#also. irrelevant but what are his eyelashes so fucking long for. so that he can bat them prettily at other men??

[theflyingfeeling]

DIY king part 2: I can't take this anymore 😭🤲

[x]

[homicidal-slvt]

"That's Not Mistletoe"

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MDNI

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Peter Maximoff x GN!Reader

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Warnings: Very Vague Angst, Pure Fluff, Cheesy As Fuck

-

Christmas time rolls around only once a year and honestly- that seems like once too many these days.

Missions, missions and more missions... God, life is a real kick in the ass, huh?

Then there's the holidays where things continue to be chaos and you just- miss your family. Miss what it used to be like as a kid before everything went to shit. Oh well.

"Damn, who pissed in your cheerios?"

You look up to spot the one and only Peter Maximoff, standing there with a bowl full of cereal munching on it with his hand- Seriously, has this guy never heard of a spoon?

Is he your best friend? Yes. Does that mean you also think he's a hype-speed disaster? Definitely.

"Just a little sick of listening to Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree for the umpteenth time."

"Oooo, someone's a bit grinchy."

"Yeah, well- it ain't exactly 'The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year' for me."

"Maaaybe, I can change that."

Oh, you know that look in those big beautiful brown eyes. Deceptively adorable but most definitely going to get into trouble.

Peter is both the smartest and dumbest person you know. He can be super intelligent and quick witted but also often doesn't think things through fully.

However, you can't resist that charming grin and flicker of mischief. Deciding to up whatever this is into a game- a challenge. Peter loves challenges.

"Alrighty then. Go ahead and play my Silver Santy Claus. Make my spirit bright and merry."

••

You just lay pathetically on your back in the snow with the flakes falling on your face, not bothering to move at all.

"That is not how you make a snow angel."

"My bones hurt, Peter. You're lucky. Your speedy ass is warm by nature."

His eyes meet yours and there's something in the moment, his cheeks and nose ever so slightly red, snowflakes glistening in his silver hair. It looks like he belongs in a winter wonderland- genuinely got a bit of a cute Jack Frost look goin' on right now.

'Fwip'

Before you could stare too long in a silver blur he's abruptly flopped down into the snow by your side, star-fishing against the ground to make a snow angel, his foot nudging your leg in the process.

"Ah, god... Personal space, Peter."

"Oops."

••

Highlight of the day so far? Peter unintentionally ice skating.

He rushes by you carrying the cold wind with him, which is very much not appreciated given you were already feeling like a total popsicle...

He made a major error though- the sidewalk was a bit icy in a spot and you watch him go flying across the ground, feet straight out from under the poor guy.

You watch as he ends up face down in a random pile of snow, luckily he doesn't seem to be too injured or anything... So, like any good friend you start laughing like hell.

"Holy shit, dude. You okay?"

"Yep... Just wounded my ego."

He simply brushes it right off and flashes a bright grin up at you, snow clinging all over his face, some flakes trapped in his eyelashes...

Oh shit- cute...

Little did you know- his whole chest swelled with warmth at your laughter. It was like the cold and busting his ass was entirely irrelevant when he saw your beaming smile. This is all he wanted...

••

Decorating your room with Quickie? What could go wrong!

You stare at the stupid amount of silver tinsel just- everywhere. Like. He put it everywhere.

Because of course he went ham with the silver theme.

"We need more colors, Peter."

His elbow nudges your side as he comes to a halt by you, shuffling his feet and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Are ya kidding? I think silver suits you almost as much as it does me."

Your eyes glance down to realize you also got wrapped in silver tinsel as well, an unamused expression gracing your face as you look back up at him.

It is funny but you aren't gonna give him that.

"More color, Peter."

"Alright, alright... I'll go get the other boxes."

••

Before you know it- you have gotten really into Christmas. It feels like you're a kid again, arranging the ornaments just so on the mini tree in the corner of your room. Everything else that happened to make you bitter towards the holiday fades towards the background.

Christmas is fun when you have someone to celebrate with.

"Look who's gettin' into the holiday spirit... Seems I really am Silver Santy Claus."

Your eyes roll dramatically as you turn to face a clearly overly-proud-of-himself Peter. You'd think he just saved a bus full of civilians with the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, okay, Santa."

"Wanna sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas-"

He was gonna crack a joke and tease you but had no idea where he was taking that and it also... Sounded a bit - well - yeah. An awkward pause follows and you can't stop yourself from laughing.

"Jesus, Peter. Stuff really just falls outta your mouth, huh?"

"The offer still stands."

Oh. Well now you're blushing. Not good.

He grins triumphantly rather than being embarrassed, instead just teasing the hell out of you anyway.

••

The colored light twinkle so vibrantly around your room, it truly feels like a fantasy land.

Your gaze lands on Peter who looks to be just as enamored by the Christmas lights, the colors reflecting across his hair and basking him in the vibrant glow, little flickers of blue, green, red and pink dotting in his big doe eyes.

He looks back at you after a moment and it seems he sees the exact same thing happening to you, colors dancing across your face in a mesmerizing fashion.

He points up at the ceiling to draw your attention there.

"Well, would ya look at that... It's tradition to kiss under it, right?"

"Peter... That's not mistletoe. That's a piece of a tree branch from the yard."

Not another word is uttered before your lips meet his anyway under the Christmas lights, Peter was never one to waste time after all. Fingers clutching onto his fluffy silver locks with his hands rested against your back to tug you impossibly close.

You taste the remnants of various sweets on his lips, warmth blooming through your veins as you two part after a moment.

"Does this count as your Christmas gift this year?"

"Shut up, Peter."

-

{This is so stupid but I wanted to write something for Christmas LOL}

-

{More Content}

[bangtanshomura]

PINK | 2/? | pjm

summary: A neighbor as pink and hopelessly romantic as you and an equally pink neighbor like Jimin (but without a thing or two in common), sounds almost perfect together, right?. The only problem? That you are madly in love with him but his tonalities are very different from yours.

pairing: park jimin x female reader.

genre: fluff, angst, (maybe in the future a little of smut? not so sure).

word count: 1992

warning: unrequited love, pinning, so much embarrassment, a looooot of pink hehe, hurt, some mxm with ot7, you know…it happens sometimes.

------

Pink, 'cause you are so very

“Sup with the face, sugar?” Seokjin’s voice pulls you back to reality. Or maybe was Jimin’s text.

“Jimin asked me if he should go on a date with the pretty girl of the coffee shop across the street”

“You are a pretty girl” He points you with a finger, looking at you harshly. “And Jimin always says stupid things, so please, don’t overthink this”

“But I'm not the pretty girl he would consider asking out on a date” your voice is almost a whisper, so genuinely hurt that Seokjin can't help the tug at his heart.

“Well, his loss, I’m telling you” He scoffs “He will see you someday—” Tucks a lock of hair behind your ear with an affectionate smile. “ like, really see you. And I hope it's not too late when that happens”

Everyone knows what a wonderful person you are, including Park Jimin.

The only person who apparently lacks this information is you.

And it's not that Seokjin has any feelings of hatred and contempt towards the now black-haired boy; but he didn’t appreciate the way he lured you to him and then pushed you away.

Actually, even if Namjoon thinks otherwise, he is absolutely certain that there is some reason why Jimin's colors look somewhat... dull.

There must be a reason why despite the subtle -quite obvious in Seokjin's opinion- attraction Jimin feels for you, he doesn't let it develop but also doesn't let it stop.

Seokjin just knows it's like that, it's a feeling,

“I love you so much Jinnie, but I don't want to talk about this anymore” You leave a small kiss in his cheek before you continue talking. “Are you coming for some unhealthy dinner tonight?”

“You know that we will, baby” The wink it throws at you makes you giggle “Namjoon will pick us up ten minutes before we close the store, safety an all, you know my man” You both laugh a little. “Any suggestions?”

“I'm craving a cheeseburger from McDonald’s”

“A cheeseburger from McDonald's will be” It’s a reality, they don’t know how to say no to you. And they don’t want to. “Now, help me with this arrangement, I have never met a bride as demanding as this girl. I swear”

______

"Just when I think you can't get any more idiotic, you come along and surprise me Jimin."

Yoongi’s raspy voice makes him roll his eyes.

“What are you talking about now?”

“You know what. Don’t play dumb with me” He signals his phone with a movement of the head and scolds him with his eyes. Translation: He read the messages. “You can’t keep doing this to her.”

Jimin looked out the window again, exchanging glances with the barista who batted her eyelashes flirtatiously, gifting him a smile that he returned with a smaller one of his own.

She's pretty, he had to admit that. But neither her flirtatious smile nor her long, stylish hair, managed to provoke anything in him.

Not like his small, pink, innocent neighbor.

A sigh left his lips and he returned his gaze to his phone.

“I know”

______

“Are we hungry or what?”

Namjoon enters the shop with his extra-large arms extended, prepare to wrap you two in a bear hug.

“We are always hungry; you already know that hun”

Seokjin takes his face in between his hands with so much delicacy that you want to cry but instead you fake a gagging noise that makes them chuckle and you smile fondly to the presence of their love.

“Let’s go before you suffocate me with so much PDA” You give them a weak smile walking towards the entrance, in a crestfallen manner.

The taller one knows there is something in your voice that doesn't fit the facade you want to sell him, so, he looks to his boyfriend direction with a raised brow and an interrogation mark painted on its face.

His boyfriend answers him with a silent lip movement, a name, clarifying the situation.

Of course, it had to be.

“I cross paths with Jungkook this morning”

“Really? How is he?” Your question doesn’t come as curious as his want’s to, but he keeps anyways.

“You know, hotter than before” Seokjin watches him curious while locking the gate of the flower shop, eyebrow arching and he clarifies his voice. “I might have invited him to dinner today”

Okay, he may not have invited him, but they did crossed paths in a convenience store while the younger one was carrying a bag full of banana milk.

But he will.

“…You did?”

The hesitation in your voice gives him a push.

“Yeah, I mean, is it wrong?”

————

You should have known.

How is it possible that a specimen like Jeon Jungkook exists and on top of that, he is single.

Damn Kim Namjoon and damn his twisted plan or whatever that goes through his prodigy brain.

“You could have warned me that he looked like that!”

“Boring” Namjoon prolonged the ‘o’ “I don’t see what’s wrong. He is hot, you are hot, he is single, you are single. A win-win situation if you ask me”.

“But I didn’t”.

“Irrelevant. We are having an amazing night y/n. You know that I’m not going to force you on a date with Jungkook but I want you to enjoy this moment with me, with us”.

“I am enjoying the moment, excuse you” You murmur.

“No your not. You think that I didn’t see the sadness in your eyes?”

“Nam…”

“No baby, not today” He takes a deep breath and looks at you with so much love and concern. “Please”

Deep inside, you know he is right, that you need a night of rest from the problem in your heart that has Park Jimin as its name.

Jungkook is funny, sweet, attentive and Namjoon isn't lying when he says the four of you are having a spectacular night.

You can see it in your best friend's eyes, the desperation to see you well, happy.

So, you agree.

“But!—” Namjoon waits for whatever that you are going to say “What the fuck with those tattoos? And the piercing? He can’t be real, you created him”

He lets out a thunderous laugh as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Girl, I know”

______

“Thank you so much for having me tonight y/n”

“Oh, no, no” You blush. He chuckles, watching you trying to burn holes in the door of the apartment in front of yours to avoid his gaze. “I-I…eh…Thank you! T-Thank you for coming, like, here, to my house, obviously…oh my god”

You want to slap your face for making a fool of yourself in front of another extremely hot man.

And then, he smiles.

And it's not a smirk or a chuckle that can be interpreted as "I know what I’m doing to you."

It's genuine.

He’s giving you his adorable bunny smile.

“Cute”

If he is about to say something else besides what your brain translated as a compliment, a voice coming from the elevator at the end of the hall momentarily distracts you from it.

“Hey pink”

Although Jimin's greeting is for you, his eyes are intently fixed on the male figure next to you, who watches him curiously.

“Jiminie, you are at home”

Jungkook's eyes travel quickly from Jimin to you, who -with incredible speed for someone so small- runs into the arms of the black-haired boy standing in front of the elevator door.

The gears in his brain working at full power, stopping abruptly when this guy drops the bags he was carrying on the floor so he can wrap his arms around your waist, still throwing daggers in his direction.

Then the realization hits him, and his lips let out an amused chuckle.

This guy must see him as a threat and being honest, he could be.

If you'd let him, that is.

“Yoongi didn't let me escape early, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to dinner with you”

The butterflies in your belly do a triple loop at his words.

"It's okay, I understand" You say turning around but not before grabbing one of the bags lying on the floor and incidentally, the hand he keep unoccupied by the other bags, you turn to Jungkook with a smile "Jungkookie, this is Jiminie, my neighbor!"

“Hi, Jiminie the neighbor”

Jungkook extends his hand offering it in a cordial greeting, while Jimin examines him completely to finally put down the bags and shake it without separating his hand that is holding yours.

“Just Jimin”

You don't quite understand why they seem to be having a battle to the death with just their eyes, in the middle of the hallway, while Mrs. Kim passes by and watches the scene with curiosity.

You give her a somewhat apologetic smile and make a small bow before -trying- to take a step to get closer to Jungkook.

Try, because the moment Jimin detected movement on your part, he pulled your hand with a little force -without hurting you of course-, to return you to his side.

Jungkook catches between his lips the mocking laughter that wants to escape from his chest and instead returns his gaze to you, smiling softly.

"I'd love to stay and get to know 'Just Jimin' a little more, but I'm afraid it's a little late" You can watch from the corner of your eye as Jimin rolls his eyes and turns to the side with a pout on his lips.

Weird.

Not the tantrum, you've seen it multiple times.

The moment. Yeah, that's weird.

"Actually, yes. It's late. Jungkookie from college" Jimin says dryly

For some reason your brain fails to organize its ideas and thoughts, they're all scattered all over the floor of what you assume is the control room in your head.

"Sure" Jungkook replies without looking at him, taking a step to get closer to you, snapping you out of your thoughts "Really, thanks for tonight, y/n"

Jimin knows, he can feel it.

His cheeks must be red and his forehead must have the biggest scowl in history.

Because, who does he think he is, Jungkookie from college, to hug you like that?

Even when his hand is intertwined with yours!.

"Oh" Jungkook's warm embrace brings you back to your senses completely. unconsciously letting go of Jimin's hand to return the gesture with affection "Thank you for coming, I hope Namjoon didn't force you to come all the way here."

"Not at all. Actually, I'd love to meet with you guys again."

When you part, Jimin makes his presence noticeable again, taking your hand quickly with a huff.

------

"I thought only Namjoon and Jin were coming for dinner?"

Jimin lets the question out casually, wishing it wasn't too obvious his need for information from the - apparently - new member of your group.

"Oh, yeah, Namjoon found Jungkook by chance and invited him over for old times' sake."

He can see how you arrange some cans in his cupboard, as if you know the place by heart.

Leaning on his kitchen counter, a smile moves over his lips at the domesticity of the moment.

How can you look so pretty and pink, doing something as mundane as stocking his pantry?

And it's this very thought that forces him to take control of the situation. Because he knows that what happened in the hallway a few minutes ago must have confused you even if you don't show it to him.

And it's not something he can afford.

"I see" Running his hand through his hair -a habit he doesn't intend to abandon-, he starts rummaging through another shopping bag as he continues "Did you read my messages?"

He can see you cease your movements and stand still with a bag of candy in one hand.

"I-I..."

"Nevermind" He Interrupts you "Yoongi advised me on one or two things that might be useful."

"He did?"

No.

But you can't know that.

"Yeah, he did."

------

A/N:

For the people who read the first part, I'm sorry for the delay but I've been going through an unexpected and difficult time, so I promise to make up for the lost time. In the meantime I'll leave this chapter here and I hope you enjoy it and again, I'm really sorry!

[secretly-a-cold-blooded-murderer]

Stuck in Love (Harry styles x Reader)

A/N: I have literally no idea how cars work, so if I got anything wrong, I apologise.

Summary: Harry and you get stuck in your car during a snow storm. Things happen.

"I am going to die, and I am going to die with an absolute idiot", you cried, almost meaning it.

"Heyyy, don’t let that be the last thing you ever say about me", Harry grumbled, lightly hitting you in the shoulder.

You turned away from him and faced the window. "Shut up”; you then started whispering a little prayer. Despite your banter, you were actually quite worried about your life.

Harry realising your condition, turned silent and instead started playing around with the steering wheel to keep himself occupied.

You busied your mind, thinking about every idiotic mistake you had made that led up to this very moment.

When you looked out your window, it was snowing quite bad and you realised you might not be able to go out later to get groceries and other necessities that you were running out of. You got your car keys, made sure to lock up your house and left in your car.

First mistake

When you reached your nearest superstore, you found that all the stores in your area were closed. You didn't register the seriousness of the situation.

You then drove around town, looking for any stores that might be open; you really needed the items. But found yourself unsuccessful.

Your phone pinged, bringing your attention to the little device. It was your best friend texting you 'Hey, what's up?', you pulled your car over and called him as soon as an idea came to your mind.

