#a lot of good things happened today but the bad was bad

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, ableism, strong language.

Notes — They're ridiculous. The entire grid thinks the same. I love them your honour.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

The door to the motorhome clicked shut behind him, and Lando barely had time to grab a bottle of water from his mini fridge before he heard his name.

“Lando.” His dad’s voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant he was either about to get bad news, or he was in a shit ton of trouble. 

Lando turned, water bottle halfway to his lips. “Yeah?”

Adam was sitting at the small table in the lounge, one arm draped over the back of the seat. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked more like the man Lando had watched negotiate million-pound deals than the easygoing dad who sent him memes and wore mismatched socks with his dress shoes.

“I spoke to Zak today,” Adam said. “About the two of you.”

Lando blinked, lowered the bottle. “The two of who?”

Adam gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb, kid. People are talking. Zak is… God, I thought he was going to collapse. He’s pissed off, Lando. Thought he could trust you with her.”

Lando felt his entire body go stiff. “We’re just friends.” He forced out. 

“Are you?” His dad asked, and then sighed. “We both know how this world works, Lando. I’ve watched you work yourself to the bone for this since you were eight years old. Everything you’ve done, everything we’ve sacrificed — it’s all led you here. And right now, you’re risking all of it meaning nothing.” 

Lando shook his head. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not yet. But it will be. The media will twist it. Her father is your boss. It isn’t just your reputation on the line — if this goes sideways, it could cost you your seat.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “Zak isn’t like that.”

“No,” Adam agreed, wearily. “But other people are. Sponsors. Management. People who don’t know you. You think they’ll believe this isn’t going to cause favouritism? That you won’t start getting special treatment?”

Lando felt like he was being burned alive. “I would never—.”

“But that’s what it’ll look like.” Adam’s voice stayed even. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true.”

Lando looked away, glared at the wall. His hands clenched into tight fists. 

“She’s not just… some girl,” Lando muttered. “She’s smart. And she’s… funny, in her own way. She always knows what she’s talking about. Knows how to make me feel better when I’m in a shit mood.”

Adam just looked at him, steady and quiet. “You like her,” he said. He sounded defeated.

Lando didn’t say anything. Because yeah. Maybe he did. Maybe he liked her a lot. Enough that it scared him a little. Enough that his stomach flipped weirdly every time he saw that rare smile of hers. Enough that he didn’t even know when it had started — just that it had snuck up on him and now it was everywhere.

Adam sighed, reaching a hand up to rub between his eyes. “I’m not saying you have to stop being her friend, mate. I’m just saying that you need to think long and hard about what you want; don’t think like a nineteen year old boy. Think like a world champion.”

Lando’s fingers tightened around the water bottle. The plastic crinkled.

“She’s Zak’s daughter,” Adam stared at him, like he was trying to drill the crux of the issue into him. “You really think that doesn’t come with consequences?”

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this,” Lando said quietly. 

“Sometimes it just sneaks up on you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it’s always a good thing.” He stood up, gave Lando’s shoulder a light squeeze — the way dads do when they mean I’m not angry, I’m just worried — and then walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lando stayed frozen in place, staring at the floor, pulse still loud in his ears. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling; just that it was too much, all at once.

He looked at the bottle in his hand. Still full.

Not thirsty anymore.

— 

“She said it wasn’t a date,” Tracy said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea. “They just got burgers.”

“After qualifying,” Zak pointed out. “He drove her to get burgers. Alone.”

Amelia sat at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, utterly baffled. “I don’t understand how eating burgers together means that we’re dating. We didn’t even share our fries.”

Tracy snorted softly into her tea. Zak did not laugh.

“This isn’t about fries,” he muttered, pacing. “This is about perception. Do you know how many people saw the two of you together? In public? My phone blew up. There are photos all over instagram. And don’t get me started on how often you’re photographed together in the paddock. I— I was blind. Totally blind.” Great. He’d reached the spiralling stage. 

“Well, I texted you where I was!” Amelia said, affronted. “That’s the rule, and I followed it!”

“Yes,” Zak stressed, eyes wide. “An hour after you left the paddock, Amelia! I would’ve stopped you, had I known that he was going to… to steal you like that.”

Tracy giggled. Zak, notably, did not.

Amelia just stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between confused and concerned.

She had never, in all of her nineteen years of life, seen her father act so out of sorts out over something so insignificant. 

“Okay, look,” he took a deep breath, rubbing at his forehead like it pained him. “Amelia. Honey. You’re my daughter. And Lando? He’s my driver. If people think that something is going on between you two, it could become a very, very big problem for me. And for Lando. Do you understand that?”

Amelia blinked. She wasn’t stupid. She’d read plenty of romance books on her Kindle since getting it for her fifteenth birthday — and if she and Lando were in a book, she was pretty sure their trope would be “forbidden romance,” maybe even “opposites attract,” though she wasn’t entirely convinced she was Lando’s opposite. More like… Lando adjacent.

It was fun to think about.

But if her dad really believed this could negatively affect Lando’s career… maybe he had a point.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “So how do I stop wanting to kiss him?”

Zak made a sound. Like a dying animal.

Tracy full-on howled into her tea.

“I—oh my god,” Zak muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “No. Nope. I can’t do this.”

Amelia frowned at him, and then looked at her mom. “That wasn’t rhetorical. I would appreciate an answer.”

Zak didn’t respond.

Tracy, tears in her eyes from laughter, leaned over and gave Amelia a tight shoulder squeeze. “You don’t,” she said sweetly. “You just get very good at pretending that you don’t want to.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Zak grumbled into the table. “Great parenting. A masterclass.”

Amelia nodded, serious. “Okay. I can pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then, with total sincerity, she added, “But if he kisses me first, it’s not technically my fault, right?”

Tracy almost spit her tea. 

Zak’s forehead hit the table with a thump. 

— 

Amelia wasn’t eavesdropping. Not on purpose.

She was just looking for her water bottle. She remembered leaving it near the PR area while charging her phone. The door was mostly shut, but not all the way, and when she reached for the handle, hearing her name made her pause.

“Amelia is becoming a bigger problem than I think anyone wants to admit.”

It was Lisa, one of the senior PR officers. She recognised her voice; had sat and eaten lunch with her a few times at the MTC. They only travelled to races with a small PR team, and Lisa was one of them. 

Amelia squinted at the gap in the door. She should leave, but it felt like her feet had been glued to the floor. 

“She’s sweet,” someone else said. A man she didn’t recognise. “I mean, she’s obviously harmless. It’s not like she’s pulling a Piquet.”

“No, she’s not doing anything wrong,” Lisa agreed, “but she's constantly in the garage, on camera, lingering around Lando like a girlfriend would, or an engineer, but she’s not officially anything. She's Zak’s daughter, yes, but that shouldn’t give her free rein. Should it?”

There was a pause. Someone clicked a pen.

“I know we’re not supposed to say it out loud,” Lisa continued, “but she’s… neurodivergent. There’s only so much control we have over how she’s perceived. She’s different, and I think people can tell.”

Suddenly, it felt a little harder to breathe. 

“She, ah, fixates. And she paces. She’s terrible on camera, can’t speak to reporters at all. I saw a thread yesterday, talking about hor she has weird vibes, speculating if Lando’s only spending time with her because she’s Zak’s kid and he’s trying to be a teachers pet.”

“That’s awful,” someone said, though they didn’t sound shocked.

“I know. But if this turns into a tabloid story, it’s not going to be cute anymore. It’s going to look irresponsible. And nepotistic.” 

There was a shuffle of paper. A sigh.

“Either we bring her into the fold properly, media train her, give her a title, have Zak back their friendship publicly, or we need to start distancing her. She can’t just float.”

Amelia stepped back, her breath caught somewhere sharp in her ribs. She didn’t realise she was shaking until she saw her own hands.

They hadn’t said anything untrue.

Not really.

But they’d said it like she was a problem to manage instead of a human being with feelings.

She backed away quietly.

She no longer wanted her water bottle.

In fact, she didn’t want to be here at all.

— 

She found Lewis leaning against a wall near the back of the Mercedes hospitality unit, Roscoe sprawled on a cooling mat like a little lion in the sun.

He looked up and smiled when he saw her. “Hey, trouble. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Amelia tried to smile back. It didn’t really work.

Lewis’s face changed. “What’s wrong?”

She sat down heavily next to Roscoe, crossing her legs, arms tight around her ribs. The dog lifted his head, gave her a sniff, then licked her knee. She didn’t react.

Lewis crouched. “Amelia?”

“I’m just,” She sucked in a deep breath. “I think I’m making a mess of everything.” She stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to. I just thought—I thought that I was just being helpful and quiet and normal enough. But I’m not doing any of it right. I talk too much, or I hover, or I forget to look people in the eye, and apparently people think I’m weird.” 

Lewis’s face darkened. She wasn’t looking at him, though, she was staring at her shoes now. At the last race, Lando had used an orange marker pen and written his number ‘4’ on the side of them. 

“They were talking about me,” she continued, voice flatter now. “The McLaren public relations people. They said I might ruin things for him. For Lando. Because I’m too much and not enough at the same time.”

“They said that to you?” Lewis asked, his voice sharp.

She looked at him. He sounded angry. Her stomach twisted tighter.

“No one said it to me. But I heard them. I wasn’t meant to. I don’t think they knew I was there.” Her hands tugged harder at the cuffs of her sleeves, wrapping the fabric around her fingers until they turned pale. “And they’re right, really. It’s not personal. It’s strategic. I’m a… a flaw in the system.”

Lewis exhaled slowly, deliberately, like he was keeping something inside. “Amelia, you don’t get to say that about yourself, alright? That’s a rule now.”

She blinked at him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not true,” he said, quieter. “I’ve raced with actual liabilities. People who don’t care. Who don’t try. You? You’re none of those things. You’re thoughtful, you work hard, and you pay attention in a way most people don’t. That already puts you ahead of half the paddock.”

