#When you have to grudgingly admit that this looks great

[creamflix]

HI KASHI <33 hope you’re having a great day !! saw your requests are open so i’m here asking if you could write gojo and/or choso trying to take care of a sick fem!reader take your time ofc !! love you and your writing so much <33

content: established relationship with gojo & choso (seperate), no reader gender specified, reader is sick, fluff and crack thank u for the request ml. i was having a really tough day and writing this made me feel a whole lot better. hope you enjoy <3 — general masterlist ☆

when in doubt, mochi it out.

a slogan that makes no sense, but when it comes to your boyfriend, SATORU, nothing ever truly does. he is nothing if not persistent, committed to his very questionable ways of taking care of you. you're curled up on the couch, sniffling into your third tissue of the hour, bundled up in enough blankets to resemble a very grumpy burrito.

“mochi makes everything better,” he declares, brandishing the tray of snacks like it's a miracle cure. “don’t fight it. just let the healing power of dessert take over.”

you stare at him, eyes glassy from your cold. “it’s sugar and rice, toru. sugar. i’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of medicine.”

“ah ah ah, but you underestimate the psychological benefits,” he counters, shoving a fluffy piece of mochi dangerously close to your face. “studies show happiness boosts the immune system, and you can’t tell me you’re not happy when you see me. c'mooonnn. smile for the genius doctor.”

“you’re not a doctor.”

“not officially. but emotionally? i’ve got my phd in loving you.”

you groan, sinking further into your cocoon. “that doesn’t even —”

“ah-ah! don’t strain yourself, sweetheart,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips with all the drama of a soap opera actor. “you need your energy to chew this delicious, healing mochi.”

you cough pointedly, aiming it at him. he doesn’t flinch.

“cute,” he grins. “see? that’s already a 5% improvement. now, let’s move on to phase two of my revolutionary treatment plan: satoru’s patented personal heater.”

before you can protest, he’s wedging himself onto the couch beside you, all long limbs and ridiculous confidence. he wraps himself around you like a clingy octopus, radiating an absurd amount of heat. it would be sweet if he wasn’t crushing you under his weight.

“satoru,” you wheeze, “i can’t breathe.”

“that’s the illness talking. it’s fine. i’m a doctor, remember?”

you somehow manage to elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs, pulling back just enough to give you some air. “okay, okay. personal heater mode: adjusted.”

he adjusts the blanket around you, tucking it in like you’re a patient in some bizarre spa. “better?”

you nod grudgingly, but the relief doesn’t last. he’s back to poking and prodding at you almost immediately.

“you know, this could’ve all been avoided if you wore my scarf last week,” he muses, squinting at you like a disappointed parent. “but noooo, ‘i don’t need it, toru, it’s not that cold.’ and now look at you. tragic.”

“you sound like nanami,” you mutter, voice muffled by your blanket fortress.

he gasps like you’ve mortally wounded him. “take that back. i’m fun. i brought snacks!”

“i don’t want snacks, i want soup.”

“soup's for the weak. mochi's for winners.”

you groan again, though you can’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at your lips. satoru catches it immediately, of course.

“ah, see? the mochi's working! admit it, i’m the best boyfriend ever.”

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, but the affection in your voice is impossible to hide.

“that’s just the fever talking.” he boops your nose with one of the little mochi pieces before popping it into his mouth, looking far too pleased with himself.

he leans back, pulling you closer against him. “you know, they say laughter is the best medicine. so technicallyyy, i’m already curing you.”

“does that mean you’ll stop with the jokes?”

“never. but i will feed you the cough syrup if you ask nicely. i might even do the airplane noise if you’re extra sweet.”

you throw another tissue at his face. he dodges it with a laugh, catching it mid-air.

“you loooovvve me,” he sing-songs, wrapping his arms around you again.

you sigh, leaning into him despite yourself. “unfortunately.”

“and that’s why you’ll live to see another day,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple. “now, how about i grab some soup and mochi? compromise is key, after all.”

CHOSO genuinely looks like he’s seen a ghost, which is almost ironic because you’re the one that feels like death warmed over. his wide eyes are glued to your flushed face, and it’s clear that his brain is short-circuiting.

“are you... okay?” he asks, voice just above a whisper, like raising it might make you crumble into dust.

“it’s just a cold, cho,” you rasp, reaching out to reassure him. but he takes an immediate, panicked step back, hands flying up in surrender.

“yuuji said humans are fragile when they’re sick,” he mutters, gaze flickering nervously between you and the floor. “and you look...fragile.”

“i’m not going to break.”

“but what if you do?” he blurts, voice cracking slightly, and you can’t help but blink at him in disbelief. choso isn’t usually one to panic, but apparently, the idea of you being sick has completely thrown him off balance.

when you ask for medicine, he darts away like a frightened deer and returns seconds later with a blister pack and a bottle of water. he leaves them on the coffee table before retreating again, this time halfway across the room.

“choooo,” you groan, flopping onto the couch. “you’re making it weird.”

“i’m not trying to,” he mumbles, standing stiffly like he’s trying to work out the math of the optimal distance to keep from you. “is this... far enough?”

“you’re acting like i’m contagious.”

“are you not?”

“you’re half a curse! pretty sure you’re immune!” you glare at him weakly. “you won’t catch my cold. i just want you to sit with me. please.”

his brow furrows, and you can practically see the gears turning. the logical part of him is probably agreeing with you, but the overprotective boyfriend part — the part yuuji apparently filled with all kinds of advice — looks terrified.

“...okay,” he says at last, hesitantly moving toward you like he’s approaching a sleeping bear. “but if you start looking worse, i’m calling yuuji.”

you laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit. immediately, choso panics again. “do you need something? tea? soup? a doctor? i can go get someone —”

“cho,” you wheeze, waving him down. “soup sounds nice. just grab it from the kitchen.”

he’s off like a shot, and you can hear him fumbling around in the kitchen for a while before he reappears, carefully balancing a steaming bowl. this time, he doesn’t put it down and bolt. instead, he sits down next to you, though he still leaves a noticeable gap.

“do you want me to... feed it to you?” he asks awkwardly, holding the spoon like it might bite him.

you bite back a grin. “’s okay, cho. i can manage.”

he looks relieved but still watches you like a hawk as you eat, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of distress. and honestly? it’s kinda sweet. sure, he’s overthinking everything, but his concern is endearing.

“thanks for taking care of me,” you say softly, leaning against him once you’ve finished. he stiffens for a moment but doesn’t pull away, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“yuuji said that’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you care about,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“he also probably didn’t tell you to act like i’m radioactive.”

“...no.”

you chuckle, feeling a little better already.

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[completeoveranalysis]

[1]

Chapitre 197 - Two Lives

Oh mister imbalance himself! No thank you take it back. 

The splash text reads:

My indecision and my hesitation I discarded long ago

So that I may obtain one singe thing

And yeah I guess that does sum him up pretty well.

The pose is frankly incredible, I don’t think he deserves it. 

This is the giant oil painting of himself he hangs in the break room of his evil organisation. He has smaller poster versions he puts up in all the hallways. He also has bookmarks made as well. He loves this version of himself dearly. It’s the way he really sees himself. It’s the way he assumes he is. 

And the moon he reaches towards is so beautiful, but I think there’s a little bit of actual moon nonsense I don’t quite get with him yet. The full moon appeared in the reflection of the water that one time, out of sync with the time around it, and I’m not sure if that’s if further significance to Evil Wolverine himself or if it was more of a warning of the time of his arrival. 

But either way It’s so interesting that he could be just be standing by the moon, but instead he’s standing in front of a roughly hewn out poor imitation of the moon instead. It’s not even exactly the right shape, and you can see the broken base at the bottom, still jagged. And IS it the moon, or is it a leftover fragment of that statue Sakura that was praying at? Is it an echo of Evil Wolverine hacking away at the universe and taking the remnants proudly for himself? 

Is it a continuation of how he hacks away at everything he touches in service of his own wish, leaving everything else around him a broken ruin that suits him perfectly? How he not only doesn’t care about the lives he ruins but ACTIVELY aims to do it in order to get what he wants? 

Is it a peek into the fact that he wants "the moon", but all he’ll ever be able to achieve is an ugly simulacrum of it? How he’ll never get exactly what he wants, but thinks that ruining the universe until he can get something close enough is good enough for him? That it’s some incredible and worthy goal worth looking forward to, but in reality it's just a shambles of broken rock, battered and stolen and only a fraction of what it might have been without him? 

Is the fact that it’s all Rock a sign that Evil Wolverine’s wish is essentially just a barren landscape, a lifeless universe that roughly looks almost like what he wants if you squint a bit?

And yet he thinks he’s pulling it off masterfully the entire time. 

Also there's a JUICY, delicious morsel in the fact that the splash text refers to him leaving behind "hesitation" specifically - and it was Lava Lamp's hesitation that ultimately lead to him missing Sakura's hand and being unable to save her. It shows the parallel between the two (that Evil Wolverine himself is so thrilled by) and also demonstrates why Evil Wolverine thinks he's right. It's almost like he's experienced the exact same moment already, or something very similar to it. If he ever does hesitate he'll have the same result - he'll lose the person he's fighting to save. So he's decided to go Full Speed in the other direction and never hesitate or let anything else ever hold him back again, and this has lead to him full on slaughtering countless worlds without ever thinking twice.

It's a great reflection on what Lava Lamp's own dedication could turn into - and he's from the same bloodline, so the parallels write themselves. If pushed in the same directions WOULD Lava Lamp end up as the next Evil Wolverine, or will his heart let him grow in ways that Evil Wolverine cut out of himself a long time ago?

[bruisedboys]

I’d love to see candy cane ❛ wow i really can’t speak, huh? must be because of how pretty you look. ❜ IT’S SO JAMES CODED OMG

also congratulations on 6k you deserve it so much!!

omg it is sooo james coded!!! also this is funny bc a while ago my bff aerial did this exact prompt with james for a request I sent in! great minds think alike I guess

james potter x fem!reader

James is bombarded with your loveliness the moment he walks in the door.

“Jamie!” You beam at him from where you’re folding laundry on the living room floor. You roll up a pair of his socks before scrambling to your feet to meet him. “Hello, honey. How was work?”

You throw yourself at him in a clumsy but no less affectionate hug. James takes the brunt of your weight happily, his hands folding around your waist.

“Hello,” he says back, a little dazed. You smell lovely. His hands skim over the strip of bare skin on your back, where your top rides up. You’re warm under his palms. “It, um. It was good.”

You pull back, still positively beaming. James blinks at you. You’re so pretty and so clearly ecstatic to seem him. He could die.

“Yeah?” You ask him, head tilting slightly to the side. James thinks you resemble a puppy, a little bit. “That’s good. Are you hungry, baby? ‘Cos I haven’t started on dinner yet, but I can get it going now, if—“

“Sweetheart.” James stops your sweet rambling, and brings a hand to your jaw. “I’m okay. I’ll eat whenever you’re ready, yeah?”

You nod. “Okay. You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

James does his best to smile at you, but it’s hard when you’re being so lovely and all he really wants is to kiss you silly. “Yes. I’m sure, bub. Let me help you with the laundry?”

You let him help you, albeit grudgingly. You both sit on the floor and sort things into piles. James notices, with not much surprise, that your folding is much neater than his. You’re chatting away to him, and he’s listening, he swears he is, but he’s so distracted by how achingly lovely you are that it’s hard to pay attention.

When you’re done you crawl across the piles to sit closer to him, crossing your legs so your knees press into his. You put your hand on James’ thigh and he feels starstruck.

“So, for dinner,” you start conversationally, like you’re not being the loveliest most captivating girl he’s ever met right now. “I was thinking mac ‘n’ cheese? There’s lots of pasta in the cupboard for it. Or we could do tomato soup, or just takeout if you want. Whatever you like, Jamie.”

And you push your hand further up his thigh, and smile this awful smile that makes James’ heart race, makes his palms sweat and his head swim.

“I— okay. Um. Uh, um.” What were you talking about again? He thinks you might have mentioned pasta. “Pasta is good, I think?”

You give him a half bewildered, half amused look. “James, what?” You say, giggling a bit. You bring your hand to his cheek and he hopes he’s not as boiling hot as he thinks he is. “Are you okay?”

James shakes his head from side to side as if to clear it. “I’m fine, it’s— I’m just. You’re—“ And he literally has to stop talking, because the way you’re looking at him is tying his tongue in knots. How do you expect him to be able to function properly when you’re being so lovely? When you’re touching his cheek and sitting so close, asking him what he wants for dinner and looking at him like he’s made of starlight. He puffs out a big breath, hot in the face.

“Wow, I really can’t speak, huh?” He admits, totally embarrassed but also totally past caring. “Must be because of how pretty you look.”

The spell breaks. You rolls your eyes and huff at him, good natured. “James,” you groan.

“What?” James laughs and takes your hand from his cheek, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’m serious. You’re messing me up, sweet thing.”

You squint at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s being serious or not. Your must realise he’s totally and completely serious, because you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Ugh.” You say, and unfold yourself to stand up.“You’re impossible.”

James gawks up at you. “I’m impossible? You’re the one bewitching me like some sort of evil witch woman.”

You giggle and flounce off, saying something about putting the pasta on to boil. James is left to sit there wondering if you really have put him under a spell. He sure feels like it.

