you here for the season when you should be teaching and composing in Oxenfurt. If you’d like, I can try to contact Yen or Triss and have them portal you back to the University before Yule.”

“Nobody would want to inconvenience a sorceress on their behalf,” Jaskier answered. "Myself included."

“So you don’t mind staying?”

Jaskier glanced up through his lashes, more self-conscious than Geralt had ever seen him before. “Were you really worried about me dying? Did you really carry me up the path all by yourself? In two days?”

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

Geralt felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest. All these years spent thinking that if he was too obvious about his feelings he’d hurt Jaskier... and Jaskier had simply been waiting for any confirmation of his affections, friendly or otherwise.

"Because I..." the Witcher stood again and started to pace. "Because, Julek, I love you. I can't bear the thought of being parted from you. It's even worse because I know, I know that you're human and that I'm going to lose you too soon no matter what happens. Illness, age, injury... No matter how many years we have together they will never be enough."

Jaskier sniffled and Geralt turned on his heel to face the bard, hands already outstretched to offer comfort. "You enormous fucking idiot."

"Huh?"

"I have loved you since the moment I saw you sitting in the corner, brooding away," Jaskier grinned. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped onto the blanket. "Why didn't you tell me? You couldn't even look me in the eyes and call me your friend..."

"Witchers aren't very good at romance, if you haven't noticed," Geralt laughed humorlessly. "I knew I was going to hurt you eventually. It was only a matter of time."

"Well now we have all winter to figure things out," Jaskier offered, sliding his hand across the mattress to twine his fingers with Geralt's. The Witcher's skin was cool against his own and it felt glorious.

"Hmm."

"No! No going silent on me now, you fucker!"

"Get some rest," Geralt smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jaskier's sweaty fringe. "I will be here when you wake."

"And tomorrow, too?"

Geralt smiled oh-so-softly and kissed him again, on the lips.

"And tomorrow, too."

[potter-imagines]

Pre-Game Rituals (Fred Weasley)

Request: Hiya!! I was wondering if you could do an imagine with Fred. Where Ginny kind of idolises her like at hogwarts she’s always goes up to the reader and asks if she can do her hair for quidditch practice or something...

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.3k

The common room was dead with activity for a Saturday, although that was in large part due to the anticipated match up between Gryffindor and Slytherin tonight. You loved attending Quidditch games, especially seeing as most of your friends were on the Gryffindor team and you got to cheer them on alongside Hermione. Getting to see your boyfriend knocking opponents around and acting as a human bowling ball was an obvious plus as well. Before most games, your boyfriend would coin you into a pre-game ritual, which happened to be a nap. He claimed these snooze sessions next to you gave him his energy to play but, you’d seen him take his O.W.L.s on two hours of sleep and a ‘stay-awake’ creation him and his twin brewed up. Cuddled up in bed sounded like a blissful dream to you on any given occasion but currently, you were in the middle of another event. Not only did you have a pre-game ritual with your boyfriend, you also had one with his little sister who was on the team as well. A few hours to the start of every Gryffindor match, Ginerva Weasley goes prancing around the castle with her hairbrush in hand, searching for you and today was no different.

Your fingers brushed through the ginger locks as you separated the left half of Ginny’s hair into three parts. The silk like strands slipped through your parted fingers as you detangled the frizzed knots. Ginny’s hair was by far the most beautiful you had seen so you hardly turned down her request when she’d ask you to braid her hair. Her deep red hair mixed with auburn tones and long wisps was a unique find outside Hogwarts. Having the Weasley siblings around meant you saw a head of ginger around nearly every corner. In the Muggle world though, you had only passed a few with hair that resembled theirs.