She didn’t say anything. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, like she could physically push the confusing feelings away, then leaned a little closer to Roscoe. The dog didn’t move, just let her run her fingers through the warm fur along his side like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

Lewis stayed close but gave her space. After a moment, he glanced down at his phone and the telltale *swoop* sound informed her that he'd sent somebody a message.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached from behind. Light. Quick. Familiar.

She didn’t even need to turn around.

“Hey,” Lando said, voice low and careful.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

“I’m okay,” she said automatically. 

Lewis stood, brushing off his hands. “Take her for some air, yeah?” He suggested to Lando. “She needs a break. And someone who won’t let her be mean to herself.”

“I got her,” Lando said quietly, eyes on her the whole time.

Lewis gave him a look — subtle, but full of something unspoken. Then he reached down to ruffle Amelia’s hair, a brief and awkward brotherly gesture.

She winced.

Her shoulders curled up, recoiling slightly before she could stop herself. It wasn’t Lewis’ fault — she liked him, respected him, even — but he wasn’t Fernando. He didn’t know how to touch her gently. How not to startle her.

Lewis paused and immediately pulled his hand back. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Force of habit.”

She nodded once. She appreciated the apology more than the touch.

Lando sat down beside her, close but not touching.

“Tell me who I need to fight,” he said.

She huffed a breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

He didn’t rush her. Just waited.

After a long moment, she looked at him. Her voice barely a whisper. “I think I might mess everything up for you.”

He shook his head immediately. “Nah. I’ll be the one who ends up doing that.” 

She looked at him then, really looked at him. He looked serious, but she could never be sure. 

He smiled at her, then. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a walk around, yeah? The sun’ll start setting soon.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he started walking, and after a second of hesitation, Amelia stood up and followed. She walked beside him, glancing at him occasionally. He led her around the paddock, moving past engineers and mechanics who were too busy to pay attention to either of them. 

“My dad talked to me. About, uh, this. Us.” He glanced at her. She frowned at him. “Because we went for burgers.” He explained. 

Amelia sighed. “Everyone is so obsessed with that. I don’t understand.” 

Lando smirked. “Because you went with me, Amelia.” 

She made a face at him that she hoped portrayed her frustration. “That doesn’t explain anything.” 

“I like you,” he said slowly, his voice steady. Honest. She blinked at him. “I think a lot of people worked that out before I did — and definitely before you did.” He said. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he making fun of her? It didn’t feel like it. It… it felt a lot like he was teasing with her. Flirting with her, like the men in her books.

Her heart did that thing again. The one that felt like it skipped a beat, but not in the way she wanted it to. He was, wasn’t he? He was flirting with her. Because he liked her.

Before Amelia could say anything, Lando stopped suddenly, and she almost bumped into him. Looking up, she saw a camera swing toward them, one of the Sky cameras following the action around the paddock, with Ted Kravitz just a few meters away.

Her stomach dropped. A rush of panic hit her chest.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, instinctively trying to step out of the camera’s line of sight.

Lando’s hand landed gently on her back, guiding her in the opposite direction, but it was too late. The camera was already focused on them. Amelia could feel her face flush as heat spread up her neck. This was exactly what she didn’t want — being seen alone with Lando was only going to make everything worse.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” Lando said, his voice low and steady, reassuring her without a hint of panic.

But just as the camera zoomed in closer, Amelia heard a familiar voice.

“What do we have here?” It was Max Verstappen.

She blinked. Carlos Sainz appeared beside him, and Daniel Ricciardo wasn’t far behind. The three of them swarmed around her and Lando like it was something they did every day. Max slung an arm around Lando’s shoulders, and Carlos and Daniel positioned themselves between Amelia and the camera, effectively blocking the view. 

“We were just on our way to get ice cream,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin, his accent thick and playful. “Warm evening, isn’t it?”

Amelia blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in energy. Max gave her a wink, his smile wide and completely unbothered by the camera’s presence. Carlos just chuckled. 

Lando shook his head, clearly amused, but his eyes didn’t leave her. There was something there, something that made her stomach flutter, and for a second, she forgot about the camera entirely.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Lando said with a smile, his tone light but grateful. It was clear he wasn’t at all mad at the distraction. In fact, he seemed oddly relieved by it.

“Only when it’s necessary,” Max quipped, and with that, the trio slowly started backing away, blocking the camera’s view like pros.

As they made their way toward the back of the paddock, Lando’s hand remained at the small of Amelia’s back, a silent reassurance that she was, for now, out of the spotlight.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice just for her.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking about how many points you guys have combined.”

“In Formula One?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

She shook her head. “No, I mean, like, total points. From when you all started karting.” Her voice was mumbled, her thoughts swirling with a million numbers. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be able to tell you.”

Max raised an eyebrow at Lando. “Mate…”

Lando laughed, his eyes full of pride. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

— 

iMessage — 5:09pm

Dad You okay honey?

Amelia Yes. I do not like Lisa anymore.

Dad Lisa who?

Amelia She works in public relations.

Dad What did she do? Did she say something to you?

Amelia I eavesdropped.

Dad: Amelia

Amelia She said that people say that I have weird vibes. Do I?

Dad No, you don’t. Your vibes are just fine. I’ll have a chat with Lisa about where her focus should and shouldn’t be. Are you okay, though? Did you feel upset?

Amelia It’s fine. Lando made me feel better :)

Dad: Amelia Brown. Where are you right now?

Amelia I am in Lando’s rental car.

Dad I can’t believe this. Tell him that I am going to murder him.

Amelia No. He hasn’t kissed me yet. He probably won’t do it tonight because we are with his friends.

Dad … Which friends?

Amelia Max Verstappen. Carlos Sainz. Daniel Ricciardo. 

Dad I see. Have fun, sweetheart. 

— 

iMessage — 5:18pm

Zak Brown You told me you had a chat with him.

Adam Norris I did. What’s he done now?

Zak Brown Check Sky Sports. Your son’s created an Amelia army. A very expensive one. Looks like Max Verstappen’s leading it.

Adam Norris Just saw it. Never seen him like this with any girl before.

Zak Brown Look, he’s a great kid, but I’m trying to figure out how to handle this. It’s turning into a media circus.

Adam Norris I can talk to him again.

Zak Brown Maybe we just tell them they can’t see each other. Lay down the law. I’ll tell Amelia to stay out of the paddock for a bit, create some distance.

Adam Norris That’ll only make it worse, Zak. Lando’s young. He’s a bit of a party animal. Amelia seems like a good kid, but she’s not his usual type. Maybe this will blow over.

Zak Brown Let’s hope so.

— 

Carlos paced slowly down the pit-lane, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. The soft hum of the paddock was building as teams made their final preparations. He adjusted his cap, squinting against the light creeping over the horizon, the sun just peeking out from behind the clouds, casting long shadows on the tarmac.

His gaze flicked to the pit-wall, where strategists were already setting up, even at this hour. His own crew were deep in race plan discussions, while other teams were doing the same. The calm before the storm. The last moments of peace before the full intensity of the race weekend took over.

Silverstone always had a unique energy. The fans here were different—almost like they had a special connection to the track. It was Lando’s home race, and McLaren’s too.

Carlos glanced over at Lando’s garage without thinking. He was already there, leaning against the back wall in a pair of matching grey sweats, smiling widely. Carlos followed his gaze. Ah. Of course. Amelia Brown, perched on the counter in front of the telemetry screens, animatedly talking, her hands moving as much as her words.

Carlos found himself wondering if the way her feet kept bouncing against the cabinet was a... stim, the English term. He had done his research when he learned about Amelia’s autism. It had helped to understand why she was so blunt when giving advice and never made eye contact. It also explained why his father's words had clearly hurt her more deeply than he would ever be able to understand.

The sound of Amelia’s laugh echoed across the pit-lane, rare and light, catching Carlos off guard. A few people turned to look, but he smiled to himself and resisted the urge to do the same.

All he could do was hope that his younger teammate knew what was at stake, and took great care in the meantime. 

— 

Amelia lingered at the edge of the McLaren hospitality, watching the crowds begin to surge toward the podium. The noise was already swelling; chants, cheers, announcers shouting over each other, and she could feel the pressure building in her chest, like the edge of a storm. 

She didn’t usually go. Podiums were too loud, too crowded, too much. But this was Lewis, and he’d won his home race, and something just… tugged at her.

She turned, scanning the garage until she found Lando, who was mid-conversation with one of the engineers, still in his race suit, half-zipped down and tied around his waist. His face was flushed with post-race adrenaline, curls stuck damp to his forehead. But when he saw her staring, he excused himself and jogged over.

“You okay?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“I think…” She hesitated, glancing at the rising noise and the streamers already flying in the air. “I want to go to the podium. For Lewis. Just for a bit.”

Lando blinked, but then he grinned, and she stared. He was… he was all sunlight and softness. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He said. 

She nodded once, but didn’t move.

Lando seemed to understand immediately. “Do you have your defenders?”

She nodded and pulled them out of her cross-body. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Put them on. It’ll be chaos.”

“I will try not to freak out.” She promised him. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Lando said, already turning to lead the way.

He didn’t reach for her, didn’t crowd her. Just walked a few steps ahead, carving space through the sea of people with casual ease, occasionally glancing back to make sure she was still following. She appreciated that. That he didn’t hover. That he didn’t try to fix, fix, fix. Just… made it easier.

By the time they reached the base of the podium, the champagne was already spraying. Lewis stood centre stage, beaming, arms raised in triumph. The crowd roared, and Amelia’s McLaren branded ear defenders did their job, muting the sharp edges of it until it was just a distant hum. She watched Lewis through the fog of smoke and sound, her eyes soft with pride. He deserved this. He always did.

Lando leaned slightly toward her, not close enough to touch, just enough that she could hear him clearly. “You glad you came?”

She nodded, eyes still on the podium. “Yes. It’s good.”

The following day, a picture of them would go viral on F1 social media. Lando, still in his fireproofs, race suit dragging slightly against the ground, standing just behind Amelia — who wore her noise-cancelling headphones like armour, her eyes fixed on the podium. She was smiling, wide and unguarded, the kind of smile people didn’t often get to see from her. Lando was looking at her; fond and sweet.

