#and I simply didn’t get ANY of those in a 7 card spread .-.

[clingylilhoneybee]

Please tell me why every time I do tarot I’d just fully attacks me?

[pokemon-card-of-the-day]

In which I post a modern gimmick deck and pretend it’s a holiday gift

I admit this is mostly because I’m still tired after working during the big storm here (the worse the weather, the more I have to do, in general) and posting a modern deck I use based on the concept is a good way to do something interesting this weekend. The deck isn’t actually that good compared to, like, anything you’d take into even an online tournament, but it’s fun as hell and fits the theme of my last few days so let’s do it. Note that it doesn’t have anything from the D regulation mark simply because I thought it would be interesting to try to build with stuff that’ll still be around in April. It’s Castform time!

Pokemon: 14

4 Castform Sunny Form CRE 3 Castform Snowy Form CRE 2 Bidoof BRS (this may change to CRZ once Crown Zenith is released) 2 Bibarel BRS 1 Manaphy BRS 1 Drapion V LOR 1 Radiant Charizard PGO

Trainers: 44

4 Professor’s Research 2 Boss’s Orders 2 Klara 2 Serena 4 Trekking Shoes 4 Ultra Ball 2 Escape Rope 2 Level Ball 4 Choice Belt 4 Magma Basin 4 Path to the Peak 4 PokeStop 3 Collapsed Stadium 3 Temple of Sinnoh

Energy: 2

2 Fire Energy

So the goal with Castform is to chuck 8 Stadiums into the discard pile so you can deal damage for free. Sunny Form hits for 150, but requires discarding a Stadium in play, and the 150 is required to hit some important numbers. Snowy Form doesn’t need the Stadium discard but only reaches 120 and can’t attack 2 turns in a row. The good news there is that the Castform cards retreat for free. Bibarel helps draw quicker, and Manaphy is required to stop things from getting 2 easy Prizes off you with spread. Drapion V exists because Mew is good, and Radiant Charizard with a Choice Belt can give you a late KO on a Lugia VSTAR or something similar, which can just win a game sometimes if it’s close. That’s why the Fire Energy is there and Klara and Magma Basin are played, to give maximum chance at that play. Since you’re discarding a lot, Professor’s Research, Ultra Ball, and Trekking Shoes are all here. If using D mark cards you can replace Level Ball with Quick Ball as well. Serena seems better than Boss’s Orders on first glance since you can either discard or force a switch, but after playing around I’ve moved to a 2-2 split because forcing out something that isn’t a V is fantastic sometimes. Boss’s Orders will also hit any Pokemon ex in Scarlet & VIolet.

The Choice Belts are required. Yes, they’ll be much worse once Pokemon ex show up and Tools can’t be saved during PokeStop discarding, but it’s really common to need that extra 30 to hit like 280 damage in 2 turns. Hopefully we’ll get some damage boosts to apply to newer Pokemon in the future.

The Stadium mix includes PokeStop for extra discarding, and Magma Basin was mentioned earlier. Path to the Peak hurts Drapion V and Radiant Charizard if they’re needed, but this deck runs 18 Stadiums so you can usually replace it if you have to. It messes up enough decks to get 4. Collapsed Stadium helps against Regis and Temple of Sinnoh against that and Lugia, so 3 of each were added as the last picks. If there’s a niche Stadium you like in these spots you can mix and match as you’d like.

Oh, and I feel like I should explain Escape Rope. Escape Rope is there to switch out your Bibarel and Charizard if stuck up front. Escape Rope was picked over anything else as it also makes the opponent switch, which is a small bit of insurance against Eiscue and Alolan Vulpix VSTAR. You probably lose to those anyway, but it gives a slight chance.

Other cards you could consider are Peony, where I get the idea of why you’d want it (discard hand, pick up a couple of Trainers) but Research just gets you 7 cards right away and I find that better overall. Rescue Carrier can get back your Castform. Klara’s usually enough in match-ups where you don’t need Charizard and it’s hard to fit but it would be good. I’ve also seen Galarian Articuno V and played around with it a bit but it’s an extra 2 Prize target that didn’t speed things up enough for my taste. If playing with D regulation mark there’s always Crobat V (same problem as Articuno, but you rely less on Bibarel) and Galarian Meowth.

Overall, Castform’s fun. It’s not going to routinely beat any of the good decks out there, but you’re playing in a different way when using it and things come together often enough that you don’t feel hopeless all that often. Hopefully there’s enough support in future sets to give it a few extra months but for now this is my favorite deck to mess around with in a casual setting.

[azranox]

Forgive any typos, I did this on my phone and will proofread it later, but I wanna post it now.

Cards Flipped

I’ve been traveling with these three for two years now, and somehow I’ve never had to really fight. Part of me fears that I’ve gotten rusty, but I learned that day I’m the opposite of rusty. We were setting up camp, and they had foolishly set their weapons aside, and the mage hadn’t even kept their tome near enough to draw from it. I was in a tree, gently extracting some honey from a nest near the top. A band of around 20 raiders ambushed the three below, and they were taken down fast then I could breathe from sheer surprise. They didn’t notice my position and when the leader couldn’t find “the healer” they started searching, but never glancing up. I had the advantage, we might be one of the most infamous adventuring parties this side of Ranom but my combat prowess was long forgotten for the tales of the fighters’ and mage’s skills. That’s gonna hurt them today. I tugged on my bracelet, it was my version of the mage’s tome. Most assumed my tome was simply hidden in the depths of my layered robes, but I long ago learned that any object could act as a source. My ability to play fast and loose with the understood nature of magic was what known for after all. With a flick of my wrist I cast my normal healing spell, but halfway to my target I twist my mental intention, and hand alongside to shift the energy into a deep foreboding black. As it struck the target, I tapped the edge of my bracelet and drew a long across, arching the spell into the two nearby. They’re bodies became encased in solid darkness opposed to the pale blue of my normal low level spells. Seventeen to go, but the rest of the raiders had broken up into four groups and moved the cardinal directions. I tapped into a hidden anchor object, the sling for my directing staff, and shift the light around me to make me disappear. Dropping down into the camp I quickly stabilize my comrades, but leave them unconscious. This is my fight now. I chose to head north first and eliminate the leaders team. Prevention is the best medicine after all, and I’m preventing this man from ever fucking with my friends again. Calm down, I can’t let my emotions get to me. I’ve caught up to the squad, the leader at point, and six foot soliders in formation behind. This will be a bit difficult but my plan should work. I start to cast my most powerful healing spell, this time bringing ill intent from the beginning, arranging my actions in such a way to form it into a powerful sticky grenade. I step out from behind the tree I used as cover, still cloaked, and launch the spell. The angry red center is surrounded by violet crackles and I leap back to the tree and scurry up into it covering my ears and turning away from the blast, although it dont denote high, instead spreading across the geoind like an oily red shadow leaving nothing it touches alive. I cant bring plants back the dead sadly and resolve to say a prayer tonight for the tree that saved me. Theres 10 more, assumed groups of 3/3/4, the rest will be a breeze. I turn tail and head back to camp, grabbing my pack and pulling out a small stone. I sit back down and use the stone employ the one actual combat spell I know, and place a mana marker on each group via their paths on the cardinal paths. Breathing deeply I form three small spells in front of me, and tailor my intent to harm only those who've wronged me. Better these spells arent to powerful incase I miss. I arrange the spheres on their paths and set them forth, and they start growing as the rocket forward. I struggle to maintain them as they grew farther away and I decide to pull directly from Gaia as my energy source. I'll be sore tomorrow but I need to end this fast. At last i feel the spells start to hit the raiders. 10,9,8… east done. 7, 6, 5, 4, north done. I shift weight west and feel the last three get caught by the bubble as I sag from exhaustion. I use the last of my strength to wake up my party from the sleep spell thar accompanied my earlier heal. "You guys alright? We got ambushed and I just took out 20 raiders, meaning I win most kills in one go now."

They blink in confusion as I try and fail to stand, "Come on they have to have some good stuff on em." I stutter, sounding drunk. I just used way to much mana at once, oh I WILL be sick tomorrow damnit. The mage is the first fully back up of the three. They head toward their small pile of things and starts drawing mana from the tome on top. I watch them mutter under their breath, in what i recongize as the their version same targetting spell as I just used earlier. "Oh youre looking for them, just follow the cardinal paths, theyre not that good at raiding." I mumble as loud and clearly as I can. That gets a laugh out of the other two, good my job here is done, all patients have responded to stimuli…" I think as I fall asleep into a long dreamless sleep.

You’re the healer of the group. The rest of the party has always treated you like you’re made of glass. You were content to stay out of their way and let them do their thing. Until they all got downed leaving you the only one standing. That’s when you show them how deadly healing magic can be.

[novoaa1writes]

honest

pairing(s): daisy johnson x nb!reader, melinda may & nb!reader (familial)

summary:

coming out is never easy—even when you’ve got reliable people in corner.

contains: angst & fluff with happy ending

(also available on ao3.)

word count: ~2,000

rating: teen

warnings: sparring, self-doubt; anxiety (not chronic); muscle pains, bruises, and aches (from exertion); mild language; coming out; discussions of gender and sexuality

notes: 

in my head, this is staged at the playground somewhere in season 2-3ish of marvel’s agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

— —

disclaimer: this is in no way reflective of the experiences of all non-binary individuals everywhere. as someone who’s recently had the realization that i am Not Woman and Not Man and has been subsequently made to have some rather difficult conversations with those closest to me about changing up pronouns, this is simply based off of my own experience and struggles with my gender / sexuality. it’s a uniquely personal thing to come to terms with, and it’s different for everyone.

feel free to message me if you’d like to talk about it!

— —

You let out a long, slow breath, eyeing yourself critically in the bathroom mirror. 

Nervous eyes, shower-damp skin, lower lip swollen and puffy from biting it relentlessly—an obtrusive testament to the overwhelming abundance of unease ballooning in your chest.

Yeah. Seems about right. 

“C’mon, Y/N,” you grumble, taking great care to pitch your voice well below the hum of the fan overhead. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The more insistent you become, the less you believe it. 

“It’s just Daisy,” you continue, silently willing yourself to remain undeterred by the crushing doubt that gnaws away at your insides. “She’ll understand.” 

... But will she?

You frown at your reflection, skin prickling with frustration. “And if she doesn’t…” you trail off, hating the quiver in your voice for betraying your weakness. “If she doesn’t, then you shouldn’t be with her anyways.” Your voice comes out stronger this time, even if the words themselves are enough to scare you shitless. 

You like Daisy. Could grow to love her, even. 

Being with her… it’s made you the happiest you’ve ever been in your entire life, and damn it all, but you mean that. 

“She’s going to understand,” you say aloud. “She will.”

God, you pray that that’s true. 

— —

7:00am sees you getting your ass thrown violently all across the mats by an ever-indomitable Melinda May, racking up bruises and scratches and aches like no one’s business. 

By the time 9:00am hits, you’re a wheezing mess, sprawled spread-eagled atop the sparring mats—lungs on fire, chest heaving for breath; sweat-drenched skin littered with technicolored bruising.

In short, it’s hellish. 

“C’mon,” May urges, tone curt and even. She looms imposingly down upon you from above, a decidedly unamused expression gracing her elegant features—and, get this: not a single hair out of place, nor a hint of labored breathing. 

You groan and squint up at her, searching for—

A-ha!

There, just above one immaculately-manicured brow and, like, two millimeters beneath her hairline—a tiny little droplet of perspiration. As you watch, it seems to absorb itself into her flawless skin—disappearing before your eyes like it was never even there. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you grumble. 

May just raises a single brow, offering you a hand up. “Up.”

You frown at her but don’t push your luck; rather, you accept the proffered hand and allow her to pull you to your feet. Your arms and legs and abdominal muscles all scream in protest as you lurch upright into a flat-footed stance, but you grit your teeth and bear it. 

Training with May—torturous (and often humiliating) as it may be—is voluntary. Something you chose, and continue to choose even despite the unadulterated hell it puts your body through with every swift kick and bone-jarring punch.

Not only that, you’re lucky to study opposite someone as fearless, skilled, and fucking terrifying as Melinda May. 

Even when your limbs are all ache-y and sore and burning with a pain beyond your years, you know that. 

Still… 

You probably could’ve done without this today. After all, getting your ass kicked for a solid two hours all across the mats doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. And, considering the conversation you plan to have with Daisy this afternoon, you’re gonna need to muster up all the confidence you can get. 

— —

“Spit it out,” May prompts, sidling up to match you stride for stride as you take a couple cool-down laps around the miniature track (¼ the size of a regulation model)... walking, that is. Not jogging. 

Honestly, you think that if you even tried jogging right now, you’d pass out. 

You spare her a sidelong glance as the two of you round the bend, perfectly in sync. “What?” 

May purses her lips, giving you a look. “You were sloppy today,” she remarks pointedly. “Distracted.” 

Her stare seems to burn holes through the side of your head. 

“Wow, thanks,” you mumble. The sardonic quip tastes funny coming off your tongue.

“You were off today,” May reiterates, sidestepping your wisecrack entirely. Her footsteps are soundless even as the soles of your beat-up Air Force Ones slap the tread audibly with every stride. “That doesn’t happen often.”

“Sure it does.” You shrug. “You kicked my ass today, same as always. If you ask me—” You hesitate briefly at the look on May’s face, which is plainly screaming ‘I didn’t’ “—today’s been anything but out of the ordinary.” 

“You’re a terrible liar,” May remarks without missing a beat. It’s like she didn’t even hear you (which you damn well know that she did). 

Still, you don’t do her the disservice of arguing the point any further. 

You walk another ten paces in perfect silence—no, twelve. You know because you count each one. 

Unsurprisingly, you’re first to break the immersive quiet. “I think I want to tell Daisy.”

May’s impartial expression doesn’t change. “About?”

You almost roll your eyes, but manage to curb the impulse at the very last second. “You know what about.”

Hell, May was the first person you told. You came to her quarters hyperventilating in the dead of night, tears streaming down both cheeks and a sense of such deep-seated discomfort swelling in your chest, your ribs positively ached with the force of it.

“I want to hear you say it.”

You bite your lower lip, apprehension gnawing at your insides. “About…” You trail off, internally scolding yourself. This shouldn’t be so fucking hard. “About me being… non-binary.” 

Non-binary. 

What a flimsy little term. So matter-of-fact… almost scientific in nature. And yet, the way it affects you is nothing short of visceral—all-encompassing and monstrous, compressing your very lungs in an iron-clad vice until it’s agony to draw breath. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts ; voicing this simple reality that’s plagued you since you were very small, looming malignantly in the margins of everything you do… and yet, the truth of it rings keen and strong in your ears—clear as a bell.  

It’s liberating and frightful all in one; a grating juxtaposition, to be clear.

“Yes.” The sound of May’s uncharacteristically gentle intonation cuts clean through the blaring noise in your head, yanking you out from a sea of inner turmoil with startling decision. “I’m proud of you.”

Her words—gently-spoken as they may be—hit you like consecutive sucker punches to the gut. “What?” you choke, forcing out a breathless chuckle. 