"H, I need your help", you said as soon as he picked up.

Second mistake

"Thank you so much H, I owe you one," You said to Harry as you put the supplies in your car's trunk, Harry behind you bringing the rest from inside his house. 

"A friend in need is a friend indeed, I believe is the quote", Harry puts the remaining supplies in the trunk as well, "Besides, without these" - gesturing towards the trunk - "You would be fucked".

You raised your eyebrows, amused, "I know, that's why I said thank you”.

You got into your car, about to drive off when you realised that Harry was getting into the passenger's seat, "What do you think you're doing?” 

"The weather is horrible, I don't think you should be driving home alone”, Harry said casually, fastening his seatbelt.

"And how are you supposed to get back?" You folded your arms across your chest and waited for his response.

"Will come back tomorrow, don' worry love", Your heart thumped a little louder with the nickname. You just sighed and started the car.

Third mistake

The snow fall had increased quite significantly, making it difficult for you to navigate the road.

It wasn't long before your car started slowing down and suddenly just stopped. Confused, you turned the keys a couple times but the car didn't start. 

You got out of the vehicle, the cold wind instantly hitting you, and lifted up the hood of your car to assess the problem.

“Wha’ happened?” Harrys asked as he stuck his head out the window, squinting his eyes as he waited for your answer.

“I think the low temperature has caused the engine oil to become thicker”, you said with not much surety in your voice.  

“So, wha’ do we do?”, you just shrugged and asked him to move to the driver’s seat and turn everything off, then start the ignition again. Harry did what you asked but your car still didn’t comply. 

Dejected, you went back and sat in the passenger’s seat before turning to Harry, “I am out of ideas. The car won’t start, I don’t know anything more to help and the snow fall just keeps on increasing by the minute”.

“We can call for a tow truck” Harry suggested and looked for his phone, he realised moments after that he left his phone back at his place, looking sheepishly at you he asked if he could use your phone instead. 

You passed your phone to him with a sigh. A thousand thoughts running through your head as you briefly heard Harry calling the tow company.

“But…Sir this is an emergency…I understand, but we are stuck…”

Your attention turned back to Harry as you heard him let out a groan of frustration. “They can’t come till morning, said the roads are all blocked with snow. Even asked us to stay put in our car, idiots.” 

“Maybe we can walk back to your place, it can’t be that far from here” you suggested weakly before shaking your head and laying back down on your seat. The snow fall was too heavy for anyone to walk down the street and even make it out alive.

You were really frustrated, the whole night had been one bad event after the other.

The one thing that made this whole ordeal fractionally better was sitting next to you. You turned your head to face him. Harry had his eyes closed and for one moment you could only admire him. He had really long eyelashes, you never noticed that before.

You felt a smile creep up to your face, you almost forgot about the snow filling up around your car. You wanted to reach out your hand and caress his face, but you refrained. You were his best friend, not a creep.

“Do ya’ think pee evaporates and comes back as snow?” You were startled by the sudden sound piercing through the silence.

“what?”

“I said, do ya’ think pee, that’s like on the roadside evaporates and then comes down as snow?”

“I got that, but I wanted to give you an opportunity to take that back. Idiot,” you laughed at your best friend’s ridiculousness, silently thanking him for bringing you back from the hole you were about to crawl into. You didn’t want to go back to pining on him, it took everything out of you last time. You had finally moved on and couldn’t afford to go back down that road again.

Your best friend’s laugh was still ringing in your ears; you felt your heart rate slightly pick up, but you ignored it. Not again.

“Let’s play a game. I am bored.” 

Harry pinched his lower lip between his thumb and pointer finger in thought. As he raked his head for some ideas, you looked out the windshield to find it completely covered with snow. You came to the conclusion that your car was completely buried under the snow. Panic now building inside you.

“How about two truths and a lie?” You almost forgot you had asked him to play a game. You nodded, “You first”.

“Okay, how about uhh…I  am deathly scared of clowns; I once stepped on a pear covered with bees, was stung multiple times, and almost died from an allergic reaction; and I have never gotten a ticket of any kind.” Harry smiled, amused, as your expression shifted from slight confusion to one of complete confidence.

“Please, with the way you drive, I don’t believe for even a second that you’ve never gotten a ticket; which makes me worry about you. Honey, bee covered pear? Almost died? Are you okay?”

“I was like 10 when the pear incident happened, and honestly I deserved that. I was being a bit of an arsehole and wanted to mess with the bees” he chuckled.

“And instead they messed you up?” You groaned, laughing at your idiotic friend.

His shoulders shook in laughter, you could hear that sound forever.

Thump.

A sound jolted you both. Your smiles dropped as you looked at each other, worried. “What was that? Did you hear that sound? I am not going mad…right?”

He replied with a “I did. Maybe it was death, finally here to take us both”, stretching his hands upward in a dramatic fashion and laughed. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, H” you shrieked, now on the verge of tears. And he could only say, “I am” in between his laughter.

Which brought you back to where you were now. Eyes closed and praying for your life. You couldn’t even see out the window to determine if the snow had stopped or not. You were both surrounded in a thick blanket of darkness. You were hungry, cold and probably going to die in the next couple hours; while the man you oh so foolishly fell in love with didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation.

You were also way past the point of denial. If you were going to die tonight, you didn’t want to live your last moments denying the very obvious feelings you had for the person beside you.

“I am scared as well.” You brought your head towards Harry, you wait for him to elaborate. “I figured there was no use for both of us to be afraid, we can’t really do anything about the situation so I tried to distract you, but that clearly didn’t work”, he chuckled half heartedly.

In a brief moment of courage, you placed your hand behind Harry’s head and swiftly brought him into a kiss, surprising both him and yourself. 

It felt a little awkward, he seemed frozen and wasn’t responding and you didn’t really know what to do as well. It was just two pairs of lips touching, but not really doing anything else. You started regretting your decision, cursing yourself for ruining everything between you two. No matter what happened moving forward, you knew things would never be the same. 

But then his lips started moving against yours, making you gasp. He brought one of his hand to wrap around your waist and the other to cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him. Which made for a little weird position, considering the gear stick placed between you. But neither of you seemed to mind. You let him pull you closer to himself, lips frantically moving against each other now.

After several hours or minutes or seconds- time seemed irrelevant- you both separated, breathing quite heavily, only inches apart. You could feel the smile growing on his face. “I really like you”, you admitted in a whisper, “I have for a while now”.

“Ditto”

“Nope, I refuse to let that be your love declaration”, shaking your head, you crossed your arms across your chest and moved back into your seat.

“Fine, I love you Y/N, have done so ever since the time ya’ blackmailed me with that naked baby picture of mine,” he huffed and despite the darkness, you knew that his cheeks were tinted with pink, he functioned like that, always blushing at the littlest of things.

“That long huh”, you smiled and brought him into another kiss.

That was how the rest of your night was spent, whispered debate over who had loved the other longer, silencing each other with kisses, glances that had no need to be stolen anymore.

The next morning, the tow company workers found you both, tangled in each other’s arms, sleeping peacefully. Alive.   

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Chapter 8 is finally finished and boi was it a fight. Thank you again for proofreading @haro-whumps <3 and for anyone else who might wonder, the dish Paxton is cooking in this drabble is a traditional polish dish called Zupa Mleczna

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @orchidscript  @finder-of-rings  @haro-whumps

CW: mentioned past abuse, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe typical slavery, aftermath of conditioning, fucked up headspace of whumpee 

The week had simultaneously stretched into an endless expanse of getting to know someone new, and flown by like the flutter of eyelashes.

Paxton’s box had caught dust, halfway forgotten in the attic by now, and Paxton had grown used to sleeping wrapped in warmth, when he was particularly lucky even in his master’s arms, and he savored every second of it.

Life in the shared flat never ceased to amaze Paxton, every new day leaving him less scared, rather eager to learn more about his new master, this new world. He cherished every newly revealed facet of Amal as he tried to assemble them into something comprehensible, piecing together the most wondrous and complex puzzle he’d ever seen.

In those last days for example, Paxton had discovered that Amal drank his tea piping hot, risking to burn his tongue rather than waiting for it to cool. He seemed to be like that with most things, always in a rush to reach his end goal as quickly as possible. The only times Amal could be patient was while creating something or when he was with Paxton.

Amal also tended to snack half the dinner ingredients, getting full before dinner was even ready but eating a portion nonetheless. Maybe, Paxton had thought, it’s because Amal often forgoes eating for hours, so absorbed in his work projects he seemingly forgets he exists in a physical body at all. Perfectly still and focused, his only movements pencil strokes over paper while he works on new tattoo designs. At certain points he would suddenly jump up, run to the bathroom, and raid the kitchen to gorge himself on all the snacks and leftovers he could find.

Paxton had made it a point to cook whenever Amal got ‘in the zone’ as Miss Meryem had jokingly called it, and even if his master had told him he didn’t have to, Paxton thought that he wanted to. Especially when it meant he could watch Amal munch away with that grateful, delighted expression of his, whenever Paxton prepared some tea or food.

Even Mister Finnegan had grown fond of Paxton, and had started  dragging him up to the attic, teaching him all about the plants overwintering there, waiting for their replanting in spring. Or how to bind winter wreaths from twigs and dried berries. Mister Finnegan had been surprised, the first time, how quickly Paxton had learned, and had praised him so much his face was still flushed red as they climbed down the attic ladder some time later.

In moments like these, Paxton wished he could still read and absorb all the precious information from the plant care guide Mister Finnegan had given to him. He longed for a time where his head didn’t explode with pain whenever he squinted at writing for too long. For when he wouldn’t get catapulted to the limits of his body, or worse, the borders of his own mind. Pain reduced him to a prisoner of bone and flesh, misfiring neurons became his jailer. 

                         --

Paxton poured noodles into warm milk with a soft sigh, careful not to burn them. A strangely familiar smell filled the kitchen while he cooked, cinnamon and sweetness anchored him in the here and now. Snowflakes danced beyond the kitchen window, crystals of cold sending phantom shivers down his spine. Paxton unrolled the soft green sleeves of his wool-sweater, letting them cover his scarred hands, soothing itchy skin, gentle like a caress. Warmth bloomed in his heart, with every slow stir of the wooden spoon, creating ripples in the milk.

What did it matter if he couldn’t read anymore? He still had his intuition, could still find parts of himself in tastes and smells and muscle memories. No, with his master’s permission to experiment, ‘or go crazy in the kitchen’ as Amal had put it, he didn’t need books, or to learn new things. The only things that mattered were that he remained good for his master, cooked things his master would enjoy, cleaned satisfactorily, (which was easy enough with such lenient masters in such a small flat), and  kept his master happy. Which was the easiest part of them all, since Amal seemed to delight in everything Paxton did. Even if he just lied on the couch, curled under blankets he couldn’t ever truly earn. But the rules were different here and Paxton’s heart began to buzz whenever he saw his master, not only with anxiety but with a warmth he thought he’d lost in an ice-cold white room. 

Satisfied with the noodle’s consistency, Paxton stirred in cinnamon and sugar, turned down the heat and started to pull bowls from the shelves as his master suddenly burst into the room, some kind of oversized smartphone clutched in one hand and a pleased grin plastered on his face.

“Paxton.” ,he said beaming.

The sudden intrusion of his cooking space made Paxton flinch, despite himself.  

Even though Amal was often buzzing around him, trying to help while he worked, it still set Paxton on edge, feeling utterly improper. A Boxboy receiving help from his master, inconveniencing him with undignified tasks like cleaning or cooking, was unforgivable! Sometimes Paxton even found himself wishing for Amal to be stricter. Yearning to just be punished by him, to be shown his place instead of being constantly overwhelmed by this kindness he didn’t even deserve.

Something must have given his unease away. His master’s grin softened into a sheepish smile as he sat down, slowly, gently placing the smartphone-like device on the table.

“Hey. Hi.” Amal’s voice grew soft, sounding almost shy and Paxton couldn’t help but return Amal’s smile. His lips and heart and body reacted all on their own around Amal. Separated from his desire to act appropriately, to be a good pet that could serve his master without breaking down crying every other day or stealing all his master’s blankets at night.

“Hi…. Uhm, welcome back… sir.”

Paxton watched his master bite back a protest at the title, allowing him to use it like he’d promised.

“I came up with something for your reading… problem.”

Turning off the stovetop, Paxton turned around, hoping the hurried steps to his master’s side wouldn’t give his eagerness away.

The way Amal’s eyes glimmered up at him, crinkling with his smile, told Paxton he’d seen right through him. Like he always did.

Paxton looked down with warming cheeks, his stockinged feet shuffling over the polished kitchen floor. “And what, uhm, what… would that be? Sir?”

A bright grin lit Amal’s face up as he brought  the device to life with the press of a tiny button. “Tadaa. A friend gave me this tablet. Like, super cheap.” His master’s grin stretched even wider, and Paxton wondered for a second if his cheeks didn’t hurt. “And it has google voice search.”

He perked up. The term sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quiete place it. “Voice search?”

“Yes. Yes, come here.” Amal scooted over, shoving the tablet under Paxtons nose as soon as he’d sat down. His master leaned closer and his small body pressed up against Paxton, green curls tickling his chin as Amal rambled, his face flushed with excitement.

 “Here see, I already set it up so that only the symbols are visible. There’s no writing if you don’t go in the menu. So the important apps first. This is the Netflix symbol. Netflix is awesome because you can-“

Amal rested his elbow on Paxton’s thigh as he explained the virtues of streaming platforms and Paxton’s head blanked.  His master was so close and small and warm and smelled so so good and Paxton was utterly unable to concentrate on the tiny screen symbols for a moment.

Focus! Focus! Focus! Master said this is important.

“Okay but what’s probably the most useful for you is youtube.”

Paxton watched him tap on the small red icon and big pictures with little texts under them popped up. Thumbnails, as master called them. If Paxton squinted a bit he could ignore the letters enough to evade a new impending headache.

“There are tutorials and documentaries  and video essays for basically everything you could wish for. You just have to press the little microphone and hold it while you ask.”

“Uhm, ask- ask what, Sir?” All this new information made Paxton’s head spin.

“Uh, I don’t know,” his master confessed as he scooted back with a bashful smile and Paxton swallowed a frustrated whine. The leg master had just leaned on felt suddenly, terribly cold. He wanted master to nuzzle back against him and continue to explain new things to him in this adorably excited way of his.

Stupid, stupid Pet. You messed up and now master is just going to leave and never show you anything he likes ever again because you’re too stupid to understand it. You useless-

“Anything that interests you I guess. Hm let’s see, something other than cooking maybe.”

Paxton’s heart sank. Was it not good that he liked to cook? Master always said he didn’t have to but-

Amal waved his hands apologetically “Not that there is anything wrong with cooking.”

His master had seen right through him. Again.

“But maybe we could search for more things you like?”

You’re a pet now. What you want is irrelevant 626.

Paxton gave an insecure little nod and Amal pressed the little microphone symbol with a smile as he demanded,. “Funny cat videos.”

Sure enough, thumbnails with cute little kittens plopped up just as his master had ordered. His voice had been direct but warm. Firm. Paxton really liked to hear his master order for something, and the hope that he would maybe at some point talk to him like that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, right to- His leg twitched as he took the tablet from his master’s hands.

“I- I want to- to try.”

“Go ahead then.” A smile tinted his master’s voice but still, this could count as an order. Right?

Unsure, Paxton pressed the microphone symbol. “Uhm, could you, you please show me how to bind flower wreaths. Please?”

Unlike when his master did it, no thumbnails appeared. He stared at the thick black letters in confusion. He must have done something wrong and the letters were meant to punish his failure. Paxton could already feel the impending headache throb behind his eyes. He wanted to endure it, to force himself and look at those letters of damnation, but Amal took the tablet from him.

Now he must have messed it up.

Fearing for the worst Paxton glanced down at his master.  Amal’s eyebrows were drawn together and the corners of his mouth twitched as teeth dug hard into his bottom lip. White sunken into pink flesh.

Surely this was it. The moment of punishment had finally come. Even his master’s patience must have reached its limits after Paxton messed up such a simple order.

Bracing for the impact he froze as his master doubled over snorting.

“Oh god you’re so cute, you know that?!”

Paxton’s mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on land. His head spun the same way it did when he had been choked for too long. Cute? He?! Had his master ever really looked at him?! “Wha- wha- wha- what?”

Amal swiped a little tear from his eye, as he grinned up at him, still giggling. “You can’t literally formulate a whole question, you know?! Just use buzzwords or the search engine gets confused.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was confused right now.

“Buzzwords, Sir?”

“Yeah.” Amal nodded. “Like: flower wreathes tutorial.”

“But, but,” Paxton gasped, flushing red like the soft new leather collar he had chosen in a tiny salacious shop with his master yesterday. “That would, would be utterly impolite.” His voice dropped into a whisper. “I behave improperly enough as it is.”

“Hey.” Amal’s hand came up and cupped his cheek, turning Paxton’s head gently to face him. He melted into the tender caress, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he willed himself to meet his master’s soft smile. “You’re perfect, okay?! And besides, it’s impossible to be impolite to a computer program. So would you try again? For me?”