The photo would circle the internet within hours. People would say a lot of things.

But the overwhelming consensus?

Soulmates.

Whether they knew it yet or not.

NEXT CHAPTER

[secretlykoishi]

The first norm-penetrating precedent rarely looks like some great achievement or change.

I am a big fan of Carmilla, and this is something that I've talked about regarding that story many times. It's easy to look back on it as bad representation since the titular character is the story's main antagonist, but there are some key things to keep in mind:

Carmilla is not the only lesbian in the story. Laura is also very much a lesbian, and while she is very much attracted attracted to Carmilla, there's an implication that her attraction was not just for her, as the way she speaks of other women who aren't maternal figures, like Bertha, is equally affectionate.

Despite being the driving antagonist of the story, Carmilla is not a pure villain. She is portrayed in unequal part, villainous for her acts against innocent people, but moreso as a victim for the things that had happened to her: she was a young woman who was taken advantage of and murdered by a man at her first large social event ever, faces period-accurate homophobia from the men around her and Laura, and it's somewhat implied that Carmilla's acts are driven mostly by the influence of her mother, who acts as a Greater Scope Villain. Yes, Carmilla is an antagonist, but at worst, she is a tragic anti-villain.

Notably, the nature of Laura and Carmilla's relationship is not portrayed in an inherently negative light. Carmilla isn't a villain or antagonist because she's gay, it's because she's a vampire, and if anything, the relationship the two share seems more to bring out the better in each other. They make each other genuinely happier, and Laura makes Carmilla kinder during the brief time they're together.

A lot of this likely doesn't seem like much now, but you need to keep in mind, this story was released in 1872. The very notion that not only was an openly lesbian antagonist at the time of release was able to be portrayed as a sympathetic and tragic, but also that the main heroine of the story reciprocated her love and was not demonized for it or portrayed as though she needed to be "fixed" in any way, is actually quite important, and paints a good picture as to why Carmilla, despite Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's potential homophobia and despite the fact that the main relationship ends in tragedy, is so loved by lesbian horror fans (and even many lesbians who don't enjoy horror as much). For 1872, this is a huge landmark, even if it would seem small by today's standards.

[deadhands69]

A New End: The End

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

This series contains: gn/afab reader, angst, violence, mentions of blood/injuries, cussing, smut, spoilers. i think this is the longest part but it moves fast with the assumption you’re familiar enough with the manga, a lot was taken out to make it readable and non repetitive.

previous - this is part 8

[series masterlist]

|\/\/\| the end |/\/\/|

Tomura is once more learning what it's like to have your quirk. All week, he’s been struggling to keep things from people for the sake of not changing how they feel and thus altering your chosen future. You, on the other hand, are learning a bit of what it's like to be him by having to make sure you never touch anyone without thinking and accidentally share that information with them yourself. 

Fortunately for you both, league members have been pretty scattered, working on their own projects and tasks while a few people recover from their injuries. Tomura included. 

Tomura, he’s been spending a lot of time attempting to be somewhat restful while still managing the planning process. It’s nice being around him again, especially after spending a month and a half mostly apart while he was fighting Gigantomachia. Still, he has a lot of sleep to catch up on while he recovers so your hangouts are typically short and low energy. 

He’s proven himself to be a good boyfriend, in his own way. Now that you know you’re together, you notice the more subtle details. How he tries to do nice things for you, having never been given a framework for what that should look like. Things like staying up a bit later just to spend a few extra minutes around you, even if he's groggy and trying to hide a bad mood. Grabbing your favorite drink and bringing it back just because he saw it. and thought of you. 

Today, he has some free time and decided to spend it laying around listening to music together.

“Is having your quirk always like this?” Tomura asks, while laying side by side with you on the almost too comfortable bed in your room at the mansion. 

“Not always, but yeah. Sometimes.”

“How do you handle that, knowing something bad will happen to someone and letting it… just happen?”

“You saw the alternatives. It's that or let them die,” you roll onto your side, propping your head on your elbow to face him.

“Yeah. It's just hard,” he mumbles quietly. “I knew I’d have to make big decisions in this but it doesn’t always sit right.”

“Wait,” you exclaim, sitting upright. “You care about everyone. Don't you?”

“No,” he grumbles defensively, looking away. “I just think they should be able to make their own choices. That's all.”

“Because you care about them. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have picked this plan,” you move into his space more than you have all week. With your face hovering so close to his that your noses are almost touching, you continue. Whispering, “don't worry. I won't tell anyone the guy who hates everything likes his friends now.”

“Shut up,” he groans. 

“Make me,” you say without thinking. 

And he does. Pressing up the tiniest amount, he catches your lips with his. Biting your bottom lip to pull you back to the bed with him, he continues to kiss you so sweetly that you almost forget about everything else. 

 |\/\/\| five days before the end |/\/\/|

A few months pass, allowing you all the time to rest, heal, and grieve in ways that you didn’t know you needed. With the exception of a few bandages and lingering limps here and there, you’re all in much better shape than before.

Which is why it’s time to move forward.

For a while now, you and Tomura have been referring to the plan he came up with as. "The End," because, in a lot of ways, it's the end of many things. The name is understandably lost on nearly everyone else, in a way that's concerning to some of them.

As a group, you gather in a meeting room to send messages to prisons, hospitals, and the hero commission. Threats. Anonymous tips. Awareness of loopholes and security oversights. With the resources of the Paranormal Liberation Front at your disposal, this is quite easy. They’ve been tracking things like this for ages. Now, there's finally a reason to use that information. 

“So,” Toga asks, “why are we sending them tips on buffing up their security if we want to destroy hero society? Isn't that the opposite of what we want?”

“It is, but we have to because it’s the only way to get them to move high profile prisoners to another location,” you answer.

“And that is important because…?” Spinner asks.

“You’re the Stain simps, you tell me,” Tomura grates over the table, awkwardly sealing an envelope while still not used to the prosthetic fingers. You nod in agreement. Toga’s eyes grow as she hurriedly finishes a letter. Spinner eyes him skeptically, but continues to work.

Tomura looks to the end of the table at Twice, “tell that hero you’ve been talking to that we’ll be attacking UA through the forest nearby as soon as the sun goes down on April third.”

“That’s not the right location?” Twice scratches his head, “Or is it?”

Dabi heaves a massive sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s the point, idiot. If he shows up there and he brings heroes with him, he is playing you. It’s a test.” He mumbles under his breath after, “and it’s one less hero to worry about either way.”

“Ohhhh got it!” Twice exclaims, continuing to mutter to himself as he pulls out his phone and starts texting. 

Everything feels pretty normal again, the seven of you working together. The plan has been reiterated so many times by now that most of the group works quietly. Eventually someone offers to put music on, but no one can agree on a genre. You land on chill hop which no one has any strong feelings about.

While not everyone trusts the idea, most of them are glad to have a direction and something to do. It’s progress and it feels right.

Eri’s tutor brings her to join you all in the assembly room when she finishes her schoolwork for the day. One perk of being here is she can get some formal education, even if it's not the most robust program. Her eyes brighten as soon as she sees Spinner, running to show him her good grade. Sneakily, he slips her some candy under the table before she sits in the seat next to him playing Stardew Valley all afternoon.

It's nice for a bit, you'll think back on times like these.

|\/\/\| the night of the end |/\/\/|

A few days later, you all set off to your designated locations. A PLF van drops you all off in the middle of the city. Everyone will be within six blocks of each other, so you walk together at the start.

The sun has only barely begun to set, but you’re not worried about being caught. Not yet. Any heroes that would usually be in the area are all chasing nomu at the edge of the suburbs. You should have at least an hour before anyone shows up, depending on how things go on Dabi’s end.

“So,” Spinner says as you come to a five-way intersection, “this is it.”

“This is it,” Tomura agrees, “everyone knows their mission plans?”

The group nods, quietly.

“Then let’s do this.”

You look closely at everyone’s faces, trying to memorize the details. Taking in the moment as it is. After tonight, it’ll be different. A few mumbled good lucks and well wishes can be heard as everyone splits off in their own directions – Dabi, Spinner, and Eri go up one street. You watch as Dabi, dressed all in black, puts on Eri’s pastel purple unicorn backpack full of supplies to carry it for her. Compress helped you pack it earlier today.

Toga and Twice go up another road. Compress begins to walk a different direction before stopping to wait for Tomura, who is frozen in front of you.

Your hand reaches out for his, brushing over his knuckles. The two of you linger here for a moment. His eyes meet yours and you know if there was ever a time to say what you’re thinking, this is it. Parting his lips slightly, he begins to speak before you. 

“I l–” he breaks off, biting his lip. “You better not do anything stupid and die.”

“You better not either,” you reply. He nods, turning to catch up to Compress.

With a deep breath, you continue up the middle street on your own.

Spinner, Dabi, and Eri arrive at the base of a large tower. With minimal effort, Spinner scales the side of the building, dropping the fire escape ladder for the other two to climb up. Dabi spots Eri until pulling onto the metal landing himself. After the ladder, metal stairs switch back and forth all the way up. They ascend until they feel tired, and then they go up some more. Finally, they reach the 29th floor. After breaking through a window, they’re in. 

It’s easy. 

Almost too easy, they think while piling in through the opening out of breath. 

“We need to find the control room to change the transmission,” Spinner says, ushering the others along with him. “We can go live, but it helps to have that video you arranged earlier queued up. The moment we switch all the channels being broadcast from here to our own transmission, every hero will be alerted to our location. I can give you three minutes of live screen time like promised then I’m changing it to your pre recorded video so we can get the hell out.”

Dabi nods, gesturing at a doorway down the hall. 

Meanwhile, you walk towards your designated spot to wait. It’s a calm night, no one else is out here but you expected that from the business district. It feels reminiscent of every other nightly walk you go on, pavement under feet, moving one foot in front of the other. Instead of visiting ruins, tonight you’ll be watching them being made. Still, you wish Tomura was here with you.