[oceaneyesinla]

Fabric and Feelings

I've been thinking about Sanemi and how he ended up confronting Madea. This is my idea on how it might have come about

Content warning: brief mentions of harassment

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Sanemi couldn’t say he particularly liked being paired up with the new recruits, but sometimes there just wasn’t another choice. He grudgingly accepted that they were useful for gathering information, especially if they were still bright eyed and eager, friendly and approachable in a way Sanemi himself hadn’t been since childhood. So, despite the fact the quality of their members was dropping with every passing year, they still had some small uses.

The demon he was tracking at the moment was proving elusive, a fact that had already put him in a foul mood even before he had to call in support from one of the new Mizunoto, barely a month out of Final Selection. He figured you would be just another poor excuse for a Slayer, still shaking in your boots at the thought of a demon.

He met you just outside the village, and the first thing he noticed was your uniform. It was hard to miss; with a skirt that barely covered the tops of your thighs and a shirt that hardly deserved to be regarded as such. A slit down the middle revealed the swell of your breasts, and he imagined it was only the single small button at the top of your white undershirt which kept everything even slightly covered. It wouldn’t do a thing to defend you against sharp claws and bared teeth, which was the whole point of the fabric it was made from. It was supposed to give new Slayers like you a vague chance of surviving past the first week without being maimed by the low level demons you were sent after.

Was this really what Demon Slayers were being given these days? Well, he couldn’t really judge, taking a look down at his own uniform, jacket and shirt unbuttoned to reveal muscle built and scars gained from years of fighting for survival.

His eyes landed on yours as you stopped in front of him, and you were quick to look away with a slight flush in your cheeks and a hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Great - one of those. The Slayers with stars in their eyes and fantasies of having lives and families and the ones who treated the Hashira like they hung the moon and stars. Stupid idiots never realised that the Hashira were just as painfully human as the rest of them - what separated them was the will to destroy; the bone deep desire to see every demon eradicated, no matter the personal cost. Sanemi had learned over the years that their own death wasn’t the worst thing a human could experience.

“Shinazugawa-san. My crow told me to meet you here. What’s our mission?” Your cheeks were still red, but your voice was steady as you addressed him, eyes already scoping out the area around you both. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time after all.

“Come on.” He didn’t wait to see if you were following, taking off in the opposite direction. It wasn’t his responsibility to babysit you.

***********

Your mission was proving successful, and Sanemi almost felt bad about his initial assessment of you. As expected, people looked at him with guarded concern, but as soon as you opened your mouth, they were at ease, chattering as if you had lived in this village all your life. It reminded him of Masachika, and Kanae, and he pointedly ignored the way his heart clenched at the thought. That attitude could never last, not in the Corps. Masachika’s blood, a permanent invisible brand on his skin, and the memory of the dead look in the younger Kocho’s eyes at Kanae’s funeral were stark reminders of that.

You just had a way with people, and he had to admire that. He knew he was hard on the new recruits (and for good reason) but he wasn't too proud to acknowledge when someone proved themselves useful to the Corps.

That natural charisma was starting to work on him too, though he would rather eat glass than admit it. A few days after your reconnaissance began, he found himself watching as you regaled a couple of old ladies with an animated tale, your hands moving as you told your story. They were enchanted, as everyone else had been thus far, and as they walked away, Sanemi heard them comment on how you were ‘such a nice young girl’.

You seemed more relaxed than you had been when he first met up with you, and by the time you split off from him to chase leads on opposite ends of the village, his opinion of you had improved drastically. He still hadn’t seen you fight, which was the make or break factor of any Demon Slayer, but he was impressed with your perception, and the way you kept up with him - seamlessly following his lead even when he didn’t bother to tell you what he was planning.

He also liked the way you called him out afterwards. It was almost amusing to watch you grumble and bitch about his impulsive actions before you suddenly realised you were badmouthing a Hashira and your jaw snapped shut, a pretty red flush covering the apple of your cheeks. Usually, he would have the guts of any lower rank Slayer who mouthed off to him for garters but something held him back in this case. It had been a long time since someone actually gave him a hard time - usually too busy being terrified of his reputation or his attitude to even consider it. 

His solo questioning went well, and he finally felt like he was cornering the demon prowling this area. Hopefully, your exploration had been just as fruitful. As he walked towards the centre of the village to meet back up with you, he barely paid any mind to the sound of raised voices - not an uncommon occurrence, and never usually worth getting involved in.

That was until he got closer and realised he recognised one of those voices. His lips pulled into a frown as he rounded the corner and found you facing off with a civilian, eyes flashing with anger as you argued with the man. Great. The Corps struggled enough with its reputation as it was - the last thing they needed was random recruits having it out with civilians in the street. He didn’t bother to focus on what you were so pissy about as he stalked over, more concerned with ending this little spat and drawing attention away from you both, “Oi, Y/L/N! What the hell are you doing?!”

You whirled around to face him, mouth opening but he just held up a hand to cut you off, “I’m sorry about her, sir. She needs to keep her temper in check. I’ll handle it.” More than a little hypocritical, coming from him, but soothing the guy’s ego was probably the quickest way to end this little drama. Sanemi was familiar with men like this; they didn’t like women to stand up to them, or to fight back, and the last thing he needed was this guy feeling belittled and raising a hand to you.

Thankfully, the man accepted his apology and walked away, casting one nasty glare back at you before he did so. Sanemi took a breath to centre himself before wrapping a hand around your upper arm and dragging you away from the scene, careful not to grip too tightly; he would never want to hurt a woman, no matter how pissed off he might be.

He shoved you onto a deserted side street, turning you to face him, “What are you doing, picking fights with the locals? I leave you alone for a couple of hours and you start causing trouble.”

You scanned his face, studying his expression and he couldn’t say he liked the guarded look that grew in your eyes as you did so. Jerking your arm out of his hold, you stiffly briefed him on what you had learned in your time apart, succinct and to the point. He wanted to assume you were angry with him, but something about the way you held yourself just didn’t fit that. Your shoulders were hunched in, as if you were trying to hide away, to make yourself smaller, and you wouldn’t meet his eye even as the pair of you planned to meet up just after sunset, near the border of the village. Your intel matched, and Sanemi was certain this was the night the demon would fall to his blade.

As soon as the plan was set, you turned on your heel and stormed away. Sanemi just shook his head - whatever was going on, hopefully you would get over it before tonight. You both had a job to do.

*************************

The wait for the demons to appear was awkward, to say the least. You hadn’t said a word to him since you met up at sunset, and you were pointedly avoiding looking at him, feigning interest in a nearby tree. Part of him wanted to say something - now he had cooled off, he felt a little bad about not hearing you out. He made an assumption based on past experience with hot-headed Slayers, but that didn’t quite fit with what he had seen of you so far, nor with how you had closed yourself off after he confronted you.

Before he could broach the subject, rustling from beyond the bushes caught both of your attentions, and for the first time that night, you met his eyes, silently agreeing a plan. Sanemi unsheathed his sword and watched as you did the same before gesturing towards the clearing ahead of you - time to end this.

*********************

His sword slashed through the demon’s neck, and a thud signalled the end of his fight. Immediately, Sanemi scanned the area, finding you standing across the clearing, a demon of your own at your feet, its head rolling towards the treeline. He straightened up and flicked the blood of his sword, hissing as the movement pulled the new gash in his arm. Self-inflicted, of course, but still hurting like a bitch.

He was impressed - you held your own. Before this, he was convinced he would have to step in and save your ass like he usually did with new Mizunoto. However, you took on the weaker of the two demons like you had been a Slayer for years. However, you hadn’t escaped unscathed, which wasn’t surprising given the amount of exposed skin on display. After all, the uniform was supposed to protect against low level demons like this. A particularly nasty set of claw marks was dripping blood down your leg, and he could see the pain lining your face no matter how hard you were trying to hide it as you limped over to him.

He called out to his crow, “Get a couple of Kakushi here. She needs to get to the Butterfly Mansion.”

“No. I’ll get there myself.” Your face was pale with blood loss, and you already looked a little unsteady on your feet even as you argued. The throbbing of the wound on his arm made him a little quicker to anger, and he couldn’t help the rush of frustration flowing through him as he was reminded of just how little protection you had from the uniform you wore. Yes, his uniform was exposing, but he wasn’t fresh out of Final Selection and prone to catching a demon’s claws during fights.

There was no way you could get to the Mansion in your condition, and he told you as much, watching as your face scrunched up in frustration, “That thing you’re calling a uniform didn’t do shit to protect you. Shut up and wait for the Kakushi.”

He saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes, but before he could apologise, it morphed into anger as you squared up to him, “I know it doesn’t protect me, okay?! I know it’s revealing - I see the way people look at me. Men treat me like a doll to stare at and play with. I spoke to Madea when I got my uniform, and I begged for a new one, but I was told it wasn’t allowed. So I make do with what I’ve got. Your judgement isn’t needed or appreciated. I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong.”

Rage burned in your eyes, but he could see tears welling up on your lash line, face flushing a blotchy red with emotion. Your voice stayed steady despite all that, just as it had the first time you met. Was this how you felt then, too, when his gaze found your clothing before anything else?

“Goodbye, Shinazugawa-san. I trust you can report to the Master alone.” Somehow, you managed to make the honorific tacked onto the end of his name sound anything but respectful as you stalked off, gait remarkably even despite your injuries. You didn’t even give him time to respond to your outburst, which he honestly couldn’t blame you for. Guilt began to curl in his gut, and anger wasn’t far behind. You had mentioned one Kakushi in particular - Madea - who was responsible for the design of your uniform. Once Sanemi had reported his - your - success, he would pay the man a visit. The piece of shit was abusing his position to objectify the Slayers his uniforms were supposed to be protecting, and Sanemi wasn't about to let that go unpunished.

*************************

A few days after your mission, you were still feeling more than a little bitter about the Wind Hashira. You really thought you were getting on well - after that initial eyeing of your uniform when you first met, he had been nothing but respectful. His eyes never wandered below your face and he never once commented on the too short skirt or the uncomfortably revealing shirt. For that, you were grateful - you were all too aware of just how scandalous the uniform was, and you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt every time you had to put it on. It made you feel vulnerable and exposed - a horrible combination when your job was to fight man eating demons.

You thought the Wind Hashira was different, and even had plans to ask him to spar once your mission was over; maybe even become his friend, over time. His reputation preceded him, and you had spent the whole journey to the mission site fretting over how best to make a good impression, and not earn his ire before you had even begun. Over the course of your mission together, though, your opinion had changed. More than once, you had caught him watching you, eyes studying you with curious concentration, and you felt your cheeks heat up at the memory. The last month had made you hesitant to find yourself under the gaze of others, but something about the way he looked at you made butterflies flutter in your tummy. 

Then he walked in on a man harassing you in the street and still decided you were the one causing trouble. At first, you thought it an act - playing along to get the man away from you. As he chewed you out in that alley, you came to the realisation that there was no act at all.

His comment after your fight with the demons just solidified your opinion. He was just like the others; judgemental, making assumptions about you just because of the clothes you were forced to wear. You had managed to hold your tongue after the incident with the civilian - you knew it would do you no good to get into a fight with a Hashira. However, the pain in your thigh and the humiliation burning through you made something snap, and you lashed out, hurt that he would judge you so easily, without even a chance to explain why you continued to wear such a degrading uniform.

Despite your lack of regrets around telling him off and storming away, you were still a little worried about potential repercussions - he was a Hashira, and you were just a Mizunoto. That worry is what made you jump at the sound of a knock on the door of the private room you were staying in at the Butterfly Mansion.

“Come in!” You were hoping it was one of Shinobu's little girls - they were so sweet, and always willing to keep you company as you recovered. The smile you wore for them quickly fell into a frown as instead, Shinazugawa stepped into the room, “What do you want?” Your cold attitude probably wasn't the best way to avoid punishment for disrespecting a Hashira, but you couldn't help it. You still felt a flood of humiliation every time you thought back on that night.

He didn't speak, walking forward silently to deposit the stack of cloth he was holding on the end of your bed and folding his thick arms over his chest. You looked up at him curiously, but he refused to meet your eye, choosing instead to feign interest in the bed frame.

You reached out for the bundle, lifting up the item on top. As you unfolded it, your eyes widened; it was a uniform jacket, and as you held it up by the shoulders, you noted silver buttons neatly fastened all the way down. It … would cover everything. No more scandalous slit revealing the swell of your breasts, and no more wandering eyes lingering on exposed skin. Your hands were shaking a little as you looked through the rest of Shinazugawa's gift - skirts, still the same style but now long enough to protect your modesty, and shirts, designed to fasten properly and leave nothing on display.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you picked up the final item - socks. You had assumed he wasn't listening to you, when you complained to him one night in the Wisteria House, about how the boots you preferred to wear would rub at your leg. Looking at these now, you just knew they would rise to just above where your boots sat.

You blinked up at him, trying to clear away the building tears, “Why?”

He looked up then, locking eyes with you and you could tell he didn't know what to do with the tears pooling in your eyes. He cleared his throat, a brush of red colouring his cheeks as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I … was an ass.” A surprisingly honest confession, and one you weren’t expecting. You stayed quiet, giving him space to speak his mind. This was a side of the Wind Hashira you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing during your mission, and you found that you liked it, “You didn’t deserve me giving you shit, especially for something you were forced into. You’re … alright. For a newbie.” He folded his arms back across his chest, muscles flexing with the movement, “I went and spoke to Madea. He should think twice before he tries this with anyone else.”

The growing smirk on his face made you think it was a hell of a lot more than a polite conversation, and you were grateful, but the double standard kind of pissed you off, “So you’re allowed to confront him, but when I call someone out for groping me in the street, I’m ‘causing trouble’?”