May—predictably—is staunch, unyielding… wholly undeterred. “You’re being true to yourself,” she insists, matching you step for step as you start in on lap two. Your chest burns something awful and your legs aren’t much better, but you pay it little mind. “That’s no small thing.”

“It’s terrifying,” you tell her. As far as you’re concerned, that’s something of an understatement.

She nods. “It often is.”

“What if… What if I tell her and she doesn’t like me anymore?”

May raises a single brow. “Daisy, a known bisexual who has stated on more than one occasion that the gender binary is ‘stupid’ and ‘exclusionary’? Daisy, who’s been on dates with more than one openly non-binary person in the past?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” 

May—bless her heart—doesn’t snort or sigh or roll her eyes, but you can tell it’s not for lack of wanting. Instead, she merely slants you a pointed look that says, ‘Exactly.’

You walk the next six strides in silence, your feet aching in your shoes.  

“I’m going to tell her,” you say eventually, a tinge of cautious certainty creeping into your tone. You don’t know who you’re trying to convince—yourself, or May. 

All the same, May is nothing if not steady and dependable amidst stormy seas; she always knows just what to say. (Or, what not to say, as it were.) 

There are no tears, no hugs, no flowery platitudes… nothing but a sharp nod of approval and the barest hint of a grin curving her lips, like she sees you for who you are and she approves—like she’s proud, even. You don’t know how else to translate the tender mercy in her eyes, the way it seems to warm you from the inside out. 

Yeah, you can tell Daisy. 

You’re going to tell Daisy. 

And May’s gonna be right there beside you the whole time.

— —

In retrospect, you definitely could’ve gone about this better. 

Like, you weren’t exactly going for the kind of heartfelt reconciliation you’d see in some coming-of-age sap-fest movie on the big screen; and it’s not as though there’s an exact script to follow for all this, but… 

Pulling away from a decidedly heated kiss to blurt out, “I’m not a woman”—and doing so while you’re half-naked and straddling the lap of a similarly scantily-clad Daisy in bed, no less—definitely hadn’t been your first choice. 

Judging by the expression on Daisy’s pretty features—which is caught somewhere between taken aback and genuinely concerned—she’s coming to the same conclusion.  

To her credit, though, she recovers quickly—though the crease between her brows (a testament to her lingering bewilderment) remains. “What?”

You swallow thickly, carding your fingers through her tousled hair—a nervous habit of yours you’d developed as of late. “I’m…” You sigh, apprehension building in your chest. “I’m not a woman.”

Daisy’s brows raise marginally even as she offers a shallow nod, wide attentive eyes steadfastly holding yours. “Okay…” she begins gently, rubbing circles into the bare skin above your left hipbone with a callused thumb—a subtle nudge for you to continue. 

“I just—I don’t feel like a woman,” you say, and this time it’s easier, even if the sheer measure of honesty in that statement is enough to make your stomach turn. “And I don’t feel like a man, either.”

Understanding flares in Daisy’s pretty brown eyes. “Okay,” she says again. “So, you’re not a woman…” She pauses, dipping her head to place a feather-light kiss upon your shoulder. “And you’re not a man,” she continues, lifting her jaw to study you face-to-face, the tip of her pert nose brushing up against your own. “Which means… ?”

“I’m, um,” you squirm a bit, shifting atop her bare thighs, “... non-binary.” Your cheeks are hot, burning with shame, and you have never been so grateful that your skin is tawny enough to conceal it. 

Daisy doesn’t blink. “Okay,” she replies, then leans forth to place a barely-there peck atop your lips. 

You frown down at her, lips tingling. “‘Okay’?” you repeat.  

Daisy grins, leaning in for another kiss—and you’re all too quick to indulge her even as your thoughts spin and disbelief wars violently with consternation within your chest. 

Her lips are soft and warm against your own; when her tongue flits out to trace your lips, you’re parting them in an instant to meet her halfway; the sensation of kissing her is nothing short of euphoric, and you surrender willfully unto it like leaves in the brisk autumn wind. 

Seconds pass, or maybe it’s minutes, but she’s catching your lower lip between her teeth and you’re sucking on the tip of her tongue and— 

Quite suddenly, the kiss has become nothing short of filthy—all open-mouthed and desperate and bruising just how you like, and damn it all, but you can finish the rest of the conversation another time.

For now… well. You’re preoccupied with other things.  

— — 

(Later that night, when you’re both laid up in bed and drifting off to sleep, Daisy asks if you’d like her to start referring to you as ‘they’ and ‘them’ rather than ‘she’ and ‘her.’

When you answer in the affirmative, telling her that nothing would make you happier, the sheer measure of honesty in your words doesn’t feel nearly as nauseating as it did before. 

In fact, it’s rather the opposite.

The way Daisy reacts—a murmured, “Okay”; a feather-light kiss upon your forehead; two strong arms pulling you closer in the dark… well. That’s just icing on the cake. 

Despite everything—the self-doubt, the second guessing, the aching soreness settling into the very marrow of your bones—you feel yourself break out into a broad grin beneath the pitch-dark cover of night.

You feel good; comfortable in your own skin. You feel… happy.)

— —

end notes: i want melinda may to be my friend.

LINK TO MASTERLIST

[ohheyitsokay]

steal

part 7 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: strong language, mentions of previous substance abuse and mediocre family relationships, a happy, happy ending

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier Baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

in baseball, to ‘steal’ is for someone already on base to to the next base when the ball is live, but before his time. 

In this chapter, Frankie takes you out to dinner, and in telling you about himself, accidently goes way too hard, way too fast. 

>>

Frankie called and asked you to an early dinner.

Early, so the restaurant wouldn’t be crowded. Early, so he wouldn’t have the chance to overthink. Early, so the boys wouldn’t catch word and cause chaos.

Early, so he’d have all the time in the world with you, if you wanted.

When he picked you up, neither of you had the time to worry about your clothes or hair or fuss with it, and it was a relief. Someday, you hoped to get the chance to dress up for each other, but for now, casual seemed most fitting. He opened the door of his truck for you, holding your hand as you stepped into it. It wasn’t that you needed the extra help, he just seemed like he wanted to. 

You didn’t see, but his hand flexed, tingling as he walked around to climb in the driver’s side.

The talk came easy - Francisco forwent superfluous pleasantries and when he asked you questions there was no doubt in your mind that he actually wanted to hear your answers. You found yourself spilling about your job, flushing when you caught him watching you talk closer than the road, something soft in his eyes.

It was a stereotype, that a baseball player would like diner food, and you were pleasantly surprised when his truck slid into the tiny parking lot of a mom ‘n pop Hispanic restaurant. It was cute, watching him run around to open your door again, and he asked “Is this okay?” as he helped you down.

In response, you shifted your hand in his until his large fingers were laced with yours, and said yes, of course a little breathlessly. There was a lovely lady both serving and hosting who acted like she knew Francisco, giving him a broad wink and rapid fire teasing in what you could only assume was Spanish. In truth, you were too distracted by the way his thumb was running over the back of your hand, and the smells of corn and peppers and homemade tortillas.

Seated, she asked if you would be alright with anything, and your date looked eager and hopeful, so you would be a monster not to agree.

“So you come here often,” you said when she left. Not a direct question, although you were sure you wanted to hear the story. Francisco grinned.

“Are you flirting with me?” His eyebrows dipped in the middles, betraying a little more hope than he intended.

“Yes?” It was easier to tease as the waitress put plate after steaming plate between you, and a container full of warm tortillas. You spread your napkin over your lap as you thanked her, ignoring the growl in your stomach. As much as you liked that he let you talk, you wanted to know more about him, wanted to give him the chance to say whatever he left out the other night. There was certainly more to the solid catcher than met the eye, learning him felt as natural as your hunger.

“I’m serious though, what should I try first?” You pointed at various things with your fork, and Francisco almost wiggled he looked so happy. It was a dream, having you tucked into the little booth across from him, trust in your eyes.

“The green chili, Anita makes it from scratch regularly and it’s fantastic,” he pointed, eyes watching with joy as you dug into the smothered burrito. Your moan shot through him, warming his whole body more than the food he swallowed in a hurry. “Good, yeah?”

“Amazing,” you didn’t ask again, how he knew, just began filling your stomach. He told you about various dishes, sharing them with you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Eventually, the story came out naturally.

“I used to come here a lot when I first moved to town,” he shrugged. “It’s halfway between the stadium and where my family is right now.”

It was easy to meet his eyes and you didn’t pry. Twirling a long string of molten cheese on his fork, it poured out of him, telling more than you felt like you deserved to know and watching you carefully.

He started at the beginning, how it felt like home, this little restaurant, but safer. His mother and sister lived in a small town nearby. It was messy, his youth, full of shit a kid shouldn’t have to deal with. Baseball had been his way out, his chance at a life he couldn’t have. To be good at something, to have a team to belong to. Clean uniforms and clean money, from prizes, that put meat on his bones and filled out his sister’s cheeks.

He became Frankie, pouring his heart into it until he excelled, working like he needed it to survive.

When the scholarships rolled in, he picked the one farthest away, sending checks from his nightshift part-time home more often than he called. He thought his life was good, that running away was working. Being drafted was a dream come true – and a nightmare. It came with and confirmed nasty truths, about the industry and people who wanted his success for all the wrong reasons. Those first few years were full of parties and bad decisions, chasing highs and losing track of himself in the thick of it all. One night, Santi dragged him back, reminded him why he did all of it, reminded him who they had dreamed of being. Showed him they could still be those people.

“I didn’t really know him then, we played on different teams. But we hit rock bottom around the same time and ended up leaving early from the same party.” Frankie pushed the final few grains of rice around his plate, and you wondered if that was the party Tom had gotten busted at. If they really had rescued each other, more than they realized.

God or fate gave him a second chance, and they got traded to the same team the next season, close to his home. He started visiting, supplying himself instead of just money, still playing the game - but allowing himself to enjoy it, be a human.

A tray of sopapillas came as he was telling you animatedly how bad his mother was at gardening, and how silly he felt trying to help her. It made him glow, his pride at how far he had come and you wanted to hug him. Frankie stared at the soft, puffed pastry, as if realizing for the first time he had no idea how long he’d been talking. Then he pushed his card into Anita's hand and shot you a nervous look. You shrugged, but it wasn’t about the payment, at least not entirely.

“Would you want to take these to go?”

“Go where?”

“I was thinking maybe… to meet them?” There was a silent beat, as your hands almost dropped the plates you’d been stacking.

“Wait, shit, sorry I just –” Frankie had never felt so stupid in his life. He blew it, he definitely fucked this up. He had just told you his entire life story and decided now, your very first date? Yeah, that would be a good time for you to meet his family. Thus far you’d listened and reacted like a dream, as kind and considerate as you’d ever been, but this was too much. 

Your laugh cut off his spiral.

“Okay,”

“What?”

“Okay, let’s do it.” You were shaking your head in disbelief, but god was your smile beautiful. Bright and genuine, it made him wonder again if you felt like he did. Like this wasn’t really your first date.

Like you were as deep as he was, already.

-

On the drive he told you the rest of it. His sister was running from herself like he had, except in sucky, deadbeat men. About how when they had conversation that carried them in circles and he wanted to lock her up and force her into therapy, or when the world of baseball became too much, how he went to that restaurant. How he would eat home cooking all on his own, and breathe until he found the right words for himself or for her.

When you offered him your hand, over the middle console, he took it without hesitation. It was soft and fit into his like it was meant to be, and he was reminded again how in awe he was of you. This was by no means what you had agreed to, not normal under any circumstances, but you were trusting him, rolling with it like he was worth it. 

He wanted to be, wanted all of this so bad he could hardly breathe. 

The rest of his story left almost no time for him to prep you, but when the door to the little mobile home opened, his mama greeted you like she knew you were coming.

You were lovely stepping into his truck with your hand in his, and you were lovely across from him with green chili sliding down your chin as you flushed, but this... was something else. It hit him full force, that you had listened and learned and stayed. With Tom hitting on you, with the mess at the party they shouldn’t have been at, with all of the shit in their pasts, and even this. You were really here, at his mother’s home, kissing her cheek and letting her call you his novia and accepting all of his life, all of him. 

His madre only hugged him after you, and her beam brightened as she watched you follow him, in slipping off your shoes. Every time he saw her, he thought she looked a little smaller - you’re just growing, mi frijol -  but she looked small next to you, too. Her voice was extra high as she cooed, ushering you into the cluttered mobile home, and he could help but smile as he followed, too in love with the moment to be embarrassed of her questions. 

You had listened closely, sympathetic but surprisingly determined not to be pushed away. This felt like simply an extension of that awkward and beautiful dinner, the way his mother welcomed you with open arms and rapid fire questions about yourself. She mercifully left out pushy questions about your relationship as you settled into the paisley couch, and Frankie was as warm and solid against your side as he had ever been.

There were little wrinkles around his eyes as he watched you and her, and as you began asking her questions about herself, he was more sure about you than he had ever been. It wasn’t gone completely, the feeling that this was ridiculous and he’d ruined whatever you had by going unreasonably fast with you, but he did his best to ignore it. Instead he focused on you, something he was learning was good luck.

His heart ached when you fit into his side, practically in his lap as you used him to ground yourself. It felt natural, in an intoxicating way, and he wanted you. Just like this.

When his madre thought she heard a knock and went to check, he found himself rubbing the top of your head with his jaw, his cheek, his nose. The whole night felt like it wasn’t real.

“Thank you for rolling with this,” he whispered into your hair. Your shoulder moved up and down again on his chest – a shrug.

“You’ve already met James, it’s almost the same,” you shifted to smile at him, nad he shook his head before noticing your eyes flit behind him.

At the door was a woman, dark stains under her eyes, belly stretching out the thin fabric of her shirt, and eyebrows drawn together.

His sister.

Then his mother came in pushing glasses of tea into your hands, almost as cool as the introduction, and you settled back against Frankie. Your life had become so strange these past few weeks, but you had known for what felt like a long time now. Together, it would be okay.

-

The drive home was dark, and silent for a long moment as you collected yourself, and Frankie was glad the evening started early.

“So this was a long date,” Frankie said, a question and an apology. You huffed in laughter and he offered his hand to you, saying your name with adoration, imploring you to talk to him.

“It was a lot,” you said, honestly, but you took his hand, thankful for the openness.

“Yeah,” his voice cracked, and you could see him struggling not to watch you anxiously. “I didn't plan on taking you home and all that happening, plus my mom calling you my- ”

“I know, Francisco,”

“Fuck. Do you… do you have any questions? Or…” he was beginning to panic, the undercurrent of anxiety finally uncontrollable.

His sister had been short with you, as much as she’d been with him these past few months. It was a lot, so much more than you deserved.

“Do you regret it?” It was an honest question.

Frankie’s mouth opened a little bit, his eyes suddenly steady on the road, really thinking. Then he shook his head, and a knot you didn’t know you had undid itself in your chest. He used his hand to draw yours to his mouth, ghost kisses over your knuckles, mustache only tickling a little bit. “I want you to be a part of my life, querida.” 

The truck hit a bump, and you felt pressure, and then like you were floating. You nodded, trying to find the words to tell him you wanted that, too. 