It was not fair. How could he ever deny his master if he asked like this?! Now it dawned on Paxton why Amal didn’t use any form of punishment or disciplinary measures. His master simply didn’t need to, with his dark big eyes blinking up at him like this, his full lips curved into an encouraging smile. Paxton knew he would cut his own hands open without hesitation if Amal would wish for it, so what was ignoring his training to always remain polite compared to that?!

Taking a deep breath he whispered, “Flower wreaths tutorial,” and just like his master had promised it worked. Amal rubbed soft circles in his back as pictures of artfully arranged flowers appeared on the screen. “See? I told you you’re perfect.”

Buzzing under his master’s praise, Paxton felt his own words vibrate in his chest, shatter some invisible barriere with the force of the first brick thrown June 28, 1969. A grin revealed a flash of white teeth as he whispered, “I did it.”

.

[phobiadeficient]

Hi!!! Would you be interested in doing something with either spy and engineer, or really whatever pairing you felt like writing, and the prompt of “appreciating old scars”? You put such an emotionally lovely twist on the things you write, I just bet it’s a concept that would look great in your writing.

me, zeroing on the word “emotion” and immediately fishing through the Bag of Hurt/Comfort for some truly sappy shit: oh you have fucked up my friend

(minor warning for discussion of past amputation, past surgery, and past severe injury, as well as some insecurity over prosthetics)

-

He felt a burning sort of tingle on his back, and he looked up, turned, and caught Spy’s gaze on him. Surprising that he’d catch Spy staring—more surprising was that he didn’t stop, despite clearly being caught.

The Engineer tried to figure out where he was looking, but the answer was fairly obvious. He was looking at the Engineer’s arm. Rather, he was looking at the place where his arm ceased to be.

The Engineer flushed and quickly set about putting on the Gunslinger and glove.

That was the issue with most of the outpost bases—at the main base in New Mexico, he had his full workshop, a storage space within repurposed as his own room, an area there that he tended to use for a shower so he wouldn’t need to deal with any of the hustle and bustle of the locker rooms beyond hosing off his shoes so he didn’t track into the base. Plenty of privacy and space.

But up in Snowplow? Not so much.

The singular set of showers was the worst part, in his opinion. Three shower stalls total, and two toilets, and three sinks to shave at. He tended to shower in the evenings, so he only usually needed to deal with Heavy, Spy, and occasionally Pyro, as opposed to the chaos that happened in the mornings with everyone else, and generally Sniper had to shave twice daily if he wanted to maintain a clean face, but it was still a bit close for comfort at times.

Not much privacy.

The team all knew about the Gunslinger by then, had all seen it. Everyone—even Scout—was just polite enough not to ask about it, other than a surprised reaction each of their first times seeing it. The Medic asked a few questions during his mandatory physical, but they were all entirely professional—“Is the artificial limb removable,” “What is the standard regiment of care for the site of amputation,” “Are there prepared replacements in the event of prosthetic malfunction,” “Can the replacement limb be exposed to water and other such environmental factors,”—things of that nature, entirely reasonable questions for his primary care physician to be asking. And then exactly one non-professional question, his asking if the limb was capable of strength more than that of the average human, and the Engineer nodded, and he seemed pleased, even if he didn’t press the matter any further.

Largely, he kept it private. But then suddenly he had to shower with everyone else, and he couldn’t let the Gunslinger get too wet, so he had to take it off and leave it outside of the stall. And then as he was drying off enough to put it back on his arm, Spy was looking at his lack of arm, very openly and obviously.

Thinking back on it later, hunched over the meager desk he had available in their minuscule base, he decided Spy didn’t exactly look disgusted or horrified by the lack of a limb. And he didn’t look, even worse, pitying over it. He just… looked. Observed. Took note, maybe. And when he’d looked back up at the Engineer and met eyes with him, he didn’t seem guilty or smug, it was just… recognition. It was just the sort of look to say, “Yes, I was looking at you. Yes, I know you saw me. And there’s really nothing wrong with either of those things. Do you disagree?”

He did, a little.

It was maybe coincidental that over the course of what eventually turned into a camaraderie, and then a true friendship, and then a romantic relationship, the first time they fell into bed together was when they’d once again rotated back around to being stationed at Snowplow. They kept their voices low, aware of the thin walls, rooms pressed close together, the threat of being heard very present. And the Spy slowly stripped off several items of his own clothes, one by one, exchanging long, slow kisses in between, and had only freed the Engineer of his goggles and hat before his fingers fell to dwell at the edge of his rubber glove questioningly.

The Engineer allowed himself a sigh before he pulled the glove off, revealing his robotic arm to the meager light, sunset drifting through the boarded windows of the room and striking light across exposed skin like stationary flashes of lightning, harsh and surprising even in longevity.

The Spy moved to line up his own gloves fingertips with that of the hand’s, finding the task a little difficult due to the slightly odd offset of them. The Engineer waited impatiently for words, for something, and ended up breaking first when none came. “Aren’t you going to ask me how it happened? Where my arm went? How I built this?” he prompted, tone gentle, words defeated.

The Spy tilted his head back up to regard him, and a beam of light crested just across his bottommost eyelashes. “Would you like me to, Dell?” he asked gently.

No, was the answer to that question, but that was irrelevant. “Don’t you want to know?” he asked instead of answering.

The Spy tilted his head very slightly, and the light moved to only catch against his cheekbone. “Ah. But there is a very distinct difference between what I want to know and what I must know, mon cher,” he said easily. “I want to know everything, everything that there is to know, everything in the world. But I do not need to. Non, I think the only thing I need to know…”

Hesitation, gently threading his fingers into the prosthetic’s.

“Will this ever hurt me?” he asked, and looked back up at the Engineer.

“Only if I want it to,” the Engineer said, and squeezed very gently to demonstrate. “So never.”

Spy smiled a little at that, and the motion in his face adjusted his cheek just so, until at once the light could touch his eyelashes and cheek both at once, and Lord, but it was gorgeous. “Never is a very considerable promise, mon beau,” he warned.

“I know,” the Engineer said, and it was enough, at least for then. And he never did get around to taking off his socks, and the Spy only stripped as far as his bottoms, pulling them some of the way down his legs, leaving on socks and garters and gloves and mask and undershirt alike as fervor overtook them both.

It was later, days later, that more discussion happened.

“It doesn’t make you nervous?” the Engineer asked, watching Spy once again idly trying to line up his hand with the false one as they laid together, Spy having coaxed him into resting for some part of the middle of their day off.

Spy hummed in question, looking up at him for but a moment.

“This thing,” he said, demonstrating with a roll of his fingers. “It doesn’t… put you off?”

“Not particularly,” Spy shrugged. “At most, I am occasionally startled by the texture of the glove when I forget which side it is on, or the sudden coolness of it. But I suppose you tolerate my own cold feet, so… assez juste.”

“Not just the feeling of it, the… the being of it.”

Spy tilted his head a little. “You are worried I do not… like it?” he asked, seeming a little confused.

“More that it… makes you nervous.”

A little laugh. “Dell, just because I cannot immediately see it, that does not mean it disappears entirely from my memory. We have been stationed together for years, now. Surely if it was something that bothered me—which is never has—I might have said something?”

He flushed. “Well… why wouldn’t it make you nervous? I’ve got my goddamn arm lobbed off, Spy, that’s… turned folks away before.”

Spy raised an eyebrow. “You think that amputation—or perhaps prosthesis—makes one undesirable?” he asked.

“A little bit,” he admitted.

“Well, count me surprised to learn you find me so hideous.”

Engie frowned. “What?”

Spy sighed, moving to tug off his gloves in two smooth motions, then promptly holding his hands out, palms-up, to see.

The pinkie finger of both hands, the last knuckle onward of his left ring finger, and the entirety of his right middle finger all shone an entirely different color and texture than the rest of his hands, visibly not made of flesh, but instead artificial.

“As they often do, the last finger of each hand simply follows the fourth,” he said, demonstrating by curling and uncurling the fingers in question. “To curl my center finger, I push down some of the way with the pointer and finish curling with my thumb. See? A few years of practice, and I hardly ever even needed to think about it. These are replacements and work roughly as well as organic—I got them during a short trip to Australia shortly after I signed on with Mann Co. as a mercenary—but still, I do things this way by habit. And luckily, since then I also have once again trained myself in piano.”

Engie was at a loss for words. “How many years have they been gone?”

Some quick mental math. “By now… hmm. I spent six without prosthetics, then perhaps twelve with standard, then ten until now with upgrades.”

Almost thirty years. The Engineer was shocked.

“And that’s not to speak of that which has been replaced in reconstructive surgery,” he said, tone still calm and casual, starting to point at his own face. “I lost the majority of my nose, and much of my right ear. The entire shell of my ear and all parts below the bridge of my nose were reconstructed.”

“Why? When?”

“Almost immediately following the accidents causing them.” The Spy tugged lightly on his mask, readjusting it absentmindedly. “It is very easy to identify and pick from a police lineup the man without an ear or a nose. Unless they took me for an undead Van Gogh, I would be entirely out of luck.”

“You’ve got red hair under there?” Engie asked, trying for a joke.

“I’ve had many different hair colors,” he said, turning his nose up a bit, and the Engineer laughed a little. “Regardless, these things happen. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

A hesitation. “What if… what if the changes are more… intentional? And not caused by an accident?” he asked gently.

Spy arched an eyebrow. “A sort of… extreme form of body modification?” he asked. “That would not be terribly shocking either.”

“What do you mean?”

A little laugh. “Dell, you have seen me naked. Surely you have noticed my tattoos.”

His head was spinning. “What?”

Spy hummed, sitting up, moving now to unbutton his dress shirt and pull himself free of the undershirt beneath. “I suppose I was facing you the whole time, and my legs were largely unexposed,” he said, even as he struggled a bit with the fabric. Then he was turning to face away from the Engineer, squaring his shoulders, and he leaned in, surprised.

Some were symbols and markings, no doubt earned from stints infiltrating prison gangs, or perhaps as proofs for insurgents. But others were clearly decorative—roses, phrases, patterns. He didn’t quite get a proper look at them all before Spy was standing, pulling himself free of his pants, and moving fabric aside to show the further decoration on one hip, and up the other thigh. Large, intricate tattoos, weaving and twisting. And across several of those tattoos, scars, and along several of the scars tattoos, the scars not so much ruining several of them as becoming further decoration, further artistry.

“I also have a black spot etched into the bottom of my foot,” he said, lying back down with the Engineer gracefully. “But I choose not to count that one, as it was put there against my will. Forgive me for not stopping to show you that one, I’m sure the sight of my bare ankles would be absolutely scandalous.”

“Might just faint,” Engineer agreed sagely.

“Of course,” Spy agreed, laughing a little. He reached a hand up to stroke across the Engineer’s cheek, and he wondered how he’d never noticed before, the shift in firmness between his flesh fingers and the other ones—mostly wooden, by the feeling of them. Maybe the leather gloves were padded. He wasn’t sure. “Dell, what I am saying is that you do not frighten me. Not your body, at least—I would have to be an idiot to be left unintimidated by your intelligence.”

��You’re intimidated by my intelligence?” he asked, earnestly a little surprised.

“Hm. Some amount intimidated,” he agreed, and then he was up, straddling the Engineer, hands pressing into either shoulder. “The rest, aroused, but I have not entirely made up my mind on it yet.”

“Could be more,” he decided, hands finding Spy’s hips, eyes drifting over where Spy hadn’t yet risen to full hardness in his undershorts.

“So I could,” Spy agreed. “But instead, I think you have deserved a night of attention, mon beau.”

“How’d I earn that?” he asked, stroking his flesh palm up across Spy’s chest.

“I’m sure I could make any number of excuses, but to be entirely truthful, I just very much want it to happen.” He squeezed the Engineer’s shoulders. “Indulge me?”

“Go ahead,” he agreed.

He expected kissing, and perhaps a lengthy session of stroking, being teased to the edge at a languid pace and held there for some time until Spy finally pushed him over it again.

He didn’t expect downright oral worship.

Spy stripped him bare, taking the time to lay kisses in the wake of his hands, moving so slowly that it might have been unbearable if the Engineer was a little younger, a little more wound up. As it was, it was soothing, like some kind of ticklish massage.

Spy paused at one point, glancing up at him when he shivered and shifted slightly. He took note of the goosebumps rising on his arms, and gave a parting kiss to his navel before standing and looking around briefly.

He returned to bed with a large, thick blanket, and draped it around his own shoulders as he laid down, then took the care to lay it out over the both of them, tugging and tucking as needed. The shift of his bare thighs against the Engineer’s as he kept adjusting surely wasn’t intended to be so sensual, but he found it sending a ticklish feeling up through his body, something like butterflies, but they didn’t linger in his stomach. Instead they prompted him to reach up and stroke a hand over the Spy’s chest again. But then Spy was taking that hand and pushing it to lie up next to his head, leaned over him with a little grin.

“I believe I already said this night is about you, mon chou-chou, he purred. “Surely you don’t want to inturrupt it?”

“Just feel a bit strange, just… lyin’ here and all,” he admitted, shifting a little.

Spy hummed, considered that. Then he was bracing elbows on either side of the Engineer’s head, moving to nuzzle along the pit of his neck and press teasing kisses at either pulse point. “Dell, if your concern is with reciprocation, I can assure you that I am very much going to enjoy this,” he purred, breath warm and soothing against his skin, and his goosebumps were no longer from the chill of the room.

It took him a little while to understand the game Spy was playing. He pressed further kisses and feather-light scrapes of teeth and kitten-licks in gentle lines and patterns starting at the wrist of his flesh-and-blood hand, taking the time to move up and pay special attention to each fingertip and knuckle. Then he was moving down along his arm, pausing for long moments in seemingly random places.

He paused for a long moment at the Engineer’s elbow, and it was an odd enough choice that he finally pieced it together, pulse jumping.

What had to be in common between his hands, those random spots along his arms, his elbow? Scars.

The majority of scars on his hands were from mistakes when building, an unavoidable part of often working with power tools and machinery. His fingertips were scarred enough in some places that he largely didn’t have feeling in them anymore. Then along his arms, one place where he’d been bit by a dog years ago, and from mishaps that had happened when cooking with oil and grease, stray splatters that left little blotchy patches, especially visible given the distinct lack of hair that coated much of the rest of his arm.

He knew he was a fuzzy man. He was aware. It was just made all the more obvious, he thought, by the way hair tended not to grow over old scar tissue and marks, leaving them patchy, further drawing the eye.

Usually he would probably feel self-conscious, noticing such a thing, but Spy had moved along up his arm, still kissing at him as tenderly as if he was worried about reopening decades-old wounds, and he couldn’t find it in him to want to squirm away.

Reaching his shoulder, Spy laid a simple kiss to the apex, and looked over at him, and as of reading his mind, he murmured a simple “Handsome.”

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled, covering his own face with his hand, flushing, very much wishing he had his goggles on just then to help hide his expression a little.

Spy just laughed, not a mocking thing, not at him, more just… a wordless vocalization of how much he was enjoying himself, making the Engineer flush and fluster.

Then he dipped down and started lying kisses over the Engineer’s abdomen below his ribs.

It had been years since he got his appendix out, but the scars were still there—a few little ones, maybe an inch or so wide. And Spy paid gentle attentions to them, drawing his tongue flat against them then kissing so very gently, more a brush and press of lips than anything else. Then a pause, and he was dragging teeth gingerly over a larger web of scars marring the space there at the bottom of his ribcage to one side, the site of an accident that had required extensive surgery.

Then he moved up, paying some minute attention to either nipple—not for terribly long, the Engineer’s wasn’t particularly sensitive in that way—and then a gentle kiss just to his sternum before moving up further and concentrating for a few moments at his right shoulder.

He was concentrating on the two faded bullet wounds he had there, fingertips drifting around to brush against the exit wounds lightly enough that at first he thought it was his imagination.

“One of these days, you should tell me the stories you have behind these,” Spy suggested, glancing up at him briefly.

“Maybe if you tell me about yours,” the Engineer’s replied, smiling.

Spy snorted. “I’ll need to look into the status of several non-disclosure agreements and set aside a few days, but that’s fine by me,” he agreed, and kissed each scar again.

Then he was moving down along his right arm, and his breath caught.

Spy looked up at him briefly, gauging his expression, clearly trying to get a read on whether the Engineer was going to allow him to do this next part. Then, still maintaining eye contact, he slowly lowered his head to plant a brief kiss at the line between where flesh first connected with metal.

The Engineer swallowed hard. Spy looked at him. His expression had shifted away from playfulness at some point, and was a little more hollow, a little more serious.

he lowered his head again and pressed kisses all around the base of the Gunslinger, not quite rapid-fire, but certainly a departure from how slowly they’d been moving for the rest of the time. Then he looked up at the Engineer, hand squeezing around the wrist of his mechanical arm firmly.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he said, tone entirely certain. “You are a handsome, intelligent, and very strong man who made a choice for himself, and there is nothing—nothing at all—wrong with that. Do you understand me?”