“That guy did fuckin’ what?” To his credit, Sanemi seemed genuinely outraged on your behalf, “Why did you not …” His rant stopped abruptly, and the anger faded as quickly as it came on, replaced with shame instead, “Shit. I never gave you a chance to say anything, did I?”

You could have held it over him; stayed angry, or thrown hurtful words his way. You didn’t really want to though. Remorse was obvious in the way he was staring at you, and he had more than proven that he was a good man. Even your Cultivator hadn’t confronted Madea about your uniform, and Shinazugawa had done it without hesitation. Holding grudges was never your strong suit anyway, and you always were a sucker for a pretty face. You felt a smile tugging at your lips, “No, you didn’t, Shinazugawa-san. I could consider forgiving you … if you promise me a sparring match once I’ve healed up.”

The wicked grin you got in response lit up his face, and you just knew this would be the beginning of something great.

[syoddeye]

useless

Part one of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Part one uses two:

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

14. Opposites attract

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Some liberties were taken with canon, obvs. Please enjoy!

You meet John Price when you're fifteen years old. 

Being the new kid is never easy, but you have some practice. This is the fifth time your family has moved since you were born. Such is life when your mother's an ambassador. However, it is your first time attending an actual school, and it's miserable. It doesn't matter who your mother is when your peers are the children of millionaires, celebrities, and executives. Compared to them, you're a nobody, just easy pickings.

But compared to John, you might as well be a princess. 

The son of your mother's assistant, you see John almost every day. You do not attend the same school, of course. Despite the awfulness of its students, your school has standards, after all, but every day after the last bell, you and your security detail fetch John to rendezvous at your family's sprawling home. Since both sets of your parents work long and odd hours, you spend a great deal of time together. Usually, you study, eat dinner, maybe read or watch television, but you do not necessarily talk. He's as surly as an old man, unpleasant on good days and unbearable on bad ones.

You don't look at John when he slides into the car anymore. You're enthralled in Sabriel, too busy to acknowledge him, that is until you feel his eyes on you. 

"What?"

"Didn't say anything."

"You're staring," You huff, lowering the book, only to almost drop it. "What happened to your face?!"

A purpling, inky black bruise covers John's swollen left eye. It's nasty, but he looks bored by the question.

"Scrapped. Some idiot ran his mouth."

"So you hit him? Then he hit you?"

"That's generally how it works," He says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning into the seat to stare out the window.

You roll your eyes and return to the Abhorsen. "Your mom's gonna kill you."

He doesn't have a comeback for that. 

Predictably, his mom loses it when she arrives to pick him up. Throws a fit, her anger evenly split between John and his school. You watch from the top of the stairs as your mother consoles her friend and offers advice before they leave. John scowls, the expression deepening when he catches you listening in. You give a shit-eating grin before retreating to your room. Serves him right for fighting. Boys.

Of course, though, in a rotten turn of events, his mother leverages her position, and John enrolls in your school. Due to your relationship, you're naturally coupled together both in and outside of the classroom. It isn't for lack of trying on your peers' parts. You can grudgingly admit John's a good-looking boy. He has all the makings of a popular kid. Athletic, intelligent, and withdrawn, just enough to make people wonder in a good way. He's regularly asked out, the invitations often extended in your company. You don't miss how other girls look at him or glare at you.

Jokes on them, he's easily the most unpleasant person you've ever had the displeasure to know.

"What are you putting down on the careers interest form?" You ask one afternoon, sprawled on the couch while John sits with his back to it, reading.

"SAS. Enlisting next year."

"Military? How noble." You muse. "Your dad's not–"

"No," His head turns a fraction. "But my grandfather served. North Africa."

It's the first you've heard of it. John doesn't talk much about his family, nor do you make a habit of asking. You don't pay close attention to the adults' conversations either. "Well, you're pretty strong and clever, I guess," you temper the compliments, uneasy about doling them out to him. So you'll fair well, I bet."

He doesn't respond for a minute before a quiet "Thank you," ekes out. 

For whatever reason, your face heats. How embarrassing. You tap your pen against your blank form, grateful he faces away. Yet as a silence follows and stretches, irritation sidles alongside discomfiture. Honestly, this is what you'd like to show the girls at school. Prove that John's actually quite annoying. 

"Now's about the time another person would ask what I'm putting down."

John doesn't look up from his book. "I know what you're going to write."

You bristle. "Oh, do you? Enlighten me."

"Artist. Writer. Actress. Something useless."

In one fluid movement, you sit up and strike him across the crown with your notebook. "You're such an asshole!" You quickly create distance between his stupid, stunned face and yourself, stomping all the way to the stairs. Halfway up the steps, you crouch, pressing your face between the balusters. "You're not going to amount to anything!"

You don't speak to him after that—not entirely, of course. Your families are too intertwined to avoid him completely, but the incident strains your already tenuous relationship. It's awkward and tense, though neither of your families notices the shift. You sit in silence at joint dinners. You leave him alone in the den after school. You latch on to other singletons in class, avoiding him in the halls.

Months pass, and as John declared, he enlists the moment the school term ends. Freshly sixteen, and scheduled to ship out to basic. 

The morning he leaves, your mother drags you to his house. You stand speechless on the walk outside when he marches out with his rucksack. His head's shaved. He grew an inch and filled out some in the last few weeks when you weren't paying attention. Still a boy, but clearly on his way to becoming a man.

His mother all but shoves him at you to say goodbye. He stares down at you now, the twit. 

"Good luck." It's the nicest thing you can manage.

"Break a leg," He responds, hauling his bag over his shoulder. "Don't be useless."

You're too busy noticing how his eyes are the same color as the sky to feel even a twinge of irritation.

When he files into the waiting taxi, his mother bursts out into sobs. You watch the car until it disappears down the next street, trying to understand why your chest is so tight.

It’s a decade before you see him again.

~~

"I told the Prices you'd pop by."

You nearly fumble your card, phone cradled between your shoulder and ear, and clumsily tap it against the scanner. Mouthing an apology to the disinterested cashier, you take your bag and find your words.

"Why would you do that?" You ask, unable to completely mask your disdain. "I told you I have plans for New Years." 

Your mother tsks. "Surely you can pencil in some of our oldest friends for an hour tomorrow."

The automatic doors open, and the wintry air envelops you instantly. The plastic bag taut in the crook of your arm, you flip the collar of your coat and start the return trek to your flatshare. "I haven't seen them since graduation, since we moved back to Virginia."

"And you moved back to London, what, eight months ago?" Her end muffles a moment while she says something to her aide. Her voice is sterner when she speaks again. "They've been asking about your job, how acting's going…" Her voice trails, leaving the works or not going unspoken.

You swallow, tucking your chin into your scarf to consider the remainder of the conversation. "Fine. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. But I'm not staying late. I have plans." You don't. You did have an invite to a party a week ago, but that was before Jeff decided Jane from work was 'more his speed'. More 'conventional'. Though you'd seen the breakup coming for weeks and the relationship only a measly six months old, it still stung. Since coming back to London, you've had more than enough rejection.

Dozens of auditions. Dozens more interviews. Zip, zilch, zero. No callbacks, no non-speaking roles. And while you are the favorite stage manager for several small local theaters and Yes Woman, you weren't any closer to the stage. Something your mother loves to remind you of. Between her rapid ascent up the career ladder and your decision to study theater, an uncrossable gulf cropped up between you. It grew with each passing day. Moreso, when you reject every offer of financial support or connection. Her support means control. Ownership. You won't have it.

The conversation drifts to other topics—Dad, mostly. He's still putting around after her, content in his retirement. They'll spend New Year's at the White House, of course. You're pushing through the door to your place when she drops the bomb.

"John'll be there, too."

This time, you drop your keys.

~~

There is no excuse you can make to back out now. You wait on the top step of the Price's home. It's smaller than you remember. You hear people inside, music, and laughter. You hesitate. Given what you told your mother, they probably expected you far earlier than nine, but you barely mustered the courage to leave your room. You practically blacked out on the tube, leaving the station in a daze with your cheap bubbles. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door. No time for stage fright.

The foyer is a time capsule, aside from the dozens of coats hanging on hooks and a coat rack. Framed photos of the Prices throughout the years line the short corridor leading further into the home. John's center stage for most of them. You hang your coat and slowly edge down memory lane, pausing when you see your own face looking back at you. Aged fifteen, the first day of school. You and John in different uniforms, sulking for different reasons. It was the last time you were the same height.

There are a lot of photographs of you in the hallway gallery. Ones you didn't know existed. You get stuck on a still of you and John from behind. It's from the London Zoo, from some ridiculous event your mother's work mandated you attend. The photo is simple, accidentally composed almost professionally. You and John lean against the rail overlooking the lion exhibit. You excitedly point at the pair lazing about in the shade, and John…John's focus is on you.

The sound of your name rips you away from the moment, and Mrs. Price beckons from the doorway to the living area.

The reunion between yourself and Prices is sweeter than you thought it would be. It's odd to see them older. As jarring as it is when you see your own parents, as sparingly as those visits are. Wrinkles, spots, graying hairs…But unlike your parents, none of the familiar warmth is missing from the Prices. They fuss, complimenting your secondhand dress and gushing over the bottom shelf champagne. They awkwardly introduce you to the closest guests, some claiming to have met you as a teenager. But you feel Mrs. Price's hand on your back, gently ushering and ushering, until you arrive at the threshold of the kitchen.

He's taller, tanner, and a hell of a lot broader than you remember him.

"John? Look who's here!"

You step into the kitchen with a gentle nudge from Mrs. Price, and the figure from many memories and more than a handful of confusing and mortifying dreams turns to face you.

Your name slips from his mouth in an arrogant purr, and the little tug of his lip into a smirk instantly pokes at your patience. He's literally only said your name, and already he's resurrected the same shade of vexation you felt ten years ago.

You're going to need something stronger than champagne.

[obeymefictionwriting]

Love Potion

Tags: fluff, solomon x reader Word count: 1.2K

Something has been off for a while now and to be honest, it started bugging me.

No, Solomon was great. Perfect even — like always. Even Lucifer grudgingly admitted that Solomon was just a perfect boyfriend material, which was a really rare compliment from the Avatar of Pride himself. But recently, I had that weird tingling feeling…

It all started with a missed movie night. 

“MC, I am so, SO sorry”, Solomon smiled, regret crystal clear in his beautiful blue eyes. “I just have plans, some unexpected business. Can I make it up to you or can we maybe postpone our date?”

“No problem”, I brushed it off easily back then. “We can do it tomorrow”.

Solomon beamed in delight and hugged me tight, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck.

“You are the most loving, beautiful, and patient girl in the whole Devildom and beyond”, he purred, his hand reaching for mine and squeezing it. “I will text you once I get home”.

I then received a text from him almost 5 hours later: a simple “sorry i’m exhausted love”. On one hand, it was okay, but on the other… something was off, really.

He started having this “business to attend” every week. And with every week, he just seemed more and more tired: light bags under his eyes, constant yawning and tiredness… And I simply had no idea what was going on and it was driving me mad.

To be fair, I always had doubts about how I even ended up with Solomon as my boyfriend. He was the most powerful sorcerer ever and I always considered myself a simple human, no more than that. Yet, the way he held my hand, carried me around or told stupid jokes just to see my smile served as a valid proof that he indeed loved me… Until now?

It was another Wednesday night and he, once again, “was busy”. And I just had that weird gut feeling that he was at home. So, I decided to crash the Purgatory Hall and see for myself, what’s been keeping him so occupied for the last couple of weeks.

As I approached the massive building, I spotted Luke in front of the gates.

“Oh, h-h-hi, MC!”, he exclaimed nervously. “Solomon told me to tell you he is not here!” The boy shut his mouth with his hands, panic clear on his face. I laughed and patted his head.

“It’s okay, dear. Just thought I’d drop by and say hi”.

“Hi, love”, a velvet voice purred and Simeon emerged from the entrance. “Care for a little walk? I promised Luke to treat him with this Satanico Ice Cream that the Devildom has been raving about. Asmo even has it on his Devilgram”.

Simeon was having the most honest expression on his beautiful face but it wouldn’t trick me.

“Thanks for the offer but I really wanna just say hi”, with these words, I slipped in the doors and walked to Solomon’s room only to find it…empty?

Heavy cursing from the kitchen got my attention. I dropped the idea of staying in the room and headed to the kitchen, dreading what I might see there.

The kitchen was lit by warm lights and candles. The fire in the stove was burning bright and everything seemed a bit too much in peace…

“MC! Oh no”, Solomon groaned from the kitchen corner. He hid his hands behind his back and approached me with a somewhat guilty look.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but what’s going on?” I looked around. Everything seemed…normal? A pot on the stove, cut veggies, a loaf of bread on a cutting board… And that’s when I understood what was missing.

“Hey, wait a second. Why does it actually smell GOOD?

Solomon sighed and tried to fix the mess of his blonde hair. He looked at me with a mix of affection and guilt and sat on a chair.

“Well, you know how I cook, right?”

“A disaster”, I said brutally. “But I love you for so many more things and you should know that”.

“Well, yes… but I just thought I really wanna cook you something, you know? I sometimes see how Beel treats you to all these amazing stuff and I often think how nice it would be if I were able to create something as delicious”.

“Oh, Sol”, I came up to him and ruffed his hair affectionately. “You are the most powerful sorcerer and the most caring boyfriend. It’s okay not to be able to do something”.

“But I want to”, he said arrogantly. “So… I’ve been taking cooking classes. That’s why I have been missing past few evenings. I…I wanted to surprise you”.