However in those sightings, you never saw a single person whose hair was as fiery and bold as Ginny’s. There were times Ginny despised the color as it made her stick out like a sore thumb and put no mystery in identifying her. Everyone knew on sight that she was a Weasley. To you, she felt the flaming shade complimented Ginny, as well as her personality, to perfection. The youngest Weasley differed immensely from her siblings. Not only in terms of gender, personality as well. It could be argued she was the bravest of the bunch. Already faster on the Quidditch pitch than her older brother Ron, and possibly sneakier than her older twin brothers, Fred and George.

With a small pull, you began to braid from the top of Ginny’s head. You raked in a new strand of hair after every weave. Ginny’s hair was not only long but thick and heavy in weight. It always took a bit more force and harsh knotting to make sure the braids actually stuck, especially seeing as she’d be flying like the wind in a few hours, she needed them tight.

Ginny Weasley sat lazily in a criss-cross style shoulders hunched forward. It was unusual for her not to be talking your ear off in these moments. Ginny always had a story to share, a secret to tell, or an embarrassing memory of her brothers to spill. There was yet to come a day where she ran out of cringe worthy moments of your boyfriend, and her brother, Fred, to leak. In those countless hair sessions, a friendship outside your connection to Ginny through Fred formed. Within a month of hanging out with the youngest Weasley, you sincerely considered her to be a close friend. Between the endless laughter and feistiness of Ginny, a strong friendship grew. You could tell something was off but with Ginny, it was better to give her time to come around and at least open up a bit before you questioned her.

That moment seemed to be approaching as the bottom section of the braid fell from your grasp as Ginny moved her frame abruptly. Her head falling to face the floor caused your hold in her hair to grab her body back a bit. Resting your hand on her shoulder, you leaned her back so she was up snug against the bottom of the couch you sat on.

“You gotta stop fidgeting, Gin. Your braid is gonna be crooked if you keep squirming around!” You smiled softly down at Ginny but as her head turned to face you, you were shocked to find her face was dull, long like a horse. That one-of-a-kind glimmering light that typical lit her eyes was blown out. The residue left a worrisome display instead. She sent you an apologetic look then turned back to face the fire. Her body was as straight as a line and as stiff as Harry’s Great Aunt.

“Sorry… just a bit distracted.” The raspiness in her voice made you wonder if she felt ill. Usually before a match the young girl couldn’t sit still! Her knees would bounce in excitement and you’d have to pin her down to get the braids in but today, she was hardly moving an inch. Pausing your braid in the middle of her scalp, you arch your brows to Ginny.

“What’s on your mind Ginny?”

“A bit nervous about the match- that’s all.” She dismissed your worries with a sigh, clearly still crackling under stress. Although Ginny was your boyfriend's little sister, with time, she became your little sister. You stopped thinking of her as Fred’s sister and one of your best friends. Seeing her flooded with pressure caused concern in you as well but she looked up to you and it was partially your duty to make sure the self doubts you had as a young girl never disrupted Ginny.

Giving the girl a gentle smile, your hands began to rake through her hair again. The first braid was half way done so you resumed your work as you reassured her,

“Slytherin never plays fair but I believe in you guys. You’re gonna pull it off, don’t stress. Just fly clear of Malfoy and Flint and you should be fine.”

“Yeah you’re right…” She trailed off. Furrowing your fixation on her hair, you slowly pried further.

“What else is the matter-” But before you could seek out any further information, your body jerked forward as two arms snaked around your upper body. You shrieked in freight then quickly whipped your head around to see Fred Weasley grinning down at you. Should’ve guessed, you thought to yourself. He was bound to come searching for you sooner or later and drag you to his room for a nap.

“Ah, I was wondering where the two of you snuck off to. Good afternoon, angel.” Fred leaned his head towards you to kiss your cheek. After leaving one, he left another, and another, and another until you had to push him back. You managed to hold onto the already started braid as you held Fred back with your hand on his chest. His hand immediately went to cover yours and squeeze on your grip, then pulled away glancing between his sister sitting in front of you and yourself.