You arrive at a plaza and begin looking around. Finding an area behind some bushes in the generic “garden” area in front of a massive commerce building, you settle in and try your best to relax given the circumstances.

It’s the only way, you remind yourself repeatedly until it becomes a mantra.

The anticipation is awful, not just because you’re unsure if everyone will stick to the plan, but because you know what happens if they do. You've seen it before and soon, you’ll have to see it again.

Now, you just have to wait and hope no one makes any unexpected changes on their own. Soon, you think, it’ll be over. And you won’t have to wait anymore.

Down the street in the other direction, Tomura and Compress find themselves at a vastly different building. The security on this one is considerably more heightened so sneaking in took some extra consideration. With the PLF hacking into the security system, they found that the building is not only quirk-proof but attempting to destroy any part of it results in heroes being immediately notified of the location and quirk. So, a different plan was made.

After jumping from an adjacent parking garage, each of them land on the roof with a thud.

“First you, then me?” Tomura asks to clarify, brushing himself off.

“Yes,” Compress confirms, as they stand in front of the thin slats at the edge of the ventilation system on the roof. As expected, the openings aren’t big – but you can fit a hand through if you angle it right. 

“And be careful, I don’t want to be decayed while stuffed in a marble.” Tomura only glares at him.

Using his quirk on himself, Compress disappears into a small sphere to be dropped into the vent. Tomura throws him in, not so gently after that last comment. Within seconds, a clang rings out as he resumes his full form. His mask can barely be seen behind the slats as his gloved hand slips back through. 

“Ready?” he asks, more as a statement than a question. Without waiting for an answer, Tomura’s world contracts and he’s… rolling on the ground? Just as quickly as before, everything expands and he hits his head on the metal duct. 

“Oww, fuck!” he groans, feeling the bump on his scalp.

“Come on, we’re running low on time,” Compress urges, “hover over my hand more this time.” Tomura does so, still rubbing the aching spot. The world compacts, and before he knows it he’s spit out inside of the large ventilation channel. Once more, he hits his head.

“What the fuck,”  he grumbles as he regains composure. Not much time, he remembers before dwelling on it too long. Pulling up a hand drawn map on his phone, they begin crawling through the small space, following the maze they set out for themselves.

Back at the broadcasting tower, Spinner switched the outgoing signal to one of their own with a small camera set-up in front of a makeshift presentation area for Dabi. It’s a blank wall with a light pointed at it, but it’ll work as well as anywhere. He stares down at his phone, waiting for 9:04. It's the exact time you told him to begin.

“You’re on in three, two,” Spinner gives Dabi a thumbs up to start talking. He tells his story in detail, highlighting the parts where heroes failed him until his turn is up. Spinner counts him down on his fingers while looking at the stopwatch on his phone before gesturing for Eri to take over.

Nervously, she replaces him in front of the camera.

With a lot of prompting from the other two, she speaks about her experiences. About what Overhaul did to get her blood for his bullets. About the amount of people who walked past her covered in bandages every day, but almost no one said anything. And when they did, nothing ever came of it. Sure, it’s one thing to hear an adult say how the system failed them – but hearing it from a child feels different. She gives a very real face to the cracks in society overlooked by the hero system, one a little less scary than Dabi’s. A minute and a half isn't nearly enough time to tell her story and the responsibility of it shouldn't be on her in the first place. But the effort she puts in in the time she has should be enough to sway some people. Who can, in turn, help others. Her life is the price of the average person’s choice to sit and wait for someone else to handle it. It's time that changes. 

That's the theory, at least. You weren't able to see that far ahead. 

“Time’s up,” Spinner says. Eri waves bye at the camera and the transmission ends. He then switches it to the pre-made video Dabi arranged over the past few months.

As they walk out the door, Spinner continues. “It’s set up to receive more transmissions from my phone whenever we find a safe place to send them. We’ll have to keep this room blocked off somehow, at least until we find Shig and Compress to share the next part.” 

“Easy,” Dabi says, heating the door until it turns red and the metal melts into the frame. “No one’s getting through that for a while.”

They make their way to the stairwell, this time staying inside the building as they make their way down.

In the ventilation duct, Tomura and Compress find themselves in the ceiling space above their target room. A big 'x' on the map marks the spot.

“This is it,” Tomura says before decaying a section of metal and ceiling tiles below him then dropping through it to the thinly carpeted floor. Compress follows. The room is huge, open, and filled floor to ceiling with cabinets. A nearby street light casts a faint blue glow through the window.

“This seems very…traditional,” Compress comments, “I didn’t realize any organizations of this size still kept paper files like this.”

“It’s the old heroes,” Tomura replies, “you can’t expect them to do their paperwork online. They’d all get confused and quit.”

“Wouldn’t that make our jobs easier,” Compress laughs.

Each of them start on a different end, prying the locks open in their own ways. They rifle through files, dumping most on the floor. The mess won’t matter anyways.

“Here it is,” Compress points at a specific container. They begin sifting through the folders – taking what they need, what they think will be important.

Back on the street, you watch a group of UA students walk past you and to the hero commission building a few streets down. They struggle at the door, one trying to blast it open with the others joining in with their quirks and making absolutely no progress on it. Before long, the door is covered in scorch marks and scratches. They've mostly pulled back to reassess, but you're pretty sure one of them is still trying to talk the lock into opening itself.

Well, the heroes have definitely been notified now. Still, there's no reason to believe they'll be looking for any of you. As long as everyone lays low, the plan is still on track.

You give Tomura and Compress a heads up.

Receiving your message, Compress takes his leave. Disappearing into the shadows as planned. 

Eventually, the UA students manage to break-in when a red and white haired straggler arrives with what you would assume is a stolen keycard. There's no reason a student would be issued access for the Hero Commission headquarters. They rush through the door and out of your vision. 

In the distance, you see a guarded line of vans making their way towards you. Perfect timing.

A few minutes later, a flash of light burns across the sky and lands in the street near the broadcasting building. You alert the group to no response. Thus far, your quirk hasn’t flared up a single time tonight so you have to assume it’s still okay.

Everything's fine.

Spinner, Dabi, and Eri make it seven floors down before heavy footsteps echo from below. Spinner pulls Eri through the closest door, running down the hallway while Dabi stays behind. He waits for the steps to grow closer before filling the stairwell with blue flames. 

Much to his surprise, they’re met with flames in return.

“Dad?” he calls out, voice echoing.

“Touya??” he hears in response. 

Perfect Dabi thinks while running down the stairs to meet his fate.

In the file room, the students catch up to Tomura, most barely recognizing him without the hands they’d seen in news photos. 

“How did you find us?” he calmly asks the group, tossing a random file onto the growing heap of them. The green haired one named Izuku Midoria speaks up first, Tomura recognizes him.

“The pros all think you’re attacking UA right now. We knew you wouldn’t do that, not again. You’re not stupid enough to do that,” he gulps, trying to hide his nervousness of the situation. “Plus, they’re all spread thin chasing nomu around the outskirts. If you map the locations they were called out to, that leaves a huge gap in coverage with this building right in the middle.”

“Smart,” Tomura muses, “but what was your plan after that?”

“Kill you, duh!” yells Bakugo, who Tomura also recognizes. 

“No, wait Kachan. We aren’t killing anyone. I can save him. I can save,” Izuku looks across the room, “I can save you!”

Tomura laughs.

“No, you can’t. You’re a fucking kid, it’s not your job to.” A haunting smile creeps over his face. “And right now, you need to save yourself.” With that, he presses all five fingers into the wall behind him.

Fire.

It’s everywhere as Spinner rushes Eri out the window and back onto the fire escape. 

“Hold on tight,” he says, throwing her onto his back to rush down the metal stairs faster.

Inside, Dabi is making up for lost years with his dad. With the flames burning out of control, he moves in. 

“I ruined your career. Since you found me here, I’m assuming you already know that.” The man says nothing in return, so Dabi continues, “only thing left to do is take you out with me.” 

His blue flames grow brighter, hotter. Finally, the red-haired man speaks up.

“You don’t have to do this, Touya. Just come home. We can be a family again. We can–”

“It’s too late for that!” he yells, shoving him through the concrete wall in a blaze of flames. 

From your vantage point outside, the hero commission building collapses into a pile of rubble. Stray papers fly from the dust with no signs of life. A scream rings out from the parking garage next door. Simultaneously, a blue and orange swirl careens from the broadcasting building and explodes onto the street. 

Right on time, the prisoner convoy was making its way down the main street. Now, it’s stopped, stuck between the two damaged buildings with nowhere to go. The hero escorts climb out to investigate the damage. 

You expected this, it’s the only way. That doesn’t stop your heart from pounding in your chest at the sight of it all. 

“it’s time,” you text Toga and Twice.

Receiving your message from a few blocks away, the two of them excitedly jump into action. They’ve been waiting all night for this.

Two teenage girls walk from the parking garage towards the remnants of the building, trying to look inconspicuous. If you were to guess, they were keeping watch for the other UA students. One has long green hair tied behind her head, the other medium length brown hair. Both look frantic. You don’t blame them, you would too in their situation. For a moment you feel bad, but know it’ll be okay. You've seen it.

This is all supposed to happen.

A few more heroes show up to the area, probably now realizing the attack on UA was not about to happen. You notice one with red wings among them, Twice isn’t going to be happy. A group of three approach you, questioningly. 

“What are you doing out here so late?” a large one with a yellow jacket asks, “don’t you realize you could’ve gotten hurt?”

“No, it’s okay.” Another chimes in, “we went to UA together. Until…” he trails off, before looking you over in a way that makes you nauseated. Suddenly, his words are saccharine sweet. “Feel like playing hero and helping us out tonight? We’re pretty understaffed.” 

He flutters his eyelashes in a way that you would imagine usually gets him somewhere with most people. Not with you though, you remember him. This is one of the people who led to you being kicked out of school in the first place. Now he has the audacity to ask you for help?

“Not today,” you reply blankly, “you know I could get hurt out here all on my own. It's late. Better head home.”