Finally, you said, “Thank you for letting me,” and he laughed. It was rich and deep and full of relief, almost giddy as it broke the tension, and you laughed too. He let your hands drop back between you, but didn’t let go, squeezing gently.

 The words unsaid didn’t really seem to matter, as he cruised five under the speed limit towards your home. 

 When you asked, “Why do you still go to those parties?” it was the last thing he has been expecting. The rush of wind by the widows felt loud as he thought.

“I guess… sometimes it feels like I’ve got nothing better to do.” It sounded lame, even to him. That wasn’t all of it, it was more complicated than that, but you understood. After this whole time, you’d stuck around, of course you did.

“What about next time, instead…” The stars were twinkling, winking at you, “You go on another date with me?”

“You still want to?” Frankie had hoped, really hoped, but hearing you offer was something different. Fire in his chest, hot and bright and powerful. When he looked over, you were nodding, smiling at him with a certainty on your face that matched his own. 

“There’s a game tomorrow,” he was half joking.

You laughed. 

“Okay.”

He pulled over under a streetlight to kiss you. 

<<

translations:

madre - mother

novia - girlfriend 

mi frijol - my bean

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen

[ohnomybreadsticks]

Hiiiii!!!!!! 🥰

I'm sending a wee prompt feom your list!!!!!

Can I get #7 plz, with any variation of witchers/Jaskier hahahah chefs choice 🤭❤️

Ahhh thanks Hailie!! 💕With a chef's choice like that I had to give it some thought - I ended up going with Jaskier/wolfpack (including platonic Vesemir??) because I couldn't choose and was feeling the poly vibes today!

Tell me a piece of your history / That you’re proud to call your own - Jaskier/wolfpack (+platonic Vesemir)

(Rated T, canonverse, polyamory, soft witchers, fluff, very very soft, mentions of illness, good dad Vesemir)

---

Jaskier has always written ballads about his Witchers, because he knows they'll never speak up for themselves. And they deserve so much more than the sneers of the public and the dirty whispers passed between those that have never truly known better. So he writes his little verses and strums his little lute and does what he does best: make art.

And the ballads spread across the land, stories of the brave Wolves and their heroism winding through bright country lanes and dim back alleys, until everywhere they go, Jaskier's Witchers are at least greeted with basic decency. And he's terribly proud of himself, really, for showing other people what they're too stupid to see. That his Wolves are big and brave and strong, and they slay even the biggest and fiercest of monsters to protect everyone.

But...as the years turn and he spends more time in the arms of his Witchers, Jaskier begins to realize that perhaps he's also only been sharing one side of the story. Because in the quiet moments that trust builds for them, his Witchers begin to tell him their own stories. The things they're truly proud of, even if they'll never admit them in anything more than a whisper.

She braided flowers into my hair, Geralt murmurs, tipping his head back into Jaskier's hands as he gently scrubs away the dirt of a long day's work. He speaks of a little girl who hadn't been afraid of him, who had gently gifted him a moment of innocent joy, and Jaskier catches sight of the smile spreading across Geralt's face. She didn't see me as a monster.

I held him the whole night through until the fever broke, Lambert admits, his face buried in the crook of Jaskier's neck, breath tickling softly at his skin. He tells of his own kindness as if it were a secret, as if someone will scoff or claim it isn't true. Jaskier simply cards gentle fingers through his hair as he listens. Didn't want him to suffer alone.

I stayed on afterwards, and helped them rebuild the barn, Eskel says, eyes never leaving the page. He and Jaskier are shoulder to shoulder in the library, poring over old volumes of archaic poetry. The others poke gentle fun at him for his love of words, but Jaskier knows they're happy to see him so relaxed. What good's a dead monster's head to a family that will starve if they can't house their livestock for the winter?

I got them through it, Vesemir admits, the sound of his voice mingling with the drunken snores of his pups. Jaskier glances over his own cup of ale, vision blurry but still sharp enough to catch the relief stark on the old Witcher's face. Didn't think any of us would make it, but they're still here, and they're finally happy.

Jaskier thinks that perhaps these tales are best left unsung. He can live with the knowledge that his ballads aren't exactly accurate. More important is the warmth of eager lips on his, and the whisper of his Witchers telling him their true histories between kisses.

[haikyuuwaifu]

Rockabye

Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, TW Child Abuse, TW Neglect, TW Alcoholism, TW Drug Use

Bakugo x F Reader x Shinsou Poly

Masterlist

The Return of Rei Todoroki| The Return 2| The Return 3

The Return 2

Y/N parked her car, unclicked her seat belt, and opened the door stepping out into the cool night air. Pulling her jacket around her, she pulled her phone out to text Katsuki; simply informing him of her location. Sliding her phone back in her pocket, she pushed the key fob walking towards the cafe, her car beeping locked behind her. Peering through the window, she scanned her eyes around the building until she noticed a familiar head of dark midnight hair huddle in the corner. Wrenching the door open, she stepped in.

Sliding her jacket off, Y/N slide into the booth across from Nemuri. The woman in front of her hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her presence, and that was fine. She was fine with waiting until Nemuri was ready to talk. For the next hour, the two women sat in complete silence.

*A/N: This section will be written out in manuscript conversation form*

Nemuri:  Sighing softly, she spoke; “I think...I think I’m ready to talk about it.” she whispered, eyes trained on the table in front of her.

Y/N: “What exactly happened Nem?” she asked, tracing her fingers softly over Nemuri’s interlocked fingers.

Nemuri: “I had planned to leave work early, and surprise Enji. I left at noon; got my hair done...I even stopped at the store to buy his favorites to make him something nice for dinner...It had been a while since we had any one on one time.” she mumbled. Taking a sip of her coffee she continued on, “I knew he would be in the office, until at least 6. I called his secretary to confirm that he was in meetings and made my way over to his place.” her lips trembled now as the memories moved to the front of her eyelids. “When I got there, I was met with noises, which was odd; because I knew the maids were always gone by 1130 on thursdays...” she squeezed her fists tightly, knuckles turning white. “I made my way further into the house, only to hear a voice to the left of me...there was a woman draped across the couch...i-in nothing but Enji’s robe...the robe t-that I a-always...” 

Unable to finish her sentence, Nemuri’s body shook as she sobbed finally, letting the emotions spill over. Y/N slid out of her seat and over to her side pulling her into a hug. Stroking her hair she cooed softly, as she let Nemuri cry out her frustrations.

Y/N: “What happened next Nem?” she murmured softly. 

Nemuri: sniffling, she continued on, “She asked me who I was...and what I was doing in her husbands home. I told her that I was his girlfriend and that they had been divorced for years...She just...she laughed at me Y/N. She laughed in my face and told me, that I was a fool and that she and Enji had still been fucking around for years...years!” at this point, Nemuri’s sobbing had ceased, but her body still shook slightly. “I was so angry, becuase god could he really do something like that to me? After everything we’ve been through together?” she asked burying her face in Y/N’s hair. 

Y/N:  Next to her, Y/N’s mind was running through every possible scenario of how she was going to beat Rei’s ass. Still stroking Nemuri’s hair she asked softly, “What exactly did Enji tell you about Rei Nem?”

Nemuri: “ He didn’t go into much detail about her, jus that she wasn’t the best parent and they had stuck things out for the sake of the kids...at least until Sho turned 18.” she answered, dabbing her cheeks with the napkin in front of her. “Why? Is...Is there something I don’t know?” she asked.

Y/N:  “There’s a lot of things you don’t know Nem, and it’s probably best if I tell you, but let me get it all out before you ask your questions.” Y/N murmured moving back to her side of the booth...tapping her fingers against the table she spoke. “ I grew up in an orphanage, and as shitty as it was; I got lucky when I won the scholarship to attend school at Shoto’s school...I met Shoto when I beat these kids up for making fun of his scar...That scar was the result of Rei pouring hot water over him because he looked too much like his father.” she murmured eyes cast down towards the table. “I didn’t really know the extent of Rei’s abuse before I met Shoto, but after meeting him and his siblings; I could see the signs...Growing up in an orphanage full of kids who no one wanted, you knew what to look out for; and you knew you had to protect yourself...The Todoroki kids didn’t know those kind of life lessons.” 

Y/N: “The first time I stayed over, Shoto was a little worried, I’d never want to go back. At the time Enji, spent a lot of time at work...he didn’t know how to deal with what was going on at home; so Dabi was the one who took the brunt of the responsibility before I came along.” she said, waving her hand towards the waitress. Pointing at what she wanted to order she continued; “Everything had been fine when I got there, and I had gotten a long pretty well with the siblings...and then the door slammed open and a drunk Rei had come home...Shoto tried to apologize, but I had told him it was fine. I wanted to see what was happening, so I could better understand my new friend.” “She was so drunk, she didn’t even know I was there; but I watched as the good mood quickly disappeared. Natsuo had shrunken into a corner of the room, attempting to make himself practically invisible, and Dabi had made his way towards his mother ready to reign her in. Shoto stood in front of me, trying to hide me from her scrutunizing gaze, but her eyes were focused on Fuyumi.” 

Nemuri sat across from Y/N, her fists clenched as she listened to Y/N tell her about Rei. 

Y/N: “She poked at her slight rolls, and called her a pig. She tugged at her hair and told her it was a rats nest...she said awful things to her child with a voice full of absolute hatred.” she declared fist clenched and her knuckles white. “That was the first of many times I was bared witness to Rei Todoroki treating her kids like shit...I would come over and she would be drunk or strung out on whatever drug she had gotten her hands on that day...There wasn’t a lot I thought I could do, I didn’t want to lose my best friend or the siblings I had grown to love...When something bad happened, I just convinced Dabi that we should leave the house for the day. Enji would give us his credit card and we’d go and find something fun to do...One day when I was 11...I wasn’t able to come over, there was an adoption event at the orphanage and I didn’t have a choice but to go. I wish I had skipped it.” she mumbled. “Maybe if I had, then things would have been different...I went to school the next day, only to be met by the principle and Enji...there had been an accident at the house the night before and Dabi was in the hospital...I had been informed on the way there, that Rei had come home high on LSD and hallucinating. She thought Dabi was a burglar and had thrown the pan he was using to cook at him. He had been knocked unconscious when she knocked over cooking oil, resulting in the kitchen bursting into flames...Fuyumi and Natsuo had been at the library and Shoto was at anger management therapy...” 

Nemuri gripped Y/N’s hands tightly as tears started streaming down her cheeks. 

Y/N: “Rei...She ran out of the house in a panic, as the fire continued to spread throughout the house...she left her child behind...to die in that stupid fucking fire.” she whispered voice laced with hatred. “It was by some fucking miracle, that someone saw and called the fire department right away...Dabi ended up suffering severe burns all over his body; and was attached to a breathing tube for months...I don’t think I’d ever been as angry as I was when Rei showed up to his hospital room, sober and unassuming as to how her son ended up there.”...

Y/N: “It took Enji and three security officers to get me off of her. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, but I couldn’t see anything clearly but Dabi’s bandaged body and the woman responsible for it.”

Nemuri: “Jesus, Y/N... that’s so awful!” she whispered, hands over her mouth; shock adorning her features. 

Y/N: “Yeah well, not a lot could be done. As Enji’s wife she was entitled to half his shit...and her family had tons of money before the marriage...Enji only stayed on because the agreement said she’d get everything if he left her before the last child turned 18...she never even wanted kids...she just had them to trap Enji.” she murmured, taking a bite form the food set in front of her. “After the hospital, Rei made her dislike for me known strongly, but she didn’t abuse her kids anymore on the days I was around; which I tried really hard to do daily; but some things couldn’t be helped.” 

Nemuri: “So what happened after that?” 

Y/N: “For the next 7 years I looked after the Todoroki’s as best as I could. I convinced them to find things to do that would keep them out of the house, and I helped Enji learn how to talk to his kids...I suggested they attend family therapy without Rei...she was hardly ever home after a long discussion with Enji resulting in a tentative agreement that she would get whatever she wanted so long as she stayed away from them...and she had agreed. The older I got, the stronger I got and we had our run-ins from time to time. When I was 16 she found out Fuyumi was a lesbian and before she could go in on her for being an “abomination” I had her by the hair and out the door. I was bigger than I was at 11, so it hurt more...Rei made sure she and I were never in the same vicinity together so she could attempt to torture her children in peace; but I always found out.” “She would rat me out to the orphanage, but at that point they didn’t care what I did. I had my own job, I paid for my own things...I hardly even lived there anymore...” 

Nemuri: “They must have gotten the divorce right?” she asked fingers playing with the thread of her jacket sleeve, remembering how she had met Enji a few days after Shoto’s 19th birthday, 6 years before.

Y/N: She nodded her head, “Enji had the papers drawn up and ready to push through the day Shoto turned 18...Rei must have forgotten her agreement, because she was absolutely livid; but it didn’t matter...with the threat of legal action and physical violence she signed them and she’s been gone ever since.”

Nemuri: “Then what the fuck is she doing here now? Six years later?” she hissed, fists clenched, anger for the Todoroki’s and anger for Y/N present. “How could she do something like that to her kids? How could you take on that kind of burden Y/N?”

Y/N: “The Todoroki’s are the only family I have Nem...and I would do absolutely anything for them. Anything at all...Without hesitation I would do anything for them, and in that moment they needed me. They were also there for me...when I was 17 and pregnant and I needed them. She came back, because she must have heard that Enji had plans to make YOU the next Mrs. Todoroki and wanted to scare you off, but I’m not going to let that happen.” she murmured waving down the waitress. “I’m gonna pay this check, and we’re gonna take you home.”

Nemuri: “He was going to propose to me?” she asked. Y/N nodded as she put the money on the table. “Take me with you...If you’re going to Enji’s I want to be there...to see how you handle things.” she whispered. Nodding again, Y/N stood up. “Let’s go then, Shouta and Hizashi are already there; but I doubt  they’ve been much help in calming Enji down.” Y/N muttered, putting her jacket on and making her way out of the cafe.

-The Todoroki siblings had a pretty harsh life before Y/N. But as she said; they were family and she’d do anything for her family.

@dabilove27 @abyssmium @amarillyis @mushimoon14 @shikiry @therealwalmartjesus @bbymilkbread @kac-chowsballs @pepper-elaine @wineandionysus @loverofallthingsfoxy

[waveypedia]

geez, you’re something to see

Rymin Week Day 2: Love Song

1 4 5 6 7

Ao3

tw for a small amount of implied homophobia and miscommunication

~

As the late afternoon sun pours in through the van’s windows, Ryan scribbles frantically on the piece of paper spread on the dashboard in front of him.

He’s crouched on the driver’s seat, the heels of his feet digging into the back of the chair. It’s not the most comfortable position, but after a long day of driving, Ryan can’t stand to stay sitting like he was the whole day. Besides, he needs to focus on the task at hand. On the paper, so innocuous and unassuming, that consumes his waking thoughts.

It’s creased and crumpled from days of hiding it away as fast as possible whenever Min comes in the vicinity (which is often, given how small the van is). But now that Min is away, out fetching his and Ryan’s dinners, the paper lays pressed open painstakingly.