He looked at me with genuine worry and even a hint of sadness and I suddenly realized that, despite being the most powerful sorcerer, he failed at the only thing he wanted to perfect — cooking for me. I felt my heart skipping a beat, warmth flooding my chest with love for this silly boy.

“So, what’s for dinner?”, I asked excitedly, kissing him softly on the cheek and observing the table.

Solomon smiled weakly, clearly not eager to display his culinary progress.

“Well, I tried making a love potion for my baby, which was supposed to be a stew… But the only thing I managed to cook properly is.. this”.

He lifted a lid from a plate and I saw the most perfectly looking omurice with a little ketchup heart on it. I giggled and grabbed a fork.

“Can I try it?”

“Eh, if you are sure about it”, Solomon was observing me with a mix of anxiety, curiosity, and worry.

I took a small piece and put it in the mouth, chewing carefully. After a moment, I turned to Solomon, face dead serious.

“You are in so much trouble”.

His face dropped, becoming grey.

“Oh no. I messed up again, didn’t I?” “Well, you are in trouble because from now on, I will be requesting this damn thing for my breakfast every morning. Sol, it’s delicious!”

He smiled in relief, his face lighting up and making him look even more adorable than ever. He came up to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and putting his chin on my shoulder.

“I will learn how to cook all your favorite dishes, MC. Hell, I’ll bake our wedding cake”.

“Wedding cake?!” I stared at him in disbelief.

He gave me a sly smile, grinning.

“Oops, let that one slip. Never mind, there is still some time till I master bakery. Finish your omurice, darling. And as they say in the human world — kiss the cook, right?”

“You deserve all the kisses”, I picked up the plate and took his hand. “But not in the kitchen”.

“Why not?” Solomon tried to object.

I was about to reply when we heard Luke’s voice behind the kitchen door, “Do not bake a wedding cake without me!”

“I haven’t even say yes”, I tried to frown but Solomon laughed softly, leading me by the hand to his room.

“Oh sweetheart. I am quite confident in your answer. But I’m curious about one thing, though… Should the color of the cake’s frosting match the bridal garter?”

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen react to their s/o bringing home a pet

requested by anon: "svt members reaction to you bringing home a pet? (Can change the animal for different members like kitten for wonwoo, puppy for mingyu etc) "

notes: i kinda altered it a bit to pet sitting? bc i just feel like it's a breach of consent (?) for you to bring in a whole entire pet to their lives unannounced lol

masterlist

seungcheol

stares at you and the cat in your arms with great scepticism as you beam up at him. you're looking after the cat for your friend while she's away for a couple of days, and seungcheol is very reluctant to call the cat cute for that entire time. he's loyal to kkuma and dogs, you know? does grudgingly admit that he's "not a bad cat" the day you're driving to drop the cat off to your friend. definitely complains about how much hair the cat shed tho

jeonghan

"oh, cool, a dog. did you pick him up off the sidewalk?" unbothered tbh. at least, he pretends to be, but he's then cooing all over the dog that you brought into the house. feeds the dog treats literally every five seconds, subsequently has him in love with him. is offended when you ask him to take the dog on the walk in the evening tho, bc wdym dogs need exercise???? he doesn't need exercise come on can't you take the dog on a walk instead?

joshua

the most adorable being he's ever seen is sitting in his room awww!!! oh and you're there too, he supposes. is shocked but mostly just vv soft when he sees you playing with a cute rabbit on his bed bc you'd bought it for your little niece and it had arrived early. pets the bunny for hours, fingers running through the soft fur, and manages to make the rabbit so comfortable in his arms that it falls asleep and just. cannot be woken no matter what you do

junhui

almost steps on the tortoise in his absentmindedness until you scream at him to look where he's going. then he's screaming too bc why is there a tortoise in the house?????? watches it with great awe as it walks very slowly around the house. tries to imitate the way it chews the lettuce leaves. asks how tortoise are able to do the deed with a shell on their back, and promptly watches several nature documentaries to find the answer

hoshi

the snake is out of control when he comes home, and as he sees you desperately trying to untangle the thick green thing from around their curtain pole, he screams and promptly backs out of the room. is shaking with terror the entire three days you're pet sitting the snake for your friend, despite the fact that you don't let the snake out of its glass box for the rest of the time it's here after that initial incident. tells you very seriously that you need to warn him of these things beforehand unless you want him to have a heart attack and die

wonwoo

"oh, when did we get a cat?" is totally chill. loves the adorable kitty that you've brought home for a couple of days to pet sit, bonds with it almost immediately. when the cat meows, he responds back like he knows exactly what the cat is saying to him. by the time your friend gets back, the cat is essentially refusing to part from wonwoo and is literally digging her claws into wonwoo's sweater in an attempt to not leave him. 

woozi

takes one look at the hedgehog that's temporarily taking up space in the corner of your room, laughs, and says it's basically the animal form of him. thinks the prickly and adorable little animal is rlly cute, but he's not really home enough to fully be able to spend time with it. takes a couple of pics and sends them to soonyoung tho, pretending that it's a deadly porcupine because honestly, hoshi probably would probably genuinely believe anything he said

minghao

"we're not keeping a skunk in the house." "hao, she's not a skunk!" "it has a weird tail and striped markings like a skunk, ergo, it's a skunk." "no!!" is not the most pleased when he comes home to you grinning at him, a ferret sitting on the top of your head. is slightly placated when you tell him you're just taking care of her for a friend who's away. will not touch the ferret, looks over in slight disgust and mild wonder as you play with the animal running up and down your arm. won't let you actually get a pet ferret tho. 

mingyu

there's a puppy in his apartment omg omg omg!!!! is excited for all of five minutes before he like "hey >:(( you're not replacing me with an actual pup are you??". still gets kinda sad when you tell him you're just pet sitting tho. bonds with the pup so well, is well on the way to replacing your friend as the puppy's actual owner lmao. takes the pup out with him when he goes for a morning run, and is actually really good n diligent at picking up the poop when the dog does its business on the street

dokyeom

he is enamoured oh god. you're not gonna be able to talk to your bf for a good hour bc he's not even gonna notice you're there. is totally fine with pet sitting your friend's dog for a week, and is utterly delighted to find out that the pup knows a few simple tricks. spends hours telling the puppy to roll over and sit and hold out its hand and by the end of it, both the pup and dokyeom are giddy with happiness. nearly cries when you have to say goodbye to the pup, asks your friend if he can pop by to say hi to his new friend sometimes

seungkwan

you adopted a dog without him?????? he literally already owns a dog why would you want to get another one. nods in understanding when you tell him you're pet sitting, pulls up a feeding and walking rota to make sure that the dog has The Best time while staying with you two. lowkey gets really sassy when the dog starts making high pitched barking noises at him for no reason, seems to communicate with the dog crazy well

vernon

he stands there confused at the sudden appearance of a fish tank in your living room for a good few minutes. turns out, your uncle is getting his new one fitted at home, but until he can get it fully prepped he needs someone to look after the fish, and that someone had been you. stares in fascination at the fish for a good hour that evening, mesmerised by them moving around. you laugh at him and call him a cat but he can't even deny it because the fish are just so fascinating to look at and honestly, he feels like a cat himself

chan

uhhhh honestly he's really not sure how he should react when he comes home to you staring at a glass box full with a bunch of twigs. it takes him a while to see the stick insect, thinks that maybe he should get his eyes checked out because ten minutes really is too long. it doesn't rlly bother him tbh. does think it's a little frustrating that it's taking him so long to see the insect. double checks and triple checks with you that there's actually an insect in that box and you aren't just messing with him. 

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[the-badger-mole]

In a Time of Adversity

It was just his dumb luck, Zuko thought. All year he had been butting heads with the city's most annoying overachiever. Katara, the prodigy with a 9000 IQ, who'd managed to skip a grade and end up in all of Zuko's advanced placement classes, had been thorn in his side since the day she'd corrected one of his physics equations in front of the whole class. Ever since they had been locked in an increasingly heated battle of who would earn the highest marks in their class, and every week felt like a new face off.

Sometimes he would come out on top, but he had to grudgingly admit that while gave as good as he got on tests and assignments, she had the upper hand when it came to quips and put downs. Too often Zuko had been left sputtering in her wake, struggling to find a comeback from some scathing retort she'd just delivered. It wasn't until after yet another one of these exchanges, when Zuko in his frustration had the thought that he would love to throw her against a locker and kiss her until she didn't have the breath for one of her smart remarks, that it occurred to him that there might be more to his feelings towards her than animosity. And that was the last time he ever spoke to her directly. Disaster averted.

So, of course, when their science class goes on a weekend long camping trip in the middle of Backwoods, Nowhere, he would end up being partnered with her to find a rare fungus. Of course they would end up losing the trail and wandering through the forest with no clue how to make it back to camp. And of course, it would start raining, sending them scrambling up the mountain to a cave that was hopefully abandoned.

"At least we won't have to worry about dehydration," Katara said, pulling the water from their clothes.

"Sure," Zuko replied gruffly. He looked around for something to burn, but there wasn't anything but some leaves and twigs around. Not exactly the makings of a bonfire.

"I'm sure they're looking for us already." Katara sat down against a wall and drew her knees up to her chest.

"Great." Zuko wasn't optimistic about the prospect. Their science class wasn't exactly full of the great outdoors types. Katara had the most camping experience of anyone. The best they could hope for was that the chaperones would call search and rescue early the next morning.

"Do you think we should look for some firewood or something?" Katara suggested. She was shivering a bit, and Zuko could feel the chill settling onto his skin, too.

"It'll all be wet," he told her. "All we'll end up doing is smoking ourselves out."

"I can dry it," Katara reminded him. There was a sharp edge to her voice now. Zuko looked over at her and realized she was scowling at him.

"What's your problem?" he asked, irritably.

"You!" Katara shouted. Her voice bounced around the shallow cave jarringly. "You're my problem."

"Me?" Zuko drew back, affronted. "You're the one who got us lost, Katara, Queen of the Jungle!"

"Alright, fine! I'm sorry, alright?" Her voice cracked dangerously. "I just thought we could work together on this and things could go back to normal between us." Whatever Zuko had been expecting her to say, that was not it.

"Normal?" he repeated, completely baffled. "Normal between us? What are you talking about?" Over the sound of the falling rain, Zuko thought he heard Katara sniffling. Was she crying?

"You-you've been avoiding me for weeks," she said. Zuko was stunned. He'd heard Katara laugh (usually at him), and yell (again...usually at him). He'd heard her confidently dressing down a teacher that once made the mistake of telling her that women didn't get far in the science field. But this...this vulnerability in her voice. That was new.

"I haven't been avoiding you," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie. It's not like he turned the other direction when he saw her in the hall. He just didn't engage in their verbal sparring matches.

"You won't talk to me," Katara said. "You barely acknowledge me when I talk to you. When Piando assigned us as partners, you looked like he had just told you to eat a raw snail. I don't know what I did to offend you this badly, but I'm sorry, okay?" She was definitely crying now, and Zuko was panicking.

"I'm not...I'm not angry at you," he told her hesitantly. "I just...it's just that our bickering was beginning to feel....I don't know...childish?"

"So it's because I'm younger?" Katara demanded. Zuko winced. That was a frequent sore spot for Katara. Because she'd been moved ahead in school, some of her teachers and classmates made a big fuss over her age whenever she did something they didn't like. Zuko thought it was stupid. She was a year and some change younger than him, and only two years younger than the oldest people in their grade. Hardly a mind bending gap, especially given how mature she was generally.

"No, that's not it," Zuko said. "It's not about your age, or grades or anything like that. I just don't feel like having an enemy I don't need to have." Katara fell silent for a moment. Zuko thought he could still hear her sniffling every so often.

"I didn't think we were enemies," she said softly. It took a moment for Zuko to understand what she'd said. Then he snorted.

"Right," he scoffed. "That's why you called me a spoiled brat who probably paid someone to do my homework for me."

"Okay," Katara huffed. "I'm not saying we were besties or anything. But I thought we were at least friendly rivals. I wasn't seriously accusing you of cheating. It's just...school isn't always a challenge."

"Egghead," Zuko muttered. Something small-an acorn, probably- hit the wall next to his head. He smirked at Katara in the dark.

"That's more of a criticism of our curriculum than a brag," she said defensively. "Anyway, I was saying that you challenge me. If I wasn't trying so hard to be better than you, I would be so bored."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Katara's soft spoken vulnerability hung in the air between them for a long moment. Then Zuko laughed. He sensed Katara stiffen, draw into herself, and he slid over to her side of the cave.

"I'd be bored without you, too," he admitted. "And for the record, the only one in our school who would be worth paying to cheat from would be you." Katara scowled up at him, Zuko was actually close enough to see it in the dark. Then she laughed, too.

"So what did I do to piss you off so bad, then?" she asked him. Zuko drew back, feeling the heat rush to his face.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "You didn't say or do anything. I just wanted to be different, I guess."

"Oh." Katara wrapped her arms tightly around herself and a hard shiver ran through her.

"You're cold," Zuko said.

"Aren't you?" Katara asked through clenched teeth.

"Firebender," he reminded her. "Um...if you want, you can..." Zuko opened his arm towards her, an awkward invitation. Without hesitating, Katara scooted over and curled into his side, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"You're better than a heating pad," she sighed contentedly.

This was a mistake, Zuko thought immediately. Katara lay her head against his shoulder and every thought he'd had about kissing her until she was dizzy came rushing back. He would be a complete gentleman, of course, but he prayed that sleep would come quickly and end his torture.