“Well, okay then. Thanks for your time,” says the larger one, “better get home safe!”

Just as they turn to leave, a swarm of league members surge down the street. It’s bad timing, truly. Seeing a few copies of you among them, the heroes turn their attention back to you.

“Stay right there!” one yells.

You run, drawing them down a secluded street away from the others. Fortunately, none of them are particularly fast. Unfortunately, they know the area much better than you do. You realize this as soon as your quirk flashes in front of your vision, too late.

The one you went to high school with cuts you off in an alleyway, shoving you into the ground. Your head hits the street with a bounce, making you nauseous. You try to press up to assess the damage, but his hands shove you back down. The concrete is cold and rough against your cheek in contrast with the warmth of your forehead where it hit the cement. Your arms are yanked behind you with more force than necessary and you feel the quirk canceling handcuffs over your hands. Not that it matters if you can use your quirk or not, you couldn’t reach for your phone to warn the others of anything you see if you wanted to. 

“Hey, easy!” yells the large hero from earlier. Suddenly you’re engulfed in something warm and squishy while you’re transported back to the main road. It would almost be comfortable, if you didn’t feel trapped. Police vans line the sidewalk a few blocks down, they were likely surrounding the prisoner transport and got stuck. The hero stops in front of one, leaving you with a few officers.

From the corner of your eye, you see Tomura’s all too clean white hair popping out of the wreckage of one of the buildings as you’re shoved into the back of the van.

In the commotion, Tomura and Compress calmly walk towards the smoldering broadcasting tower in search of Spinner. The former, still a bit stiff from being unaccustomed to the affects of getting pulled in and out of a marble all evening. With the sea of them rushing through the street like a tidal wave, there’s no reason these two particular villains should stand out any more than the others. That’s the point.

Little do they know, they in specific are being followed.

Spinner and Eri have taken refuge on a balcony of the building next door. The other two spot them, step through the smashed out glass doors, and head up the stairs. As soon as they make it outside, a voice calls out behind them.

“Stop!” 

Tomura knows that voice. He also knows that feeling, the one that makes his fingers tingle a little less and drops a weight over his shoulders. With Tomura turning to distract the hero, Compress takes Spinner’s phone and begins uploading photos of the documents they took. Botched missions, casualties, quirk mishaps. Information previously withheld from the public. Even if only a few people are still tuned in, it’ll be all over the internet by the morning.

“Wait,” the voice says, looking around the balcony, “it’s you?”

Eri peers out from behind Spinner, big red eyes staring up at Eraserhead. 

“Let her go,” Aizawa says, she hides further behind Spinner’s leg. “I’m bringing her in to safety.”

Spinner opens his mouth to speak but Tomura cuts him off.

“We’re not holding her hostage or anything, just taking care of her. She can go with you if she wants to.” Quietly, he adds, “she should go.”

"But," Spinner looks devastated, “why would you say that?”

“She’s a kid, she can’t be in any of this. She needs to learn to use her quirk and be around other kids,” Tomura tries to reassure his friend. “We have to let her go. It's for the best. For her.”

“I know,” Spinner whispers, “it’s just– it’s just so hard. How do we know we can trust him anyways?”

“His best friend raised me,” Tomura shrugs. Spinner looks him over skeptically, wondering how that makes it any better. 

“Look,” he continues, “y/n’s quirk showed her happy this way. This is good for her. It’s–it’s the only way that’s good for her. She’ll get hurt otherwise, or end up down some really dark paths. I saw it all.”

Spinner has more questions but simply nods, his glossy eyes beginning to overflow. A tug on his sleeve draws his attention down.

“Here,” Eri holds up his switch for him to take, “do I really have to go?”

“Yeah,” Spinner whispers, “if you go with him, you’ll have a good life. And here,” he says, moving the switch into her backpack. “This is for you, all of your saves are on it.”

“But what about yours?”

“I can catch up,” he smiles.

They continue saying their goodbyes as Tomura addresses Aizawa.

“Her–” he struggles to get through the words but presses on, “Her belongings are all in there. In marbles. And there’s an envelope too. That’s for you, it’s important. Take care of them.”

“Them?” Aizawa begins to ask when the ground cracks between them, creating a rift in the balcony. It would appear that one of Tomura’s doubles touched that side of the building. Erasure uses the capturing weapon around his neck to gently wrap Eri in before they swiftly make their way to safety. The other three all jump as well, mostly landing neatly on the sidewalk as the building behind them crumbles into huge pieces. Before Aizawa can think of apprehending them, all three have disappeared into the sea of chaos.

A few minutes after you were placed in custody, Twice (or one of his doubles, you aren’t sure and neither is he) is thrown in the van with you. In the seconds you can see out the door, it looks like absolute chaos in the street. A slew of doubles overtake every hero around before splashing into a puddle at the first good hit. The company is nice, but you’re still nervous. From in here, you can’t see anything and have no way of using your quirk to make sure everyone’s still on track. 

After what feels like ages, the door of the van flies open and you find yourself face to face with Endeavor. 

Then, he giggles. 

“Toga, it’s great to see you!” yells Twice, while she unlocks the handcuffs, “what took you so long?”

He runs off, immediately getting pummeled by a hero and dissolving into liquid. 

“Huh."

“Compress told me to give you this,” Toga holds out a small bag. You stare at her. It takes you a moment to adjust, not having seen her quirk in use before. Talking to Endeavor still feels uneasy. You wonder how she got his uniform, but don't want to put too much thought into it.

“Oh, this is perfect. Thanks,” you say, emptying the bag on the floor of the van before slamming the door shut again. She walks to the next transport vehicle and you watch as she releases Stain. He looks confused, understandably. Seeing Endeavor fangirl over a villain is weird for you and you even know the situation. A few seconds later, she transforms back into herself, removes his handcuffs, and wanders back to the parking structure in search of her own clothes.

It’s the same direction you saw the girls from UA go earlier.

Down the street, Tomura opens the back of another van in his own way. The man inside senses his presence as soon as the doors crumble to dust.

“Ah, Tomura.” All For One muses politely, “I’ve been waiting for you. And you have impeccable timing, I can feel that One for All is close by.”

Tomura looks down at the man who raised him. He looks pathetic like this. In a prison jumpsuit, connected to machines that keep him alive. Quirks are the only things that have been holding him together for all these years and now, with the blocking handcuffs constantly around his wrists, he looks like he’s falling apart. He’s a lot “droopier” than Tomura remembers. It’s pitiful, he thinks, but that does nothing to tame the rage that still burns inside of him.

“How long were you planning it,” Tomura’s voice shakes, “to take my body?”

“Take your body?” All For One laughs, “no, I had no plans of the sort. I only wanted to help you. Merge with you to become more than you could ever amount to on your own. Of course, we still could. Let me out and we’ll do this together.”

“That’s not how it works though,” Tomura says softly, but the bite still cracks through his voice. “I don’t need you. I don't need any of this.”

In the many years he’s been alive, All For One never feared anything. He never had reason to. The world always finds a way to bend to his needs, regardless of the situation. Even now, strapped to a chair in the back of a prison transport, he feels confident that Tomura will free him, they’ll talk through the whole thing, and he’ll be back on the top in no time. There’s no way it’ll ever not go his way, it always does.

That is, until he feels five fingers pressing into each of his knees. The feeling leaves his feet as the decay moves up his body slowly.

“S–stop it!” he begs, losing composure. “Cut it off, wh–while there’s still time!”

Tomura watches, flooded by every miserable memory of his life. All the pain and anger. Everything leading to this exact time and place. It feels surreal.

“T–Tomura, I raised you! I took you in!” he pleads.

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”

“Please,” he gasps, face contorted in horror. His body crumbles from under the straps all the way up to his face. By the time the dust has settled, all that's left are his hands. 

It’s over now. 

All that’s left of that house and everything that happened in it is what’s left inside of him.

Now that you’re freed, there’s nothing left to do but join in the fight. A few more heroes arrive, but most are delayed by Twice’s doubles on sight.

Your old classmate finds you again and with the help of your quirk you land a few good kicks on him before he’s able to corner you.

“You never were cut out for this,” he taunts, “might as well give up.” In almost slow motion, you watch as three doubles of you tackle him to the ground and drag him back into the alleyway.

It's beautiful. You'll definitely remember this moment forever. You want to savor it, but the onslaught continues.

Tomura climbs out the back of one of the prison transport vans, only to be immediately tackled by two heroes. He decays one with a red cape quickly but the smaller one hits him with a force that leaves the concrete cracked under his landing. You run in, predicting the old man's next move and attempt to shove him off course before he can land another punch. It works, briefly.

Without any time for a warning from your own quirk, the wind is knocked out of you as you’re thrown across the street. Suddenly, you’re reminded of another part of high school: the realization that, while many people’s abilities seem to give them an added layer of super-human resilience, yours does not. 

Which means you feel everything. 

The dull pain of the blow that you’re almost certain broke a rib. The sharp impact of the wall, cracking something in your shoulder. Your head hitting the concrete behind you with a hollow thud, sending the world into a swirl. 

Darkness piles like bricks in your peripheral vision, closing in. 

Across the street, Tomura stands. Staggering slightly as he lunges towards the hero that hit you.

Then everything is black.

a new end masterlist - bnha masterlist

Taglist: @tomuratoucher @aryuunachigiri @shigarakislaughter @foxyboy0 @multifandomidk 

@dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme  @lou-the-naga-queen

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills 

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

@kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16  @lou-the-naga-queen

@multifandomidk @love-for-yoosung-kim @linaaeatsfamilies

[nixcloud]

A Face For Radio: POV Harry

Drarry - Sports Reporter x Star Quidditch Player AU

Ballycastle Bats team | Draco's POV | Authors Note @ end Ballycastle Bats vs. Chudley Cannons – International Cup Qualifier to determine who will  represent Britain in the World Cup

“Ooohhhhhh!”

“There he is!”

“So nice of Britain’s MVP to finally grace us with his presence!”