The Engineer’s throat was growing tight. He couldn’t seem to find words.

Spy noticed, and moved to straddle him again, sitting up to look him straight in the eye. The blanket slid, falling to drape at his waist, and his expression was stern. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that this would upset me—if that is my own doing, I apologize, I’ll apologize as many times as I need to if it means putting you at ease. But I love you, and that means loving all of you, natural-born or otherwise.”

The Engineer sat up on one elbow, eyes gone wide. His mouth hung uselessly for a few moments before he forced his voice out, dry and uneven. “You love me?” he asked, the shame he felt at his voice cracking taking a backseat to the absolute wonder flooding into his chest.

“Of course. Surely it is not that much of a surprise,” Spy said, voice falling to teasing for a moment, hand tracing up through the hair on the Engineer’s chest idly.

His mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to figure out a response.

Another snort of amusement, this time at his plight. “I understand if you aren’t ready to say it back,” he assured evenly. “I would not expect you to. I just wanted to make it clear that this goes beyond simply physical desire, or simply filling some void of loneliness. Besides your being very handsome,” he purred, and the Engineer laughed a little, “you are also very important to me. Irreplaceable. And I wanted you to know that, and hopefully it will put some part of your mind at ease.”

His face felt hot as he stared up at Spy.

Actually, everything felt hot. He hadn’t noticed—how hadn’t he noticed?—but somewhere along the line of Spy kissing and licking and nipping across his skin, and petting at his chest, he’d gotten hard.

Maybe there were words in the middle, but it felt like a near-immediate transition then, from Spy looking down at him to the Engineer seizing him by the hips and starting to roll up against him demandingly, made aware of the small desperation that had bubbled to the surface of his mind.

Spy managed to wriggle free of his undershorts at least, and spat into his hand to get the both of them slick, and then he was doing the majority of the motion, given that each time the Engineer tried to rock up into his grip he mostly just threatened to unbalance him. And once he had the reins, the rolls and bucks of his hips, sliding them together in languid motions, it was borderline artful, a mastery that had the Engineer’s head falling back within moments, simply gripping down near Spy’s knees and holding on for dear life.

He leaned up on his elbow and helped support Spy’s weight when he suddenly bent forward and kissed him, solidly, with heat and hunger that almost caught the Engineer by surprise. Kissing him, trying his best to keep up with the way Spy was sending his head spinning, it was easy to hear the transition from panting to gasping to allowing a small near-whimper on each exhale between them. Spy’s eyes were hazy when they pulled back for air, and he mouthed a kiss to the Engineer’s cheek as if unable to help himself, panting hot and damp against his skin.

He was fairly sure that a Spy finished first, choking down moans and simply gasping out his name over and over again, scorching at his cheek and deep in his gut—“Oh, Dell, Dell, s’il v-vous, pl… s’il vous plait,”, something he was fairly certain would be making an appearance in every wet dream he ever had for the rest of his life—but he followed quickly after, groaning his defeat, as quiet as he could keep himself, horribly mindful of the thin walls. Although, admittedly, the thought of being heard sent some minor thrill through him. Something to be explored later, maybe.

The blanket had fallen free of the two of them at some point, down near Spy’s toes, heavy on the Engineer’s shins. Spy was panting hard against his collarbone, pausing only when he swallowed hard, and once his breath was sufficiently back, he was pressing all sorts of gentle little kisses up the vein of his neck, murmuring endearments that were either exclusively in French or perhaps too mumbled for him to understand.

“Really oughtn’t surprise me that you get cuddly, after,” the Engineer teased.

“It has been quite some time since I’ve had the opportunity to lie in bed with a strong, handsome man. Indulge me,” Spy said petulantly, and then he was shifting, his chest nearly at the Engineer’s eye level as he reached to try and fish out a cigarette. The Engineer leaned up to press a kiss to his sternum, and Spy didn’t startle so much as allow some of the looseness of his limbs to fall away, becoming slightly more alert. He huffed a laugh, and then he was cuddled in at the Engineer’s side, nosing into his shoulder.

He put his arm around the Spy on instinct, and belatedly realized it was his metal arm. “Don’t you wanna move over to the other—“ he started to hesitantly ask.

“Non,” Spy cut in, and leaned up to press a cheeky kiss right on the tip of his nose. “Not at all.”

[honestsycrets]

Bridal Price VII: Everything Changes

↳ vikings universe

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 2824

❛ genre | angst and some humor

❛ summary | Vaði helps hvitserk woo his wife.

❛ warnings | pathetic hvitserk, break ups, some violence, character death, flames, probably toasty hvitserk

His heart felt as empty as it ever had. Yes, he drowned his sorrows in a pitcher of booze. Women… they just didn’t appeal to him like they used to. Before he would have gladly fallen into any woman’s arms, fat or thin, regardless of the circumstance after a break up. It had officially been months and months of begging and asking you to take him back.

Day in and out he nursed this tiresome headache pulsing like an axe to the front of his head. In fact just like the time that Ivar ran his ass down with his wagon. At least he grew into that painful little scar in the middle of his forehead where he took a sharp rock. Here it was as if his heart was in a constant split.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Revna grinds against his arm, those luscious tits he bragged so much about against his muscles. God, she was beautiful with those big tits he could usually fuck his worries into. But after the fuck she would go on her way to the next man like clockwork. She pours him another cup.

“You’re just drunk.” She rolls her doe like eyes at him.

“It’s not because I’m drunk.” He slurs, but confidently so as he throws back another cup of ale. Then yanking his arm from her, he sneers to her. “I fucking love her and I lost her in a sea of fucking pussy.”

Revna bats her eyelashes at him as unmoved as they come. She calmly takes his cup from him, filling herself his drink. “You lost her because you’re a dumbass.” Revna takes the ale in one long drink, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s no wonder you’re the least special out of Ragnar’s sons.”

As she slams the cup onto the heavy oak table, Hvitserk’s lip is tight between his teeth. She had a point-- he was a dumbass. Who would turn down a beautiful woman like her? Hvitserk, obviously. As he shoves the plate off of his table, he could have seen the look on his mother’s face. How she would rush out, stop and then drop her arms in disappointment. Figures shift before him and he’s so sure that it is his mother standing in front of him. But when he looks up, its nothing of the sort.

“You should have kept her.” The man’s voice, buttery. “She could have made a good wife with the two of you cheating upon one another anyway.”

In place of his mother, Vaði stood there with his broad shoulders covered by a dirty brown fur. A drawn out sigh creeps out from Hvitserk’s lips.

“She’s not the right one.” He says.

“Now we care about the right one?” Vaði straightens out the fur on his shoulders. In his wrong mind, he questions how bad it would really be to crack his axe into the earl’s gut. After a brief, silent stint he decides to press on.

“Talk short, why are you here?” He reasons that enough men and women alike have come to take pity on his wounded heart. Vaði might also, dropping his hand to the pommel of his sheathed blade.

“To tell you (Y/N) is looking at her suitors. Geir and I too.”

His heart pangs with longing. God he longed for the days that he did not have to worry about such things. Why? Because you only had eyes for him and no one more. He lacks a response yet again. Vaði takes his silence as a sign of defeat.

“I thought you would want to fight for her.” He adds.

Hvitserk looks up to Vaði with a deadpan stare, squeezing and loosening his hand. It was his fault that he had lost his woman. Him and that stupid fur on his shoulders that had the women fawning and curiously gossiping about how his pants fit his cock.

“I have been fighting for months.” Hvitserk arrogantly nods his head in distaste. It wasn’t enough that he had been fighting you to not slam that door into his face but now, Vaði thought that he was not trying at all? Which was the greater insult? “She wants nothing to do with me. I would better try to awaken Gunnhild from her slumber.”

“If that is what you want.” Vaði sways, taking a step toward the doorway of the Great Hall. His last chance is walking out that door and against his pride, he lurches his hand out to grab Vaði’s wrist. Three times-- she turned him down more than three times. He couldn’t count the threats he had gotten. But if swallowing his pride and claiming that Vaði approached him about reclaiming your love rather than stalking you was reason enough, he’d take it.

“Wait.” He calls out, almost falling off of the bench. “Please, I need your help.”

Vaði turns, never comfortable with making a prince beg. He stands with his legs slightly apart, listening to the prince whose desperation hit a peak.

“She won’t listen to me alone. I’m desperate.” He manages to swing his legs over the side of the bench. Hvitserk places his elbows on his thighs before speaking yet again. “Help me get her back.”

“That is why I came.”

If it wasn’t him, you were picky.

Your bridal price was set purposefully high. After all, it was these hands that Hvitserk admired. You spun rich garments of beautiful hue and… if nothing else, you learned how to make love to a man. All you needed to do was be with child and that any good man would be able to set within your empty womb.

“What of the blacksmith?” Your eldest sister asks, her golden hair pinned up and covered. Newly married she was now taking over the keys of the home as the lady of the house. She married well. The farmer had impressive lands. They should have all been in their proper homes, taking care of their new households. This would mark the last garment that you would all make together before they went on their way.

“Or the fisherman!” Your other sister says.

“Ew, so (Y/N) can smell of fish? No, I say the blacksmith. His poetry, did you hear him?”

It was divine.

“Poetry alone a husband does not make, Alvida.” Your sister pipes off. “(Y/N) deserves to be pampered!”

Ugh, this was more work than it was worth. In the end none of these men would amount to your standards. They were not him. If they were not him… well… You tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, cutting fabric with iron shears when your last of sisters speaks.

“What of Prince Hvitserk?” Ake bats her eyes innocently.

“What of him?” Alvida wiggles her finger. “He was pathetic! A cheater!”

“But he’s a prince!”

Does that mean that he would be able to have anything he wanted? For you to be the prince’s prize while he loves on all the side? You hate the thought of being someone else’s plaything. You had done that before. What… what did it get you? The only thing that it gave you was heartache never knowing who Hvitserk would pick in the end.

“But he broke up with Revna.”

“What?!” You snap unintentionally. Your sisters turn their heads toward you with wide eyes saying that they thought you knew. How could you know? You drop the fabric between your fingertips, padding away from your work. “He broke up with her?”

Ake slips out from her seat, shifting closer to you. Her fingers gently coerce you into turning around to look at her in her clear blue eyes. With a clearing of her throat, she finally speaks.

“He loves you, you know.” She slips behind you, letting her arms hold your waist with confidence. With her cheek against your back, you set your hand atop of hers. “Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it.”

That’s irrelevant. He wasn’t a young boy that you had to hold the hand of. If he really loved you… and really, really loved you, he should have shown it. Right? You wish that he still didn’t have this sort of power over you but… little by little you could break free of it and off him.

“Let’s finish the Queen’s dress.” You say. “I have to take it to her.”

“Write her something from the heart.” Vaði told him. Hvitserk was a bundle of nerves while clutching the iron stylus. His heart wasn’t telling him anything! Only that this stupid tablet wasn’t making any sense when he tried to put what he felt into word. He scratches his words in a set of runes--- only to get a vast eyeroll when Vaði read it.

“You are as bad at poetry as your father was said to be.”

Uggh. Hvitserk wasn’t made for this! He could romance any woman given a pitcher of ale and gentle touches but… to write poetry? This was something methodical! Aslaug came padding around the side of him in the Great Hall, sitting beside her son. Hvitserk glances up to her with a painful smile when she squeezed his shoulders.

“She is coming to bring me a new dress.” She informs him, pressing her cheek to his in a warm hug. His heart drops at last-- unable to deny the fact that this was him in knots. This could be one of his only chances.

“She may not be only yours.” Vaði reminds. “Geri has had suitors at his door since she left you.”

Suitors at the door. Just what Hvitserk needed-- a bunch of blue balled assholes to be bothering you in his place. He shakes his head, scratching at his tablet once again. There had to be something to the words that he can formulate into writing! Before the day’s end, Sigurd came to the table beside  Vaði and he. Mother served as a great serving ground for reciting poetry.

He could always tell when something really sucked when she hid behind her ale with that wolfish smile. Hvitserk could almost see his mischievous glint in her eyes, but then, it was always Ivar who made the best jabs at him.

Remember me, kitten,

And my body will remember you.

Love me again kitten,

And I’ll be all for you.

“That’s great.” He laughs. “If you were asking Freyja for sex in exchange for the brisinga-men.” He says flatly, raising his forehead in a line of wrinkles.

“Ivar!” The brothers click their tongues, throwing out noises of annoyance. They were so close to being done with this stupid poem!

“She’s coming.” Vaði steps into the Great Hall just as Hvitserk scratches something off of his board. He drops it from his fingers, running his hands over his braids to make sure that the strands were sitting down. The thrall that had rebraided his hair reassures him-- master, it looks handsome! He was not so sure.

Moments later you appear inside of the Great Hall’s entryway, a heavy flowing dress thrown over your arm. Aslaug sits back into her chair beside her sons. You gingerly walk forward, looking over all the boys that were clustered there. Even Ubbe who sits beside Hvitserk. He flips over his tablet, swinging his legs over the bench when you approach his mother.

“I’ve finished it. The… silk from England, it’s really lovely.” You say, holding it up so that she might see it. It is a moving piece in its rich blue hue. The arms and neckline are detailed in careful embroidery that must have taken some time to complete. Aslaug holds her cup in one hand and looks to Ivar for approval. He looks to it then nods his head.

“Nothing but the finest for our beautiful mother.” He agrees. You exhale a gracious breath, handing the dress off to the thrall that had been taking care of Hvitserk’s hair. As she filters out to the back, Aslaug reaches to pay you the weight of silver that she promised you. You slide the coins into a leather pouch and move past, almost flitting by when Hvitserk jumps up in front of you.

You’re ready for another one of his pleas. He would beg you to forgive him, insist that he knew your name and beg you to take him back. Maybe now he was only asking because he had no one but thralls to fuck his frustration into.

“(Y/N)!” Hvitserk holds his ground. From behind his mother Vaði encourages him on. The poem, he whispers. The one they worked on all night so that he might be able to woo you back into his arms! Hvitserk falters in his hand moments after a brief few awkward ‘uhs’ that slip from his lips. In the end his arms slacken by his side. “I… you... thank you.”

That was the most eloquent wooing you ever had. You blink sluggishly and join your hands together to form a weave. Damned be the gods, he didn’t try to stop you? It’s almost a soft, gentle approach to you as opposed to how fervently he had been trying to win you back into his arms. As you lift your hand to his shoulder, Bjorn comes in, slamming his pulsing red arm on the supporting beams of Kattegat’s magnificent hall.

“Vaði. Your uncle’s home is on fire.”

Fire. You bob by Hvitserk, the start of a run thrusting yourself into town where you knew that he was. Vaði joins with. Hvitserk doesn’t think twice of running after you, nor do his brothers. The serenity of the night was dissipated by the hot smoke wafting from your birth home. The closer you came to facing the home, the hotter the flames became. A roaring fire that anyone gathered around knows was not natural in nature. Natural flames could happen all the time. Like when Ake wanted to try on a flowing gown for a high lady and that lit aflame. From within the home, you can hear the fearful shrieks spilling out desperate in their nature..

“Ake!” You shout, moving closer to the warm flames that heat your skin right the hell right up. Vaði thrusts you back against his men that are not helping. Some of the men rush for water-- but Vaði’s men kick at the door to open it.

Blocked.

“Use your axe!” Vaði pushes through the cluster with his own axe, hacking at the door in berserker like fury. Nevermind the fact that the screams are becoming all the more still… all the more quiet. Bits of the door knock off, but its not solely by his own axe. Hvitserk’s too. It gives away to a home that is nearly falling apart. The earl and prince push forward in mechanical motion forgetting all else. It is one thing to know that your family is there-- inside smoldering alive.

“Hvitserk!”

But worse was knowing what family was left was pushing in alongside them. Time ticks by slowly. As if you are Loki pained by the poison of a snake awaiting Ragnarok. Inside of the home, its smokey. Hvitserk can barely see one way or another, neither can his other brothers. A beam crushes who he finds to be Alvida with his shirt raised over his mouth. Upon the other side of her, he recognizes another one of your sisters, who has impaled herself on a spear.

Ake-- that’s who is left. The smog clogs up his lungs and causes him to hack. Just to the right of Alvida is Geir, pinned by some heavy oak beam that won’t give to his burning hands. Inches from his fingertips, Ake is passed out.

“Take… care of her.” Geir makes out between rippling coughs, groaning in his pain. Vaði looks to his cousin, barely breathing, sweeping her up. There is no other way around saving the old man so Hvitserk nods in his response, exchanging a look between your father only an instant before they’re forced back out of the home.

Hvitserk wishes that he hadn’t even come out of that smoldering house alive when he sees you again. By Vaði’s side, he tears the ashy dress from your sister’s body to rid her of any flames that cling onto the threads that are being eaten up. A few healers come forward with those caring for the medical needs of those affected by the fire, sweeping her up away from the fray of the moment.

“Father?” You look to Hvitserk, begging him with those beautiful eyes to tell him something good. As if he hadn’t gone in there only to fail to bring out your precious family of sisters and one lone father. Vaði calls out your name, rushing with the healers out to an open home to heal your only remaining sister. If she was even alive.