I’ll rewrite it to look nice once I’m done, Ryan promises himself. Min will like it better that way.  

That begs the terrifying question of whether Min will like it at all.

Ryan drags a hand through his messy hair, tugging on the ends. It’s growing out much more smoothly since Min started trimming it every month or so. Ryan pretends to complain that it ruins his rough-and-rugged rockstar look. But in truth he’d sacrifice much more to keep those nights where Min sits behind him, so close Ryan can feel Min’s breath on his neck. Ryan can’t lose the nights where Min cards his hands through Ryan’s hair oh-so-gently. He can’t lose the nights where Min holds his hair like he’s holding something valuable, instead of strands of hair his family members would disapprove of in length, rife in split ends. Ryan revels in the closeness, the domesticity, of it all far more than he should.

Ryan takes a deep breath and shakes himself out of it. Now is not the time to zone off, to find himself lost in his daydreams of Min (though heaven knows he’s good at getting off track - his parents had been sure he knew). Back to the task at hand.

Ryan picks up the pen he’d subconsciously lost when he started dreaming of Min (again). He twirls it. He caps and uncaps it. He taps it against the wheel.

Nothing new comes to mind. Of course.

Ryan’s never had this much trouble with songwriting before! As he’s famously said before (read: Min constantly teases him about), “You just gotta make it rhyme.” Out of the duo, he’s always been the songwriter of the two, although, like in every aspect of the band, they do their best work when they’re collaborating contributing equally. Hell, he’s been writing songs since he was five. (Whether the lyrics consisted of simply “I’m gonna dress my dog in a toque / I’m gonna dress my cat in a toque” is irrelevant.) Regardless of how nonsensical and wacky his lyrics can be at times, Ryan Akagi is an experienced songwriter with a touring band playing songs he composed for small to medium venues. Writing one single song should not be this hard.

Except he knows exactly why this particular song comes so difficult. While Ryan would never dream of putting anything less than his all into all of the music he writes for Chicken Choice Judy or even just Gage, he’s never held them to the same literary standard. Ryan’s performative music is wild and free, just like himself. It’s his way of expressing himself, of quite literally putting everything he has out into the world and letting it run free.

While Ryan and Min have both been consciously working to reach a middle ground since they got off the train, Min has always been the more reserved of the two. Ryan knows he can’t give Min the same unrestrained beauty in chaos he puts into his band. If Min’s been trying not to limit himself as much, Ryan can compromise. This is his way of not letting himself go so far he’ll leave Min in the dust.

This song is all about being honest with Min, after all. Miscommunication has always been their greatest enemy, and Ryan is loath to fall into the same trap yet again. Past issues aside, Min just… deserves to know. It’s too big of a secret to keep to himself. Ryan is many things but he isn’t a secret-keeper. Not when it comes to big issues.

He just needs to tell Min. It doesn’t matter how it’s received. He just needs to let him know.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.  

Ryan lets out a frustrated groan, dropping the pen again to tug at his hair. If it’s not already messy, it’ll be positively cluttered by the time he’s finished. His mother would have a field day if she saw him like this.

The door handle jiggles.

Ryan’s head snaps up. He’d been completely caught up in writing (or more accurately, thinking about writing) he hadn’t noticed Min walking back to the car.

Through the window, Min waves sheepishly and holds up a bag of food. Ryan leans over the second seat to let him in.

Min slides inside and sets the bag in the space between the two seats. “Sorry about that,” he says, scratching bashfully at his beck with his free hand. “I forgot my keys.”

Ryan smiles mechanically, waving him off, and shoves the paper into the pocket of his leather jacket. At this rate it’ll be creased beyond recognition by the time he’s finished, even by his own standards. “It’s fine. I do that all the time.”

He will definitely need to rewrite it in a nicer script when he’s done.

(That is to say, if he ever feels confident enough in his work to call it done. Ryan’s sister had called Min a “perfectionist” once, citing his need to keep working on their school projects right up until the deadline because he never felt satisfied. Ryan didn’t understand the sentiment until now.)

Min gives him a curious glance, but says nothing otherwise. He’s likely written it off as just one of Ryan’s quirks. “Yeah, well.” He unhooks his keys, complete with the Dumpy keychain from his days before the train, from the dashboard and tucks them safely in his pocket. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Ryan frowns at him. “Min, it’s fine. I know it’s not something you usually do, but everyone messes up sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Min digs around in the bag for their meals, avoiding his gaze. “Right.”

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, slightly worried. For a minute, all thoughts of the paper burning a hole in his pocket are forgotten in lieu of caring for his best friend. “You’re acting weird, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Min slips his hand into his pocket, but pulls it back out empty-handed after a minute. Odd.

They eat in silence for a couple minutes. Without the distraction of talking to Min or worrying about Min (although he’s doing plenty of that, don’t worry), Ryan is right back to worrying about his love song.

Well, it’s a good thing Min seems so nervous tonight. Unless he asks outright, Ryan has an excuse not to give him the love song tonight. He won’t add stress to… whatever has Min so worried (and Ryan, by extension).

“So…” Min fists his hands in the fabric of his shorts as if he’s nervous, except that can’t be right, because he has no cause to be nervous. Ryan is the nervous one here, obviously. Except it’s not obvious, because Min can’t know.

Min glances at Ryan, biting his lower lip. “Have you written any new songs lately?”

Ryan chokes and fumbles with his food, nearly spilling it. He knows. He knows. He knows. How could he possibly know?!  

Well. It looks like he asked outright after all. Only one thing to do now, no matter how much Ryan would rather dump his food onto the seat, ruining the upholstery beyond what he and Min can pay for cleaning, and run away into the night. Never to be seen again, leaving behind only his precious guitar, van, and a confused friend.

As dramatic as Ryan is, that’s unfortunately out of the question. He wouldn’t do that to Min.

“Min, I…” Well, Ryan is a man of his word. He knows all too well how badly a lack of communication has messed them up before. He can’t keep this secret any longer.

With shaking hands, Ryan pulls the crumpled ball of paper out of his pocket and presents it to Min in a gesture that he hopes is put-together and elegant but is likely more akin to shoving it ungracefully in Min’s face. “Here.”

Min’s face had been glazed over with a sort of set determination, but that mask shatters as soon as he notices the paper. He blinks, mouth slightly agape, hands hovering near his own pocket. “O-oh. Um. Thank you, Ryan. I bet this’ll be totally rad.”

Slowly, as if unsure or confused (or maybe even disappointed? Oh man, that can’t be it, can it? Ryan’s fully prepared for Min’s disappointment, hell, he’s had the same experience with his parents, but Min doesn’t even know the context of his lyrics yet), Min takes the paper and unfolds it.

Time seems to pass much slower than normal, seconds sludging by, as Min reads the lyrics. Ryan tracks his eyes darting across the paper, his mouth opening wider and closing again as he reads and processes the meaning behind Ryan’s grand gesture.

Ryan twists his fingers together. It hurts, but not as much as watching Min read his writing. “Sorry it’s so messy. I was going to rewrite it when I was done, but…”

“Ryan.” Ryan’s mouth snaps shut as soon as Min speaks, and he jerks his head up. Min is staring at him as if he’s a new person, in a new light. “Is this… a love song?”

Ryan nods mutely, his heart pounding in his chest like the drums of an established rock band at a sold-out concert.

Min takes a deep breath. “For… me?”

Ryan nods again, sharp and jerky.

Min stares, frozen in shock, for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Ryan chokes, surprised, and whips his head away. He curls up (or as much as he can manage while sitting in the driver’s seat of his van), pressing his side against the seat and fisting his hands in the seam of his jacket.

He’d been prepared for a negative response, but deep in his heart he hadn’t expected Min to react this badly. Even after his parents had reacted worse.

Of course.

“Ryan,” Min chokes out between peals of laughter. “Ryan, Ryan, oh man. I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

Ryan turns around slowly, hesitantly. Hope is already building in his chest before he’s even processed Min’s words.

When Min comes into his sight again, Ryan can barely meet his eyes before a piece of paper is thrust into his face. Puzzled, Ryan takes it and reads it over.

It’s… a love song.

It’s a love song, penned in Min’s neat handwriting, with classical notation instead of chords because Min learned music through his viola teacher and not as a self-taught guitarist like Ryan. Min was worried it would be a problem when they started collaborating, but their combined skills in multiple disciples has become one of their greatest assets as a musical group.

But Ryan can’t focus on the notes, however beautiful they may be, because the lyrics are telling a story he’s only dared to fantasize about in his wildest dreams.

“Sorry for laughing,” Min says, still chuckling quietly. “I just… I was trying to create a natural segue into giving this to you, and I… Wow. We’re idiots, aren’t we.”

Ryan doesn’t realize he’s crying until a teardrop lands on Min’s songsheet. He wipes it away and starts to giggle. “Yeah. We are.” He glances up, meeting Min’s eye for the first time since this whole debacle and gives him a wide, teary smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think we’d be us if we didn’t pull some convoluted scheme to get our feelings out. Y’know, seeing as it took getting kidnapped by a magical death train the first time.”

Min snorts and rubs at his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” He crawls across the middle of the van and curls up next to Ryan, wrapping his arm around him. “So, are we good?”

Ryan lets out a wet laugh. “Oh man, we’re better than good. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping for this?”

“Not as long as me,” Min says, grinning mischievously. “I’ve been pining since high school. Take that!”

Ryan lets his head drop onto Min’s shoulder, relishing in the affectionate closeness and warmth of him. “Man, we were such repressed nerds in high school, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe so.” Min leans his head against Ryan’s, chuckling softly. “I’m glad we’re okay now, though.”

“Me too, dude.” Ryan lets out a contented sigh. He still can’t quite believe they’ve gotten here, after all that worrying and stressing over every little detail. “Me too.”

They stayed like that for a little while, half-eaten plates of food forgotten in the back of the van. Through the open windows, the sunset lights up the sky in a fiery glow, with colors gradually shifting from pink to fiery red to deep blue.

Min hums contemplatively. “So, what now? Should we perform these onstage or what?”

Ryan toys with the paper between his fingers, absentmindedly tearing off a corner. “No, I think… I think these should be kept between us.”

“I agree,” Min says, intertwining his fingers with Ryan’s. Ryan’s heart leaps into his throat, and he’s sure his face is burning up.

“I think it would be nice if we… if we maybe wrote a love song together,” Ryan says, a little nervous.

Min smiles. “I’d like that too.”

~

day 2 is in the books! this one is half me projecting my experience with writer's block while writing this fic and half exploring the love they feel about each other. in their own words, what repressed nerds. love them

a whole lotta headcanons in this one c:

i didn't mean to bring sunsets back again, even for just a small detail, but i guess it's a rymin motif now. maybe i'll try to stick it in the rest of my rymin week pieces, but i won't try to shoehorn it in if it feels unnatural. god i love sunsets this is just more projection isn't it.

title is from home by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes! this song, just like its title implies, feels like home. it was a stigma of the songleading group i was in at camp a few years ago so it's very special to me. i'm happy to pass its lyrics on to rymin and give it a new significance for me personally!

i've been really enjoying all the rymin week content so far! good job, everyone! it's so nice to see everyone come together in support of these lovely characters

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

[pinkprimrose05]

GX Month Day 7: Ojama Delta Thunder!!

@gxmonth

"That’s right! You know what today is! Today we celebrate The Chazz, the one and only Manjoume Thunder! Give sparky boi a hug!"

...I'm not giving Manjoume a hug. I...*cackles evilly* am gonna make him suffer as much as the actual Duel Links players do, maybe even more. And I'm not the least bit sorry, because hey, he gets something out of it in the end!

Manjoume Jun was not having a good day.

The Ojama Duelist grumbled to himself, kicking a non-existent pebble into the air as he made his way to the Duel Studio. The picturesque environment of Duel Links -too clean, too perfect- never ceased to amaze him and many others, but right now, he was too damn pissed to care about that.

After all, it's hard for one to appreciate the technology behind a game's setting when that same technology had just fucked up their entire collection of cards- And in the middle of a Duel no less!

The door slid open as he walked through, revealing rows upon rows of multicolored tables placed on either side of the massive ground floor that was the Deck Editor section, leaving a clear path to the spiraling staircase of clear blue glass that led to the Card Catalog and several other, more obscure sections. After all, the Deck Editor was the single most popular part of the Duel Studio, if the couple dozen Duelists buzzing around all day long were anything to go by.

Manjoume plopped down on a chair at the first empty table he could find, fishing out the single Deck box in his pocket and dropping it on the yellow, round surface. The twenty cards inside the box spilled out over the table (he had hundreds of those for fuck's sake!), and their owner groaned in frustration as he rifled through his completely reset Deck....Scratch that, it wasn't even his own Starter Deck. Battle Warrior? Flame Manipulator? What the hell?!

Briefly, he considered the benefits of marching up to Isono and demanding an explanation and solution to what happened, but that idea was shot down almost immediately. It's not like the guy would be of actual help; the last time someone asked about a bug in the game Isono had literally told them, quote unquote "Please ensure that no other house utilites are interrupting your connection, such as a microwave oven.", and while Manjoume was no tech expert, even he could tell how much of a half-assed excuse that was.

Stupid Duel Links and its stupid customer service-

"Manjo-kuuuuuuun!!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Manjoume only had enough time to gasp before a familiar blue blur put him in an unexpectedly tight headlock, already rambling at rapidfire speed straight in his ears.

"I'm so glad I could find you today!!" Kylie squealed "Had no idea I'd see you here, but that doesn't matter- do you wanna Duel?? I've been working on a new Deck and combos for days now and I can't wait to show you-" the second-year abruptly paused when she caught sight of the cards spread on the table, letting go of Manjoume in favor of taking a better look at them "Waaiiiit a minute, what's with those cards? They don't look like anything you normally play-"

"-It's Manjoume-san." He sharply interjected in a mix of annoyance and exasperation, shooting a glare at the oblivious blunette standing next to him as he massaged his neck "And yes, those aren't my cards. The game just randomly decided to reset my connection in the middle of a Rank-Up Duel of all things, yeet off all my Decks into nonexistence, and then gave me a shitty Starter in exchange, so now I'm stuck with almost zero gems and no way to recover my progress, which is just fucking splendid considering how close we are to the next KC Cup."

Manjoume sighed "Fuck this. Just, fuck this."

Truthfully, he wasn't as mad about the progress he lost as he was about losing his cards. It hadn't even been thirty minutes and, while he'd never admit it out loud, he already missed his trio of obnoxious Ojamas. They've been through thick and thin together, and it felt unnatural to have them just up and disappear like that. The last time they've been away from him wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, and while the situation here was nowhere as severe as the Dark World, it still felt wrong for the air around him to be so quiet.

Kylie, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to her 'friend' ranting about his current predicament, nodded along "So you...basically got your account reset?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Manjoume deadpanned in response. Kylie put a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully with closed eyes, before suddenly slamming a hand on the table and nearly shocking him into falling off his chair.