Harry dramatically buried his face in his hands and blindly stumbled toward his locker, thunking his forehead against the metal with a groan.

“Ugh!”

“Oh no,” Seffana gasped, eyes wide and voice dripping with mock horror as she waved around her bat. “I didn’t know the Chosen One was going to be here today! D’you think I could get an autograph?” She held out her heavily tattooed forearm and a marker dramatically.

“Shut it,” Harry mumbled into his locker, throwing his duffle inside without looking.

“You're 20 minutes late, what happened?” Julia asked, arms crossed, punctuating the question with a loud crack of her gum. Eyeing him distastefully.  

“Slept through my alarm…” 

“What do you mean you slept through your alarm? The rest of us couldn't get a wink because we were too nervous about this big game.” Adelaide chimed in as she stepped out of the lav, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. 

Harry shrugged, peeling off his hoodie. “Well, only one thing really keeps me up at night” and he spun around to face his teammates “and that's voldemort's ugly mug!”  He used one finger to flatten out the point of his straight nose for emphasis. 

But…. No one laughed….

They all just blinked at each other awkwardly, and Harry continued to squish his nose to his face…

”...get it because he doesn't have a…” and he pressed down on his nose again, and still it was met with silence “…not funny?” 

“Bro,” came Riordans tired drawl, “No.”

“Yeah… real mood killer, mate.” Dhruv, one of their reserve chasers, called from where he leaned against his locker. 

Everyone stood around awkwardly. Harry still squishing his nose.

It wasn’t until Westly, their gangly mischievous beater, let out a snort he tried to disguise as a cough that the entire locker room exploded into laughter.

Harry bent over, holding his stomach as he laughed. His wild hair flopped into his face, stubble still unshaven, bronze cheeks glowing with amusement. He had been a bit nervous at the beginning of pre-season when the Ballyastle Bats had picked him from the draft. 

He had missed out on a lot of the training most other pro athletes had gotten in their youth, he had been busy then… 

So when he decided to go for quidditch tryouts he was under no illusions, he knew that his name would take him farther than his skill, but still he had been excited when he had been signed to the Appleby Arrows. It had been a long time since their hay day and it seemed to have done a number on his then teammates' confidence. Because none of them invited him out for a pint or joked with him, or mentioned him by anything less than Mr. Potter. Even though he was a decade younger than most. 

It wasn't bad. He loved quidditch, and flying with such experienced players gave him a great opportunity to strengthen his own skills. But it hadn't been the life he had hoped for. When he told the Arrows’ coach he wasn’t renewing his contract and was reentering the draft, they’d had an argument.

Harry wasn't proud of his anger…. He had gotten good at managing it, but he struggled with authority even on a good day, and that bastard had a god complex. So who could blame harry for telling him “Just because your Patronus is a bloody whistle doesn’t mean you get to go around demanding people jump at your blow!” and when he started yelling Harry MIGHT have hit him with a hair loss curse. But no one was around. And that was hearsay.

Anyoneone who knew Harry wasn't surprised when he showed up in the draft with absolutely nothing positive on paper from his old team.  However he had been surprised when so many teams made a bid for him after 4 years of mediocre seeker showmanship. 

And even more surprised when the manager of the Ballycastle Bats had asked him to a private dinner to discuss a contract and what she envisioned for his future. It was kind, it sounded great, and even though his favorite team had also made a bid for him, it was for a reserve position…

It didn't hurt that Harry had always been partial to red uniforms…despite his love of the team, imagining being donned in an orange frock to fly laps gave him a headache. 

Ron nearly strangled him when he turned down the cannons, but the Bats, they had a lot to offer. 

They weren’t nice, exactly. But they were fiercely loyal. They challenged each other. The worst player each week bought the first round of Friday night drinks. They sent flowers to his parents’ graves when Harry missed practice for their death anniversary. They were... good. And he hadn't been this happy in a while. 

For one, he hadn't laughed this hard in ages, the room was filled with laughter and snorting, and people slapping their lockers, and gasping for breath. 

“WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON IN HERE!” 

Immediately everyone's mouths shut with an audible clack of teeth. Spines straightened. Their coach's face was already turning redder than her hair as she stalked in. 

”Ok to get us started….” Another voice came from around the corner to the locker room entrance, steps getting closer “OH MERLIN WHY ARE NONE OF YOU DRESSED!!! If you’re not in full uniform by the time I drop off this press kit, I swear I’m terminating all of your contracts!” Their manager screamed, and before it could echo off the tiles Lockers flew open. Players scrambled. Flying trousers were yanked on in every direction.

The trousers were easy, soft and smooth fabric. And the color? Red uniforms were classic, nostalgic, romantic even. Harry always felt it was the best uniform color. 

He whipped off his shirt and propped one foot on the bench, bending low to strap on his knee and calf guards. Velcro ripped through the room like applause.

He stretched once, deeply arching his back to pop something stiff in his lower spine. His wingspan flexed as he rolled his shoulders, before righting himself. 

All his teammates stood in a shirtless circle around the bench. Everyone looking somewhat grim, their muscles and skin on display. 

Of course their fearless leader, their team captain Julia, took it on herself to speak up. “Alright. Which Bat’s up first?” 

No one volunteered for a long minute so Harry grabbed Westly’s arm and tossed him into the middle of the circle ignoring his indignant yelp, someone had to get the ball rolling on this. 

“Bastard!” Westly yelled, reflexively catching the large purple bottle their captain chucked at him. 

“You all better be gentle, this is an important game," he grumbled. 

Flipping the lid open and pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it for a second before beginning to spread it over his chest, down onto his stomach and then onto his back and shoulders. 

“Assume the position!” Their captain barked, Harry was sure he could hear the huff their coach off in the hallway, but paid her no mind as Westly raised his arms straight above his head and bent at a perfect 90-degree angle, sighing like a martyr. 

“Westly don't move, everyone else get ready.” 

Riley and Kieu approached him, high ponytails swaying behind them, holding shiny black fabric, 

“Ok there we go stretch it wide.”

And then the two bats began to stretch the compression jersey over his arms, tugging it roughly so the spandex wouldn't get stuck. Finally the shirt made it down the tops of his shoulders. Riley and Kieu grabbed Westly’s hands to keep him steady while the 2 other chasers began to pull the shirt slowly down his back, everyone careful not to let it bunch up. There was nothing worse then when the too small shirt got stuck all bunched up suffocating and hard to untangle. It was everyone's worst nightmare, and the shirts were so tight they were nearly impossible to put on on one's own, which is how this team building  tradition started. 

During the last 2 weeks of their pre-season the manager and coach had presented them with the new tight uniforms, and it had taken literally an hour for everyone to get them on, their manager assured them they would stretch out and the benefit was being more aerodynamic. But after a week none of them could get it on, and at friday night drinks their captain had drunkenly suggested they raid the chosen ones locker for lube and everyone had cackled. But come Monday morning no one could stop thinking about it and well... There were few problems a bit of lube couldn’t solve.

And so, a new pre-game ritual was born. Lubing up and suiting up. 

Everyone took turns lubing up and having their compression shirts stretched over them. Occasionally someone would shout “Add more lube!” or complain about someone else’s oversized head, but eventually, everyone was clothed. Gleaming. Slick. United.

“If we’re not the most aerodynamic team in the league, I’ll eat my broom,” muttered Riordan, giving them all a frankly illegal once-over.

Their manager returned, box in hand. “You’re dressed. Good. I was beginning to think I’d have to commit career suicide.”

Everyone chuckled nervously.

The coach joined her and the team crowded onto the locker room benches. 

“Ok first things first let's go over our starting lineup, and innital plays.” The coach tucked her long red hair behind her ear, flipping around her black and red clipboard to show a few hand drawn plays. Everyone listened intently, asking relevant questions and confirming their roles. 

“OK!” their manager clapped, and all eyes were on her, she smiled wide “I have presents!” she spun around her red robes accentuating her movements and her long dark braids fluttering about. A reverent silence fell as she opened a large box. 

“Since this match decides who represents Britain in the Cup, we thought it was time to pull out the big guns.” She smiled slyly. “Not to count our Mandracs before they sprout, but we’d like to remind everyone who they’re cheering for.”

“WOAH!” 

“BLOODY HELL THAT'S AWESOME!” 

“MERLIN!” 

Gasps echoed through the room as she held up their brand new capes. The ones they had only heard about in hushed whispers as their admin was preparing for IF they won today. 

They were pure, perfect black. So dark they held no reflection, so dark they made the rest of their uniform look gray. The fabric was cut to mimicked real bat wings, with crimson embroidery tracing the lines of imagined bones. Heavy leather straps hung across the shoulders like harnesses. It was eerie and perfect. 

And then their manager flipped it around revealing red block numbers, 16, “Captain come claim your prize!” 

Their captain approached mouth agape, and she carefully took the fabric in her hands. “It's so light… stunning!” she whispered in awe. And the manager just smiled, that soft warm smile she had. 

One by one, capes were passed out.

Harry’s was last.

The manager approached him quietly, pressing it into his hands like it was something sacred.

Then she leaned in, and spoke low enough so only he could hear.

“You definitely need a shave today”

Harry grinned sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes, fond but exasperated, and tapped her earpiece. “Just got the ping. The Silver Snitch is in the press box.”

“OHHHHHHhhhhhhhh,” Westly drawled behind him.

But Harry didn’t stick around long enough to be teased. His team had wrung every possible joke out of his Silver Snitch obsession weeks ago. He doubted there was a single pun, insinuation, or faux-sultry impression of the man’s voice left to try.

He ducked into the lav, heart beating a little too fast, and stood before the row of mirrors above the sinks.

Right. He wanted to look good today. Great, even.

He splashed a bit of cold water on his face and leaned in, eyeing the stubble he hadn’t managed to shave that morning, slowly beginning to glide his razer over his jaw. 

Today was important, he loved Quidditch. Not just playing. But listening to it, obsessing over stats. Collecting the player cards charmed to smell like broom polish. 