There was a reason Hvitserk only surfaced once.

@two-unbeatable-beaters, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequilahead, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @queenmissfit,  @hallowed-heathen, @neeadinghugs, @mblaqgi, , @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @attorneyl, @iconicvaleria-blog, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 13 - Candy Page 23

==>

This is going well, despite all the weirdness... it might not be so bad by the time I get to the end of all this.  Maybe my stomach can stop clenching as much from the Meat poisoning.

Then again, that’s what I thought when I was up to four-fifths through Meat and thought things were going to be resolved before the end.

So.

Anyway.  Reading.

In fact, all she did was tip her head at him and blink a few times, her long eyelashes catching the light, making her eyes look like mirrors. It was disconcerting for reasons that he couldn’t put his finger on. It’s not like Roxy had ever been argumentative, exactly. He just seems to remember someone from his youth who was somewhat more contrarian in spirit than this person he’s married to now.

God damnit... hypnotized, basically dead Roxy is worst Roxy.  I need that fucking explanation soon.

If she doesn’t get upset after what he’s about to pull today, then...

John doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Gosh that’s horrible.  I wish I didn’t have to go back to Meat if I ever wanted any more Real Roxy again... please, PLEASE, if NOTHING ELSE gets fixed in this stupid fucking Candy arc, PLEASE HAVE ROXY BACK TO NORMAL BEFORE THE END

That... that would be just the fucking icing on the cake, wouldn’t it?  I was already upset about Dirk not getting his due.  I was traumatized over how Jane, Jade, and Rose were left.  But ROXY was fine.  Roxy, pretty much my favorite character next to maybe Jade, or a good number of the others.  If this timeline gives me an alternate cliffhanger to lean on that spares the others to leave HER to shit, then I’d basically be left with nothing to stand on!  It’d be fucking worthless almost.

My stomach isn’t clenching YET, but I’m starting to fill with dread.

JOHN: harry anderson, don’t tell your mother but... JOHN: we’re getting a new addition to the family today!

Pfffff

serious kidnapping

And who said John was just a blank slate with no will of his own?? Fuck you, Dirk.  You knew about this timeline and you STILL said it.

Dave and Jade materialize behind everyone, he in a pressed red suit, she in a glittering Space dress. They’re both holding gifts wrapped in spare printer paper.

Look, you two looking cute is just rubbing salt in the wound of the relationship you fucked over, Jade.  You should have waited to make sure Dave and Karkat FINALLY ACCEPTED THEIR FUCKING RELATIONSHIP before moving in and potentially pushing one of them out, WHICH HAPPENED.

Oooh, smart human babby Tavvy.  ...He isn’t going to want to leave his family situation, is he.  John’s off the mark isn’t he.

Dave ruffles Harry Anderson’s hair. It’s nice that Dave is so woke and great with kids, but that really does invite the question of why he and Jade don’t have any yet. There’s still something sad and wistful about Dave at the moment, as he pointedly avoids letting Jade take his hand while they’re led into the game room.

GAAAAHHHHH

Could we at least BE ALLOWED TO PRETEND THERE’S A POSSIBLE FUTURE WHERE THESE PEOPLE’S RELATIONSHIPS ARENT THOROUGHLY FUCKING MESSED UP?????

I KNOW THESE CHARACTERS ARE MESSED UP BUT YOU HAVE TO AT LEAST GIVE US HOPE

AND WHERE’S THE HAPPY POTENTIAL PAIRING FOR JADE??? IT SEEMS LIKE THERE’S NO POTENTIAL FOR REAL MUTUAL HAPPINESS FOR HER BESIDES JADE X COMA!!!!!!!!!!

X(

God damn it Jane can be creepy.

She gained his affection the same way she gains everyone’s affection: she fucking bought it.

UUuuuuuuggghhhhh

...pff stars vs enemies of the state

John, stop making this so stranger-danger.

JOHN: are you ACTUALLY happy about it? JOHN: about... everything going on here? TAVROS: I suppose,,, TAVROS: My mother tends to get displeased when i’m unhappy, so,,,

uuuugughghghuhh

TAVROS: It just seems like a thing that would eventually happen to me, does it not?

D:

Oh wow, callback to Dirkbro abuse.  THAT’S gonna set John off.

Oh wow, Tavros knows his situation is bad enough that he’s willing to GO for it. All he’s worried about is the security.  YEAH John!!  Do your Breathy thing and get him out of here!!!

Tavros takes in a sharp breath before spinning on his heel and stumbling toward his closet. John catches the ghost of a smile on his face before he turns and that’s all it takes to turn the pounding of his heart from terrified to thrilled.

AAaaaaAAAAAH THIS IS ADORABLE SOMEHOW

She twitches her dog-ears and raises her face. Her mouth is a neutral line, but her eyes are burning furiously.

OH NOOOOOOO

FUCK, Jade don’t stop it!!! She’s... she’s gonna put her foot down and stop this just so everything can be all candy-coated and good on the SURFACE without hurting people OPENLY even if she and Jane and all the others are DEEPLY hurting everyone else under the surface!!!! D:

JOHN: jade, i don’t know where you’ve been these past few years, but i don’t think things CAN get any worse!

Yes exactly

JOHN: but there isn’t one, because everyone’s been all... brainwashed by marriage, or whatever the hell happened over the last few years that made things be this way!

Hmmmmmm

JOHN: well, you’re nothing like the jade i used to know either!

D:

Alright, huge blowup. Let’s air out some feelings.

JANE: I let go! I was actually RELIEVED to hear he died!!! ROXY: uhh ROXY: janey wut

HAhahahaah YES let’s get all that dirty laundry OUT IN THE OPEN

......Okay that didn’t end as well as expected.  Or... well I guess I KNEW it wouldn’t end well, but I’d hoped otherwise.

==>

Wait, so Terezi and John’s conversation is “in the dream bubbles”? Is that just because he’s talking to her while she’s skirting the edge of the storm in the Void rocketways, or because John’s from a somehow doomed/irrelevant/side timeline?

(Why does Terezi always have to be dying.  She figured herself out and how awesome she is.  Stop dying.  And I don’t mean like the sad walking off in Meat, though I guess that kind of counts.)

JOHN: if she cared about you as much as you care about her, she wouldn’t have fucked off like this forever.

YES JOHN

LAY

ON

THE

TRUTH

(Ghost!Vriska is the only one who really deserves to matter anymore.  This “alpha” Vriska just sank deeper into her problems and delusions beyond being able to really redeem herself or recognize them.  That diatribe she gave her ghost self was horrible back when.)

Wait, wait hold on

JOHN: if she cared about you as much as you care about her, she wouldn’t have fucked off like this forever. JOHN: driving you crazy with doubt and uncertainty, making you chase her through infinite nothingness until you almost starve to death... JOHN: she would have at least given you the courtesy of closure!

Is... is Andrew talking about the comic here and his relationship with the readers

is this some sort of apology for not giving this closure, like, as if he were the vriska that launched himself into the sun over his own artistic ideals or

hmm

JADE: doomed is not a word i would use to describe the condition of those on this world. JADE: even if my work is unsuccessful, the stakes for everyone here have nothing to do with the issue of mortality. JADE: to frame the matter that way would be misleading. JADE: to the extent that it is my naturally endowed duty to defend the innocent from wanton acts of destruction, from degradation and dissolution, JADE: it is also my duty to tell the truth to those i protect. JADE: and the simplest statement of truth for all of you to know is this: JADE: we are the lucky ones.

Calliope lets out a long, thin sigh from between the teeth of Jade’s corpse. It’s more for effect than anything, as corpses don’t actually need to breathe.

JADE: we are the ones fortunate enough to live in a reality that is beyond the influence of the prince.

Geez, it’s like escape from Lord English’s influence all over again.

They won only for everything to just fucking start over, everything they struggled to stop?  That sucks!!!  >:(

Anyway, still reading... god damnit Terezi don’t fly off and die for no fucking reason.

JOHN: then what DID you want?! TEREZI: L3TS S4Y... TEREZI: 1 JUST W4NT3D TO G1V3 YOU TH3 COURT3SY OF CLOSUR3

Fuck.  Yeah, let’s just keep fucking over Terezi, another one of my favorite characters.  Yes she lives and goes to fuck off somewhere in Meat with the villain of the week, but FUCK, couldn’t we get a SLIGHTLY clearer picture of her potential happiness than just THAT?????

It’s like the whole purpose of these epilogues was just to remind us that these characters were too fucked up to ever be happy!!!!

Couldn’t we have at least been left to IMAGINE OTHERWISE?!?????

JADE: not until i am able to deal with the prince myself. ARADIA: and when will that be

The meteor is passing beyond the fall of night. Dead-Jade, standing half in light, half in darkness, looks up at the sky.

JADE: not soon enough.

Ahh.  I’m getting an idea of the Postscript’s circumstances, then.  That was alt!Callie in this black-hole-powered Jade body going from THIS Candy timeline to go chase after Dirk and help stop him like everyone else, giving her a more powerful card to play than just the adult Jade she was having guide the others. (Maybe she could have that adult Jade FUCKING WAKE UP AND ABLE TO HELP instead of keeping her in a coma. That would be a pretty fucking nice change of pace.  Too bad we have to just IMAGINE IT without any reassurance that she’ll be awake or okay for YEARS TO COME, HUH.)

Also that means that resistance fighting is gonna break out with artillery and stuff because Jane is apparently a dunpass in both timelines.  Fuck.

==>

Swifer, can you stop swifing?

KARKAT: HOW THE HELL DO YOU TWO TOLERATE EACH OTHER? KANAYA: Quite Thoroughly Enthusiastically And Often

Pffffff :D

...Oh my God MEENAH landed here???  All ring-of-lifeways from the other timeline?  I guess the Furthest Ring was outside the scope of those timeilnes so she could’ve fallen in any of them... huh.  Heck, maybe the same Terezi who experienced those conversations eventually met the John from the Meat side of the timeline too.  And she said John smelled younger than she thought he was, oh my GOD, it WAS that.  It was that exactly.  The Terezi we’re hearing was the same across both Epilogue-halves.  That’s actually fucking fantastic!!!

MEENAH: capisces?

Fuck that pun

(Also Meenah is talking about how they lost, but she was knocked away before she saw the conclusion of the fight, so.)

...Holy SHIT Meenah is really taking to this!!! This is adorable.  :D

==>

John’s having some canon/existential ditherthoughts, hm.

He’s been contemplating this melodramatically for maybe ten minutes when the sky rips opens above him and flashes violent waves of red and green across the landscape.

Hm.  So do the black hole wormholes have some tie to the cherubic portal device from Hiveswap?

It’s his father’s car.

Mhmm, that confirms all of it, really.  Same Terezi in both stories.

A vast cry of sorts.  :(

Heading out for a while; gonna start from Page 27 in the next post.  I feel pretty good, somehow.  The way these two timelines tied together with Terezi outside them makes it feel like it all may have ultimately meant something.

[sunsetinmyvein]

Bandom One Shot POV... Things - Grand Theft Autumn - Patrick Stump

A/N - Trying something a little different from what I normally do while Key of Reason is kind of at its midway point, something less sarcastic humour and romance and more serious/angsty. I felt like exploring various character traits I found interesting, and thought a good way to do that would be to write a random one-shot sorta thing about various band members, from their point of view. Also I felt like using various lyrics as dialogue puns/story points... I possibly used too many.

As of yet I've only written about a couple of members of Fall Out Boy but I also have intentions of writing about Panic! At the Disco and potentially maybe others. But there are definitely 2-3 more Panic! ones on the cards, one day in the distant future. 

Want some totally irrelevant songs to listen to while reading this?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZb_mqH2zJY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbrUzJlTffs

“Pete, that’s the third time this week you’ve missed practice.” Patrick grumbled into his phone as the bassist apologised.

“I know, I know, but I really can’t make it. On an unrelated note: are you doing anything tonight?” Pete’s voice crackled through the phone.

“What? You know I’m not, you literally just cancelled on us.” He answered with frustration.

“Awesome, there’s a party tonight down the road from me and I want you to come.”

Patrick took a long pause, trying to compose himself before outright throwing his phone at the wall. “Pete… are you telling me… that you cancelled on band practice tonight so that you could go to a party?”

“So that we could go to a party.” He clarified.

“PETE!”

“’Trick, you’ve done nothing but work since we got signed; you can’t stay holed up in that studio forever. I think it would do you good to get out.”

“WELL I’VE GOT NOTHING BETTER TO DO NOW, DO I?” He shouted back.

“Good. Then I’ll meet you at mine at 8.” Pete answered calmly as the line went dead.

Patrick knew being angry would get him nowhere, and to be honest he didn’t mind the idea of going to a party. Truth be told, the reason he had busied himself with work was so that he didn’t have to be left alone in his own head for too long, so he’d rather go to a party than be left alone in his empty apartment. Ever since they got back to Chicago after their first tour things hadn’t felt right, and he was pretty sure he knew why. He just wasn’t ready to have to face the facts yet. So, he didn’t.

He cleaned himself up, neatened his sideburns, and tried to look his best for this party. Everyone in town knew who they were now, and this was the first time he’d be seen since they returned. They weren’t just those annoying kids who hand out fliers for their 3am, dingy bar gigs on street corners anymore, now they were signed. They were attached to a big-name label now, and even if the four of them didn’t feel like anything had changed, it seemed to everyone else that it had. He adjusted the cap on his head, taking one last look in the mirror before starting the walk to Pete’s house. It wasn’t a short walk, but the Autumn air didn’t quite have that Winter-y bite to it yet.

When he arrived, the bassist was impatiently waiting on his front porch, car keys in hand.

“Where have you been?”

Patrick checked his watch in confusion. “It’s only 7:30?” He asked as Pete grabbed his shoulder and all but shoved him into the car. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s the rush?” He asked as his friend climbed into the driver’s seat.

“They cracked the keg over an hour ago.” The older man grumbled as he fumbled with his keys.

“Okay? We don’t drink?” Patrick questioned as the car struggled to bring itself to life.

“You three might not, but I do.” He answered with a roll of his eyes. The party wasn’t far from Pete’s house and Patrick was not entirely sure why he had wanted to drive. With how much time Pete spent trying to get the car working, they probably could’ve walked and gotten here in much the same time. They exited the car and stood on the front lawn, taking in the scene before them. According to Pete the party had already been going for over an hour, but it looked like maybe it had been longer than that. The heavy sound of the bass on a stereo turned up way too loud could be heard coming from the front of the house, various screams and loud laughter could be heard from the backyard, and a kid was already passed out next to the front door next to what Patrick hoped was their own vomit.

“All right, so should we-” Patrick turned to ask, only to see that Pete was gone. He let out a frustrated sigh. “Typical.”

He pushed his way through the crowd of people until he found the kitchen, the hub of every party that was ever held. Searching through fridges and pantries, he aimed to find something non-alcoholic that he could drink. After shoving a couple who were making out on the bench top out of his way, he was finally able to retrieve a mixer that someone had left unattended and claim it as his own. He made his way into the backyard, seeing Pete standing next to the keg on the back porch, talking to some girl. She seemed his type. Patrick figured he probably wasn’t getting a lift home. There was an above ground pool at the back of the grass, and too many people were already crammed into it. Probably more than what they advised was maximum capacity on the warning labels. But as the guitarist had learned from his career in music, alcohol can make people do some impressive things. Like fit thirty people into a pool that should hold ten. Nobody had recognised him yet. Which he was perfectly fine with, if it stayed that way it was his excuse to begin the walk home early before he had to watch his bassist drunkenly make out with yet another fan. As he began making his way back into the house a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Patrick!” Andy grinned at him.

“Hey, man! What are you doing here?” He asked as he spun around to face him.

“Got dragged here by a friend.” He shrugged casually. “You?”

“Same. Except that friend was Pete.” He huffed.

“He gave up band practice for this?” Andy asked as he looked around, feeling incredibly out of place.

“More specifically for that.” Patrick replied as he gestured to the girl standing next to Pete.

“Ah, yes… Our Pete was never one to shy away from a good time.” He noted. “C’mon, we don’t have to watch that.” He said he led Patrick back through the house.

They weaved through the party-goers until they found a quiet corner in the house to sit down.

“So how have you been? I haven’t seen you outside of practice.” Andy noted as he took a swig from the cup in his hand. Patrick had offered to share his secret stash of unattended soda that he’d found in the kitchen after noticing that the drummer didn’t have anything to drink either.

“Yeah, fine.” He said instinctively. Andy waited for him to continue. “What?” Patrick asked with a frown.

“Are you sure? You’ve never been quite this invested in your work. Someone might think you were… avoiding something.” He shrugged, trying to not come off as prying for information.

“I…” Patrick sighed deeply before glancing around the room, seeing nobody he recognised. “I haven’t been keen on coming home.” He admitted as he started into the contents of his cup.

“Why? You’re no Pete, you love Chicago.”