"I GOT IT!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers with a bright grin "This reset bug happened once to someone I know- I don't know if you remember Ruby from Heartland Academy, but anyway, she also lost all her progress a couple months ago after she got booted out of a Duel, and it turned out that her cards were just scattered all around the Duel World, so we went around asking everyone we could if they saw them, Dueled those who had some, and we got all her cards back in the end. It must be the same with yours, so let's get going and find them all!!"

Without warning, she grabbed the Legendary Duelists's hand, hauling him up and out of the Deck Editor before he could even get out a word. Manjoume gasped and spluttered along the way, trying to tell his companion to slow down a bit to no avail; as talking someone like Kylie out of anything was like trying to build a Deck around Cold Feet.

That didn't stop him from actually looking around and asking, though. If there was even the slightest chance of him finding his cards this way, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and go through with it. Compared to staking it out at the North Pole for a barely synergic mishmash of a Deck, to going down a haunted well in an empty forest for a bunch of 0-ATK monsters that were -figuratively and literally- bottom of the barrel, Dueling a couple chumps and scavenging for some lost cards was nothing, and he was ready to do so much more to get his partners back.

"See? I told you Aniki would come find us in the end!"

...I take back everything I said, Manjoume thought, cringing in disgust as Ojama Green and Black hugged each other and began prancing around him in circles, babbling and crying tears of joy while they were at it How could I ever miss this shitfest?

He just did, somehow. It hadn't taken too long to find the two Ojamas anyway; the sound of them banshee screeching weeping their asses off by the fountain was all he needed to know they were somewhere out there, and by some lucky miracle, their cards didn't get sprayed to oblivion with all the water by the time he came to retrieve them. As for his other cards, he and Kylie had stopped by the Shop, the Card Trader, the PvP Arena, the Gate and the Duel School, asking everyone they could about his cards, and beating the shit out of those who had some and refused to give them back

(Well, Manjoume was the one who did that, and only to Evan and Zachary, but that wasn't the point here, was it?)

By the time they decided to return to the Duel Studio for a small break, they'd gathered practically all of his key cards. He couldn't care less for the bunch of staples he lost -he'd just reroll the Selection Box or whatever-, so the only missing card that actually mattered, as much as it stung his ego to admit it...

...was Ojama Yellow. And after what happened with his brothers (and with Fairy Dragon, which he found resting on top of a very inconveniently high branch of a tree), Manjoume fully expected the third Ojama to be sleeping in the trash can or somewhere equally stupid. Because if he wasn't, he'd have found him before any other card by simply following the sound of high-pitched crying mixed with a lot of screaming and weird Ojama noises-

-A sudden rattling sound interrupted the noiret's thoughts for the second time that day, and when he stopped to locate its source, he let out a long, drawn-out sound between a sigh and a groan. Surely enough, the sound was coming from the trash can by the cliff, which was shaking wildly and practically begging to be opemed. Feeling a migraine coming up, Manjoume turned left, walked up to the can, and with some difficulty, pried the lid off.

"ANIKIIIII!!"

He instantly regretted it (he didn't) when the snot-faced creature that was Ojama Yellow exploded in his face, crying uncontrollably as he tried to hug Manjoume (keyword being 'tried'). His brothers all but sprang up from their cards, meeting him in a hug midair and effectively plucking him off his master for a bit as they all laughed and cried and did everything in between.

"Aww, look at how happy they are!" Kylie gushed, eyes almost sparkling. She lightly smacked Manjoume's back "You sure have a funny bunch of spirits, luckyyyy~"

Swatting away the Ojama trio and a pair of Catnipped Kitties before they tried sneaking up on him for a hug, Manjoume folded his arms and snorted in response "Yeah, sure."

But regardless, he found his lips quirking up in spite of himself. If it were me from three years ago, he mused I wouldn't have bothered with any of this in the first place.

But this wasn't the him from three years ago. This was the him of today, the Manjoume Thunder who'd gone through so much shit and learned from it to become a better Duelist, a better Duelist, and a better person. And while he had many people to thank for that, he also had to give credit for the monster spirits that followed him through all of the aforementioned shit, because as cringy, messy, bombastic and obnoxious as they might be, they were his partners, and he wouldn't give them up for anything in this world-

"WILL YOU FUCKING STOP THAT??!!"

-Unless they tried to hug him again. Pissed beyond reason, Manjoume chased after the quintet of Level 2's, ignoring Kylie's hysteric laughter and the surprised yelps from other Duelists as they dashed around the area in circles, all the noise merging into a cacophony of angry hollering and frightened squeaking, among other sounds.