Of course, most of this fanfare was born from Ron, who’d introduced him to the Chudley Cannons during their first year at Hogwarts like it was a sacred rite. It had been life changing. Not because of the Cannons, though he’s supported them for years out of stubborn loyalty, but because that was how Harry learned to love the sport. Really, properly love it.

His dad had been a great Seeker, sure, but Harry hadn’t known that until after he’d fallen in love with flying. Like most kids from Muggle households, he hadn’t even heard of Quidditch before Hogwarts.

So when Ron started playing radio reruns in their dorm after class, Harry had soaked it in like a sponge. The roar of the crowd. The dry wit of the commentators. The details, lineups, fouls, play styles, rivalries, it was like learning another language, and he’d become fluent overnight.

Even during the war, they’d kept that tiny radio in their tent. Mostly it played music, or grim updates from Potterwatch. But now and again, they'd catch a recording from the Hogwarts pitch or an international match not yet canceled by the Death Eaters. It had kept them sane. Or at least distracted.

And Harry had never stopped listening. To pre-match shows. To post-match breakdowns. To entire broadcasts of games he’d just played in.

He liked hearing how the experts spun things. Liked hearing what he could’ve done better. Liked hearing him.

Because right around the time Harry joined the league, a new broadcast had popped up. It was cleverly titled Post to Post, a live play-by-play for British teams.

He’d tuned in on a whim, and he had never recovered. 

It was some match he didn’t even care about. He’d joined halfway through and missed the host’s name entirely. But that voice wasn’t one he’d heard before. It was—

Deep.

Buttery.

And laced with this wicked sort of wit that made Harry laugh even when nothing funny was happening. He could describe a routine throw like it was poetry. Could slow down a play to analyze it and still have time to slip in a perfectly timed dig at a player’s haircut. Harry had found himself on the edge of his seat and anticipation, breath caught, spine tingling.

By the time the game ended, his heart was pounding in his chest. 

He asked around, of course. But no one seemed to know who the broadcaster was, or where the show came from. It wasn’t official league programming, that was for sure. No sponsors. No glossy production. Just an anonymous voice and a good microphone.

And so Harry became one of the Silver Snitch’s first regular listeners.

The next time it aired, he made sure to catch it from the start.

“Welcome back to Post to Post with the Silver Snitch,” the voice had purred through the radio.

He couldn’t decide if the pseudonym was arrogant or brilliant. But regardless he knew that there was no way he was putting a face to that radio voice. It painted a very nice mental picture though. 

Harry had been obsessed ever since.

He’d listened religiously to every game. Every post-match interview. Every debate show, every throwaway segment where the Silver Snitch broke down plays with precision and charm. It wasn't a rare occasion for him to fall asleep at night to that warm syrupy voice whispering in his ear. 

And now… he was here.

At harry’s match.

Harry turned back to the mirror, eyes flicking across his reflection. Jawline decent. Cheeks flushed from adrenaline. He tousled his curls with a little Sleekeazy’s until they framed his face in soft, windswept waves.

Then, carefully, he began to strap on his cape, fastening the harness across his chest, and rejoined his teammates.

“Ohhh, there he is! The handsome, the unstoppable, the Savior of the Wizarding World! Potter himself!” Seffana started up again. 

Harry rolled his eyes as he walked back in. “Save it.”

“You got all cleaned up to meet the man, didn’t you?” came Noemie, mockingly affectionate.

“Oh, absolutely,” Dhruv chimed in. “Bet he’s a silver fox. All posh, wears cravats to breakfast. There’s no way that wizard’s under forty.”

Everyone laughed.

“I’m holding out hope shes a hot milf using a voice charm,” Riordan said solemnly. “Plus, Harry would make a good dad. It’d work out perfectly!”

A chorus of hums and grunts followed, everyone nodding along as though imagining it made sense.

“Alright, alright,” Harry groaned, waving them off as his ears turned bright red. “Forget it. Aren’t we supposed to be on the field already?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kieu smirked. “We’ll see for ourselves soon enough.”

Harry rolled his eyes again, but the fluttering in his chest didn’t stop.

Everyone grabbed their brooms and began lining up. Their team captain strolled down the line, eyeing each of them with mock scrutiny.

“Well,” she said, pausing at the front. “Even if we’re not aerodynamic, I know one thing, we’re the best looking team in the league.”

“What do you mean? With jerseys this tight, we better be getting a speed advantage,” Kieu muttered, tugging at the clingy fabric stretched over her abs.

“Well, for most of us, yeah,” Riley said. “But Potter and Seffana over there? Not so much.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Seffana demanded, disgruntled. 

Julia smirked and strolled over. Without warning, she grabbed the harness straps across Harry’s chest and yanked them sharply, cinching them even tighter.

Harry choked out a startled sound as the straps pressed snugly against his pecs.

“For you two,” she said, eyeing the both of them, “these jerseys aren’t helping with aerodynamics. They’re just rubbing it in our faces how flat chested the rest of us are.”

The room exploded with laughter, Harry included, even as he tried to cover his face.

“I swear to Merlin,” Riley wheezed, “I’ve been wearing two bras and I still can’t get this jersey to do me any favors.”

“Meanwhile,” she gestured at Harry’s chest dramatically, “Potter over here’s got Quidditch titty physics working in his favor.”

“Should’ve been the Chosen One for that alone,” Dhruv snorted.

Harry groaned. “You’re all deeply unwell.”

Just then, their coach clapped twice and strode into the locker room. “Alright, alright, save the tit talk for after we win, yeah?” 

Everyone scrambled into position, falling into two neat rows facing the tunnel.

Their manager jogged to the front, voice raised over the rumble of the crowd just beyond the stadium walls.

“What are we?”

“BATS!” the team shouted.

“What do we do?”

“CASTLE!”

“How do we win?”

“ECHOLOCATION!”

She grinned at their ridiculously serious chant, raised a fist, then turned on her heel and flung the tunnel doors open.

The roar of the stadium surged in like a tidal wave. And the Ballycastle Bats launched forward in a blur of red and black. 

The euphoria was instant, the whole stadium was alive with their colors. Glittering confetti was raining over them. Harry kept his body low to his broom just like they practiced a hundred times. Speeding out as the leader of their sharp pyramid formation. He felt the way his cape thundered behind him, and could tell that the crowd was building on their ambiance. 

They messed around alot in the locker room and during practice. But as soon as they set out for a match they sobered up quickly. Each of them slipping into their intense, hyper focused personas. They were bats, they flew fast, they traveled in packs, and were known to be blood thirsty. 

The Seeker always flew point. Not just for the drama of it, but for control. He set the route. He controlled the pace. And he never had to look behind to know the rest of the formation was right there with him.

He banked upward, shooting toward the upper stands where the team’s guests were seated.

The wind stung his eyes, but he could still spot the bright orange blob in the front row of Bats fans. Ron, predictably, was still decked out head-to-toe in his tragic Cannons gear, standing tall and shouting like a man possessed. Hermione beside him had conjured an elegant banner with Harry’s name in charmed ink that shimmered when it caught the light.

Luna, Nevil, and Ginny took the row behind them throwing as much red and black confetti as they could manage. Harry even spotted Andromeda tucked among a few of the Weasleys, wrapped in a deep crimson shawl.

But he didn’t see the one person he was most desperate to spot. Until he looked farther down the aisle.

There. Being lifted above the crowd by Arthur Weasley, held aloft like a prized trophy, was Teddy. Hair shifted into the perfect shade of Ballycastle red with a bold streak of black. His little hand stretched as far as it could reach, grinning

Harry slowed them down just enough that everyone could put eyes on their people, remind them who they were playing for. 

 He reached out and high fived the young boy who squealed with excitement. It was exactly what he needed. 

And so with gusto he turned their formation zooming around the arena in a full loop before coming to float in formation near center field. 

The sun warmed Harry’s skin through his uniform, but inside, his stomach was a mess of butterflies and liquid nerves. They were minutes away from the quaffle being tossed. But first: Press.

One by one players broke from the wings of their pyramid, and zoomed toward the press box to be formally introduced over the stadium. Got to pose at the box and lock eyes with the man whose voice had lived in his head for months. Meaning Harry, nervous, sweaty-palmed, hopelessly lovestruck Harry, was dead last.

Adelaide took off first, her cape’s bright red twelve gleaming in the sun as she rocketed toward the press box. From formation, Harry could already tell she was milking it, tossing her hair about and striking fun poses. She was reserve only because their starting beaters were top 10 in the league, but don't let her flirtation fool you; she was a terror on a broom. 

He could here her introduction boom around the arena, as the non partisan announcer began alternating introducing players from each team. 

Adelaide zoomed back toward formation, screaming with laughter.

“YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT, POTTER!” she shrieked, blazing past him too fast for any follow up. She spiraled down to the sidelines, still howling.

His head whipped desperately between her and the press box, but was stuck in his formation till it was his time. 

Dhruv Bakshi was up next, and it felt like an eternity before he returned his laugh echoed from the sideline.

“Potter, you’re done for!” he called gleefully.

“OMG HES HOT”  Noémie Leveret, shouted as she plummeted towards the reserve bench. 

Riordan MacEvenny returned from his introduction, breathless: “I cannot believe.”

Their captain was particularly damning as she shouted, “You’re never hearing the end of this, you know that, right? This is our entire personality for the rest of the season,” before peeling off into her starting position.

Harry wanted to fly away and hide. This was his nightmare.

A beautiful, terrible, sultry-voiced nightmare.

He hovered alone at midfield, white-knuckled on his broom. Sweat prickled at his hairline. Harness pressing a bit too tightly into him on every inhale. 

And then, finally, it was Harry’s turn. 

He was a Seeker. He had to show off his speed. That’s what he’d tell them later, when they inevitably mocked him for breaking the sound barrier just to get to the press box.

He was moving so fast he could barely see, but when he’d asked their manager to send a personal invitation to the Silver Snitch, he’d begged her to place him dead center in the press box. So there’d be no mistake. No confusion.

Harry did a dramatic flip on his broom, got the crowd going and gave him the perfect stop, meer meters from the reporters. And there he was. 