“Hello, lovie. Where is the other, less annoying half of you?” You smiled a sickly sweet grin to Fred as he gave you a warning glare. Reaching up, you used your free hand to pull Fred down by his collar and placed a sugared kiss to his lips. Always ready for your affection Fred returned the kiss softly, his hands cupping around your chin to leaned your head back. An awkward cough ruined the mood as Ginny fidgetted silently. Fred released his grip on your face at once and threw his leg over the couch. Inviting himself into the conversation, he threw either leg over the maroon couch and slipped in besides you. His face was bright and gleeful, the apples of his cheeks a tint red. The orange hair sprouting down to his shoulders was brighter, shinier than normal. You felt your heart race at the sight. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, Fred glued himself snug to your side.

“Flirting with Alicia or Katie, can’t tell,” He tossed his head back to motion over to his twin talking up your friends in the corner. The three were laughing and talking hushly, all huddled close. You stopped your hands to glance over, then looked down as you felt Ginny moving beneath you.  Fred drummed his finger on the right unbraided, half of her head causing the girl to blindly swing her arm backwards trying to swat at him. You scolded him sternly, threatening him if he messed up the half you were working on. Chuckling at her flailing arms and your attempt at being stern, Fred leaned back into the couch and tossed his arm around your shoulder. “You ready for the big match, Gin?”

Although the only portion visible was the backside of her head, both Fred and yourself watched her shudder and wince at the inquiry. Fred was happier than ever which was a typical mood for him on any given day but especially the day of a match. Most felt the nervous butterflies and sickening feeling before an important game but Fred? You were almost 100% positive Fred had never experienced the feeling of anxiousness. His confidence seemed to flourish under pressure.

Ginny was never to the big stage, though. She didn’t bask in the glory and attention the same way her brothers did. There was that fear of not living up to everyones expectations that crept into her mind as she took the pitch each match. Ginny ducked her head as she scratched the side of her neck.

“Uh huh.” Ginny’s sigh earned a frown on Fred’s lips. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t adorable. The concern read from his features as he sent you a short look. He had an idea based off the alarming gleam in your eyes, but as her brother, he wasn’t willing to back off. His long arms tightened around your shoulder as he tilted his head to Ginny in question.

“You don’t sound very confident at all- what’s the matter with you? It’s the biggest match of the season!” He cheered loudly, causing the young girl to jump in her spot. You tucked the three strands in a weaving pattern trying everything in your power to finish as quickly as you could so Ginny would be free to escape this conversation. Maybe it was a male thing but Fred was just not reading the room correctly. Between Ginny’s uncomfortable shifting and your stern stares, he still just wasn’t understanding her nerves. You snatched the hair tie off the couch cushion and wrapped it around the end of her braid. Tapping his side with your elbow, you looked to Fred sternly.

“I think she realizes that, Fred. Let’s not stress her out even more.” Your tone was pointed and you expected Fred to pick up but clearly, it went straight over his head. This earned a raspy chuckle of disbelief from Fred. Slipping his grip from your waist, Fred leaned forward. Placing his elbows on his knees, his chin rested in the palm of his hands. He had a teasing look as he scoffed,

“Stressed? Since when has a game ever stressed you out, Ginny? You’re the youngest starter on our team! There’s no need to be worried about anything.” Fred’s face was bright with excitement at thought at the upcoming match. His rosy cheeks were squished as he smiled gleefully. A loud groan emanated from Ginny as she threw her head back in frustration, though remained silent. Her once lively orbs reddening by the second as salty tears brimmed. The grin vanished from Fred’s face. He turned to you in confusion, his face resembling that of a wounded puppy.

At times, Fred had moments where he didn’t particularly like his little sister, but he always loved her. It was the brotherly instinct in him; the constant need to keep a watchful eye out for Ginny. He knew she could hold her own, but he couldn’t help that protective nature. Sending him a sharp look, you muttered quietly under your breath,

“Nice work…”

The common room was slowly beginning to scatter out as students made the most of their time before the big match. You caught a glimpse of George walking out the portrait with Lee by his side. You wondered what kind of mischief they were up to, it certainly couldn’t be anything good. Harry and Ron were trudging up the staircase to their room assumingly and Hermione was sitting on the opposite side of the room reading quietly. The atmosphere was relaxed like the calm before a storm. Win or lose, the common room would be buzzing with energy tonight. It was just a matter of happy celebration, or tense aftermath of defeat.