In the end, some things never change....for better or for worse.

~~~~~~

Screw the actual Duel Links game for not including most of Manjoume's low-ATK monsters in his Starter/Lv 10 Deck (why tf is Catnipped Kitty a main Box card 4 years after his release?), and double screw them for splitting his Ojamas and Dragons into separate Decks.

I hate how his higher level Decks in the game completely disregard the former half of his cards; those are the ones that actually stuck with him in a meaningful way, not the Armed Dragons...they deserve some more recognition, so why not mix both archrtypes and slap in Ojamatch?

Also, yes, Standard Duelists actually exist here, so I decided to throw in my favorite GX girl AKA Kylie and have her interact a bit, and boy is she fun to write.

Headcanon: Kylie considers Manjoume (and everyone else, but especially him) her best friend because she basically has Yuuma's mentality of 'Anyone I Duel becomes an amigo!', and by sheer dumb luck, the two keep logging in at the same time and often get matched up in PvP Duels.

That's part of why she's so familiar with him (and also why she calls him Manjo-kun) and as you can see, Jun does not approve.

Aaaand this would be everything for Day 7! Expect to see me again...in a week from now. By Day 15 to be exact. In the meantime, if you’d like to follow my prompts for the month, I’m posting them all on ArchiveofOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33473653/chapters/83489824

[hankwritten]

Lies, Damned Lies, and Valentine’s

Day 7 of the valentine’s day event, Whole Team

“Have the RED team vandalized us in the middle of the night?” Medic asked, gazing around the common room which had been papered with tiny hearts. “What is with all the pink?”

“Ach, it’s Valentine’s day, boyo!” Demo told him with a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Medic adjusted his glasses, which had fallen out of place with the overzealous display of masculine affection. “My wife and I are…estranged. I have not celebrated a Valentine’s day in a very long time.”

“Well, so long as you made your cards, you’re celebrating just fine.” When Medic didn’t respond, Demo pressed a, “you did make some cards, right lad?”

“Cards for who? I told you I have not spoken to-”

“For the team ya quack,” Demo snorted. “We always make cards for each other on Valentine’s day.”

“…Like kindergarteners,” Medic asked drily.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud doc,” Demo elbowed him. “It’s a tradition.”

Medic crossed his arms, and kicked a small paper heart that had fallen on his shoe. “Well no one told me about it.”

At that, Demo finally paused. “Ah, I suppose everyone forgot to mention it to the rookie. Don’t worry though!” This time, Medic dodged the pat aimed at his shoulder. “Everyone knows you only got here a month or so ago, they won’t hold you to any obligations.”

“What a relief.” Medic rolled his eyes.

He was able to put the ridiculous conversation out of his mind thanks to the oncoming battle, slinging on his pack with a feeling of purpose. Dealing with REDs and avoiding Spies took most of his concentration, as a day that he went about distracted was a day he’d find quite a few Sniper shots through his head. However, as much as he’d dismissed Valentine’s by the midday break that afternoon, it appeared his teammates hadn’t.

He’d followed Heavy to the cover of the sentry nest, but as his partner was filling up Sasha, he noticed that Engie had laid out a few pieces of folded paper on top of the dispenser. Medic wandered closer. It took him a moment to parse what he was seeing, but then he remembered the travesty that had become of the common room and realized Demo had been dead serious about Valentine’s Day. Engineer’s valentines were spread out neatly, all unique, all cheerfully signed by members of the team. Scout had draw a rather good rendition of the man himself standing next to his sentry, a little heart between them. Sniper had written ‘THANKS TRUCKIE’ in block letters. Even Soldier had put in some effort, as he had used red, white, and blue construction paper to make what might have been the shape of Texas if you squinted enough.

Nearby, Pyro was showing off their own collection. Scout had also drawn a picture for them (of Mayor Balloonicorn), which they had delicately set in the grass, their other cards out before them. The one from Engie they were attacking with vigor, since the Engineer had been forward thinking enough to glue tiny pieces of candy to the folded paper.

“They’re all real nice Pyro,” he was chuckling. “Though maybe put them back in your pocket? Don’t want them to get dirty.”

Pyro nodded, and began shuffling them back into a pouch within their chemsuit.

“They take this very seriously, don’t they?” Medic noted absently about the pair.

Heavy, having loaded on the ammo required, turned and saw Medic mulling over Engineer’s cards. “Oh, da! Every year. We do not spend holidays together, so for team, is closest thing.”

As he spoke, he reached into his front pocket. Something with Demo’s handwriting dashed all over it appeared in his hand, obnoxiously saccharine with its copious hearts and overuse of the color red. Yet the Heavy Weapons Guy displayed it proudly, and Medic offered him a wry smile.

“I had no idea,” Medic mused.

“…Team forget to tell you?” Heavy rumbled. “Heavy see. Heavy wondered why doctor did not give him one.”

Medic coughed lightly into his hand. “I wasn’t aware until this morning-”

“No, is alright. Heavy’s little joke.” He patted Medic on the shoulder, which was (surprisingly) more reserved than Demo’s attempt at the same. “We kill RED babies, that is gift enough, da?”

Medic agreed, and followed him off into battle. However, this time the threat of the loving spirit stuck, and Medic found himself skewered on the end of the Spy’s knife more than he was comfortable with. He tried to shake himself, to forget his teammates’ foolish obsession, but one thought kept rankling him: he might have not known to send out cards, but why hadn’t anyone gotten him anything?

They returned to BLU base with an embarrassing loss on their collars, though you wouldn’t know by looking. Everyone was in the common showing of their haul, passing around heart shaped cookies that someone had made last night and stuffed in the fridge. Medic tried one, and nearly gagged on how much sugar had been crammed into such a small package.

Apparently everyone had gotten the same memo about Demo’s cards, as each one came with a tiny novel vodka attached. Demo peeled off the last one (from Soldier with a picture of a shovel on it, saying simply I Dig You) with the utmost care, lining them up next to his whiskey bottle.

“Look!” he grinned to Soldier. “Me scrumpy’s birthed a litter!”

Soldier, who had taken to taping his own cards to his helmet, slapped him on the back. “Congratulations! You’re a grandfather!”

Scout, like Pyro, couldn’t help but flaunt his, claiming that he got the most out of anyone. When Sniper pointed out that everyone got seven cards, he pivoted to say, “yeah well mine are the best, quality over quantity Snipes.”

Medic shouldn’t have been irritated. He didn’t care about Valentine’s Day, not in the slightest, so why was he getting so terse about his teammates’ holiday cheer? Of course they didn’t get cards for the rookie, they probably would have gotten cards for their old Medic, not him.

That thought itself would have put anyone in a sour mood, but the tipping point was when he walked the corner and saw Spy delicately arranged bits of red-hued paper into a manila folder, smiling slightly as he set the last one down. Medic was close enough to read, saw Sniper’s handwriting, and also that the poem it was quoting was incomplete. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. / I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. The next two lines were missing— Medic knew enough of poetry to glean that—which meant Sniper probably had the other half. All shuffled always with the other ones he’d gotten from Scout and Engie and Demo and whoever, but the most important thing Medic could determine from the display was all those people had given Spy valentines too. Spy. Medic’s eye twitched. Before he knew it he was barreling past Spy, out past the others in order to get to the hallway. There were a couple exclamations of confusion, a few calls asking what was wrong, but Medic ignored them all.

He didn’t need their obligatory attempts to include him, he could see when he wasn’t wanted.

“Doctor! Wait!”

He considered not stopping for the deep voice behind him, but unless he wanted to go charging off onto the battlefield, his path would eventually take him back around base. He sighed, and turned to face the man behind him.

“Can I help you?” Medic snapped. There was no use pretending he wasn’t miffed.

“What is the matter?” Heavy asked. “Have not seen you this angry before.”

“Well that is not a big surprise considering we barely know each other, apparently.” Medic crossed his arms.

Heavy furrowed his brow. Always a man of few words, he either didn’t know what to say, or figured it was better not to antagonize Medic further, and so he settled for waiting for his teammate to elaborate.

Medic relented eventually, shoulders sagging as he exhaled. “I realize I am not…part of the team so to speak. I understand I am not as close to you all as your old Medic was, and I do not blame you for not including me, but it is still…difficult to watch everyone open cards and…not receive any myself.” God it sounded so childish when he said it allowed. He was a doctor for god’s sake! He should be above such petty jealousies.

As his self consciousness closed in, he hunched, and failed to look at Heavy. It took the man saying, “doctor did not get valentines? Is not possible,” for Medic to turn back around and see him shaking his head. “At very least, Heavy give card.”

“You…?” Medic unfolded his arms. “When?”

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “Did doctor not check locker?” When Medic blinked, Heavy added, “is where we put at start of day, so none get lost.”

“…Just like in kindergarten,” Medic finished the thought and pinched the bridge of his nose. “God I am such a dummkopf.”

Heavy chuckled, clearly glad to have resolved the situation. “Medic is far from. Come, we look now.”

So Medic did come, entering resupply and walking to his locker, taking a moment to brace himself as he grasped the handle. He turned it. Immediately, he was hit with an avalanche of purple, pink, and red, an absolute tidal wave of valentines rushing out to greet him from where they’d been conglomerating inside his locker like a clogged artery.

There were so many, decorated all with his class symbol or words of thanks. Pyro had made at least four, decorated with crayons and rainbow drawings, sticking slightly where the paint hadn’t dried. Medic picked one off the floor. Scout had drawn Archimedes beautifully, which was astounding considering the two hadn’t gotten along since the Über incident, and it must have been quite a strain to sit still long enough to capture the bird’s likeness. Engie had detailed out a list over every time Medic had saved his bacon in the past month, Spy had written something long and oddly heartfelt, Soldier had gifted him a coupon for one free haircut. The list went on.

It took Heavy gently touching his shoulder while he read Sniper’s uncharacteristically kind letter to realize he was holding his hand over his mouth. He cleared his throat, but despite that still couldn’t find words.

“Medic is part of team,” Heavy stated, matter of fact. “We appreciate. Do not forget that.”

Medic’s eyes fell on a large card, tucked behind the Quick-Fix in the back of the locker so it hadn’t come tumbling out with the rest. This one was unquestionably from Heavy. Medic wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.

Delicately, he reached out and took it, seeing it was nearly the size of a proper book, made out of two pieces of paper tied with a string. He gently gazed over the words inside, drinking them all in, and then softly spoke, “thank you mein friend.”

“Is no trouble.” Heavy squeezed his shoulder, and Medic could tell his friend was smiling by the chuckle in his voice. “Now! We go. Back to party, doctor should get to show off his cards too.”

“Yes, lets. But ah…not this one though,” Medic finished, softly folding Heavy’s card back up. “This one I will keep here.”

Heavy smiled. “If doctor likes.” With that, Medic followed him back to the party.

[konilt]

Blood of the Covenant ch.1/7

The walls were made of a dark grey stone, traces of black colouring them, as if charcoal always rained on the manor. He didn’t know whether they were the aftermath of a fire or simply the unique colouration of the dreaded stone that one villager had murmured him about between a beer of two in the inn, four towns away. There was no reason to fear a building material, Izuku thought. He was a scholar, even if a bit young, but he wasn’t superstitious.

Izuku stood in front of the immense dark wooden entrance, the door’s panels standing tall, far above him, a feeling of dread pressing through his veins.

He knocked on one of the two panels that were each five time his size; and without anyone pulling it, the doors slowly creaked open.

The hallway of the grand entrance was gargantuan, tall immobile statues staring down at him with their frozen eyes. It felt like the interior of a cathedral, if not for the darkness that seemed to sip in each corner, big blotches of black ink obscuring the entire space like they would on one of his parchments, often to his greatest despair.

“Hello?” he said in a poised voice, trying to sound as sure as himself as he possibly could. There was barely a glimmer of light coming through the tiny opening a wind had probably pushed open.

Silence answered.

He stepped forwards, ignoring the way the hair on his neck slowly started rising up, chills running down his spine.

“I’m- Midoriya Izuku”, he continued loudly, echoes answering him back, “is there anyone here?”

Was there anyone that was supposed to greet him?

Maybe he was being rude. Yep. He should have waited outside. Damn it.

He turned on his heels and walked towards the open door, two metres away from him.

Then the tall heavy panels of the door slammed close.

Izuku gulped down.

Great. Now he was trespassing. Knowing this Count, he’d be executed on the spot.

So much for desperately trying one last option.

“I do not often have the pleasure of welcoming guests”, a deep-pitched voice said in his back.

Izuku turned a full one hundred eighty degrees.

He came face to face with the black eyes of a person, who was fixing him, barely a centimetre away.

Izuku jerked back, hands rising comically up, slapping in the air.

He leapt back, his instincts feeling absolutely raw and uncontrolled.

“AAh!” he yelled, lowering his voice quickly enough. “Sorry, you… you scared me.”

The person in front of him slowly blinked, and straightened his back; Izuku realized then than the figure had been almost bending itself in two to be face to face.

Goodness, this man was tall.

“My…” the voice rasped, like a rock in a cave of granite, his lips thinning in a strange smile “…Apologies. It has been a long time since I talked to a... peasant.”

Izuku closed his eyes quizzically, and tilted his head to the side.

“…I’m… Midoriya Izuku. I apologize for the unprompted visit, but I didn’t have enough money to send a raven here.”

Izuku stared back at the man who hadn’t stopped eyeing him, never ceasing eye contact. The tall person had a stance and noble features that recounted with no doubt his aristocratic origins, along with a vigorous musculature hidden between layers of clothing of great mark.

He wore regal clothes that contrasted with Izuku’s own apparel; it had to be the… Count.

The adult seemed to still be in the strength of age, which felt odd. Besides the white hair, there was no other indication of his age. Even then, it might be the natural complexion of this nobleman, after all, nobles were all known for having a strange air to them; the ethereal one of great descent.

Izuku difficultly swallowed down.

Izuku would have thought that his father would at least have wrinkles under his eyes, or at least greying hair.

Instead, the Count stood here, his eyes suddenly widening.

Izuku saw one of his hands raise, a single index pointing slightly upwards. Izuku thought he saw sharp long nails, but before he could get a clear view in the darkness, the hand disappeared back in the Count’s cloak.

“And what is the motive of your visit?” he asked, squinting.

Oh.

Izuku opened his mouth, closed it, and reconsidered his life options again. But he needed to talk.

“I was raised by the church and only was given back my documents after I left for my studies in a seminary. I… discovered then that… you- I…”

The count smiled all while looking at him in a funny way.

He almost seemed to be mocking him.

Izuku sighed, closed his eyes, and decided to try the sincerity card. Damn it. This would fail. He saw the very same eyes of the Count keep on staring at him with an emotionless expression.

“I came here to find enough money to continue my studies out of the sphere of control of the church. They wanted me to become an exorcist, one of those demon hunters that loiter from village to village, but I’m not superstitious. I like being a scholar. But I need money for that. And I thought- I believed you had an affair with my mother. Thus I came here”, he finished, “For money.”

The Count blinked two times at him.

He didn’t smile.

“Isn’t that quite rich?” he said.

Izuku bit his lips the stronger he could, until he tasted blood, the taste spreading through his mouth.

“Yes. It is.”

The Count tilted his head to the side, the rest of his body remaining perfectly immobile.

“Do you try this often on each nobleman you come across?”

Izuku looked back, offended.

“Maybe you thought it was a good idea to forge your papers, hm?” the Count continued, “Perhaps even you believed you would be able to seize an important part of my estate?”

Izuku’s eyes blew wide open.

“N-no! I- No. I was first seeking my mother, not- not my father!”

The Count raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Izuku nodded vigorously.

“My mentor was part of a group who hid from me the identity of my mother. Her name was Inko. It… Does it mean anything to you? If not, I’ll leave. I swear I would not lie on this. But from what I’ve gathered, it’s likely that you and her eloped together.”

The laughter of the Count was deep and rich, almost like a lugubrious symphony.

He then suddenly stopped laughing, staring back at Izuku, a hint of red in his eyes as he looked down at Izuku’s face.

Izuku gulped down the little blood that was in his mouth.

The Count remained immobile, his nose slowly breathing in and out air in a weird manner, eyes fixed in the horizon for a long moment. Izuku didn’t know where to put himself. He didn’t feel like he should nor that he could move. It was awfully strange and cold, as if his whole body was frozen in a strange sort of stasis.

The Count’s eyes then brightened up as he looked in Izuku’s ones.

“Very well!” he said with cold enthusiasm, “Maybe you deserve at least to stay for the night, traveller?”

Izuku looked back; he knew he couldn’t refuse. It was late night, and it was common knowledge not to ever stay outside in the dark. He didn’t know how he would have done things had the Count not welcomed him. There were savage animals in the woods, and those were very real and very deadly.

“Thank you for your hospitality”, he said, bowing deeply.

A strong hand seized his right arm, taking him by surprise as he was pulled forwards, the Count keeping a steady pace in the hallway.

“Oh, but you are most welcome, little one”, the pale noble answered him with a smile, as if he were thanking him for something else entirely.

Izuku tried to swallow down his worries.

He never had been a superstitious man, by any means.

[b-rainlet]

📓📓📓📓

- the-scarecrxw

(Since you sent 4 of those emojis I'm gonna go off but I'll stick to one in this answer and make seperate posts for the others aksnsns)

I can't give you anything Jonathan centric (that isn't Tommy/Jonathan, one of my fave rarepairs) but Jerome features in lots of my AUs.

This one is one of my faves that's entirely self-indulgent and if it ever gets written it's probably gonna be the longest fic I ever published (Again: If it ever gets written):

I gotta apologize in advance, it's just a fun little AU I haven't put too much thoughts into in terms of plotting so this is gonna be A. Long, B. Messy and C. A little chaotic

- First off, you gotta understand that @nsfwitchy2 Me had some fun with a pretty nonsensical and definitely not canon-compliant AU where Jerome and Jeremiah have three Mums (Tabby, Lee and Barbara, who all date) and live with them and Barbara Lee as their little sister.

- Ecco also lives with them, she sees herself as both the twins' gf more than a genuine part of the family tho (for now)

- (Meanwhile at Wayne Manor Alfred and Jim date and are very tired parents of Bruce and his clone 514A, in this AU - and pretty much every AU - nicknamed Brook)

- (Selina kinda goes back and forth between living at Wayne Manor or at Lee's place)

- Also, everyone dates. The twins. The clones. Eccomiah, Jecco, Batcat, Valeyne, Wayleska, they're all fucking

- Which isn't THAT important for this particular AU but I figured I'd give a warning xD

- This is mostly my attempt to give Tabitha some more backstory? Just...how I personally see her character and how I could see her end up if things would've went differently after S2

- The google docs file is called 'How Tabitha started being a Mum while disregarding canon completely' lmao

- Like her current life involves having 4 kids (if you count Selina) and two wives and that's a hell of an AU and I just like to overthink things and play with the way things would have needed to have gone in canon to have her 'end up' like this

- Also I can see her struggling with having a family all if a sudden (that isn't a manipulative brother or a weird cult)

-Especially if that involves Motherhood

- So on one hand it's a 'S2 until now' fic, explaining what happened to her in my canon

- But also - mostly because I find that easier to organize in my brain - it's interwoven with a 5+1-esque fic of all her children calling her 'Mum' (and her getting emotional over that)

- So it switches back and forth between the past and the present but for rambling's sake, I'll start with the past

- She still leaves Theo behind and flees with Silver but she keeps Silver close instead of immediately sending her away

- And her and Silver get taken in by Fish after they leave Theo because they have nowhere to go and Fish loves taking care of strays

- (Fish, who probably didn't end up in Indian Hill but rather lives in hiding until she is ready to strike against Penguin)

- She refers to herself as Liza's Mother in canon, you can't tell me she wouldn't instantly adopt Tabby and call her 'Honey' and give her motherly advice while Tabby tries to be all bite but actually enjoys somebody taking care of her for once

- Selina🤝Tabby