“Chicago, maybe, certain people though…” He trailed off. As if on cue, a familiar voice suddenly ran through the air, dragging his eyes to the top of the staircase. All his efforts came crashing down around him, all his time avoiding people in his room, all the hours poured into the studio in the week they’d been back. Because there she stood, her hair falling around her shoulders, her bright eyes sparkling in that same way he’d never shake from his memory, and just as he had feared, with some strangers’ arm wrapped protectively around her waist. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath as his eyes shot back to the floor, hoping she hadn’t noticed him. Andy had pieced together what was wrong at this point, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do.

“’Trick, you’re better than that shit. You deserve better.” The drummer tried to reassure, but he didn’t hear anything over the racing of his pulse in his ears.

“Patrick!” He heard her voice call, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He couldn’t deal with this, not now. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to come home to this. He pushed past Andy and deliberately made himself lost in the crowd, shoving his way past people. The air in the house suddenly felt suffocating, and he needed much more distance than what this room allowed. He finally made it outside, looking around in a panic for his friend.

“Pete.” He said as he approached the half-drunk bassist.

“Mm?” He mumbled without tearing his attention away from the girl batting her eyelashes at him.

“PETE.” He repeated louder, finally getting him to turn around.

“What?” He asked in frustration.

“I need your car keys.” He said as he reached into his friend’s jacket pocket.

“What? Why? I need them!” He answered as he pushed Patrick back from him.

“No, you don’t; you can walk home. I need to leave.”

“Why?”

“I just do, okay? Just give me your damn keys.” He answered through gritted teeth, holding his hand out expectantly. Pete didn’t budge, he only stared back, eyelids drooping slightly under the influence of the alcohol. “Argh! You drag me to this party and now you’re gonna make me suffer because of it? Fine!” He trudged off into the night, wrapping his jacket tightly around himself and making his way home.

Unfortunately for him, his plan was not as clever as he had hoped it might be. As he came around the side of the house into the front yard he stopped a few inches short of slamming into someone, only to find it was exactly who he didn’t want it to be. His face fell as their eyes met and his stomach fell to the floor. He wanted to disappear.

“Patrick, I thought you might be here tonight! I missed you!” She said happily as she pulled him into a tight hug. He didn’t hug back, but that didn’t stop the scent of her familiar brand of shampoo washing over him, making him feel sick.

“I was just-” He started as he tried to look anywhere but at her.

“How was the tour? Your new album sounds great!” She questioned, standing far too close for comfort.

“It was… fine.” He swallowed hard, finally daring to look at her properly. He hadn’t seen her in months now, but that hadn’t changed a thing. She still looked the same, still looked at him with that same smile on her lips, and still made the butterflies in his stomach do somersaults. He hated it. At the start things had been great, hell, at the start he was pretty sure his feelings were reciprocated. But gradually it became apparent that her affection was just empty words said to make him feel better. All she offered him was pity while she went off and dated other guys, told him about how she worried for her future with them. Why wasn’t he worth that? When was he going to appreciate in value enough to be considered an option? If that’s what she needed, he could be that. If she’d give him the chance. “Where is your boy?” He asked, waiting anxiously for the guy to round the corner and punch him in the face.

“Ryan? He was here a minute ago.” She said as she turned to look behind her. As soon as she took her eyes off of him he was able to compose his thoughts, and took the opportunity to escape.

“I hope he is a gentleman.” He grumbled bitterly under his breath as he walked away quickly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Wait! ‘Trick!” She shouted as she tried to catch up to him. He shuddered at the use of the nickname only she called him, it forced him to slow his pace. “What’s wrong?” She asked from behind him.

“You! You are what’s wrong!” He spat back, venom lacing his tone. He stood there in the cold, waiting for her to catch up, but she had stopped a few feet behind him. He spun to face her, seeing the look of confusion on her face. “You were all I wanted in this damn town, you know that? The record deal, the album, the fans, it meant nothing compared to what that would’ve. What we would’ve. And I feel like I’m the only person here who knows that.” He explained, taking a few angry steps towards her.

“Patrick, I-”

“No! I’m not done talking. Do you realise how many nights I’ve spent awake mulling over crap you’ve said to me? Over the ‘I miss you’s? Bullshit you fucking miss me. You never try to call when I’m on tour. Remember all those nights when I told you I loved you? And you’d ‘never forget it’? Well… forget it.” He let the words hang in the air, staring down at the concrete between them. It took a long time before she decided to speak.

“I’m sorry, ‘Trick. I didn’t realise.” He stood there looking at her like she’d just said pigs could fly. She didn’t realise?

“Well at least I’m still fucking trying! That’s more than I can say for the majority of the notches in your bedpost. Or… I was trying.” She looked back at him, looking hurt in the cold. “I’m done.” He said, watching her face fall. She tried to reach for his shoulder but he quickly shrugged it off, turning to walk home. Andy was right; he was better than this. He never thought he’d see the day that he finally walked away. But tonight, he appreciated in value.

[spookysshadow]

Jimon Prep School AU

Simon only really decided to attend The Institute: Academy of the Finest because it would give him a boost come college admission season

The fact that his mom approved or that his best friend and her brother went there was irrelevant.

Simon isn’t like them though, no his parents aren’t rolling in money, sending their kids here doesn’t even make them bat an eyelash, no.

Simon is one of the scholarship kids, like Maia, and Raphael. They were on a tight leash. One screw up and it’s bye bye elite education.

Which is fine because Maia’s a badass with a sunshine smile and Raphael may be hella intimidating, but he’s actually a softie for people he cares about. And he has Clary!

Except, Clary doesn’t need him any more. Not with friends like Alec who practically runs the school along with Lydia, or Isabelle who is not only the smartest student in their year, but already has job offers in Washington, DC. And she’s a walking goddess.

And then there’s Jace. Golden Hair, Golden eyes, gorgeous, fit, smart, talented, makes every man and woman swoon just as he enters the door. There is nothing that Jace Herondale can’t do. Except get along with Simon.

He doesn’t really know why he dislikes Jace. The guy is a good guy. He treats his family right, he treats Clary right, and he has a book club! A book club, no one who is evil has a book club.

BUT they just can’t get along and they are always at each other’s throats. Snarky remarks are how they communicate he guesses.

But then Clary comes to him with fear in her eyes, saying that she might not be into Jace as much as she thought. Turns out Clary’s got her eyes set in one Maia Roberts, who “can’t understand the white girl’s constant drama” Yikes. Sorry Clary, you might need to work extra hard to get on Maia’s good side. (Which she does, to everyone’s surprise.)

Simon expects Jace to be put out by getting dumped, but he seems fine? Okay?

Until Simon finds him drunk on the balcony in the East Corridor. He looks so peaceful just watching the night sky with a bottle of Jack in his hands.

It’s there that Simon learns that Jace isn’t exactly straight. “I’m bi, actually, so you’re an ass for assuming.” Simon will deny he blushes, but he guesses that maybe he should stop assuming people’s sexuality.

“That’s cool. I’m pan.” “What the fuck is that?” Simon laughs because Jace’s face is scrunched up and he looks so confused. Oh well, what can you do when you’re a minority in a minority group.

That’s how they become friends.

Simon’s okay as friends, until he starts noticing how buff Jace’s arms are. And he wonders how nice it’d be to be held by them, wrapped around his shoulders. He starts thinking about how soft his hair look, especially early in the morning right before Bio, or how when he laughs, a real laugh, it’s captivating.

He realizes he has a problem when he starts fantasizing about hooking a finger around Jace’s Herondale family ring, conveninetly placed on a necklace, and bringing his face and consequently his lips down, close enough for him to reach out and-

Well, enough of that

Simon is screwed, because yes Jace is bi, but that doesn’t mean he’ll go for him.

Especially when Clary’s brother Jonathan is in the picture. Tall, nice and lean, and hella smart. Jonathan is the perfect son, minus some social skills. Then again when you live with Valentine for the beginning of your life, you may have some social deficiencies. Luckily Jocelyn won the court case and her and Luke secured custody over both morgenstern, fairchild children.

So no Simon can’t compete with Jonathan, who has always been like the cool, slightly introverted older brother that he never had. Plus he taught him how to play guitar, you can’t mess with the love life of the guy who taught you guitar, that's just rude.

But Jonathan’s always been super perceptive and he confronts Simon.

Surprise, surprise, of course Jonathan is into dudes, but not Jace,

“I can’t date the guy who dated my little sister, Simon, it’s just weird.”

Apparently he’s also dating a dude named Albert? And they have a complicated History? Honestly, why was this never mentioned at the Fray-Garroway dinners?

Long story short, Simon has a chance. So he takes it. He gathers up what little courage he has. “You should have more faith in yourself Sheldon” “I’d have more if you remember my name Magnus.”

Anyway he gets his courage and goes to ask Jace out after his book club meeting on Tuesday. Well, he tries. He actually came out as “I...you...really food nice….together. Damn you’re hot...shit...I mean….date me?”

It takes Jace exactly two minutes and thirty eight seconds to stop laughing, and Simon is terrified. Until Jace looks up at him with soft eyes bursting to the brim with adoration and Simon swears his heart froze because no one has ever looked at him like that.

“That was such a you proposal, honestly, I didn’t think you could ramble about this, and yet.”

“Okay, that aside, are you saying yes?”

“Yes, I am”

So yea, he only went to The Institute: Academy of the Finest, to get into a good college. But his mom is proud, and he gets to hang with Clary and Jonathan. And he has the best, most Golden boyfriend anyone could ask (Alec will argue and say Magnus is the best, but to each his own, right?)

[fingersinhisass]

bc carly @aldmerii humored me and answered all 60 questions of the oc question thing for shaelle, i’m gonna do it for al as well even tho literally no one asked so. here goes!

1. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S BIGGEST FEAR?

having his friends, people he’s grown to trust and care for, discover all the bad shit he did in the past and basically breaking all ties with him. he’s terrified they’ll think he’s a monster bc well. he thinks he’s a monster sometimes too

2. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE MEMORY?

it’s not one specific memory exactly, more like. a mix of lots of memories. in the summer he used to play outside all day with the other kids who lived in his neighborhood (very poor, pretty decrepit houses, mostly dust and dying grass) and like. those were some of the best times for him? because he was still too young to care that their family didn’t have enough money to send him to school, or that all of his clothes were hand-me-downs with at least one tear that had been fixed, or that his mother’s face was worn with wrinkles that would better suit someone much older than she was. so he’d play pretend with these kids in his neighborhood, and go on “adventures” and kick around pebbles and wrestle in the dirt, and then he’d come back home to his mother calling him, and she’d wash his face and feet and hands gently and tuck him into bed and he’d fall asleep under the heat to the sound of her soft voice and the insects buzzing in the grass.

3. WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S LEAST FAVORITE MEMORY?

he’s got plenty to pick from, so i don’t think there’s one specific worst. but the gazes of people he willfully hurt, potentially even killed, really haunt him. he tries not to think about the stuff he did when he was younger.

4. DOES ANYONE HAVE A CRUSH ON YOUR CHARACTER? IS YOUR CHARACTER AWARE OF THIS?

my beautiful girl shaelle do,,,, and also this one demon dude they helped once. can’t remember his name bc he’s a pretty irrelevant npc. he was aware of that crush, but he has no fucking clue shaelle likes him

5: DESCRIBE YOUR CHARACTER’S DREAM DATE.

oh man. anything romantic that would make his date happy. it’s cliche, but he’s fond of long walks and candlelit dinners. he’s an exceptionally hopeless romantic.

6: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S SEXUAL ORIENTATION?

lol what’s that????? al likes a lot of people he’s not picky. he’s actually kinda lowkey a ho. 

7: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THEIR NAME?

my boi gots lotsa names. his birth name makes him nostalgic, but he doesn’t really attach it to himself anymore -- the only person who can call him that is his mother. the name he used when he was a thief he absolutely despises. he still twitches if he hears it spoken, regardless of if it’s pointed towards him or not. he picked the name he has now himself, so he likes it quite a bit thank you very much. it makes him feel like a distinguished human gentleman. he’s a fucking doof.

8: DOES YOUR CHARACTER HATE ANYONE? WHY?

al is not someone who hates easily. he trusts easily (too stupid to learn from his past mistakes, he’d remark bitterly, but really it’s because he’s an idealist by nature and wants to believe people are inherently good). he doesn’t respond well to betrayal. at all. he accidentally punched a dude to death once for betraying the group. to be fair, the dude was really fucking old, and he only had one hit point left and failed all his death saves so like. not really al’s fault. you woulda done it too if you were in the same situation

9: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT RELIGION?

neither of his parents are very religious, and he wasn’t raised religious either, so it doesn’t really matter to him all that much

10. WOULD YOUR CHARACTER EVER KILL SOMEONE?

yes, but only if he felt it was justified and there were no better options. he is strongly against killing people who he feels don’t deserve it, but there are some people he would kill without hesitation solely because he believes their death will benefit many others. he’s got. complicated morals.

11: HOW DID YOUR CHARACTER MEET THEIR BEST FRIEND?

he met borem when they were assigned to be partners. they’re both detectives. although not sure how long that friendship is gonna last now...............

12: HOW WOULD/DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT ROLLER COASTERS?

terrified. hates heights. don’t make him do this.

13: WHAT WOULD YOUR CHARACTER DIE FOR?

people he loves. easy.

14: WHAT IS THE CUTEST THING YOUR CHARACTER HAS EVER DONE?

when is my boy not cute, honestly???? idk, i can’t pin down a specific instance. but he’s like. super blushy and awkward around people he’s romantically attracted to, and that’s incredibly adorable. he took shaelle to the prison where her brother was being held so they could see each other again after ten years, and that was also very sweet

15: WHAT MUSIC GENRE WOULD YOUR CHARACTER LISTEN TO?

fuck, idk. he strikes me as the kind of person to just listen to whatever’s on. he doesn’t have a very developed taste in music

16: WHAT OTHER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS REMIND YOU OF YOUR CHARACTER?

jeez. probably gumshoe from ace attorney? mostly because they’re both good good detective boys just trying to do their best and i love both of them desperately.

17: DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE ANY IRRATIONAL FEARS?

heights!!! he hates heights!!!!! which is funny bc his acrobatics score is insane.

18: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT HAVING THEIR LIFE RECORDED?

it would make him supremely uncomfortable. he may be very social, but when it comes to his home life he’s intensely private.

19: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S DEEPEST, DARKEST SECRET?

he gots lotsa those. he’s stolen very important things that resulted in the detriment of others, he’s tortured and killed people, he’s aided in drug trafficking and human trafficking -- with children. which is when he quit, because he couldn’t stand that. he hates watching children suffer.

20: WHAT IS THE MOST SURPRISING THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

he’s actually a really good detective. not because he’s smart, though -- he’s desperately determined to better society, and he’s also just very, very lucky.

21: IS YOUR CHARACTER FLEXIBLE?

oh my god, yeah. listen, my baby got 18 dex, +7 to acrobatics. he is EXTREMELY flexible. wink wink

22: WHAT IS THE WORST THING YOUR CHARACTER HAS EVER DONE?

oops i kinda answered this one already. i’m not gonna go into detail bc i kinda just don’t want to?? listen he’s done bad things he regrets

23: IS YOUR CHARACTER MORALLY GRAY OR BLACK OR WHITE?

hmm. he generally does things with good in mind, and usually he does it in a way that’s not so bad. but sometimes he twists the rules a little bit in a way that’s. ehh?? he’s not entirely against using violence to better things.

24: WHAT PREJUDICES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

he’s generally not a fan of rich people or the ruling class. ofc he’s got a huge crush on shaelle, but like. she’s the exception

25: WOULD YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH YOUR CHARACTER?

no bc he’s devastatingly handsome and i’d be terrified.

26: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HEADCANON FOR YOUR CHARACTER?

him whistle real good. he likes to whistle and sing like. all the time. when he’s just idly doing things at home he does it without even realizing it and he’s a little off-key sometimes but he can carry a tune

27: WHAT WOULD BE THE WORST WAY FOR YOUR CHARACTER TO DIE?

at the hands of a friend, probably

28: WHAT PET WOULD YOUR CHARACTER LIKE TO HAVE?

for a while he had some sort of ferret weasel thing? idk if nj is gonna let me say he’s still got it tho lmao

29: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE FOOD?

his mom’s recipe for fresh-baked bread. real white bread was a fucking luxurious treat when he was growing up and so whenever his mom would make a small loaf of it, maybe like once or twice a year, it was always so special to him

30: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER HAVE ANY HOBBIES?

he likes to read, especially adventure or romance novels lmao

31: WHAT SOCIAL MEDIA WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE?

i can see him on twitter??? he’d have no idea how to use it though

32: WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER LOOK LIKE?

him real hansom. angular features, high cheekbones, tan skin, very fair hair and silver eyes bc he’s a sun elf. long, long eyelashes that are darker than his hair, thick eyebrows. thin build, 5′10, long nose. i’m lov my boy.

33: IN WHAT WAYS IS YOUR CHARACTER LIKE YOU?

he’s loud, goofy, occasionally pretty snarky, expresses emotions like happiness, excitement, and anger very easily, but feels weak showing sadness and tries to suppress it. fails. head over heels for shaelle.