You reached out for the right half of Ginny’s hair and repeated your steps. You parted the bright strands and braided them tightly.

Fred on the other hand was lost to his sister’s emotions and eager for answers. Reaching forward, Fred squeezed Ginny’s shoulder in a comforting manner. His face was scrunched together in concern as he sweetly asked her,

“… what’s the matter, little one? I’m sure your big brother can help.”

You had to physically bite your tongue to keep from ‘aweing’ at him. The one thing you loved more than anything about Fred was how caring and comforting he could be. Your heart was dripping in adoration. There had been a handful of moments you heard Fred refer to Ginny as ‘Little One’. It was typically in mocking sense or playful, however in her fragile moments, it was said with such serenity and gentleness. He was always there to help his little sister and protect her. You couldn’t help but imagine how great of a dad Fred would be in the future. He was the only man you could ever see yourself with and knowing how great of a person he truly is just made you even more certain.

Standing from the couch, Fred shuffled around the two of you so he was sitting in front of Ginny. She sniffled quietly using the sleeve of her sweater to rub her eyes. Your eyes darted between the half finished braid and the pair. Fred was patient in giving Ginny her time and finally, she came around.

“What if I lose it for us? If we don’t win, everyone is gonna hate me! It’ll be my fault and Oliver will probably kick me off the team and I’ll have nothing! And you’ll all be mad at me and mum and dad will be disappointed-” Her frantic ramble was shut down when Fred started to talk over her. It was a crazy thought; one he could not allow to marinate in her mind.

“What’re you talking about? Do you even hear yourself, Ginny?” His voice was booming causing both Ginny and yourself to jump in surprise. Your eyes met for a brief second before he took a deep breath, “First off; Oliver Wood has lost a handful of matches for us and he’s still our captain. I mean, Harry has fallen off his bloody broomstick how many times and he’s still our top Seeker! You’re the best one on that pitch Ginny- well besides George and I, but you know what I mean.” Fred chuckled a bit as a small smile cracked on Ginny’s lips. Her eyes lifted from the ground to glance up at her brother. From your spot on the couch, you couldn’t read her features. You were also too invested in the braid to look away. But Fred bending down to wrap his arms around his sister and practically squish her was answer enough. Ginny squealed at Fred’s bone crushing grip, pleading with him to let go.

You rolled your eyes at the siblings, laughing to yourself as you finished securing the hair tie in the finished braid. Leaning back you smoothed your fingers over the weaved pattern. Her hair was somehow more ginger in this style and you adored it. Peaking your head over Ginny’s shoulder, you pointed out,

“And I don’t think it’s even possible for your parents to be disappointed in you. Fred, George and Ron destroyed the family car and your parents still love them and forgave them.”

“Well I wouldn’t say forgave-” Fred winced as he recalled the event. It had been years and Molly still brought it up when she was angry with the boys. They all knew it was something they’d never fully live down in Molly’s eyes. Even on her deathbed Fred was certain she’d find a way to bring it up. Flicking the material of his sweatshirt, you glared playful at Fred for his interruption. You wrapped Ginny in a hug from behind, your arms captured around her shoulders. She melted in your grip, embracing your comforting hold. Fred folded his legs together and just sort of watched.

There was a sudden jolt of awe, that moment where everything just clicked. It came out of nowhere like a car speeding through a red light. His back pressed into the coffee table for support while he just stared. There was no one more important in this world to Fred Weasley than his family. Seeing his little sister hurt and finding solace in you, it was difficult for Fred to string together the proper words on how it made him feel. The emotions brewing inside him were entirely new- like the feeling of opening presents on Christmas morning and finding you got everything that you asked for. This sheer hypnotic haze that covered Fred went unbeknownst to you as your attention stayed locked on Ginny.