"Hey, Zuko?" Katara lifted her head to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here with me." Zuko's mind screeched to a halt. What did that mean? After a moment he decided it didn't really matter.

"I'm glad, too," he said honestly.

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist for this ask meme: Major Arcana Tarot Prompts Shadowzel - The Lovers (Love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices) This one got away from me a little. D: Kind of drifted from the prompt and fought me a little and goes all over. XD So it's a bit more fluffy and rambly than I intended. But I hope you enjoy; ty for the prompt, friend!

-----

It is a battle for the ages. Lae'zel grips one end of the length of rope in each hand, her fingers white-knuckled with the intensity of her grip. Scratch has his teeth sunk firmly into the rope's center and flings his weight back on his haunches, pulling and pulling with all his might. 

“Careful, Lae’zel, I think he’s getting the upper hand,” Shadowheart says, leaning against a nearby fencepost and grinning.

Hearing her voice, Scratch rolls his eyes back in his head to look at her and yips softly, muffled around his mouthful of rope. 

“Chk,” Lae'zel says crisply. “It is an even match. Do you think I cannot best a dog in a trial of strength?”

“Oh, I see,” Shadowheart says with exaggerated seriousness, raising one eyebrow. “You’re allowing him to win, then.”

“It is a matter of protocol,” Lae'zel says stiffly, shooting her a fierce look. “A beast of war must taste of victory, to whet the edge of his hunger.” Scratch gives a great heave on the rope and she quicksteps forward with a grunt to regain her balance. “Any child of Gith would tell you the same.”

Shadowheart chuckles softly. In spite of the teasing, her smile is cautiously gentle. It's a soft night, for once; the scars of the Shadowfell still burn in the back of her mind, as does the fear of what lies ahead, but here on the edge of Rivington, the night air is sweet and filled with the low hum of insects. And there's a strange ache in her chest that she doesn't have any name for, watching Lae'zel wrestle with the dog, and the owlbear cub running circles around the pair with eager hoots. 

“Do you have dogs among the githyanki?” she asks curiously. 

Lae'zel's eyes narrow in focus as she pivots sideways, pulling Scratch along with her. “They are called kaoulgrim,” she says curtly - though Shadowheart can discern the hint of pride in her voice that rises when she speaks of her people. “Purpose-bred for battle. Some grow nearly to the size of Halsin in his bear form. In Creche Kliir, we kept a full contingent of warhounds, and it was considered a great honor to be assigned to their care. I myself held the post three times.”

“No wonder you and Scratch get on so well, then.” Shadowheart fidgets absently with a loose splinter of wood on the fence. “I had a dog once, I think. I must have done. Not in the cloister,” she clarifies hastily. “I think we had guard dogs, at times - but I was never allowed to go near them. But it feels natural - petting Scratch and giving him his bones and throwing the ball, and now I know there was a life I had, before Shar, before the darkness…” She rubs her thumb against the mark on the back of her hand. “I wish I could remember…” 

She trails off, then shakes herself, pushing the thought aside with deliberate effort. “Did you have names for them? Your kaoulgrim?” 

With a great burst of strength, Lae'zel hoists the rope upward, lifting Scratch (tail wagging furiously) onto his hind legs. “Tsk'va,” she says sharply. “They were not pets, no more than your Sharran dogs.”

Shadowheart lifts one eyebrow, watching appreciatively as Lae'zel's lithe muscles flex and twist to hold Scratch’s weight up. “That isn’t what I asked,” she points out.

Lae'zel rolls her eyes, lowering the dog back to the ground. “There were a few which I knew best, yes,” she admits grudgingly. “The largest I called Ir'mlar. ‘Crafter of Pain.’ He was our finest fighter among the kaoulgrim.”

“Crafter of Pain. That's what passes for a gith pet name, is it?” Shadowheart can't help a soft laugh. 

Lae'zel raises one eyebrow at her. “Indeed - zhak vo'n'ash duj.”

“Hm. Point taken.”

Scratch gives a low, eager whine and shakes his head rapidly back and forth, jerking Lae'zel's arm up and down in the process. Lae'zel, though, barely seems to notice - her attention is suddenly elsewhere, distant, back in the rock-hewn corridors of Stardock. “Ir’mlar was a fine dog. Well-trained. A pack leader; the others followed his example.”

“A good boy?” Shadowheart asks.

If Lae’zel registers the muted amusement in the question, she doesn’t respond to it. “Yes,” she says absently. “It was… a comfort to find him, after a day of training.”

Scratch’s ears perk up and he gives a muffled bark, yanking the rope and dropping his forelegs downwards so his wagging tail sticks up behind him. The barest hint of a smile tugs the corner of Lae’zel’s mouth. “Hm. Yes - like you,” she says.

She releases the rope ends. Immediately Scratch darts off with his prize in his mouth, barking excitedly with Buddy chasing at his heels; the two women are left alone in the corner of the abandoned paddock.

“Well fought,” Shadowheart says with a slight smile. 

Lae'zel makes a soft chuckling noise low in her throat. After a moment's pause, she moves to stand next to Shadowheart at the fence. Shadowheart's heart gives a brief little flip-flop as the gith's hand comes to rest - automatically, naturally - on her thigh. “It troubles me to think of the hounds,” she mutters. “I… cannot say why.”

“I suppose gith are no more immune to homesickness than the rest of us,” Shadowheart says quietly.

“Mm.” Lae'zel lets out a long, slow breath. “Do not mistake me. I do not wish to return. Nothing remains for me in Vlaakith's service.”

“Nor for me in the cloister,” Shadowheart murmurs. “But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.”

“Yes.” Lae'zel grips Shadowheart's hand with sudden ferocity, the clawed tips of her fingers digging in just above the stinging Sharran scar. There are a thousand words in that quick, fierce touch - the offering of reassurance and the clinging need for it, both at once. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, she speaks none of it aloud, instead turning her eyes away to watch Scratch rolling on his back in the dirt. 

“He is a fine hound,” she says gruffly. “He would make a poor fit for the stables of Kliir… but a fine hound nevertheless.”

Shadowheart chuckles. “Perhaps next time you'll even win the tug-of-war.”

“Chk,” Lae'zel says, rolling her eyes but making no effort to hide her amusement. “Peace, kainyank.”

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Star City

ectoberhaunt24 day 22- steampunk fandom- dc x dp tw- none summary- Danny encounters a Clockwork wannabe

masterlist ao3 part 3 of TCAB

Danny slept soundly after the wonderful day he’d had. He fell asleep in a nice little ectoplasmic hammock he’d constructed in the woods. He woke up to birdsong and a racoon sniffing at the tethers of his hammock. What a wonderful morning! He couldn’t wait to see what city he arrived at next. 

This dimension was so goofy! All the villains and heroes he’d encountered dressed like they were middle schoolers who’d made their own halloween costumes! Danny could grudgingly admit to himself that Clockwork had been right. This was definitely relaxing compared to his kingly duties.

He stopped by the next city to have some delicious hot dogs for breakfast, and after exploring for a little and finding nothing interesting, he went on to the next town.

As he approached, the sounds of chaos reached him and he couldn’t help grinning. Hopefully this would be another goofy fight. Because this was meant to be relaxing and Danny knew that if he came across anything serious he’d feel the need to help, and that would not be relaxing.

When he got closer he couldn’t help snorting in laughter. There, fighting on a rooftop was a Robin Hood wannabe and a guy in clockprint pajamas wearing what looked like a very uncomfortable clock-like looking helmet.

Yup, this was definitely another goofy fight. He watched as Robin Hood shot arrows at Clockface who deflected them with a sword that looked like a clock hand. Clockwork would definitely hate this guy. Danny would be sure to tell the ghost all about his biggest fan. 

At least the arrows exploded or erupted with sticky slime stuff. Clocky was also throwing grenades that looked like, you guessed it, alarm clocks! It was hilarious and Danny had never laughed so hard, albeit silently without air, in his life!

“You can’t stop me, Green Arrow! Your time has run out! Your seconds have ticked away! You are all out of time! I will be victorious this time, and you will meet your doom!” Clockface laughed maniacally.

“You will never win, Clock King! You’ll be locked up again. This time for an even longer time!” Arrow Boy responded.

Their fight continued, and Danny wondered what he could do. He’d already used his ice, and he doubted Clockwork would do him the favor of letting him use any of the old ghost’s time related gadgets. Hmmm… Danny tapped his chin. What other fun powers did he have? It was always so hard to keep them straight.

He observed the scene again, noting the bags stuffed with money. Below, another arrow exploded covering another section of the roof in sticky slime. 

Aha!

Danny floated down to the money bags and made himself visible.

The men ignored him, continuing to throw arrows and bombs and quips at each other.

Danny frowned. “Ahem!” he cleared his throat loudly. The men still ignored him. Danny put his hands on his hips. “AHEM!” he cleared his throat louder. He was still ignored. Danny rolled his eyes, then flexed his fingers and shot ectoplasmic slime at the two men.

“Ack!”

“What is this!”

“It stinks!”

“What did you do!”

“I didn’t do anything! What did you do!”

Great Ancients above! Were these men so obsessed with each other that they couldn’t pay any attention to their surroundings and the epicness that was Danny!

“Well then,” Danny called out, “I guess I’ll just take this money and go.”

Finally! Finally, the two men looked at him.

“Who are you!?”

“Get out of here, kid.”

“Don’t touch my money!”

“It’s not your money! It’s the people’s”

“But I took it, so it’s mine now!

“That’s not how it works!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t!”

Ancients above and below! Could they not see how amazing Danny was! He’d encased them in slime! What more did they want!

“Well, since it looks like you too are busy, I’ll just be on my way.” Danny said, levitating the bags of money.

“Hey!” they both called at once.

“Yup. I’m taking it. You can finish whatever this is.” he said, gesturing between the two men.

Danny floated higher up, taking the bags with him. Danny was amazing, and if people couldn’t appreciate that then Danny didn’t have to stick around. 

He ignored the men calling to him and looked around. There on the street were a few police officers. They were chatting amongst themselves and drinking coffee. Probably waiting for Robin Arrow Hood Man to finish up his fight. Danny decided to help them out and flew himself and the bags down towards them.

The officers startled as he came closer but didn’t draw their weapons. They must be used to weirdness, Danny thought with approval.

“Here you go, officers. The guys up there are still quite stuck squabbling.” Danny said, snorting to himself since they were both literally stuck. 

“Well, thanks. Any chance you know when Clock King will be subdued so we can arrest him?”

“You should be able to head up.” Danny said. Then paused. 

He had decided to be a villain in this dimension, and he just ended up helping! He frowned. These officers seemed too nice to mess with. What else could he do?

He looked around and noticed a big sign with a stupid blonde man’s face on it. It looked like a toothpaste advertisement. The man in the picture was grinning and had a speech bubble saying, ‘Queen approved!’. 

That was it! He could vandalize this stupid sign!

He flew up towards it and gave the blonde man a slime mustache, unibrow, crooked teeth, horrible hair, and an eye patch.

There we go! Danny had now completed his villainous act!  He floated back, to admire his work. It might not have been his greatest act of artistry, but it was still funny, and it wouldn’t come off. It was the perfect act of villainy! It definitely deserved a mad cackle.

“Mwahahahahahhahahhahahahhahahahhahhahahhahaha!” Danny cackled as he faded out of visibility.

[aclowntiny]

The Dancing Effect- Best Friend!Dino x Gender Neutral!Best Friend!Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 3,434 | Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, College AU | Warnings: 💋 hehe

“Admit it, you love it.”

You turned to meet the eyes of your best friend, upturned in pleasure as he grinned at you, shaking your head in amusement as he ran a hand through his bleached-blonde hair.

He’d invited you to join a dance class with him, just a beginner one rather than the advanced stuff he did for his major, and out of need for an elective you’d agreed. The class was a mix of styles, ranging from swing and waltz to some fun Latin steps. Partners were assigned and you got given a guy named Jihoon who wasn’t exactly the tallest guy in class, but really shocked you with his strength when he effortlessly dipped you each salsa round. As you twirled around the smooth studio floor, you could see your own reflection passing the mirrored walls with a grin. There was no denying this was your most fun elective yet, even if you didn’t want to give Chan the satisfaction.

“I guess it is pretty fun,” you conceded mock-grudgingly, relenting into a grin at the pure joy radiating across Chan’s face.

He must have really wanted you to enjoy dancing. “What’s your favorite style so far?”

You swerved around a skateboarder, arcing around to return to Chan’s side. “I don’t know, there’s something cute about the swing,” you replied.

Your best friend nodded thoughtfully, squinting slightly at you as if in scrutiny. “I see.”

You just giggled. “What? Why, what’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know, the waltz is kind of romantic.”

“Oh yeah? Thinking of your partner, eh?” You couldn’t help but tease him. You didn’t know the girl he was paired with, but she seemed nice and no matter what his reaction would be funny.

“Ew,” Chan’s nose wrinkled, his face screwing up hilariously, “Minkyung is my friend’s sister! No way!”

You put your hands in the air, palms up. “All right, all right, just checking.”

“Yeah, she’s totally not my type.”

He always said that, but you’d yet to hear what was Chan’s type. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d just assume he wasn’t ready for a relationship, but he was a great guy, so probably just picky. Or looking for someone who could be as sassy as him, you reflected as the two of you continued teasing each other.