34: WHAT IS CLICHE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

so many of my characters are pretty boys. so many. also he’s a lovable idiot

35: WHAT IS UNIQUE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

i made him myself n he’s got a big ol’ heart.

36: DOES ANYONE WANT TO HARM YOUR CHARACTER?

there are a lot of people who would kill him immediately if they knew where he was and that he wasn’t dead. he has a lot of enemies.

37: DO PEOPLE HAVE JUSTIFIED GRUDGES AGAINST YOUR CHARACTER?

probably. he speaks his mind a lot and can kind of be an asshole sometimes 

38: WHAT ROLE DOES YOUR CHARACTER PLAY IN THEIR STORY?

he’s there to take everyone to fantasy jcpenny

39: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S NICHE ON TUMBLR?

historical fashion blogs and poetry all the way

40: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE SCHOOL SUBJECT?

creative writing or some sort of music class. he like both.

41: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER WANT TO HAVE ANY CHILDREN?

YES!!!!! he loves kids. LOVES them. his entire life he’s wanted to be a dad. eventually he’s gonna get married to shaelle and they’re gonna have lotsa babies, but currently he hasn’t had the time to meet anyone or settle down and he’s worried he never will.

42: WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHARACTER’S DREAM CAREER?

he’s doin’ it. basically he just wants to help people however he can and make up for all the bad things he did for so long

43: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER INSECURE ABOUT?

his social class. especially around shaelle. he definitely thinks he is absolutely not worth her time, and the subject of poverty or the social hierarchy in serin ilyan really touches a nerve for him. he also just really, really wants people to like him. 

44: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER PROUD OF?

all the good work he’s done as a detective. he’s (surprisingly) solved a lot of cases, and he feels a sense of accomplishment and justice for doing it. like maybe he can start to sleep a little easier knowing he hasn’t just hurt people all his life.

45: WHAT WOULD YOUR CHARACTER CHANGE ABOUT THEMSELVES?

his past. he’d go back and do something different, try to actually work hard and make honest money instead of getting involved in what he did

46: WOULD YOU WANT TO TRADE PLACES WITH YOUR CHARACTER?

hell no. i love him to bits and i’d love to be a really handsome elf man, but like. my boy has way too much guilt that i wouldn’t want to live with.

47: WHAT FANDOMS WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE IN?

al isn’t cool enough to like things like that. plus he’d be very confused by fandom culture i think

48: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER TYPE?

hunt and peck, capitalized first letter but nothing else, punctuation when he sees fit

49: HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER STAND POLITICALLY?

he doesn’t know what, but he knows SOMETHING needs to be done about the poverty in his city. other than that he tends to look at the smaller scale of helping people

50: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

he messes up a lot but he never stops trying?? he has a lot of determination and things he believes in and i love him for that. i love him for trying so hard to be good.

51: WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE ANIMAL?

he likes mice, mostly because they were easy to find when he was a kid and he always caught them and tried to train them, but then felt bad and let them go like an hour later

52: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER ACT IN GYM CLASS?

he’s not super strong but he is crazy flexible. probably not a ton of stamina and although he looks like he’s got the body for it he’s not that great at running. he’s just really fucking good at climbing and doing flips and shit. he’s always one of the last people out during dodgeball just bc he’s so good at dodging. he can move FAST.

53: WHAT CLUBS WOULD YOUR CHARACTER JOIN?

he probably wouldn’t join any clubs bc high school is around the time he started down the path of Bad Shit so he definitely wasn’t spending any time hanging around the school if he didn’t have to

54: WHAT IS THE SADDEST THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER’S LIFE?

he doesn’t realize that people are complicated and that good people are capable of and do bad things sometimes. he’s not a monster for the mistakes he made in the past. he’s genuinely good, he’s doing his best, and people love him and care about him and he needs to know that.

55: WOULD YOUR CHARACTER DO THE ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE?

hm, this question sure dates the original post... yeah he absolutely would. he likes doing dumb things like that, especially if they’re for a good cause. he’s a goof.

56: WHAT’S ONE OF YOUR CHARACTER’S QUIRKS?

he’s very fidgety. he doesn’t even notice it but he’s really not good at staying still

57: HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT FEMINISM?

i think he wouldn’t understand the complexities of it, but in general he would absolutely be for it. inequality pisses him off.

58: IS YOUR CHARACTER DORKY OR MORE ATHLETIC?

he’s an absolute dork. 100%.

59: WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER?

a lot of the time i worry he’s too contrived and tragic or that i play him out of character or that he’s just like. way too dramatic in general.

60: IF YOU COULD TITLE YOUR CHARACTER’S LIFE, WHAT WOULD YOU TITLE IT?

The Good Boy: Please, Folks, He’s Doing His Best

[skiecas]

fic: hopeless hearts just passing through

pair: bakugou ღ uraraka notes: a snapshot of an unexpected encounter. it’s early morning, and bakugou is surprisingly good company when the world is asleep.

☄

Uraraka shivers. If she’d known the forecast called for possible snow she would have layered better, rather than sneaking out of the dorm clad only in flimsy tights and an old T-shirt with one too many holes in it. She hadn’t noticed in motion, but a nearby convenience store had given her pause and now the frosty wind makes her teeth chatter against their will. She decides to make a quick stop after all, only to make use of the heater that was surely blasting inside.

An uninterested employee grunts a greeting from the counter without glancing up from his magazine, and Uraraka tries not to look too guilty as she pretends to browse down the aisle. Her fingers slowly defrost, turning pink at the tips.

Over the shelf, she thinks she spies something soft golden pass her by. But she thinks nothing of it.

Her stomach churns slightly to see the rows upon rows of packaged food laid out prettily before her, but she tampers down her longing. It was her birthday month and her parents had sent her an extra allowance to buy herself a present with, which she had gratefully set aside; a meager amount, but it was enough for a new pair of sneakers that she so badly needed. She glances down at the beat-up shoes on her feet. They had served her so well over the years, but had grayed long ago and were now starting to come apart at the seams.

She quickly decides to leave before she’s tempted further, or before the muscles she had so nicely warmed up from her jog relaxed completely. But something tinkles on the other side of the shelf, and she hears someone softly hiss under their breath, “Goddamn, fucking, stupid—”

Uraraka can’t help but giggle at the out of place language, but makes sure to peek around the aisle to check that the person was okay.

A young boy seems to have spilled his coins on the floor. She finds his cheek pressed to the tiles, as he reaches for whatever had slid under a giant crate of soda cans that the convenience store employee clearly had not been bothered to unpack. Uraraka realizes his soft golden hair earlier had not been a trick of the light after all.

Smiling to herself, she tip-toes closer. Checking furtively that the employee was still preoccupied with his magazine, she gently lays a palm flat against a piece of the crate. A moment later, it glides into the air—and an array of spilled coins come into view.

The boy startles. “The hell—?!”

Uraraka’s tinkling laugh dies in her throat when he whips his head around and his scowl is inordinately familiar.

“Bakugou?” she squeaks, and instantly loses control of her Quirk.

The crate comes crashing down with a deafening thud. Thankfully none of the cans topple off, but the floor definitely seems to shake. She nervously glances at the store employee, but he doesn’t even react, and she realizes belatedly that he’s wearing earphones.

“The hell, Uraraka? You almost took my arm off!” Bakugou hisses, getting to his feet and dusting off his sweatpants. He had narrowly pulled his arm away before the crate had crash-landed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she apologizes in haste, feeling mortified and very sincerely sorry. “I just wasn’t expecting to see someone I know! And I didn’t recognize you since you...”

Bakugou’s hair had never been so flat for as long as she’d seen it. It falls over his forehead in a long mess, and she’s surprised (though not at all surprised, really) to learn that his usual spiky do was a stylistic choice.

“Is your arm okay?” She takes hold of it delicately to check for any red marks, but he pulls it away before she’s barely touched it.

“I’m fine,” he scoffs, then quickly tacks on a halfhearted, “Stupid.” His fists jam into his pockets. “I’m no princess. Let’s go.”

She jumps. “But your coins! And you don’t have to hurry out on my account or anything—”

“They’re irrelevant, barely enough for a cup of coffee. And I’m not hurrying out, stupid.” He gets an almost intense sort of look about him, jaw locking into a stern scowl as he steps forward, and suddenly Uraraka finds herself caged to the cold, metal rack with Bakugou’s bicep pressing against her own, the soapy smell wafting from his hair suggesting that he was freshly showered. He mumbles, “I think I’ve found exactly what I came here for.”

Uraraka holds her breath, thinking not for the first time that Bakugou’s eyes were very, very intense.

Then he reaches around her head, and plucks a small box of energy bars off the shelf. “This is it. Let’s go.”

Uraraka breathes in and inwardly berates herself for being stupid, stupid, stupid as she sheepishly follows him to the counter. For two years she’s been losing her breath over Bakugou, feeling her heart flutter over Bakugou, and essentially getting her hopes up for nothing over Bakugou. At first she thought it had meant something that she was the only girl in their class he could stand to talk to for longer than five minutes, but then last year Aizawa-sensei had paired him with Yaoyorozu for a training session and it had stung to see them getting on so well. How stupid of her, indeed.

Lost in her thoughts, Uraraka realizes a bit late that the store employee has his eyes fixed on her, a troubled expression on his face. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and smiles up at him politely, albeit a bit confusedly. That seems to trouble him further.

Bakugou scowls, then suddenly swings an arm around Uraraka’s neck, bringing her closer to his side. Curiously irritated, he huffs, “Can’t you see she’s with me?”

Uraraka squeaks, and pleads with herself over and over, Don’t turn red, don’t turn red, do not turn red!

The employee coughs, hiding a sudden smirk. “Sure you’re not holding her prisoner there, Katsuki-kun?”

She startles to realize they know one another.

Bakugou angrily grabs his purchase, slams down his payment, and struts out of the store with Uraraka still under his arm. She puts up a bit of a fight, embarrassed by her resulting awkward waddle, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The store employee looks amused by the display for a brief moment, before returning to his magazine.

“I-Is he a friend of yours?” she coughs, once she’s free.

Bakugou turns on her, hotly jabbing a finger to her forehead. “Are you stupid or something! Why are you using your Quirk in public?”

She blinks innocently. “But you do it all the time?”

"’Cause I don’t care about the law and shit! It’s a stupid law anyway! But you—!” He jabs a finger to her forehead again, and she pouts. “You tryna get arrested first thing in the morning?”

“No one saw anyway!” she argues. She had just been trying to help.

Bakugou glares at her defense, then informs her through gritted teeth, “That guy’s got the Third-Eye Quirk, dumbass. He can see things without looking.”

Various oddities click into place, and Uraraka realizes all at once that the boy had not looked up when she had entered the store despite greeting her, and had not reacted to the crashing crate at all even though it had made such a commotion. He had seen everything, including her using her Quirk when she was prohibited to do so.

She flushes sheepishly at her poor judgment, and Bakugou takes it to mean she’s realized her mistake.

“Count yourself lucky you know me. That guy’s not gonna go blabbing to the cops if he doesn’t want me showing up and blowing up the whole goddamn place.”

Uraraka thinks the boy’s brotherly smile towards Bakugou has more to do with his compliance in the matter rather than actual fear, but she wisely chooses not to say a word. Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ear, eyelashes fluttering, and smiles sweetly up at the boy who had stuck up for her. “Thank you for helping me, Bakugou.”

He tenses, like a kitten who had accidentally dipped his toe in cold water and raised his fur in retaliation, before gruffly shoving his hands into his pockets. The shopping bag around his wrist crashes against his leg as he stomps off. “I-I didn’t do it for you, dumbass. Don’t misunderstand, stupid, round-face, gravity girl! It’d just be a pain runnin’ into the cops this fucking early.”

Uraraka laughs and runs until she falls into step beside him, deciding this would be the end of her jog. He doesn’t seem to mind her tagging along.

“Do you run into the cops a lot, then?”

“They’re the ones who got a problem with me!”

She has an inkling once again that that’s not exactly the case, though she keeps the thought to herself. But she can’t resist humming low, a smile twitching for a chance to break out on her lips, and it rubs him all the wrong way.

“What the hell’re you doing all the way out here with nothing on in the winter anyway?” he demands, crabby as can be. Bakugou’s not got on much either, just some faded sweats and his usual tank top, but Uraraka’s never seen him bothered by the cold before.

“Well... I was just out jogging, trying to clear my head. Bakugou, do you live around here then?” She had made it rather far during her run without realizing it, and to see Bakugou here was also proof; he had left to visit home a couple days ago, and this was the first they had seen of each other since—she really had not been expecting him at the convenience store.

Bakugou just gives a noncommittal grunt.

So Deku must have lived nearby as well, she realizes, but she was wise enough not to voice it aloud. Over the years she had realized Bakugou wasn’t volatile if you gave him no reason to be, or perhaps he had matured enough to become that way. Some of their rowdier peers had made a sort of game out of it, daring each other to push his limit, but Bakugou had either grown softer with time or had actually become fond of their classmates—in any case, there had been significantly less explosions since the new year.

Something tinkles, once again, and Uraraka is curious to see they’ve stopped in front of a vending machine and that Bakugou’s angrily rustling through his pockets.

“Umm,” she pipes up quietly, and pulls out a small pile of coins from her own pocket. His raised, questioning brow has her flushing. “I know you said to leave them, b-but it just didn’t seem right to leave perfectly good coins lying there. This-this isn’t all of them! But I picked up just a few for you, I thought they might be useful...”

He swipes them wordlessly and jams them into the slot with rather intense purpose, procuring one warm can of instant coffee, and then snorts, “See? Barely enough for one damn cup.”

Uraraka watches with interest as he gives the machine three punches, and then one swift kick to the side strong enough to make it rattle. It whirs softly, and then there’s a muted thunk to signify another can’s dropped into the hatch. Bakugou pulls out the second can of instant coffee with a self-satisfied smirk. “Learned how to do that when I was nine.”

Uraraka frowns. “I don’t know if we should be doing this. Isn’t it kind of like, I mean, stealing?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, pressing one into her hand. “Then you have the one we paid for. Goddamn.”

He plops down on a nearby bench, legs spread, and loudly pops open the can to take a swig. When she doesn’t immediately join him, he gives an impatient kick to the dirt space beside his foot. Uraraka considers the warm coffee slowly defrosting her fingers, and Bakugou’s side profile as he looks up distractedly at the brewing, grey snow clouds. She quickly takes the seat next to him, legs tucked together, and delicately opens her coffee so it would not spill.

“Ahhh, that feels so nice!” she exclaims after her first sip. “I feel like a tin-man right after getting an oil change.”

He scoffs, though not completely unkindly, and she wonders if that’s just his version of a laugh. Lately there had been less of his maniacal laughter from the old days. A lot of things were changing, lately, though the most daunting was their impending graduation in just a few months’ time—that had been causing changes in a lot of people. (Uraraka can’t remember the last morning she had woken up not in a cold sweat and had to run until her legs ached just to numb her anxious thoughts).

They sit quietly but amiably enough for some time, until those same thoughts from that morning begin to fester again the longer they do not speak. Uraraka bites her lip, unable to stand the silence.

“Bakugou?” she begins hesitantly, tracing the rim of her can. “I was just wondering something. Don’t... don’t you worry sometimes, about what it’ll be like after graduation?”

His swift and assured ‘no’ is so expected of him that she almost breathes a sigh of relief.

“But what if you can’t make it as a hero? Don’t you think about things like that at all?”

“The fuck you mean by that?” he demands, taking offense. His hair almost raises on end, as he scowls at her. “You callin’ me weak? Need me to blow up some more damn rocks for you to understand my power?”

“Geez, I didn’t mean it like that!” she whines, unfazed by his usual temper. “I just meant, like, what if” —she swallows, the sound inaudible— “what if you can’t save someone in time, and they die?”

“So? People die all the time.” His matter-of-fact tone takes her aback. Bakugou tightly closes a fist, and glares down at it as his knuckles turn white under the strain. “My job’s to defeat the villain before they get to any more.”

Uraraka shakes her head. It’s such a different philosophy than the ones around her. Mina, she knew, just last month, had needed to be soothed from fretting herself into a panic attack, and everyone in their class had been quieter lately than usual. Tsuyu had even come to her with some of her worries. All Might, according to Deku, had said this was normal behavior come this time of their schooling; everyone was itching to prove themselves, yet could not help but wonder what kind of hero they would become, the kind of name they would make for themselves.

But Bakugou has always, always stayed so self-assured. She’s awed, but more than anything, she’s envious.

“What, you worried about someone dying on your watch?” Bakugou wonders, as if it just now occurs to him why she might have asked in the first place. “Go be a damn doctor, then, if that’s the kinda change you wanna make in the world. I’m out there to defeat villains, not drive myself crazy by keeping a body count.”

“...Bakugou, you really do sound like a villain sometimes,” Uraraka laughs, but she stares up at the same sky he had been looking at, and she thinks she understands. A hero couldn’t always save everybody, but they could make the world safer for those who were still living.

“Shut up, gravity girl,” he retorts, then crushes up his can and tosses it into a nearby bin. “I’m outta here.”