'Trying so very hard all the time to not show how soft and insecure they are'

- Actually, I'd start diverting from Canon even sooner aksnsjd

- Well not full on changing canon, but I'd...pepper in some stuff

- Like some scenes of her back with Theo and the Maniax

- Mostly her talking to Theo about Jerome's planned murder, which, yeah, she knows it's been set in stone from the beginning but that doesn't mean that she isn't talking about alternatives where he doesn't get killed off

- And Theo's like "Don't tell me you're going soft. No one will miss him. He was just a boy. Not worthy enough to be remembered."

- And later on she betrays him and goes 'I remember him'

- Anyway, they stay with Fish for a while but Tabby doesn't wanna keep Silver in Gotham

- So she sends her back to the school she went to before coming to Gotham with Theo (but makes sure their weird cult can't get their hands on her there)

- And Silver wants her to come with but Tabby says she has some unfinished business

- Aka she just doesn't wanna leave Barbara (who is in a coma atm, if Memory serves right)

- And Tabby's reasoning is that it's not safe in Gotham but really, she thinks she can't be responsible for another person

- "She needs a mother. A Family. I can't give her that." - "You are her family."

- So Silver's out of the picture and Tabby hangs with Fish until Barbara wakes up and they get together again (and never ever seperate)

- Also there's no Butch/Tabby because that was unnecessary as fuck

- And I gotta be honest, I haven't thought more about canon because Butch/Tabby alone makes my head hurt already but somehow they start dating Lee

- Who brings Jerome into the relationship because I sure am fond of Lee being Jerome's Mother (like as in, I have several wips with that concept alone not counting this one)

- Jerome probably came back to life after S3 and Lee fought to have him not be treated like a violent criminal but rather a child who was taken advantage of and after his release from Arkham (where she visited him and made sure he got some proper treatment) it seemed natural to have him live with her

- (But also he's still a criminal aksnsjs, you can see how much I thought about this)

- (Sue me for sticking to the heartfelt scenes and avoiding the mess that is plotting)

- Tabby and Barbara already had Selina and through Jerome, Jeremiah and Ecco were added et voila! Their Family is complete

- (Why exactly Barbara Lee exists if Tabby and Barbara have been non-stop dating since S2 I can't tell you, I simply think she is neat and I like the idea of big brother Jerome)

- (This AU? Self-indulgent? Why would you ever think that?)

- In the present however she is dealing with what is mostly referred to as 'feelings'

- Mostly panic at realizing that the bunch of weird children she's been living with are seeing her as some kind of parental figure

- Because suddenly they all call her 'Mum'

- Unsurprisingly the first one to call her Mum is Jerome at breakfast

- She's reading the newspaper and there's an article about a hostage situation the twins planned and he goes 'Mum, are you done with that? Can we see?'

- And they snatch it from her and argue about how they didn't even make the front page while Tabby nearly chokes on her coffee

- And of course she breaks down talks to her wives about it later while they get ready for bed because no one ever called her 'Mum' before

- Barbara's braiding her hair, while Lee's off to the side, getting ready for bed and it's very domestic and I am very gay

- But neither see it as a big deal because both of them have been called Mum before (by Jerome at least. Like. Immediately upon meeting them)

- So she's trying to be nonchalant about it because it's only a big deal if she makes it one

- While also not being able to deny the warm feeling that spreads throughout her body when Jerome keeps calling her 'Mum'

- Miah and Selina on the other hand are both hesitant to call anyone Mum

- Miah cause of Pride, Selina cause of her Mummy Issues

- But they both do at some point

- I think I have more notes on this SOMEWHERE but I kinda wanna have Miah call her Mum while he's ill (because we all know he'd be super fussy and want attention 24/7)

- So she humours him and while he's close to falling asleep - and she's totally not carding her fingers through his hair because she isn't soft or anything - he mumbles: "Thank you Mum" and she melts

- Selina would be more angsty

- Like, maybe it's her birthday and she disappears for a while (as she tends to do) but Tabby (who's closest to her) knows how hard this day is for her (since again her Mum isn't there with here and looks for her and brings her back home but doesn't make a big fuss out of her birthday

- Just...lets her be, gives her space but also lets her curl up close to her and maybe Selina doesn't call her Mum on that exact day

- But it's the day she realizes she wouldn't mind calling Tabitha her Mother, so she hesitantly tries it out a while later (maybe days, maybe weeks, however long it takes for her to feel comfortable with it) and they share a smile

- Then there's Barbara Lee, but she barely counts because she's a toddler and calls everyone 'Mummy'

- Even her father ajsnsnsn

- The last one would be Ecco because I have a very soft spot for Tabby and Ecco being close

- Ecco's rather formal with them for the longest time (she calls Barbara, Lee and Tabby 'Ma'am' for the most part because she may like them, but she doesn't think they see her as family. She's just the token girlfriend).

- So there's a scene where they connect, possibly over Tabby's hand and Ecco's head since I hc that Ecco gets headaches and migraines a lot (considering that she still gets shot in the head by Miah, like I said, this AU isn't necessarily the most bullet proof in terms of linear timelines)

- But so is Gotham so-

- So there's possibly a scene where Ecco's headache is getting super bad and no one's around (especially not Miah to dote on her) and Tabby awkwardly tries to bond by telling her about her hand and how she can't feel much (is a little clumsy with it) and Ecco immediately imprints on her like a duckling

- Maybe it's even the first time anyone reached out to Ecco in a way that feels genuine, especially without the twins or any of her (various) other partners being present so now she's willing to die for Tabby

- Which ends in her also calling her 'Mum' (while she keeps calling Lee and Barbara 'Ma'am' and Lee's so mad ajsnsjdj she was trying so hard to bond with this kid but couldn't quite get it right and you're telling her her socially pretty clumsy - but still wonderful of course - wife managed with just one conversation?? Slander

- And of course because I can't stop myself, there would be even more tidbits here and there of Tabby overcoming her previous way of living (as in, thinking caring or showing emotions is weakness) by having her reminisce a LOT about Theo

- For example by having Jerome climb into bed with her while Barbara's sleeping and Tabby is waiting for Lee to come home

- Lee works as a doc in the narrows which may be a little illegal, but the people didn't just stop needing help after her Queen of the Narrows arc was over, so I vote she keeps at it (and is held in very high regard for it by pretty much everyone)

- Tabby always stays up until everyone is home because she likes knowing where everyone is and that they're safe while Jerome has frequent nightmares and wanders around the house, so this isn't a rare occurrence

- And sometimes, they talk Theo

- "You miss him?" - "Don't know."

- "I wish he was still alive so I could kill him." - "....Me too." - "Which one?" - "...Both."

- (ajajsbssj this is all just copy pasted and cleaned up a lil', leave me and my pretentious way of writing dialogue alone)

- Tabby also has a lot of interludes where she thinks about what growing up with Theo was like/her childhood in general

- How she always protected him from other children bullying him and how they swore to have each other's back but how in hindsight, she was the one doing all the dirty work for him, helping him fulfill his dream and enact his revenge

- Realizing that he probably never cared for her, not like she cared for him

- There's also allusions to them having sex because you cannot tell me they did NOT have sex

- And it ends with Tabby realizing that she is quite happy with how she ended up, even if it's neither how she thought she would ever live nor what her old self would've even wanted, possibly seeing too many attachments as 'weak' judging by the way she canonly used Butch for convenience sake at first

- And yeah, maybe now she can provide the family - the Mother - somebody else desperately needs

- So she brings Silver home

[diavohno]

Could you please do a story with 7., 37., and 43., with Satan please? Thank you so much!

this was such a great combo of dialogue lines omg THANK YOU!!! anyway, here’s the 2.6k that it inspired 😂

warnings: angsty (assumptions make an A-S-S out of U M-E), minor hair pulling, hickies (MC’s got one bruised next yikes), and implied smexy stuffs ;)

“wait a minute . . . are you jealous?”, “I can’t keep kissing other people and pretending they’re you”, and “I can do whatever you want, babe” + Satan

x   +   x   +

Satan wasn’t supposed to have seen you and the other demon in the club, your back pressed against the wall and your leg hiked around his waist as his warm hands roamed free across your body. He wasn’t supposed to hear the light gasps that were teased out of you by hungry nips that left a trail of marks around your neck and bare shoulders. He wasn’t even supposed to be at The Fall, but there he was anyway, his distinctive aura of contained wrath screaming out his presence to everyone in the vicinity.

Your heart all but stopped when you finally noticed him. How long had he been here? How much had he seen? A chill quickly spread throughout your body as Satan turned around and just walked away, his face hauntingly neutral.

A displeased grunt from the demon suckling on your neck snapped you back to reality, and the booming bass and chatter from the crowd came crashing back into your awareness. While you had felt comfortable here moments before, the atmosphere now felt stifling and overbearing. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake.” Your body moved on auto-pilot, pushing the demon off of you and stumbling after the blonde without a single thought. No, the only thought running through your mind was that you had to make it up to Satan. You needed to. Even as you were jostled to and fro by the club crowd, carelessly flung elbows bludgeoning your helpless form, no other thought came to mind.

It took much too long to make it to the doorway, and you cursed yourself when you found Satan to be nowhere in sight. Of course he hadn’t stuck around--why would he? If the situation had been reversed… 

Imagining it felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, threatening to press all of the air out of your lungs. The thought of some random demon pressing herself against his lean frame, her nails suggestively trailing lower and lower down his abdomen, whispering false promises and adorations into his ear, and knowing that it wasn’t you doing those things to him felt absolutely crushing.

But for you, it was different, because you love Satan.

And you certainly don’t feel that way about people you don’t love.

You were undoubtedly sure that he was returning home; it’s not often that he’s anywhere else this late anyway, so it only made sense that that’s where he would go. Also, you had come to learn that whenever he needed time to control his emotions, he would read--what better place was there to go than to his own room?

As you began your trek home, taking time to ensure you didn’t twist an ankle in your heels, angry tears started to prick your eyes. You had been selfish going to the club tonight, and you had been selfish to numb yourself with a stranger. More tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, and you let them. Without a doubt, you knew your makeup was thoroughly ruined and streaked, leaving markings to show your mistakes for the world to see.

Pebbles wormed their way between your foot and shoe, and multiple times you had to quickly catch yourself because you had misstepped and lost your balance. Maybe you should’ve left yourself fall--after what you had done tonight, you deserved it. Hell, you deserved so much worse than that.

That thought brought you to a stop. Did you really, though? Why were you so upset about having been found out? It wasn’t as if Satan cared, seeing as how he never made comments about how Asmo hits up the town on almost an every night basis. Maybe he was a little disappointed, and maybe he had expected better from you, but a little disappointment wasn’t anywhere near worth dragging yourself over hot coals for. You had gone to the Fall for yourself, after all.

The inner reassurance encourages you enough to resume the hike back to the House of Lamentation, all the while still thoroughly engulfed by your thoughts.

It had started with you tagging along with Asmo as a way of erasing the fourth born from your mind for a little while--you’d indulge in someone else, pretending that it was Satan’s lips moving with yours instead of the reality of the situation. It had never completely worked, but the distraction was nice, so you started to make more regular visits. Asmo was thrilled to finally have someone that he actually enjoyed spending time with tag along (Mammon took great offense to that statement and promptly declared that he had better things to spend his time doing anyway.) Eventually, you felt comfortable enough to fly solo, like what you had been doing before everything came crashing down.

For a while, it worked great! Whenever you got too down about your unreciprocated feelings for Satan, you’d hit up the Fall and find someone to distract you for a little while. You never slept with anyone, although there were days where you were tempted. Tempted to not return to the same place you knew he’d be. Tempted to see just what kind of reaction he’d give when he realized where you had been, and why. Tempted to hurt as much as you’ve been hurting every. Single. Day.

But you could never bring yourself to chase those temptations.

The same image of betrayal that gave you a fleeting burst of satisfaction also ultimately left you feeling hollow. The idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d be hurt by any action of yours filled you with dread. You knew, deep down, that you’d never be able to do that to him.

Then he saw you at the Fall and gave you that terrifyingly calm look, and you knew you messed up bad. Whatever had run through his mind when he saw you was a mystery, but even still you knew that you had messed up in the worst possible way.

At some point, you had reached the House of Lamentation. Other than your first day in the Devildom, before you had become accustomed to everything, you’d never really taken notice of it. Now, it’s towering size and dark exterior somehow stand out amongst the dark background like it’s a monument to your mistakes.

Shaking the feeling off, you slowly crept in through the door. Undoubtedly, Lucifer already knew you were out of the house, but the last thing you wanted right now was to sit through another one of his lectures. They tend to be much more pointed late at night, although they get done no sooner than the others, and your ego was rather fragile at the moment. So long as you could prolong the inevitable just for a few hours, you’d be grateful.

After slipping off your heels to minimize noise, you began tip-toeing up the stairs in the entrance hall towards Satan’s room. A gnawing anxiousness made itself ever more present in your stomach the closer you got to your destination, but you pushed it aside and pressed onward anyway. It was about time that you finally came clean, not only to him, but to yourself, too. Fighting the urge to walk away while you still could, you instead tapped your knuckles lightly against the door twice. Every second that went unanswered weighed you down, but you soon heard a low ‘come in.’

“It’s me,” you announced quietly as you stepped into his room. As per usual, you had to awkwardly guide your way around stacks of books, but by now you’ve become fairly skilled at it. Still, doing so meant looking down to make sure you weren’t about to bulldoze through some books, and looking down meant you weren’t looking at Satan. He remained silent the entire time it took you to find where you wanted to stand, and even when you looked up at him after, he didn’t say a word. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you jumped straight to the point. “You saw me at the Fall tonight.”

“I did,” he responded cooly, closing the book resting on his lap but keeping the page with a finger. “You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

The hidden venom in his words caught you off-guard. If you were anyone else, you would’ve thought you were simply being scolded, but you had come to know better. You noticed the hardness behind his beautiful emerald eyes and the slight clench of his jaw. Of course you had known he was upset, but you never would have imagined that he’d be this upset about seeing you at a club--unless that wasn’t what he was upset about.

“Wait a minute,” you hesitated for a moment, unsure if your hunch was right. Well, you’re not going to find out if you don’t ask, right? And you had come here with the intention to put all of your cards on the table, so it didn’t make sense to hold back. “Are you jealous?”

Bingo.

Although Satan’s eyes never broke contact with yours, it was easy to see how his grip on his book tightened and his jaw fully clenched in anger. The understanding of just what that meant lifted all of your stress off of your back, and with that relief came an incessant yearning to hold him so you could erase everything that had happened so far tonight.

“And if I was? Would it make any difference?” he spat, unsuccessfully masking the bite in his tone. You involuntarily swallowed as he pushed himself to his feet, book long forgotten as it tumbled from his hold onto the floor. In just a few steps he managed to get close enough to lock his hands firmly onto your hips, and in just a few more he has you pushed up against a bookshelf. Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer intensity of his gaze and how you could physically see him unravel by the second, mind reeling at his close proximity.

His attention shifted from your face to your neck, and you could tell by the narrowing of his eyes that he’s taking in the myriad of hickies decorating your skin there. One of his hands left its place on your hip and moved upward to lightly press against one of your markings. With them being as new as they are, the pressure sparked a small amount of pain, causing you to suck in a quick breath through your teeth.

“Would being jealous make these go away?” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your face. Without pausing to wait for an answer, his hand dragged further upward still until his thumb was able to run along your bottom lip while the other slipped behind you to press your body flush against his. It didn’t escape your notice how perfectly his body slotted against your own. “Would it change the fact that his lips were on yours?”

Just before you could grab his face to pull it just inches closer to meet your own, Satan caught one of your wrists in his hand. “Why did you come back, MC?”

The hand that was still free gently cupped his cheek; a curl of satisfaction twisted inside your chest as he subtly leaned into your touch. Your answer slipped out with almost no thought at all. “Because I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending they’re you.”

With those words, something inside Satan snapped, and next thing you know his hot lips are fervently moving against yours. The unbridled passion fueling the kiss caught you off-guard for a moment, but soon you were returning just as much as you were receiving.

He quickly dropped your hand so he could place his at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to give him better access to your mouth. With your heart racing but your train of thought completely derailed at the moment, you moved on pure instinct; both of your hands carded through his golden locks for a bit before grabbing some strands in each, the light tugs earning you some deep groans for your efforts. The sound sent a jolt straight to your core, and without thinking (which is something you’ve been failing to do a lot lately) you hooked one of your legs around his waist to draw him impossibly closer.

Never one to lose the upperhand of a situation, the hand on the small of your back shifted lower until it rested on your ass, where his fingers almost immediately dug in for purchase. As your mouth opened to gasp, his tongue darted in. The slick muscle immediately met your own, and the two wrestled for control until you finally relented; however, the battle must’ve taken longer than you realized, and you soon felt a burn in your lungs urging you to breathe.

As you parted, a thick strand of saliva stretched between the two of you. As gross as it was, there was also some part of you that found it oddly hot, like it served as a reminder of the bond the both of you were currently sharing. Your eyes took in the state Satan was in before you, and if you weren’t already flushed then you certainly were now.

Despite his emerald eyes being half-lidded, it was plain to see the heated desire burning behind them, and his cheeks were painted a pinkish hue, much like how you imagined yours to be. He heaved in a few heavy breaths before his mouth sought out the tender spots on your neck. It seemed like he was determined to cover up the marks the demon from the club had left.

This wasn’t right though--you had come here to apologize to him, not to have him dote over you.

“Satan.” His name came out much breathier than you had planned, but it can’t be helped when said man was sucking on your neck. All you get in response is a hum that buzzed against your neck, the vibrations sending a shiver down your back. However, you still needed his full attention, so you dropped your leg from its position around his waist and your hands disentangled themselves from his hair, sliding down to his chest so you could ease him off of you. He parted from your neck with a quiet ‘pop’ and a displeased sigh, but lifted his head regardless.

Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over you, and you found yourself struggling to say the words that were threatening to burst out of your mind. It was annoying that this was happening now of all times, as if you hadn’t done just as much with other men before, but maybe that was it--Satan wasn’t just any other man. He was the very man that you had spent a good few months nursing a wounded heart over.

Shit, why was this so hard?

Almost as if he knew what was running through your head (which he probably did--he doesn’t miss many details) he grasped your hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles on them with his thumbs. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry for assuming how you felt,” you murmur softly, emboldened enough by his physical reassurance to be able to formulate at least coherent sentences. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