~

Chan’s club was hosting a little ‘fall bash’ outside of the student union. They were putting up one of those big shade tents with snack tables and setting up speakers, lights, and banners for some icebreakers and dancing. All students were welcome of course, so not majoring in dance didn’t exclude you in the slightest.

Free food and new company was all it took for you, a recent transfer to campus, to be sold, but the light show sounded like it was going to be bomb, too.

“Yeah, they’ll be dancing over us as we move! In fall colors of course almost like leaves! I tried to get them to actually make leaf-shaped formations, but they said-”

“Whoa, slow down there, Passion Boy.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“What are you going to wear?”

You cocked a brow. “Why, are you supposed to dress up? I didn’t think this was prom.”

“Nah, it’s wear whatever you want.”

“Then frankly I have no clue. Maybe that orange sweater I got? That's fall-y."

"Orange sweater. Got it."

~

You weren't sure what Chan had meant until you showed up to the party and saw him dressed in a burnt orange blazer, which was buttoned smartly over a black turtleneck and matching jeans and boots, just a hint of fall color that perfectly matched yours.

"What is this, Sadie Hawkins?" You teased, tugging at Chan's sleeves.

Your best friend just shrugged, pinching a peach ring out of a nearby candy bowl and bringing it to his lips. "Thought it might be fun."

"That is a cool blazer. Is it comfortable?"

"Here," he unbuttoned it immediately, shrugging it off his shoulders, "try it on."

Chuckling, you removed your jacket, then pulled the sleeves on over yours, buttoning yourself in and inhaling a big whiff of Chan's scent. A unique mix of cologne and that faint, perpetual bit of dance sweat. Whether it was a good or bad smell you couldn't even tell at that point because you were so used to it, it just smelled like home to you. Ever since you guys had your first class a year ago, you were inseparable, sharing car space and visiting each other's dorms all the time. In all honesty, you were a bit surprised you could still smell it after this long, but the blazer seemed to hold an extra concentrated Chan essence you found yourself wanting to inhale just for the comfort.

"So," your best friend raised his eyebrows, "like it?"

With a nod, you answered "I do. I might just steal it."

He teasingly unbuttoned it and pulled it back off you, onto his own chest once more. "Alright, then no more. Go get your hand stamped, (y/n)."

"Get my what now?"

"If you wanna dance, you have to sign the waiver and get a stamp. Campus liability and all that."

"Right, in case our swing dance rager gets us grievously wounded," you rolled your eyes, making your way to the table where two guys stood, one on either side.

One of them, a guy in white with black hair and a sweet smile, introduced himself as Soonyoung, gawking when you signed in as (y/n) because 'oh my gosh you're the friend Chan is always talking about'. He gave you an incredibly pleased grin as he pressed the stamp against the back of your hand, leaving a little orange cartoon of a fall leaf on it.

"Do you have any other stamps?" The other guy, a tall, trenchcoat-and-sweater-clad figure with sort of long hair, asked.

"We don't and you know it," Soonyoung shook his head, nudging him teasingly, "you international students think you can come in and tell us what to do, huh?"

Tall Guy put his hand over his heart in mock offense, and Soonyoung reached over to quickly stamp it, sticking his tongue out as he did so.

"You're an international student? Where are you from?"

"China," he answered with a wide smile, looking directly at you but batting at Soonyoung blindly from behind with one hand, "Guangdong, to be a little more specific. My name is Junhui."

"See, I may be the (y/n) Soonyoung heard about, but I've heard a ton about your dancing skills from Chan! He says he wants to go to China, you and the other guy are so good! What's the other guy's name?"

Junhui waved off your compliment. "Minghao is a way better dancer than me. And if you want dirt on Chan, he's the one you want to go to," he added with a devilish little smile.

"I'll remember that," you reply, mirroring his expression before wandering back over to the snack tables to grab a few of your favorite candies, squinting a bit in the dim purplish ambience and nighttime air to find them.

Your classmate Mia was at the snack table too, gingerly grabbing some chips as you stuffed your own face, so you busied yourself with asking how her math test went until a lilting, old-fashioned tune poured forth from the speakers.

You gasped. "Time to dance!" Tossing your candy wrappers, you shuffled excitedly over to the wide open area of student zone concrete that was the dance floor.

Being members of the hosting dance club, Junhui and Soonyoung each grabbed you for a dance first, and wow, was that two different experiences. Junhui led you so smoothly, fluidly, and gently you felt like you were being glided on clouds, dancing just as well as your instructor did. You almost felt like you were back in class learning the best pace for each triple-step. He was so nice about it, you forgot to feel embarrassed at your own novice skills. Following that, Soonyoung was a whirlwind, twirling you exuberantly and performing crossovers and turns you'd never even seen before; your feet could barely keep up, but you were laughing the whole time. Mia asked you to teach her what everyone was doing, so you did your best to lead her despite usually performing in class as a follower, clumsily giving her a lesson before taking her for a turn around the spotlight-dotted dance floor, the sidewalk a glittering, wonderful mess of dancing duos and even singles doing their own thing.

You stopped to drape your jacket on a chair, grab a soda and recharge, and that was when you saw Chan. He was doing the same thing as you, catching your eyes with a smile and nod of his head. His blonde hair was thoroughly tousled by the wind now, all the fast steps of the last song clearly being taken as a challenge.

A new song started a few sips later. "Come on, it's my turn now!"

The moment you obliged, Chan took your hand. Close as you guys were, you'd never really held hands before. It surprised you how delicately your best friend intertwined your fingers, taking your hand slowly as if reaching for something behind a door that might close. He held your hand like that, gently connected, until you reached the floor, where he let go, sliding his right hand down to your waist as you rested your left on his shoulder. He joined your other hands, extending them out a bit before glancing off, clearly mentally counting the song's pace.

Chan swayed you so gently, leading you carefully into each step of the turn. Much more warning than Soonyoung, and a little more care somehow than even Junhui, who moved like it was second nature to him. Chan seemed to take his time, savoring every motion and smiling widely at the joy you got from each turn. When you went to each side and even as you stepped back, his eyes never left yours. Maybe it was the spotlights dancing over the makeshift floor, but they looked extra sparkly tonight. Or maybe it was what you called the dancing effect. Jihoon was always cuter to you when he was dipping you.

That had to be it, but you'd never looked into Chan's eyes so deeply, so intently before. You knew if you looked at your feet, gazed too long at another pair dancing, you'd lose time, falter in your footing, so your best friend's gaze was your anchor, the center of your every motion. There was no reason to look away, especially when the twinkling green and white lights reflected so well in them. You'd never felt the warmth of Chan's hand against your waist either, the way he softly pulled you closer to his chest after you strayed too far from a twirl. It was getting harder to convince yourself that your heart was just beating faster from the exertion of dancing to six songs in a row.

"Are you glad you came?" He asked in between songs, tilting his head and keeping you swaying even in the momentary silence, as if you'd run away from him otherwise.

What a time to ask that question. "Yeah," you breathed, giving a simple nod, "this is really fun."

"I was hoping you'd enjoy it," he replied. No teasing for once- you could tell by his tone how genuine he was being.

You felt his hand flex ever-so-slightly above your waist, the dancing effect sending your heart jumping. "Of course."

They'd snuck some Latin songs in before the night was over, and you were beyond frustrated upon your brief partner switch that Jihoon was no longer all that cute to you, even when he dipped you.

~

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

"Whoa, whoa," Chan jogged to keep up with you, "oh no you don't, I'm walking you back."

"I know my way back to the dorms, Chan," you replied with a light laugh. The glittering spotlights had been once again replaced with almost eerie mystic purple ambiance, casting shadows on the concerned frown crossing Chan's defined features.

"Yeah, but it's dark. I'm getting you home safe."

There was that flutter again- he'd done that before, though, countless times. You'd walked between your buildings more times than you'd needed to keep record of. This was nothing new.

You relented anyway. "Alright, yeah, thanks. You're right."

"I know I am. Campus can be dangerous. You need someone to keep you safe."

"Oh, my knight in shining armor," you teased, giving his shoulder a little push and drinking in the smile you received in response. Why wasn't the dancing effect wearing off?

"Come on, let's go."

"The guys are still tearing down."

"Eh," Chan waved a hand, "They can fold a few tables without me. Right, guys?" He called a little bit louder.

Soonyoung gave him a thumbs-up. Junhui whooped, and the graceful guy you'd come to know as Minghao just remarked that no matter what they said he'd go anyway before cracking a mischievous smile.

"See? On we go."

Leaves drifted through the night air, carried in a dance of their own as cold air blew. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around your middle as you reminisced on the night's success.

"Here, you need this more than I do. Besides," Chan smirked as he removed his blazer again, "you liked it so much the first time."

You'd thought nothing of wearing his blazer the first time. Why did it make you so happy now? Maybe it was the way he draped it onto you himself, making you feel like a 1950s starlet or something. Maybe it was the way that as you took nearly-stinging breaths of cold air, still inhaling harder from exertion, you picked up that homey smell again, this time mixed with a skosh more dance sweat, but you didn't mind, knowing you had the same and Chan wouldn't judge you for it.

When you reached the door of your building, slowly drawing your key card from your wallet, you gave him his blazer back, hands dropping to your sides. "Well, thanks for everything. You guys really should have more parties. This was a lot of fun."

"Are you kidding? Thanks for coming! This was a success, so I'm sure we'll have an even bigger one next time!"

Your eyes didn't leave his. "That's the spirit."

"Always. Hey, well, good night."

"Good night," you breathed back as Chan pulled you into your customary goodbye hug.

You weren't sure if it was you, him, or just straight-up your imagination that held on a bit longer this time. When you separated, he kept a hand on your shoulder for just a second, leaning in a tiny bit and looking at you with those furrowed, scrutinizing brows, then just as quickly he pulled back away, scurrying off. You couldn't help feeling a very hard lightning bolt of disappointment zap you through the clouds of confusion.

"Guess I'd better go help. I'll see you tomorrow, though!" He ran off, waving like nothing different had happened.

You waved slowly, resisting the urge to lightly slap some sense into your head.

~

You were early to dance class that afternoon, feeling a strange anticipation of the whole event. You could tell as soon as you walked in, though, that you were going to have a hard time keeping your eyes off of Minkyung and how she got danced with, though.

That was the root of your anticipation. Ever since that dang party, that cursed blazer and the way Chan held you, it was like every muscle in your body ached to see him again. Despite all the time you'd gotten with him in the past year. It was like that had vanished completely, leaving a void more massive than you'd have ever guessed behind. Like even though you'd loved every minute of hanging out, you'd somehow took it all for granted.

"I'm surprised Chan hasn't come barreling in with your jacket yet," a voice commented at your side.

Turning around, you were met with Minghao.

"My jacket?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you left it behind at the party and Chan kept saying how he was going to have to remember to bring it back to you after letting you forget it. Seemed like he felt a little bad." That smile again. For all his calm, Minghao had a little streak of fire in him, it seemed.

And, if you remembered Junhui correctly, dirt on Chan. "Junhui said you know Chan pretty well, huh?"

That earned you a full-on grin. "Well, he's not my best friend or anything, but he opens up to me. Something you wanted to know?"

"No, Junhui just told me about you having something I could tease him about is all," you chuckled.

"Please don't." The slender dance major still sounded faintly amused, but something in his tone softened.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Don't tease him about it, ok?"

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"He really likes you, ok? So don't give him a hard time. You should know better than anyone he's more sensitive than he gives off."

"He what?" You didn't mean to raise your voice as much as he did, especially with the reverb in the mostly-empty dance practice room, but you could barely hear anything over the roar of your chest's somersaults.

"Oh, wait, Junhui didn't spill the beans?"

So that was why no one was Chan's type? Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, the door swung open, revealing the figure of your bleach-blonde friend stepping into the fluorescent light, casually dropping his backpack against the wall and waving brightly at you.

You, for your part, waved back, well aware that you were probably smiling like an idiot. The void in your chest filled so fast, it was like it barely existed in the first place.

~

After class, you guys grabbed your stuff, presumably to take your usual walk to the student union, but Chan stopped you. "You left your-"

"Jacket, yeah, I realized this morning."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't be," you chuckled, "I have more than one, you know."

"Yeah, but I like this one, so I wanted to make sure you had it. It's your old one. I didn't wash it, so it still has that (y/n) smell," he commented with a sheepish smile.

So you had a smell too. Something about that filled you with nearly as big a wave of confidence as Minghao's words, which had your chest soaring all through class and even Jihoon asking you why you were so giddy. You just told him you'd gotten good news. Either way, your heart pounded as you threw caution to the wind. No more taking anything for granted.

"That one's your favorite, huh? Tell you what," you quipped, stepping close enough to take the jacket out of Chan's hands and drape it over his shoulders, "you keep it then and I will steal your blazer."

"Why would I do that?" He asked, gulping at the way your hands smoothed the jacket over his chest.

"Call it something in the dance floor air," you said, giving him one last look in the eyes before your hands found your jacket's collar, tugging it forward until Chan fell into you, his lips meeting yours.

The moment you connected, Chan kissed back, hands wrapping around your waist far tighter than they had last night as yours slid up his chest and around his neck. You moved faster, then he did, and you both kept at it, challenging each other until you both needed air. As you pulled away, though, Chan caught the back of your head in his hand, pulling you back into him so your foreheads rested together.

"Man, if all it took was dancing with you, I'd have made Jihoon switch partners with me on day one."

"Minghao also may or may not have snitched on you."

"I'm going to fight him."

"But it was mostly the dancing."

"Charmed you, didn't I?"

"Something like that."

"What can I say," Chan commented, flicking forward just long enough to ghost his lips over yours, "I know you so well."