Uraraka startles. She hadn’t expected him to finish his coffee so soon when she was only halfway through her own. She panics when he gets to his feet, and lurches forward without thinking, to grab onto the back of his T-shirt. He looks back, surprised.

“Well, I just—I mean—” She struggles to think of an excuse, to get him to stay. Because she kind of likes Bakugou in the early morning, with his hair still damp and limp over his forehead, his laughter harsh but with concealed kindness, sipping coffee together side-by-side on a seat beside him that he had offered her. Bakugou like she has never known him before.

“Aren’t you going to offer to walk me back to school?” she finally asks, all innocently fluttering lashes and flushed cheeks.

He stares at her incredulously, almost making her squirm under the intense look, before finally snapping, “The hell? Are you a hero or aren’t you?”

She’s stunned for just a beat, the words hanging heavy over their heads. But then, even though a storm cloud rumbles up above them, a bright and delighted sort of smile splits across Uraraka’s face.

Bakugou yanks himself free and stomps off without much fanfare, all the while muttering to himself under his breath, “Damn woman, always smiling, what is there to always be so damn smiley about...?”

Uraraka picks up her can of coffee and leisurely starts in the other direction, occasionally peeking back over her shoulder even though all she can see is soft golden hair in the distance.

Dummy, she thinks, affectionately. I don’t need you to protect me from danger. I just wanted you to stay with me a bit longer.

-

-

-

-

a/n: hi ok so the idea with that last scene is that bakugou misunderstands and thinks uraraka means won’t you walk me back bc it’s dangerous to be out here alone so he’s thinking, the hell, what does uraraka need to be protected for?? she’ll be fine on her own

and uraraka realizes where his mind went so even though she’d just wanted him to be a freaking gentleman and offer to walk her to school, she’s also really happy bc he obv thinks highly of her and also he assuaged one of her worries about becoming a hero soon

so yeah i hope you enjoyed. this was my first ever bnha and kacchako fic so please be kind? maybe? ok bye /w\

[30samwiches]

chasing cars

for @onethousandroaches! happy birthday to my salty hockey mom! 

some unbeta’d messy holsom for ya bc i love these boys

(I’m going with a few hcs I have, so holster is jewish and has gradually worsening hearing loss, and ransom has anxiety. I am not HOH, so if I got anything wrong please tell me! also, there are Hebrew transliterations in here! hope u don’t mind!)

(also whoops title is slightly irrelevant that song is just as soft as this fic)

words: a lil over 1k!

warnings: some homophobic language, and a vague description of an anxiety attack

Adam is seven, and he loves the ice.

It’s abundant in New York, especially in January, but he loves how he can glide across it so easily. Well, maybe not so easily, he thinks, as his dad has to pick him up off the ground for the fourth time this morning.

It’s a start.

Adam is nine, and he’s missing class instructions again.

He isn’t day dreaming this time (not this time, he swears!), he swears he’s trying.

But Ms. Smith’s lips are moving and it sounds like she’s talking to him from underwater. It’s fine, he knows how to multiply and divide already anyway, but she’s giving him a look, which means he missed something.

He can trust hockey, though, to take his mind off of what he knows is going to be a long talk after dinner.

Adam is eleven, and Chanukah has just started.

It’s not his favorite holiday (too secularized) but he does love having his family around the candles.

But this year, the prayers sound like they’re being played through shitty headphones. He wonders nervously if there’s something wrong.

Maoz tzur yishuati lecha na’eh l’shabeach….

He sneaks out to skate with his brother that night, and they laugh away his worries on foggy breath.

Adam is thirteen, and there’s a new boy in his class.

Adam’s heart feels fluttery all of a sudden, like his brother says his feels around his new girlfriend.

He doesn’t know what it means, but the new boy sees him staring and smiles bashfully, and yep, he might have a crush on the awkward new boy.

He thinks to all of the jokes the team makes. How they go after James because they think he’s gay. How they lay into him, with you faggot! Ha, James is gay! How James’ face twists slightly when they do it.

What would the team think of this? Better not say anything.

Despite everything he wants to do, he gives the boy a cool nod and goes back to his friends.

Adam is fifteen, and things are making a little bit more sense.

The doctor gave him his hearing aids, and putting them in feels like he’s just resurfaced from being underwater for years. He answers all of her questions, and is suddenly aware of how loud his voice is. He can hear, sure, but he wants to take them out. They feel weird.

No one needs to know something is wrong. What if I can’t play?

The doctor sees his worry, and smiles. You can still play hockey, Adam. Just be careful.

They’re uncomfortable, sure, but he can wear them and play, and that’s all that matters for now.

Adam is seventeen, and there’s a letter on the counter. For him. One he’s been nervously checking the mail for for the past week and a half.

His hands shake a bit as he flips over the letter from Samwell University and skims over the letter in his hands.

We are looking forward to seeing you in the fall if you choose to attend-

He hugs the letter to his chest and smiles.

Finally, he thinks.

Adam is nineteen, and he finds his new team to be nothing short of strange.

There’s Shitty, who’s never wearing clothes and always talking about fucking rich, white, cis, straight men taking over the world, brah and ignoring the fact that he’s most if not all of those things. He loudly declares that Adam’s new nickname is Holster on the first day of practice, and Adam can get used to that. Holster.

Then there’s quiet Jack Zimmermann who just looks like he wants to be alone, and Adam understands. If his life was as much of a shitshow as Jack’s had been he would be quiet and broody too. The guy can skate, though, and more than once Adam’s caught Shitty saying what a fine ass he has. (Adam agrees.)

And then there’s Justin.

Holster likes him and his gorgeous cheekbones immediately. Justin, who skates up to him and says hey, cool hearing aids, my sister’s are the same color.

Ransom, Shitty deems him.

Holster and Ransom.

Adam likes the sound of it.

Adam is twenty, and Ransom’s collapsed under the table again.

Bitty, the new freshman, looks worried. Is he alright?

Adam nods. Bitty puts the pie on the counter and looks at Holster. You can help him, his eyes say.

Holster grabs a blanket and passes it to Justin. Then he turns to leave. He knows by now the last thing Justin wants is someone to smother him. Ransom had told him once, that anxiety attacks felt like someone had thrown a lead ball into your stomach and then buried you.

Holster does not want to make his best friend feel worse.

But this time, Justin makes a noise in the back of his throat that tells Holster to stay. They’re both large, so when Adam sits down next to his best friend, it’s somewhat cramped on the floor of the Haus’ tiny kitchen.

But Justin slowly stops shaking, and there’s nowhere Adam would rather be.

Adam is twenty-one, and he’s not nearly drunk enough for this. Not even close.

But Rans is so close to his face and his pretty eyelashes and killer cheekbones are enough to send Holster over the edge on a normal day.

But when Justin kisses him (softer than any girl Adam’s ever been with) Adam feels like everything is right for once. Like his feet have finally hit the ground.

This, he thinks, is what heaven is like.

 Adam is thirty-one, and his alarm is going off.

Justin sighs from the other side of the bed and throws a hand out at it to silence it.

It’s Saturday, he grumbles, and my birthday.

Right. Justin’s birthday.

Later, when they get out of bed, Holster will take Ransom around their neighborhood. He’ll take him to where they had their first date after they moved in together, and their favorite coffee shop, and the rink that they broke into when they still had no sense. (They still don’t have much.) Their friends will take this time to fill their house.

Adam will propose.

He’s nervous about that, but at least their friends will be there for the aftermath.

For now, Adam thinks, I’m going to stay right here. The neighbors’ radio is playing Snow Patrol, and he can hear it through the wall.

If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?

[lunaticmyngi]

Drabble #21: Jimin/Taehyung

requested by anon!

a/n: this isn’t a drabble, it’s almost 2-freakin-k. oops. 

rated t+ | humor(?)/fluff-ish (idk man) | 1.8k | also on AO3

“Age doesn’t matter, nor does immaturity... mental deficiency does not stem from age, but is a consequence of following one’s feelings. Immaturity receives no benefit from knowledge, but when one uses reason when deciding their emotions, and apply it to their actions, political sciences will benefit.”

Jimin stifles his laughter into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, resisting the urge to roll his eyes - the rest of the class, however, doesn’t think twice before bursting into loud, obnoxious giggles, much to the teacher’s gall.

“Taehyung,” she calls sharply, “please, either sit up straight and take this course seriously, or think again, before wasting my time.”

The guy in question, Taehyung, his face molded into a permanent grin, only cocks his head, seemingly confused. Jimin almost pities the teacher, almost - he might care a little more about the disruption to his education, if only Taehyung weren’t the cutest, hottest dude he’s ever seen.

He also happens to be the drunkest, latest, cockiest motherfucker - at least on the surface, Jimin thinks.

Because, Taehyung is drunk, and possibly high at that, and nobody, Taehyung included, will deny it. It isn’t the first time that he’s come to class like this, either. It’s happened a handful of times since the semester began just over a month ago; Taehyung will stroll into class inebriated, or just beginning to feel his hangover from the night before, and wiggle into the first seat he sees. The others in the class usually leave a seat, right in the front, vacant for him, no doubt hoping that the feud between he and Professor Park will continue.

A month ago, on the first day, Jimin had gotten to class early, successfully securing himself a prime-learning spot, dead front and center of the room, directly in front of the professor’s podium. He’d sat, smug, ready to listen, take notes, ask questions - he was going to take his sophomore year seriously (unlike his half-naked, half-asleep freshman year), even if it killed him.

Twenty minutes later, enter Kim Taehyung, with his big, goofy grin, his sandy-blond hair, and his Van Gogh’s Starry Night laptop cover - Jimin actually had to press a hand to his chest, for fear that his heartbeat could be heard over the chatting of other students.

Because Jimin was sitting in the front, he had to keep taking subtle, sneaking glances, at risk of breaking his neck. He could only catch glimpses, a flash of teeth here, a narrow-eyed look of determination there; the girl sitting to his left kept giggling at him - he apparently was not being as subtle as he thought he was.

By the end of that first class, Jimin was, admittedly, smitten. He watched Taehyung saunter out of class, hands in his pockets, and felt his chest shrink, singing with the feeling of something. Thus began Jimin’s ridiculous, uneffective courtship of the pretty boy with blond hair, who sometimes came to class out of his mind.

The day of the second class, Jimin arrived early again, so he could sit at desk that Taehyung had shared with another student the first time. Except this time, Taehyung sat somewhere else, completely oblivious to his attempts to make contact; this carried on into the second week, and it was infuriating. Jimin would pout, weigh the options of just following Taehyung from the room and offering to buy him coffee, or lunch, or a book on Van Gogh, anything really. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do so, at least, not before he executed his mental idea of casually chatting before classes for a week or so.

For the fourth class of the semester, Taehyung sauntered in five minutes after the professor called the class into session, smelling faintly of some kind of orange liqueur, his black t-shirt rumpled and smelling like it was straight from the dryer. He’d sat in front, looking as smug as Jimin had felt that first day, and had immediately earned himself the professor’s animosity, as well as the amusement of the entire classroom.

Jimin, to his own bitter bemusement, had found it annoyingly endearing - especially when Taehyung began to speak up and out, boldened by whatever he’d taken or drank the night before.

Taehyung is brilliant, Jimin finds out, that much is obvious; it’s just hidden behind a shy, smiling exterior, and bright, excited eyes. Surprisingly, most of the shit Taehyung spews hits the nail on the head, appropriate, if not a little eccentric; today is no different, though it seems as if Taehyung has succeeded in stumping the teacher.

It took a few weeks, but Jimin has also succeeded - he’s sitting right next to Taehyung this morning, third row from the door, first double-desk in the front. After weeks, a dozen classes spent watching the other’s profile from a distance, somehow both strong and soft, and lowkey pining after him, Jimin had finally managed to manipulate the class like a herd of sheep, until the only empty seat left was right next to him. He’d almost been worried if Taehyung would show up today; but he did, a little late, looking dazzling, and utterly fucked up.

Man, Jimin hasn’t even spoken to him yet, and he has the feels hardcore.

However, Professor Park remains unamused, as she stares Taehyung down, effectively hushing the entire classroom. To his credit, Taehyung remains calm, slouched in his seat, only a few mere inches of space between his arm and Jimin’s. Jimin watches, heart in his throat, through his lashes, as the other smiles, cocking his head.

“Well… what was the question again?”

Not one to back down, or be shown up, Professor Park reclines against her desk, arms crossed. “In the Lord of the Flies,” she repeats, “we see the group of boys split down the middle. The question is, why do the children follow Jack, instead of Ralph? Do they feel as if Jack can protect them more so than Ralph can? Or, perhaps they’re excited at the prospect of being hunters?”

“Ah,” Taehyung hums, his deep voice twice as gravelly this morning, for unknown reasons. It sends shocks bouncing around Jimin’s skull, down to his toes - he curls them in his shoes, looking down at his own notebook, waiting for the other to speak.

“I don’t understand why my answer, pulled from Aristotle himself, was insufficient.”

Oh. Shit.

Jimin jerks his head up to watch the teacher’s reaction, as does the rest of the classroom. Professor Park’s eyes narrow so drastically that Jimin can’t even see her eyes anymore, and her lip curls in disgust; she’s five seconds away from kicking Taehyung out, he just knows it, and the split-decision he makes is based on nothing other than his desire to not lose Taehyung’s presence in class.

Jimin raises his hand, fighting the nervous rumble in his belly. “If I may…?” he asks, pleading with his eyes. Professor Park’s eyes fall on him, and soften, just the slightest bit, and she nods. He clears his throat, wondering, briefly, how the hell he’s going to do this.

“He’s not… wrong. Or rather, he brings up a good point,” he begins, forcing his brain into overdrive. “The children that followed Jack were young, but if they followed him for either reason, rather that reason be because they felt safer, or because they found fun in the idea of being hunters, is irrelevant. They didn’t use reason when making their decision, and therefore, they were doomed to fail, or at the least, see undesirable results. Which can be said for the rest of the plot, I believe-”

“Okay, okay, thank you, Jimin,” Professor Park says, finally sighing in defeat. “Moving on, let’s focus on the events of the third chapter…”

Before Jimin can even blink, Taehyung is leaning in close, totally invading his personal space (not that it’s unwelcome, but damn, does the dude have some long ass eyelashes).

“Thanks,” he says, his grin widening slowly, almost playfully. His eyes, dark and lustrous, even in the shitty fluorescent lights in the lecture hall, gleam, lids low. “Uh, Jimin?”

Jimin swallows, nodding. “Yeah, and no problem. But uh….” The other’s eyebrows raise, just a fraction, just enough to prompt Jimin to continue. “I… are you drunk or high? I can’t tell, and I’m really, really curious to know what you’re doing that has you applying Aristotle to Lord of the Flies.”

Jimin says it all in a rush, under his breath, too afraid to keep looking into Taehyung’s eyes, but too captured to look away. The other’s reaction is slow, like the sun rising over a sandy river, brilliant and scintillating with light - albeit, this light is hazy, considering the amount of influence Taehyung is under. He laughs, low and stifled, aware that his voice may come out louder than intended.

“Both,” he finally whispers, snorting lighting and tugging Jimin’s book closer to him, giving the illusion that they’re sharing. “I woke up this morning hungover like never before. My roommate told me getting high would help, but I think it just, I dunno, reactivated the effects of the jello shots I did last night.”

Jimin has to bury his entire face all the way in his shirt to hide his own responding laughter. “Who.. the fuck,” he chokes out, struggling to keep the hilarity contained, “thinks that’s a good idea?”

“Jung-fucking-kook, apparently,” Taehyung laughs back.

After a few sharp looks from Professor Park, Jimin eventually settles down, and straightens up, falling back into the flow of things. Taehyung stays angled towards him, however, continuing to use Jimin’s space as his own, and Jimin can’t say that he minds.

So, as class ends, with as much subtlety as he can manage, Jimin stands, stopping Taehyung with a light hand on his arm. “Hey, uh,” he stutters, as the other turns those dark eyes on him, “you have another class after this?”

“Yep, in an hour, but I think I should probably find some coffee and sober up… I’m not sure if Aristotle can be used in calculus.” Taehyung grins, big and beautiful, almost laughing at his own joke - it works to make Jimin laugh, too.

But on top of that, this gives him courage. “Well, you can buy me a cup, too, then.”

“Buy you a cup?” Taehyung repeats, cocking his head as his eyebrows draw together.

“Yep,” Jimin grins, “you owe me for saving your ass, right?”

Finally understanding, the other laughs, nodding. “Right, yeah. Sure.”

They grab their bags, and take to the hallway, moving through the students lingering outside. “Oh,” Jimin adds on a last minute decision, “you could also repay me by inviting me to whatever parties you keep having fun at.”

At this, Taehyung pauses, once again turning that smouldering, hazy gaze on Jimin. He waits, his breath humming in his chest with anticipation, as realization dawns on the other’s face, slow and smooth.

“Yeah,” Taehyung finally says, carefully reaching out to press his fingertips lightly to Jimin’s shoulder. “Gimme your number, I’ll call you tonight.”