“What I’m trying to say is, it really is just a game. No one's gonna disown you if you make a mistake; Freddie here makes twenty mistakes before breakfast every morning. And even if they are bigger and play dirty, you’re faster and smarter than their entire lineup combined. We all believe in you, Ginny. I’ve seen you do it a million different times and I’ll be right there cheering you on.” Letting go of her, your head lifted to greet the eyes of Fred Weasley. Immediately you took notice of the change in his gaze. Still mesmerizing as ever to be under, yet heavier than before. Instead of throwing a childish jab back, he just held your stare, speechless for once.

Your head tilted in confusion at his odd behavior as Ginny placed her hands on either side of her body to push herself up. This seemed to pull Fred from his trance as he mimicked her actions and stood from the floor. Brushing off her pants and sweater, she gave you both a look of gratitude and said,

“Thank you, Y/n. It really means a lot- thank you too, Freddie.”

“ ‘course, we’ll always be here for you- even if we do lose, you’ll still be my favorite sister.” Fred said with a cheek smirk. Ginny rolled her eyes in slight annoyance. Just when he was sweet, he was sour once again.

“I’m your only sister Fred but thanks. I should probably go get some homework finished so I’ll see you down at the pitch later. Thanks for doing my hair, Y/n. You’re the best- I wish you really were my sister.”

“So you’re telling me, after all this time, I’m not your sister?” You asked teasingly. Ginny laughed happily, clearly pleased with your response. Fred knew how much Ginny looked up to you, how badly she wants to follow in your footsteps, and it makes him thrilled. Not only does he loves how much his sister adores you, but how great of a role model you are to her. He understood how easy it could be to shove her away or dismiss her, and Fred wouldn’t blame you if you did. However you never once turned Ginny away and it played a role in his feelings evolving so intensely. Her cheeks tinted red as she gave you one last wave and skipped up the steps to her dorm. As she disappeared from view, you looked over to Fred only to see his eyes already planted on you. The weight of his stare was suffocating and made you fidget. The second you met his gaze, Fred’s mouth dropped open as he confessed,

“I’m in love with you.” The word vomit rolled effortlessly from his lips. The contagious smile Fred seemed to constantly cause rose to your face. Having been together for some years, Fred was no stranger to broadcasting his feelings for you. Something about this felt more serious than the other times. Sinking into the cushion, you nodded over to the boy in agreeance.

“I’m in love with you, too.” Shaking his head, Fred lunged forward so he was kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped inside your own as he set your intertwined hands in your lap. That playfulness has been swept away as his eyes read full honesty. Fred’s soft features were rough, sharp on the edges as his jaw clenched with tension. Giving your hand a loving squeeze, Fred locked his eyes on yours.

“No, Y/n, I’m like, Alice fell down the rabbit hole, deeply in love with you- I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Just… promise me you’ll stick around, okay?” His voice was filled with worry and fear. You jumped forward to crunch him in a tight embrace. Fred chuckled at your abruptness but exchanged the hug nonetheless. His fingers trailed up and down the bones of your spine drawing circles and shapes as he rubbed your back. You could feel his nose pressing into your hair and soon enough, a sloppy kiss was planted on your head. Grinning like a fool, you glanced up to him with a cheesy smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Fred, but I’m not going anywhere, sorry.” You remarked, reaching up on your tippy toes to kiss his lips. Fred leaned into your lips, his hands wrapping around your waist for support. As he pulled away, you noticed that one of a kind glint reached his eyes. Before you could hypothesize his next move, Fred’s arm swooped around your lower back to scoop you up from your legs. He lifted you up and repositioned so he was carrying you in his arms. You hollered in surprise as Fred just chuckled.