You smiled and shook your head, which fell onto his shoulder, bringing that homey smell up into your head with the fall breeze once more. For once, you didn't feel like sassing Chan back, your chest-void now overflowing with more serotonin than you knew what to do with. "That you do."

[cricketnationrise]

For the ficlet fest: 6:42 pm, a private stage, and Arthur Fox please. My ao3 is katsudonforthesoul. Congratulations on the followers!! It's so kind of you to give back to us as a way to celebrate, especially on top of all the other things you do!

thank you so much for your kind words! the not so secret part of the ficlet fests is that all y'all's prompts are so fucking cool that i have an absolute BLAST writing them <3 for once the Arthur feels are non-angsty, which is exciting for all of us, frankly. enjoy!

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

6:42pm, a private stage

“O, for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!”

No one becomes an actor hoping for small audiences. 

Famous actors can wax poetic all they want about how “reaching even one person is meaningful,” but at their core, in their secret egos, all actors want to be able to interact with the largest possible audiences. That dream is why Arthur tolerates filming; the reach is so much greater than live theatre. Even so, he’d much rather be on a stage, in front of a live audience. That feedback, that energy of a crowded room, solely focused on him and the story he’s telling is intoxicating.

“A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene!” Arthur winks at Catherine as he finishes the line, making her giggle. As much as he loves a packed house, there’s something special about performing for her alone, hidden away in his flat for once. She’d worn down her PPO’s enough that they’d grudgingly allowed her to stay the night, and that they’d monitor from down the hall instead of right outside his door after sweeping his place. Arthur can’t stop looking at her, casual in a way she rarely is, even in her own rooms in Kensington, completely at home here with him. The next line, something about Mars and hounds, pours out of him automatically, years of muscle memory serving him well, but Arthur couldn’t have told anyone what it actually is right now. He’s too distracted trying to memorize the precise configuration of laugh lines around her eyes.

He comes back to the text in time to appreciate the irony. “But pardon, gentles all, the flat unraisèd spirits that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.” It’s one thing to try to imagine vast battles and courts of ages past when you’re watching from The Globe, the building itself drenched in echoes of people imagining the same things for centuries—it’s another thing altogether to try and imagine fantastical settings and the grand scale of the story with a backdrop of worn out floors and his amazingly shit telly. Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France, indeed?

“Or may we cram within this wooden square the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt?” Arthur recites, swapping “O” for “square” to reflect the shape of the room, grinning when Cat catches the change. She’s a princess, and she’s bloody brilliant, and she’s dating him. And if she wants him to perform Shakespeare for her, he’ll do it with bells on.

He bows a little at the next line. “O pardon, since a crookèd figure may attest in little place a million, and let me, ciphers to this great account, on your imaginary forces work.” Arthur meets her bright gaze steadily, as the lines ask her to imagine mighty monarchies and proud-hoofed horses.

Arthur paces forward and kneels before her where she’s perched on the couch. “For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, turning th’ accomplishment of many years into an hourglass.”

“Did you mean, my entire life?” Cat snorts. 

Arthur just chuckles in response and takes her hand for the last line. “Admit me chorus to this history, who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.”

Cat twines her fingers with him and leans her face close to his. “I can’t believe you memorized a scene that wasn’t your own from Henry V, you gigantic nerd.”

“It’s a good monologue,” he protests. “And you like that I’m a gigantic nerd.”

“God help me, I really do,” she admits, standing up and pulling him up after her. “Now, let’s put a different gigantic part of you to work, shall we?”

“Well, if you absolutely insist…” Arthur fakes a heavy sigh, but lets her tow him toward the bedroom, more than happy to do her bidding.

[jainaism]

Supporting Women

Thrall shook his head. “Another woman in your military. Humans astound me sometimes.”Jaina‟s tone grew frosty; again, she tightly gripped the staff. “What do you mean? Can men and women not be equals in your world?” “Of course not. Nor would I say,” he added quickly before Jaina could interrupt, “that they are unequal—any more than I would say that an insect and a flower could be equals. They serve completely different purposes.”Grateful for the opening, Jaina said the same thing to Thrall that she had said to Antonidas when as a brash young woman she had insisted on becoming his apprentice. Back then, the archmage had said to her, “It is no more women‟s nature to become wizards than it is a dog‟s nature to compose an aria.”As then, she now said to Thrall: “Is not what separates us from animals that we can change our nature? After all, there are those who would argue that an orc‟s nature was to be a slave.” Then Jaina shook her head. “However, there are many who think as you do. It is why women have to work twice as hard to achieve the same position as a man—which is why I trust Lorena more than any of my other colonels. She will learn the truth.” Thrall shook his head. “Another woman in your military. Humans astound me sometimes.”Jaina‟s tone grew frosty; again, she tightly gripped the staff. “What do you mean? Can men and women not be equals in your world?” “Of course not. Nor would I say,” he added quickly before Jaina could interrupt, “that they are unequal—any more than I would say that an insect and a flower could be equals. They serve completely different purposes.”Grateful for the opening, Jaina said the same thing to Thrall that she had said to Antonidas when as a brash young woman she had insisted on becoming his apprentice. Back then, the archmage had said to her, “It is no more women‟s nature to become wizards than it is a dog‟s nature to compose an aria.”As then, she now said to Thrall: “Is not what separates us from animals that we can change our nature? After all, there are those who would argue that an orc‟s nature was to be a slave.” Then Jaina shook her head. “However, there are many who think as you do. It is why women have to work twice as hard to achieve the same position as a man—which is why I trust Lorena more than any of my other colonels. She will learn the truth.”

Then the girl said, “You can deny your accomplishments all you wish, but it changes nothing. You were an inspiration to all—” She smiled. “—to all the little girls who wanted to grow up to become mages. At the citadel, my favorite story was always the one about how you were chosen to be the first female Guardian by Scavell, who was the first mage to see the value of a female apprentice, and how the Guardians of Tirisfal applauded the choice and—”

A rope ladder fell from the undercarriage, and a figure in plate armor started to climb down. As the figure came closer, Aegwynn recognized the insignia on the armor as that of a colonel.To her shock, the figure was a human female. She turned and gave Proudmoore a questioning glance. The girl smiled.“If a woman can be a Guardian of Tirisfal, why can‟t a woman be a colonel?”Aegwynn had no choice but to concede the point. “Milady,” the woman said as she came down off the bottom rung of the rope, “I‟m afraid I bring bad news.” She then looked askance at Aegwynn. “Colonel Lorena, this is Magna Aegwynn. You may speak as freely to her as you would to me.” The colonel nodded and started to speak. Apparently the word of Jaina Proudmoore was enough for this colonel. Aegwynn grudgingly admitted to being impressed. A woman didn‟t rise to such a position without a great deal of hard work—she suspected that Lorena was twice as good as any male colonel, simply because she would have to be to succeed. If someone that talented trusted Proudmoore so implicitly, then Proudmoore may have been a more impressive specimen than Aegwynn had been willing to credit.

[justatalkingface]

The 'Great' MHA Read Along, Part Three (Chapters 8-11): "Support" Gear and Dodging Death.

Well. You asked for this, so I deliver; upon your head be it.

So. We start off with talking about costumes... actually pretty interesting, though, with companies doing these costumes, I'm kind of surprised there's not brand names on them; All Might, Brought To You By Sony, or something. I guess that was a level of realism Hori wasn't prepared to deal with.... (Note Bakugou's costume comments; 'kill with my knees'?) but then we get to Izuku. And I can't help but feel jipped by this, in a couple of ways. Izuku ends up looking... well, like his mom made his costume, a sore, underdressed thumb compared to all the professionally dressed heroes... and he's also the only one whose face is entirely covered for some reason?

On the other hand, though, it is a nice touching scene, the family reconnecting, Inko admitting her mistakes and that she'll support Izuku.... but couldn't it have been done differently? As is, it feels like Inko is being used as a blatant emotional tool to make Izuku different, and that's rough since her character is barely existent in the first place, and quickly fades away into oblivion as time passes. In the same way that Izuku is the only one who can't actually use his Quirk, the same way he's the only one who is so completely unprepared for UA, he's now the only one who who doesn't actually have a proper costume.

I mean, I get it; on one hand, it's symbolic, and the way he eventually updates it shows his evolution as a hero. But at the same time, I've already made it clear what I think of Izuku starting off so behind, so I don't actually like that symbolism, and even if I was, the narrative feels like it's going a little too hard on the 'he doesn't belong' thing at this point. First time around, I was fine with how Izuku was, and even now my dislike of the starting situation is more on a meta scale than anything, despite the bad logic behind it, because it's written in so engagingly, but I never once liked the costume thing.

There's also the question of why she's OK with Izuku going to UA with either, A, no Quirk that she knows of, or B, a Quirk he just... randomly got, somehow, while applying? When, according to a literal doctor (Dr. Diabolus Ex Machina himself; is the fact that AFO's most loyal minion apparently was Izuku's doctor going to be relevent at some point or...?), that was never going to happen? Ever?

There's... there's a lot of questions she should be asking, here, and as far as we can tell, that just never happens. This whole dynamic here, there was all sorts of room to play with it, expand it, develop Inko as a character and Izuku's background more (and look at the fact that she found out her son was Quirkless and... got fat? Because she handled that guilt badly? The way they talk is like they never talked about Inko saying he couldn't be a hero until just then. Did they... did they really just never ever talk about this again until just now? The more you think about all, the more things don't make sense) and Hori didn't just drop the ball with this, he spiked it into the ground rather than use it.

I'm... sort of grudgingly OK with All Might being a not great teacher here, but not really. I mean, it's still in line with how his brain got ripped out of his head after Arc One, which at this point is something I have a well established history of being... not well pleased about, but it'd track that he wouldn't know how to train students in basic heroism, unlike exercising....

But that leads back to the question of, 'Then why is he a teacher if he can't teach?' Him doing something he explicitly has no idea how to do makes no sense. It's super double dumb though since, again, this is All Might's precious powered-time, and he's using it to... not just to teach kids when he could be saving lives, but teach kids badly, and again, that's stupid, and everyone involved, including Nezu, Super Genius, should realize this.

God, he's so badly shoe-horned into all this I'm actually wondering if he was supposed to die in Arc One and pass on his Quirk to Izuku that way, and him being in at all is Hori changing that plan at the last minute.

So, before I start on Bakugou vs Izuku... let's pause it here so I can go on a tangent: Bakugou's support gear.

There's several problems with it as an in-setting item, all focused around a simple fact: they're not there for 'support', they're weapons. Fundamentally, Bakugou's Gauntlets are just... giant explosive cannons, just like the literal grenades he gets, or the edgy machine guns in late story. No other hero's support gear we see are like that, pure weapons based only around harming others (I remember later, a Random Civilian gets his hand on support gear, I think from Detnerat gear, and that's a weapon, but A, that's from Detnerat, and so made to bring society to its knees, literally, and two, the entire point of that little scene was to show how stupid and helpless civilians are, and how they should dare get above themselves and try to defend themselves (which is clearly set up to support sheep narrative of civilians Hri loves to pull, while also making it make less sense since, if civilians doing anything backfires that badly, then yeah, maybe they're right to do literally nothing so they can't fuck it up) and so I am far from giving it the benefit of the doubt.)

I know later, Bakugou take one off and Izuku uses it, and so they're just... literally giant explosive guns, literally just a pair of guns he has strapped to his arms. Everyone else has gear that supports their Quirks, even Snipe with his actual gun (which enhances his Quirk, which is dependant on a projectile), while Bakugou alone has something that replaces it.

Thematically, that's weird and has bad vibes. On a more practical level, someone, somewhere, must have approved this thing, looked at this design with the more or less literal description of 'giant bomb', and said, 'Yeah, this is OK, let's do it'. This basiclly has no purpose other than to kill people or to cause massive property damage; there's no... safe mode, no limiting, it's just point and FIRE EVERYTHING!!! Why? Why did they just hand it to him? (And, as a side note, how was it full enough to use when Bakugou had just got it? There's no way he sweat enough to fill that thing; otherwise he would have collapsed from dehydration.)

So. Yeah. I have problems with that. And now the fight, and I find this fact distinctive:

Bakugou starts off this fight by proclaiming he's going to use this to beat up Izuku. I'm going to be honest here; if I was a teacher? I would absolutely respond to that, somehow, even if it's simple as, 'Bakugou, no, also now I'm watching you'. It's not exactly a reach to call that an obvious red flag.

(Side note; 'Rage You Damn Nerd' or 'Ferocity of a Fucking Nerd'? Really? What the hell is this chapter title.)

Flashback: Bakugou, as a kid, saying to murder those villains. God, really? Was nobody ever concerned about that?

And then Izuku counters Bakugou, and he just... loses it. Completely. Because of course; how dare Izuku fight back! How dare he resist Bakugou's righteous anger?!

And yet another reminder of the cringy fact that Bakugou was first place, despite the fact it's against his narrative set up of being the little fish, just because of how much Hori hypes him up.

Bakugou: I've been torturing you for all these years, and you've been sitting back and taking it. Clearly, you've been hiding your Quirk all this time, just so you could laugh at me!

Me: ????

Holy fuck, the ego on that comment. I've heard about 'everything being about you', but this is nuts.

Izuku builds up courage to face his fears/bully, and meanwhile Bakugou flashes back to how useless everyone else is, and how great he is, and how dare Izuku stand up to him, when he gave him the perfect name to describe how worthless he is? How dare he try to rescue him that one time when they were kids?! How dare he have concern?!?!?!