Haloed in sunlight. Sitting impossibly upright in his chair, all long limbs and posh posture. Platinum blond hair gently tousled beneath oversized headphones. A soft blue suit, glowing in the over saturated room. 

Draco. Bloody. Malfoy.

Harry barely breathed. His heart went supersonic. Every sense flared, white hot, as their eyes locked across the balcony.

Those grey eyes were wide with recognition, just as stunned as Harry’s.  But Draco had known, hadn’t he? He’d accepted the invitation. He was here. Harry froze, unable to speak, unable to look away.

Then Draco leaned into the mic, the pale column of his throat bobbing with a swallow, and without charm or magic, he spoke.

It was like warm honey poured over silver spoons. It was velvet and smoke and old magic and every dream Harry had ever refused to admit out loud.

That voice. That voice. Coming from that mouth, the one Harry knew could be haughty and whinny, and mean, and nervous and clever and so, so kissable.

His past obsession had just collided, violently, with his current one.

His name deep and smooth off those wet pink lips Draco breathed “Harry James Potter.” 

Harry licked his dry lips. Let his eyes drag over every inch, suit, headphones, flushed cheeks, the badge on his chest, and god help him, the red and black lanyard around that pale throat. His colors.

And then he took off toward the starting lineup.

Ruined.

Absolutely, gloriously ruined.

He was definitely going to win this game.

#Authors note: this is just a little AU i have been playing with on bluesky! the team is all OC's with no real bg info for now! not sure if ill every really write anything more then HC's for this one tho! - Nix

[hedwig221b]

Hello hello

I just recently discovered your writing and I was so happy to find that you were still active on Tumblr😭

Basically I love everything about your writing (NB: this is not going to be coherent.)

1. Stiles being wanted by everyone is very near and dear to me

2. Dark Sterek. I love dark romance in general but even more so when it's sterek

3. Moodboards. The fact that you have moodboards for the fics and you'll be reading a scene and something will happen and the specific panel in the moodboard will pop up in my head like omg exactly! EXACTLY

4. Bad friend Scott is such a guilty pleasure of mine and I will not apologise for it.

5. I haven't had this much fun reading in a long time. Felt like I had lost the passion to read. I could barely get through fics that were 10k words long but somehow I've managed to read almost everything you've written including your longest fic (Say Yes to Heaven- ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL) which I ate through in one day

....there's a lot more I would love to say but it's just going to get even more incoherent.

Long story short: I love your work

(I would say keep up the good work but I've always hated that phrase and you are already doing the damn things so you don't need it)

Have a lovely day

You are the reason I'm smiling today, thank you for that smile and for your kindness 💖💗💛💖💗💛💖💗💛 It means so much to me that you enjoyed reading my works that you found that reading spark again. Writing for you is a pleasure, and I'll certainly keep up the good work lol 💖🤭

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: April 16

2019

hang on every word... [david/patrick, T, 761] by @startswithhope

Part 3 of my missing kisses series. This one we have the benefit of knowing was filmed, even if we never saw it. ;) Set at the end of “Open Mic”.

Mission: Craft Fair [david/patrick, E, 12,342, CW: violence] by falconeggs

When the Secret Organization of Investigative Espionage fell, the last thing it did was hide its top Operative unit, codename Family, in a little town in the middle of nowhere. Four years in the town of Schitt’s Creek, and no violent memories of their past have caught up to them, and their cover hasn’t been blown once. Or, the au where everything is the same, but the Roses are secretly the best spies in the world.

Pre-Open Mic Performance [david/patrick, G, 717] by liquidgaze

Patrick is about to perform in front of everyone, and most importantly, David. He needs to tell him how he feels and this is the perfect opportunity to do so. Here are some of Patrick's thoughts right before he sings his heart out.

What a Feeling in My Soul [david/patrick, G, 740] by orphan_account

I just needed to know how Patrick asked David to dance because that's the only way I see that happening.

2020

Cleanser [david/patrick, T, 5,136] by cypress_tree

David teaches Patrick about skincare (David teaches Patrick about a lot of things).

Diamonds They Don't Turn to Dust or Fade Away [david/patrick, G, 1,478, CW: MCD] by loveisallyouneed21

“Can you imagine an alternate universe in which I’ve actually died.”–Moira Rose Season 4 Episode 5, RIP Moira Rose

Just as you Are [david/patrick, G, 7,628] by @agoodpersonrose

“I’ll do it properly.” Patrick said decisively, “I’ll propose to you properly.” “Um, excuse you, who said you’d be the one to propose?” David asked, looking mortally offended when Patrick raised an eyebrow unbelievably at him, “What? I could propose to you for all you know!”

Today and All the Days that Follow [david/patrick, E, 8,880] by @unfolded73

An exploration of relationships, both on the wedding day and in the future.

Wrong Number [david/patrick, M, 52,431] by @deenerann

Slight AU- What if Patrick and David meet via text the first night David winds up in Schitt's Creek? David spent so much time on his phone in season 1, and WHO WAS HE TEXTING? This is my take on that.

2021

Business man [david/patrick, G, 324] by @pine67

“There was a point to this tangent, I’m sure of it,” Patrick huffs out a charming laugh-smirk combination to the audience to give the appearance that his mind isn't spiralling.

Got You [patrick & alexis, T, 3,231] by @colourcodedbinders

“Not gonna get much sleeping done,” he says, shoe laces fastened, reaching for the door, “I think I’d rather get you home safe so I don’t have to worry about some creep following you, okay?” A second goes by that she’s quiet, and Patrick almost calls her name again, patience wearing thin, before she speaks again. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she says, finally. “Well I do, Alexis. Tell me where you are.” OR Alexis needs her brother, and Patrick lives to serve.

Laos [johnny/moira, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

our beautiful rhythms [david/patrick, E, 5,708] by orphan_account

What if David's heat and Patrick's rut happened at the same time? This follows You're my end and my beginning .

Suddenly, You're Mine [david/patrick, G, 980] by @fictasticvoyage

David gives Patrick a present. Sentimental conversations ensue.

Take Me, Excite Me, Erase Me, Rewrite Me: A Schitt's Creek Smut Collection [alexis/twyla, M, 6,064] by @turningtimeinthetardis

Decided to put a handful of smut prompt requests I got in one place. Mostly Twylexis with a smattering of Ted/Twyla/Alexis. Hope you enjoy!

The Art of Customer Service [david/patrick, T, 10,750] by Woodsarelovely

"Because standing at craft services, eating a cookie in almost a single bite and still somehow looking perfect, was David Rose.This was bad. This was very bad. This was not at all good. In any way.Except it was. Obviously. Patrick couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t daydreamed a moment like this; just once or twice as his mind wandered during Miss Henderson’s drier physics classes. But, in the comfort of his own brain, he had imagined a meeting of eyes across a music store, perhaps a chance encounter on a scenic hike. He would be suave and charming and he would know what to do with his hands.Patrick did not currently know what to do with his hands." When Rose Video head office puts out a request for employees to act in its customer service training videos, Patrick Brewer jumps at the chance. What he wasn't prepared for, was his scene partner...

Word Play [david/patrick, M, 664] by @dazedwriter1

A Sunday morning trolling by one Patrick Brewer involving one thesaurus, one annoyed David Rose and one assist by Stevie Budd.

2022

Burning Through the Hours Talking [david/patrick, G, 1,070] by @fictasticvoyage

Early in their relationship, David and Patrick spend a lot of time getting to know each other in the car.

getting by [david/patrick, T, 20,261] by alldaydream

And Patrick likes to think he’s seen it all by now, not much really phases him anymore. But the sight of his ex-husband sitting in the middle booth of a run down cafe in the middle of nowhere with maple syrup in his hair is definitely something he did not see coming. or David and Patrick have a whirlwind romance that ends in divorce. Or perhaps begins in growth.

How David's Fragrance Launch Party Was Absolutely Ruined [david/patrick, E, 5,103, CW: rape/noncon]

A group of totally wasted college bros crash David's fragrance launch party. But hey, one of them is kinda cute

2023

I'll Let You Set The Pace ('Cause I'm Not Thinking Straight) [david/patrick, E, 2,693] by @fictasticvoyage

Five firsts that Patrick wants to make sure he and David take slowly, and one time they have no choice but to barrel ahead.

In Every Sense [david/patrick, E, 2,752] by @beaiola

In which Patrick considers the things he loves about David and the impact he's had on his life through each of the five senses.

2024

Well I Did. [alexis & david, G, 100] by mallpretzles

A coda to the ride back from Heather Warner’s farm.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 or 2018 2019: 4 fics/14,560 words 2020: 5 fics/75,553 words 2021: 8 fics/28,021 words 2022: 3 fics/26,434 words 2023: 2 fics/5,445 words 2024: 1 fic/100 words Total: 23 fics/150,113 words

[allofuswantgwinam]

I actually had the worst day I’ve had in awhile now but i survived it

[silverskye13]

It was a ✨ perfect day ✨

[mycological-mariner]

Cool so I get to start training in a forge and welding and steam engine maintenance and fitting on weekends

[xxplastic-cubexx]

I am also the youngest but I am the favorite (as the one who has never gone to prison it’s not hard lmao) and I feel Pietro vibes hard but I think it’s more of “being a little fucking gremlin” that gives youngest vibes to me.

Also say the word and I’ll fight your brother for you. You’re awesome and deserve good things.

yk in retrospect any time ive hung out with people and ive been A Little Shit and i tell them im the youngest in my family they always say 'i can tell' so i think youre onto something

[izzy-b-hands]

Going on almost week fucking three of a lot of days not going my way and im starting to get a little frustrated*

*fucking furious

[seenthisepisode]

i did something that was absolutely legal but it feels completely illegal and i am so stressed i have a migraine

[caterjunes]

i know my body is doing its best but christ alive.

[suprrnov4]

Meeting someone else from the same faculty who is also much older than me has inspired me so much omg?? I love my career 🫶

[granma-sweetie]

im yr boy yr twentieth century toy