“Good, don’t think I’d let you anyhow, angel. Now c’mon, someone owes me a nap.” He stated, sending you a cheeky wink. Fred began to walk towards the stairwell heading towards the boys dormitory. Clinging to his arm, you glared deathly to Fred.

“If you drop me I am writing to Molly the second I can reach a quill and parchment.” You threatened. Fred walked through the opening to the staircase then started to skip up the steps, still holding your body. You shook with every step, trying your best to mask your giggles with angry looks and sneers. Tightening his face, Fred thought on it for a moment then scowled at the idea.

“Relax, Y/n. Don’t have to take it that far- I just said I’m in love with you and that’s how you’re gonna treat me.” He teased you. His room was on the second to top floor and you could tell you were approaching by the way he slowed down. Fred’s fingers tickled at your side as he made his way towards his door. Instead of setting you down, Fred swung the door open still grasping on to you. He wasted no time slamming the door shut and practically flinging you onto his bed. Your melodic laughter filled every inch of his room making Fred glow red in pleasure. He tugged off his robes and tie, then crawled into his bed next to you. You reached over the side of the mattress for a comfy shirt of his and some pajama pants he kept lying around. He couldn’t tear his gaze, nor did he want to. Winking over to Fred, you threw his comforter over your body and cuddled up next to him.

“If it’s any constellation, I’m like, furthest rock down in the ocean, deeply in love with you.” You admitted softly. Fred’s head snapped down in your direction as he grinned to himself,

“I reckon that’s gotta count for something, love. But could we switch so I’m the little spoon? You know we’ll lose the match if I’m not and then it’ll be your fault, not Ginny’s.”

You let out a dramatic groan as you flipped around to throw your arm over Fred. His face was lit in joy as he snuggled into your hold. You smiled to yourself as you felt his lips brush against your hand and leave a small trail of kisses on each finger. Fred and his rituals, you laughed to yourself as the feeling of sleep entered your body and your eyes fell shut. The soothing sound of Fred humming was a perfect lullaby for any person to find sleep in but it had become your favorite sound. Soon, Fred would have to get ready and go face Slytherin but for now, your arms seemed to be the only place he wanted to be.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Shifty eyes. Here, Ray some more musing on “In Another Life”. Borrow, break, use as you please. (Yes your flailing made me scribble some. Sorry not sorry.)

It’s hard to build a mask back up to withstand his mother’s worry. To behave in ways similar to what he used to be decades ago, so he can carefully shift the mask back towards what he actually is.

(It’s so strange having a mother, going to middle school, the bullies that his mind picks apart like puzzles and could break so easily with a few words, he has to fight the urge to laugh and occasionally the urge to break their bones.)

He’s alone, he’s under armed, and his arms are noodles. The paranoia is softly whispering implications in his head, fanning the dark side of his observations higher, as he scours the internet ever deeper and darker for the history in the Underground for the past thirty years. There’s no mention of him anywhere, his ID number belongs to another (obviously so, he never reached anywhere near being two meters tall) and he’s relieved and horrified. Relieved because there aren’t two of him running around, horrified because he can’t figure out what that quirk did to people, did to him.

(He has too many memories and lingering reflexes for it not to be real somehow. Some of the people based information he knows is slightly off, but the training knowledge he has is accurate.)

Dagoba’s illegal dumping site of a beach seems to be a sad constant. Except worse now than thirty years ago. It’s impressive, in a how the hell did it get this bad and be ignored that long sense. He has a slowly increasing knife collection now though and improvised weights through cleaning; making the paranoia quiet down to whispers and giving him something to do when recollections give him insomnia.

He considers checking on what his friends and peers are doing now, how they’re doing, but there’s a thirty year age gap between them now. It’s too strange. He can’t.

(He looks one night at three in the morning, insomnia kicking his ass. He regrets it. Most are either retired or dead. Some, some never became heroes at all having willingly left the program to be regular students without his encouragement to keep pressing on.)