*leans back in chair*

Hoolyyy fuck, Bakugou, that is a lot of clusterfuck in such a small, three page sequence.

'Ah, Iida. What a wholesome palate cleanser', I think, more or less in lockstep with Uraraka. I love how his big plan is literally cleaning; I mean, I get the logic, but still.

Alas. All good things end.

So, for a lot of people, the big, defining moment of Bakugou's story and how bad they think he is is Chapter One and the suicide baiting. That's obviously shit, but to me, this is the big moment, the, if you pardon the drama (I can't think of a way to phrase it better), the 'original sin' of MHA as a whole: Bakugou tries to kill someone, and absolutely nothing happens.

This isn't an exaggeration, BTW; let me lay out the scene here:

Bakugou is armed with, as I said before, an insanely aggressive weapon, one that has no purpose other than to kill people or destroy things. He is given this weapon with, apparently, absolutely no comments about being careful with it, not to harm someone with it, or anything, and then takes it into an exercise with his classmates.

This exercise takes place in a building, one that can easily be damaged by the blast of that thing. As this is a multi-story building, even a blast not aimed at someone could easily get someone killed if part of the building collapses on top of them.

Bakugou takes this weapon, and he aims it at a human being. To top it off, All Might, who by all means should be an authority in, 'Yeah, this could definitely kill someone', explicitly tells him that, 'No, you'll kill him!' before he fires.

Bakugou's response? 'He'll be fine if he dodges!"

And then he fires.

And the fact that, not only does this happen at all, but this fight continues afterwords, is inexcusable. Blatantly, obviously, inexcusable. This is, unironically, Bakugou attempting to kill someone.

On tape, no less!

I mean, hell, with this one chapter, we have the means (the gauntlet), the motive (Izuku's... existence? The fact that he dares to stand against Bakugou?), and the opportunity (this entire exercise), along with witnesses watching him do it in real time. If this had hit Izuku, the trial against Bakugou would have been a cakewalk.

And the thing is? Everything before this, everything, is something that could be excused. Granted, it would strain the suspension of belief to the breaking point at times, but everyone could be that stupid and/or that biased, in theory.

But this? There is absolutely no way that this could happen, and be acceptable in the logic of this story. I don't care if All Might is literally missing his brain, I don't care if Aizawa just.... hates Izuku with a deep and unexplainable loathing (BTW, I think I forgot to mention last time that Aizawa sabotaged Izuku's scores? Well, considering how Izuku with his super toss was in a contest against a girl that only is invisible, there's no way he was in last place, so... yeah. Aizawa sabotaged him). Forget their heroic instincts, forget all of that; if they let this happen, everyone involved with this would have their lives destroyed. They can't cover it up, because at some point, Inko is really going to wonder, 'Hey, where is my kid at?' and the second she asks that everything crumbles.

That, and why would they try to cover it up? Bakugou's character is, in many ways, the cliche of the sports star from a small school, who the entire school, if not the town, bends over backwards to keep him in that position (which, ironically, never would have helped Aldera that much, because Bakugou, as is, would never give them credit, respect, or money. Bakugou, if he improved enough to give them that? Would give them shit for what they let him do instead. That plan was doomed from the start). The thing is? That tolerance only goes so far; sure, he can bully the nerd all day long, and hell, he can beat him half-to-literal-death if there's no one there of importance to serve as witness, but this? This isn't just attacking the nerd. This is chasing him in a car. And, when the nerd escapes into the school? The jock then drives into the school, and only stops when the car itself gets jammed in a wall.

There's a point, in other words, where all that tolerance ends. This is waay past that point.

That, and the fact that UA isn't a small school, with a sports department propped up by their one good athlete; UA is the school that athlete wants to go to. To UA, Bakugou the metaphorical athlete is completely replaceable; how many students were trying to get in again?

And all of that? All of that is assuming that every single one of them is, in fact, the absolute worse, trash, shallow self-serving shit versions of them possible, instead of being heroes, in a school for heroes, for whom there should be standards all over the place.

So the fact that he fires this shot, and that the flash-stepping All Might doesn't just bitch slap him out of it beforehand, or at least make it clear if he does his heroic life is over, and then afterwards he allows this fight to continue, and then after that, there's barely even a harsh word said in response to this, by anyone, much less any sort of consequences for it, school based or otherwise, shatters my SOD into dust.

The logic and foundation of this setting can not support this sequence of events. So... why? Why did this happen? Why was this allowed to happen?

Bakugou. The completely irrational, completely assholish Bakugou, who would do this, because this falls in line with his behavior from what we've seen of him thus far... if he was held to account for this? Given consequences, realistic consequences, for his realistically horrific behavior? He'd be gone, at least. Out of UA, out of Izuku's life (if only), and out of the story.

But... for whatever reason, even before all the polls came in (I think), Hori just wanted Bakugou to stay in the story. Why? Maybe there was a more proper redemption arc in the works. Maybe it was always going to be like it was now. Maybe Hori just likes Bakugou. Who knows?

The point is Bakugou, The Living Idiot Ball, is born into the story at this moment, a character who makes everyone around him their impossibly worse selves. His behavior will improve, somewhat, but the behavior of those around him won't.

Well, thankfully, the building doesn't collapse on all of them after that (thought maybe it should have? I'm not an expert, but that is a big hole there)... and here's something else that bothers me.

I can't understand All Might's motivation here for not stopping the match, as in I'm looking at his stated motivation for that, and it doesn't make sense.

In his head, he's talking about this will fuel Izuku's growth, basiclly. And, maybe it does, but that's not the problem here. The problem is Izuku could die, and is getting some serious injuries as Bakugou beats the living shit out of him; it's not worth all of that for some extra growth now, when he still has his entire school life to improve. And sure, we know that, in a meta sense, this is A, prep for the villains soon to show up, and that, B, Izuku does not, in fact, have his entire school life to get better. But All Might doesn't know that; All Might doesn't have any reason to think AFO is still alive, much less masterminding an attack. So... why the rush?

Before, he was rushing Izuku's training, but there was a concrete reason: Izuku needed to get into U.A. Well... mission accomplished; he's in. So why the push?

To give a somewhat in character reason, I guess, to try and excuse Bakugou, The Living Idiot Ball.

Meanwhile, all the characters can't stop talking up about how great a fighter Bakugou is, because it's not enough to excuse him from a murder attempt, apparently everyone needs to make sure the audience knows about how much of a 'beast' Bakugou is!

And, all of this, while Bakugou has this crazed sounding rant about how Izuku is 'looking down' on him, when until five seconds ago he thought he was beneath your boot. Even while they're fighting, Izuku can't help but talk up the person who single handedly ruined his entire life.

*sighs for forever*

Anyways, Izuku barely claims a win with teamwork, determination, and the magically ability to remember what his objective is!

(cue funny little omake where Mt Lady breaks her office with puns)

And... the last chapter of this arc: 'Bakugou's Starting Line'. Ugh.

Anyways, Bakugou beats Izuku half to death, but he loses. He loses, and has a mental break down because of that, and All Might is remarkably fine with this whole situation.

Then, Momo proves that she's smart and on top of things (enjoy that while it lasts), the other fights happen, which... brutally honest, I can't care much about, beyond Todoroki proving that, suprise suprise, he's actually the big fish in the 1A lake (enjoy that while it lasts as well! The nerfs are coming for everyone not named Bakugou or Izuku), which is yet more mental damage on Bakugou's oh so sensitive ego.

Izuku, unsurprisingly, ends up needing to be put back together after all that, and Recovery Girl has a rare positive portrayal where she says that Izuku getting beat to hell and back is, in fact, bad, which All Might agrees with like a sheepish child rather than an adult who has carried massive responsibilities for years now and who, need I remind you all, was not too long ago competent and did in fact avoid letting Izuku be permanently harmed... you know, the good old days.

Anyways, everyone is impressed by Izuku, cool, cool, and then... Izuku shits on it by telling Bakugou, 'This isn't my Quirk!', thus locking in his participation in late story stuff forever.

And again... why? Why does he feel responsible for this? Why does he need to make sure he's not... accidently, tricking Bakugou by letting him be an idiot and think he was just... holding back his entire life, and instead all but blows a secret of nigh incalculable value. To his bully. Because his bully felt bad.

*resists the urge to scream into my desk*

And, for a second time this sequence... why? Why would he do that? Why is he simping so damn hard for him?

*spreads hands*

Bakugou, The Living Idiot Ball, whom proximity to drives idiotic and irrational behavior into all.

And then Bakugou has tears in his eyes as he realizes he's not the top dog, and we're apparently supposed to feel sorry for him, and then All Might shows up, burning more of his precious time to talk to Bakugou, not long after his murder attempt, and rather than trying to... chastise him or anything, he rushes to tell Bakugou to cheer up!

I don't know about you, but if I could only give Bakugou one piece of advice, it would definitely be, 'protect your ego!'

Then Izuku affirms to the audience that Bakugou is still the standard he's chasing after, just in case we didn't get the message that Bakugou is the best, because Hori wants to make that very clear in our minds.

Finally: villians. ...Why is the mindless Nomu in the bar?

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 25th February ✨

I worked an insane number of hours this week and didn’t have the brain power for much AD. Here’s what I managed to squeeze in - Happy Audio Drama Sunday! 🫶

👻 @tellnotalespod (S2E4) The sound design on this episode was so good! I hope this experience has been a bit of an eye-opener for Leo regarding their morals vs Frank’s….

🧳 Travelling Light @monstrousproductions (13) Every episode of TL gives me something new to ponder - whether that’s related to a new revelation about the characters or the dazzling world building. My brain is buzzing trying to navigate how the contract system would work for humans in the current age! 

🤴I found time to catch a little more InCo! I love Chell having to grudgingly admit that Nova is great, actually. 

🏛 @the-mistholme-museum (PEACEFUL) I loved the exhibits this week! I’m trying to work out what I would use that mask for, there must be a sweet spot of being able to get away with something you usually wouldn’t but not too high stakes that people wouldn’t just look past it when you took it off…. Also, Diana, Diana, Diana…. You know if you keep saying that everyone is safe around the Beast, something awful is going to happen, right? Right.

🌨️ @thewhitevault (8) I FUCJKSOFNSDING KNEW IT. What the HELL, MAN. How am I supposed to wait for another episode?? I need to know what happens and I need to know NOW.

🖥️ The Magnus Protocol (7) Nothing but absolute bombshells this week!!! I love the feeling of being toyed with as a listener and I’m SO hooked. 

So looking forward to more @camlannpod, The Grotto and finding time to listen to the @hellofromthehallowoods recap before it returns this week! 

[peachym00]

Happy wip Wednesday folks <3 this is a snippet of my currently untitled post-canon, hospital era fic! I wanted to really explore the gap between vegas being shot and the end credit scene.

I hope to finish it by the end of the year, lets see if I can do it🤣

Day twenty-one:

Macau had gone back to hating him. It was a routine at this point. He would hate him, then cry and lean on Pete for support, then tentatively get along with him before going back to hating him again. 

His whiplash was getting worse.

Vegas was stable, according to the doctors, though the last time they said that, he had Septicaemia. So Pete tried not to get his hopes up.

He longed for the day he would open his eyes. Even if it were to curse him out or if he were to fall straight back to sleep. At least Pete would know he was still in there. Without a sign of life, Pete was struggling to hold on. So long it had been since he had heard his voice or felt his warm hands on Pete's skin. He craved his touch like his body craved sleep. He would die without it.

Pete walked into the hospital room only to be met with an air of hostility. Macau glared at him like he had spat on his food, and Pete wished he wasn’t as tired as he was so he could do something about it. Alas, there was no will or energy left in his body to care about this sullen teenage boy’s moody behaviour.

It was lunchtime, and he had walked out of the building to the market down the street to pick up some food. There was a hesitance in him to even blink when Vegas had first been brought into the hospital, yet now he would go insane if he didn’t allow himself to leave the room at least once a day. That, and one of the nurses, June, who reminded him of his grandma, had lovingly bullied him into it. Saying that it would be good for him to leave to sleep, eat or simply go for a walk.

Pete secretly thought it was because he was annoying everyone by constantly being around. But it didn’t matter; he could grudgingly admit that leaving Vegas for a short period each day wasn’t the complete end of the world.

“Here,” he said wearily, holding out a container to Macau, “I got you lunch.” He stared at Pete’s hand for ten seconds too long before snatching it from him without so much as a thank you. Pete felt frustrated; he didn't know how to deal with this vast and overwhelming situation, and Macau wasn’t helping.

“You’re welcome,” he said pointedly, returning to his familiar seat and tucking into his own food. 

He didn’t have an appetite but had grown used to choking down meals so his body could function.

“What, you want me to thank you graciously, oh great main family bodyguard,” he sneered, a poor imitation of his brother, “thank you for doing your job and looking after me.”

Pete laughed, flat and with no humour. “My job? You think I would be here, all day, every day, handing you food and letting you shit all over me if it was my job?” Macau looked at him in silence, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock. “I’m not a main family bodyguard anymore; I resigned.”

There was a live wire in the air, sparking with electricity, and Macau was the one who held the power switch.

“Then why are you here?” He asked quietly, voice an echo of sincerity that Pete didn’t know he was capable of.

“I…” he paused, not knowing what to say. His deep feelings towards Vegas had no name; he didn’t even understand them in his own head, let alone speak them out loud, “I’m here because I want to be. I care; is that not enough?”

Macau didn’t reply.

It had to be enough. 

There wasn’t anything else left in him.