He watches the grainy footage of Eraserhead he found while building an internet history denoting in fighting and free running with awe. He has very nice form. And despairs because Aizawa-kohai is far too young for him, but his fighting form’s grace and ease of movement across difficult terrain means he likely is enormously strong and that’s attractive as hell. His capture record speaks for itself as to his competence level. (No he shouldn’t be in those databases, but shush.) He can daydream right? He’s a professional it won’t affect his work...

It hits Izuku like a brick that by appearances and the laws of the land that technically he’s the one who is too young for Aizawa. He contemplates his blank ceiling with a frown for a couple minutes after that realization hits. He’s... not sure how he feels about that. Beyond hysterical laughter, but that’s a reaction he’s smothering for a lot of unspoken reasons thank you very much. (Including his reflection. It’s getting a little better with every pound of muscle he puts on, but seeing his face free of lines and his hair having no white at all is so odd.)

(He contemplated how easy it would be to destroy Bakugou’s so called Heroic Career potential last week after a shoulder check and a dismissive snarl of Useless Deku always in the way, stay in the dark corners your betters leave you in. It would be so easy; a pair of broken wrists or too many breaks inflicted on the metacarpal bones, goading into illegal destructive quirk usage in public through innocent sounding yet vicious goading, or force him to self-destruct on UA testing grounds (there are things that make Nedzu instantly disqualify someone from getting into the heroics courses). He has so many options, yet can’t quite bring himself to care over his destructive tendencies much. It’s just a thought exercise he tells himself; he’s pretty sure he’s lying.)

The UA exam is in a week and the beach is now approaching how it was thirty years ago. Disgusting with trash, but there’s no longer mountainous piles upon piles of it. There’s large clearings of sand in-between the much smaller piles of junk now. Izuku’s still not quite sure what to make of his own plans, still a little stunned even after nearly seven months of being “back”. He’s redoing High School, home of hormonal teenagers and their chaos, he’s obviously carried back some of the concussion damage he’s accumulated. He’s mentally old enough to be his soon to be classmates’ parents. Why is he subjecting himself to this nonsense? Oh right, because the Heroics commission is a bag of bastards who’ve make it harder to go through the apprenticeship or independent route unless you have a powerful sponsor, something he definitely doesn’t have. He’s as ready as he can be for an exam that, if this Nedzu is like his Nedzu, has robots in some purpose. The white mammal always did like their machinery and surprises. He’ll have to be ready for anything from rescue simulations, combat, to following the drone. Or if Nedzu had a disappointing last crop of students perhaps all of the above plus a bit more. It’ll be interesting at least.

His self made fact confirming mission of the past thirty years at least made the written exam portion easier. He knows possibly a little too much actually, but at least he won’t fail out. Which is nice. It’s the practical that was a little more difficult than he was expecting it to be. Izuku spotted the hidden conditions sure, but the robots are difficult to take down even with clever tactics. Did last years students coast through or commit willing ignorance and there’s a perceived lack of BFG potential in that grouping? Or is it just the sacrificial one in seven poster year that lets Nedzu pick his preferred qualities the other six years and this showcases the heroics features the Commission wants? He’s not sure. He did pass though. He has the proof in the little turned off hologram disk in the palm of his hand. Eighth. He’s in. He the Quirkless wonder is in 1-A. Ha. Ha. Ha. Choke on it bastards who said he’d never amount to much, he’s gotten into UA twice.

He’s not sure how to rank his first day. On the one hand he has to interact with Bakugou and All Might on a regular basis, on a second hand most of his classmates are sweet kids, and on the third hand Aizawa-kohai is his sensei now. (He’s got to stop thinking about him that way, otherwise it’ll slip and that will result in so much investigation and scrutiny and lack of privacy that it’s easier to dump the habit.) At least it looks like this year will be interesting.

Look no, look, I need this. I want this. I love this. It’s magnificent and I love it.