“Well, what should I have you do to make it up to me?” You were acutely aware that he was teasing you as a wolfish grin split across his face and he once again began to press his body against yours. This time, there was a slightly new feeling where his hips met yours.

You donned a sly grin of your own as you freed one hand to gently trail it down his chest and abdomen, your fingers hooking themselves on his gaudy white belt. “I can do whatever you want, babe.”

[highlifesupernova]

A Tale of Two Lockdowns

For the second time in what scarcely feels like a year and a half, I am bored in the house while a pandemic rules my country of residence.

This time, though, instead of my one-bedroom apartment in Seattle, I'm bored in a rented house in a remote area of New Zealand, where I'm temporarily living for work. We've been under level 4 lockdown, the country's strictest pandemic containment protocol, for two weeks, and Auckland is looking at two weeks more. This was a near-immediate snap reaction by the federal government to a single case of the delta variant of COVID-19 being detected in the country.

At surface level, this means many of the same things that "lockdown" and "quarantine" have come to mean in the US: gatherings, sporting events, in-person classes, and nonessential trips are canceled. Here, however, it also means no nonessential businesses are operating -- we have access to groceries, gas, the hospital, and local outdoor areas for exercise, but there is no other activity allowed. No takeaway, no liquor stores, no warehouse workers tirelessly dispatching the conveniences of modern life without taking pee breaks (I too was surprised to learn that man can quarantine without Postmates and gin, but I have lived to write this post). Construction has stopped. Offices are empty. I can count the number of cars I see traveling past my window each day on one hand.

Every day, the Prime Minister and Minister of Health address the public directly, providing updates on case numbers, the anticipated end date of the lockdown, the process for review, and information on testing and vaccines. Only data and plans are given a platform.

Like any pandemic-weary American might, I expected this process to feel familiar. We've been on a roller coaster of coronavirus cases for so long that the whiplash has rendered me numb to new lockdowns. It hasn't felt familiar in the least.

Perhaps most obviously, watching the New Zealand lockdown in action has highlighted just how deficient my home country's governmental reaction to the pandemic has been. Because of Prime Minster Ardern's straightforward updates, I've been hyper-aware of the community-spread case count in the country, which is currently hovering around 600. All of these can be tied back to a single case that managed to leak out of a quarantine facility for international returnees. While these 600 cases may pale in comparison to the hundreds of thousands of daily infections in the United States, I now see this small number as a large one; a single case that was rapidly contained indirectly caused 600 people to fall ill. It's not difficult to understand how. People implicated in the cluster of cases were going to school and work, having nights out, and going to casinos. To stop the spread, New Zealand simply stopped those activities. In the United States, we do them every single day, at a much larger scale, unchecked.

I've spent the last twenty minutes trying to find numbers on noncompliance and protest in New Zealand to support my anecdotal claim that nearly everyone seems to be willing to follow the rules, and I can't. Parliament is actively debating the lockdowns on the national equivalent of CSPAN and public dissent is certainly allowed, but unscientific rhetoric is not given a platform. If there are mass anti-mask protests happening in Auckland, I don't know about them, and I don't need to. I'm getting the information I need to inform my decision-making from data. Data speaks for itself. Coverage of this disease, itself an instrument of nature alone, has been so bereft of data in so much of the media I consume that this has come as an absurd surprise to me. Doomscroll-baiting with story after horrifying story of the antics of truth-averse malfeasants is not a productive way to report on a public emergency.

This all begs an oft-repeated question of this global mess: what the hell is wrong with the United States? There are, of course, practical differences between implementing an effective lockdown in relatively small New Zealand and the vast USA. It would be incredibly difficult and expensive for the US to match New Zealand's Managed Isolation and Quarantine program at scale, which places all travelers in a two-week isolated hotel stay upon arrival in the country. The power entrusted to states renders almost impossible a nationally unified approach to any given problem. Our legislature has been stuck in ideological gridlock for my entire life.

Are these excuses to let Americans die on ventilators, though? I don't think they are. New Zealand enacted new legislation to carry out their response, because unprecedented times call for unprecedented measures. In comparison, American legislators have played a juvenile game of keep-away with the lives of individuals. There's a legitimate argument to be made that the American economy might have suffered more with a stricter lockdown, but to this I pose the same response. Why didn't we use this as an opportunity to create an American economy that doesn't require the safety and sanity of our countrymen as collateral? New Zealand has managed to come up with a plan for a robust economic response to eliminate a choice between safety and staying afloat for businesses and workers. It seems like something the richest country in the world, which has been known to spend billions of dollars on military equipment only to literally burn it to the ground, should be able to pull off.

If there were ever an issue that demanded bipartisanship, one might think it'd be a life threatening disease that does not give a shit which letter is on your voter registration card. What started as some fear mongering for attention by our former president has ballooned into the right stoking every anti-science conspiracy theory they find in the dark corners of the internet to maintain their batshit following while the left desperately tries to appease the same batshit following to get them to take a vaccine.

Where New Zealand has worked to mandate responsible behavior, the United States has, at best, gently suggested it, and at worst, actively discouraged it. I concede that there is no way the United States could have curtailed the pandemic to the extent that New Zealand has, but we could have done something.

I've been contemplating the meaning of freedom in the context of this pandemic since my own stay in an MIQ facility upon my arrival in New Zealand in July. MIQ was not fun. I was confined to a hotel room alone for two weeks, delivered airplane-grade mystery meals, and occasionally allowed to go for a walk in the parking garage or to have a cotton swab stuck up my nose. If I were a very different sort of person, I could've engineered an escape out the window or made a scene in front of the New Zealand defense forces running the hotel. But I did my time, and so did all of my fellow travelers, because we knew that what awaited us on the other end was collective freedom. It was well worth a short period of personal inconvenience to keep what was at the time a very open country safe.

Beyond the failings of our government, the refusal of individual Americans to give up a single luxury in the face of this pandemic is a belligerent affront to our collective freedom. "Freedom" is constantly invoked as a reason to spurn calls for masking and social distancing, but the freedom of our communities to enjoy healthy, long lives is somehow never as important as one's individual right to not wear a piece of cloth to 7-Eleven. In this sense, although the coronavirus disaster in the United States can be in many ways concretely linked to the failure of a bloated government to act, it is also ultimately a failure of rugged individualism. The snake has begun to eat its own tail, and we're watching it happen.

I never felt truly free from March of 2020 until the day I stepped out of my MIQ facility and re-entered blissful, normal life in New Zealand. I don't feel less free in lockdown, because I know we're in it together. We could have this freedom too, if only we could embrace that our true freedom lies with one another.

[prideandpen]

Hi! 💕 do you have any tips for someone getting started with tarot?

hello! Are you just getting started with tarot? That’s so exciting! I’m sure you have a wonderful journey ahead of you. Tips? Oh where to start. I suppose the first thing is your deck. Assuming you don’t have one - don’t be afraid to simply purchase your own. I know there’s a long-standing “tradition” of either needing to be gifted a deck or stealing one for your first deck. But that’s not necessary. I think there’s something good and wonderful about choosing your own deck, be it your first or your fifteenth. (Though of course there’s nothing wrong with a gifted deck, those are also pretty lovely) Whether you’ve been gifted a deck or choosing your first one my top tip would definitely be to just start learning about your cards. I was gifted my first deck by a friend, a mini beginners deck with cards about the size of my palm and a thick little book on how to read them, and when I finally decided to dedicate myself to learning them I remember going through the deck one card at a time just looking at them and getting a feel for them (and almost every little white book will have some suggestion on getting to know the deck) and then i went back through the cards one by one and looked at their page in the book to see what the meaning of each card was. And I’ll tell you a secret. While all the cards do have a fairly set standard meaning, they’re also very open to interpretation, and that’s something you’ll come to understand more as you work with them. But from day one there were things I read in that little book that I didn’t agree with then and still don’t today at you might find you feel the same. You don’t need to use fancy spreads. You can! And it can be helpful! But the questions you’re asking are more important than the order you lay the cards out in. If you’re asking multiple questions during a tarot session write them down! Otherwise 7 cards in you might forget what question the first card was supposed to be answering (I’ve done this more than once and it can be frustrating)

Try to make sure you’re grounding/centering yourself before you read. Whatever that means to you. If it’s imagining a tether, asking the universe or god, or whatever deities you worship, or your higher self, to guide you, mindful breathing, or 5 minute yoga. whatever. Do Something. Anything. To put yourself in a state of being where you’re not going to use more energy than you have. A mistake I still often make is forgetting to ground or center myself before I pull cards and afterwards i often end up feeling very tired because of it. Even if I was feeling excellent before. Even if you don’t believe that the cards have any sort of magic to them, that much internal work takes energy and you should be sure to protect yours. Yes/No questions are always up for debate in tarot. Same with timeing questions. Are they possible to incorporate? Sure, absolutely - at least I think so. Are there better questions to ask? Maybe. Do certain cards mean yes/no? I don’t think so. but it’s up to you to come to that conclusion for yourself. Though if you’re interested in my take I’m happy to share. How you shuffle and pull the cards doesn’t matter. If you pull from the top, or spread them out in a fan, or cut the deck, or only read jumpers, never read reversals, pull from the bottom, shuffle like you work a card table in Vegas, shuffle a specific number of times, whatever, If honestly doesn’t matter except, of course to you. Shuffle in a way you’re comfortable and happy with. there’s no right or wrong answer, and if late you want to do it differently than do it differently (I have different decks that i shuffle in certain ways. some I only read the jumpers for, some I pull by instinct)

Last one, because i’m so sorry this has ended up rather long. Tarot tips can be super fun and super helpful, and of course I encourage you to do your research and talk to other readers (and appreciate that you think my insight is worth asking! Seriously! I’m incredibly flattered and a lot amazed! <3) but at the end of the day your tarot practice is yours and it’s what you believe that matters most. So don’t just take other people’s word for it. Nothing anyone says is law except that the death card doesn't literally mean death. There are some tips I’ve seen on tumblr I love that in a pinch can be helpful and fun, and then there are some that i roll my eyes at because to me and for my practice it just doesn’t make sense My darling anon, i’m so sorry for how long this is. you probably were looking for a few simple tips to get you started and i just went off. But i hope there’s something helpful in here for you, and that you haven’t waited too long for this reply. If you ever want to ask anything else or talk tarot or whatever shoot me another ask or a message. :) I really appreciate you and would love to hear how learning tarot goes for you.

[wolfie-posts]

Can you do a pro hero!bakugou x fem reader where she’s his secretary and always leaves him little notes on his desk that cheer him up, but one day he doesn’t get one and that’s because the reader is sick at home? You can end it however you like just make it fluffy please! Thank you so much!!!

Pro Hero!Bakugou x Secretary!Reader

Author: @wolfie-posts

Warnings: none really just a lot of fluff

Chapter length: 4,031 words

A/N: This is my very first request that I received and I am literally so in love with the scenario. I got so hyped for this request that I just couldn’t stop to write. The result is a 4k word scenario. I really hope it meets your expectations, I had a lot of fun writing this. Also, a huge thanks to my beta readers who are literally the best, love you guys! That was everything I wanted to say. Please, enjoy reading my lovelies! 

Life as a pro-hero is hard, nobody talks about the bad things that this job brings along. When you watch the news you always see the pro-heroes in their amazing suits jumping straight towards the danger, putting their lives on the line for the well being of the citizens without even thinking twice about it. Their jobs are admirable but dangerous, always saving the day with a big smile, a proud grin or a simply smirk on their face and if that isn’t enough, they even give interviews right after they captured the villains. It doesn’t matter how beat up they are afterward, they still make time for their small fans.

Nobody really talks about the stuff that happens behind closed doors but that is exactly what you were getting paid for. Your job is one of the most important ones in this whole pro-hero domain because you are the secretary of one of the greatest heroes at the moment. You were Ground Zero’s own personal “hero” with the superpower to organize his whole life and career.

Answering calls, taking messages, arranging appointments were all part of your job and let’s be honest, Ground Zero wasn’t the easiest boss to have. Your work phone was never really silent, reporters and tv companies were calling every day to get a special statement from one of the best heroes or inviting him to talk-shows or other tv specials. At some point, the management of the tv-show “The Bachelor” even called to ask if Ground Zero would be interested in finding the love of his life while being filmed 24/7, that was actually one of the most fun phone conversations you ever had.

Normally you had to punch yourself through a lot of annoying, ignorant and dense representatives from companies, crazy admirers, reporters, and interviewers, so when you took the call from “The Bachelor” production you really had to force yourself to stay serious. You had to admit, Bakugou, as the bachelor would be some quality content to laugh about, just imagining him in a suit surrounded by a horde of horny women, made you break your professionalism and snort.

Apart from those tasks you also filled reports, organized Ground Zero’s meetings, manage the database, liaised with important clients, coordinated the public life of your boss and if that wasn’t enough, you also looked out for Ground Zero’s health by treating some of his wounds, forcing him to go to your companies personal “Recovery Girl”, bringing him food, because let’s be honest otherwise he probably would have already starved to death. You also bring him coffee every morning and the most important thing you cheered him up.

Cheering your boss up was one of your favorite things to do on the job and one of the easiest things too because all it took was a simple post-it note on his desk.

You didn’t really talk much with your boss, because he literally is always busy. If he isn’t in the training room, he was saving the city, which made your work a lot harder. Most of the time you were updating him on the way from one place to another. For example, you always reviewed the appointments for the day right after Ground Zero’s morning workout when he was heading from the training room to the changing room.

Being a hero was an all-day and all-night job, so he didn’t really spend much time in his office. When you first started to work for your boss you were convinced that he even slept in his hero costume.

The result of all those briefings was an increase in your stamina, which you didn’t complain about except for, in those briefings, you didn’t really talk much, which is kinda unusual for your job. That was until the day you decided to write him his first post-it note.

Back in high school, you started to make post-it notes to remind yourself about important stuff because you tended to forget things if you didn’t write them down. Now it kinda became your way of communicating with your boss.

It all started really simple, one day you just put an apple on his desk with the note “an apple a day keeps Recovery Girl away”.

Flashback

You were a nervous wreck, why did you even decide to write that note? Why did you want to cheer him up that badly? ‘Maybe because you wanted to see him smile for a change?’ your inner voice told you, which made you shake your head violently in response. You had been debating with yourself for the last 2 hours. “I shouldn’t have done this,” you mumbled, thinking about taking the apple away again before he has a chance to see it.

'It’s just an apple, calm down (y/n)! It’s not like you are proposing or anything.’ you tried to calm yourself down without any luck. You had been a nervous wreck since you placed that apple on Ground Zero’s desk, always glancing towards the elevator to see if he was coming to his office, shuffling around in your chair and bopping your knee to the annoyance of some of your coworkers.

It finally stopped, the moment the elevator doors opened and revealed your boss with a few new bruises and scratches, but the moment you saw your boss step out of the elevator a wave of terrible overthinking and fear washed over you.

'What if he gets mad?’ you thought, rubbing your sweaty hands over your pants. All you wanted was to see Ground Zero smile for a change, so him getting pissed at your silly note would be the exact opposite of the goal, but there was no going back now.

As Ground Zero walked past your desk, you nearly dropped your pen in fear of what was going to happen in the next 2 to 3 minutes. Will you lose or job? Will you get an apple thrown into your face? Or just a sarcastic comment which will ruin your whole career? While overthinking the situation into oblivion you didn’t even notice that your boss had been talking to you.

“(y/n)!” he said with a rough voice, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes!” you said a little bit panicked while sitting up even straighter. You could see a frown form on your boss’s forehead as he raised an eyebrow at your unusual behavior. You gulped hard as you withstood his stare, feeling like his crimson eyes could see straight into your soul and read what was on your mind.

“Did anything important pop up?” he asked in a way calmer voice after seeing your reaction to his previous approach. Bakugou knew that everyone had a lot of respect for him and everyone was acting kinda scared whenever he was in a bad mood or right after he had captured a villain. Everybody but you. You just looked at him as if he was just another person and you didn’t really flinch or look away when things were getting a little ugly. You saw him as your boss and you saw him as an authority but not as some kind of god you needed to fear and worship.

That made your behavior now just seem even weirder to him. It was so out of place but he hadn’t done anything to scare you or make you nervous, he hasn’t even seen you all day.

’Maybe something had happened between you and another employee or something involving your private life.’ Bakugou thought to himself, trying to shove that uncomfortable feeling in his guts away. 'I’m probably just reading too much into it’ but why did he even care? You were just another employee, right?

“Nope, nothing new has come up!” you said after looking over your laptop and calendar. It seemed like some of the tension you were feeling was lifted from you, after Bakugou had asked you something about work. It was like turning a switch inside of your brain, immediately you just powered up your professionalism again and dug back into work. You had even given Bakugou your typical smile after confirming that he could actually take a break right now.

You watched your boss sigh in relief as he turned to walk into his office and just for a moment you had forgotten about your note. That was until your boss’s hand reached for the door handle and your nervousness got the better of you again making you shot up from your desk.

“Ground Zero!” you yelled, which not only surprised your boss but also yourself. You could feel your ears and cheeks begin to heat up as your boss paused in his step and turned back to look at you.

“Yes?” he simply asked with a raised eyebrow.

How could you get yourself out of this situation? Should you play the “I am not feeling good” card and just leave to die in shame at home? How could you even stop your boss from seeing that note? You ran over all the different excuses but none of them would work without having to pay the consequences afterward. So what now? You had already gained the attention of your boss, which means that you had to say something without sounding like an idiot.

“Good job today” you blurted. It was the first thing that came into your mind that didn’t sound totally stupid, what you didn’t consider was the blush spreading across your face as you realized what you had just said.

You have never really complimented your boss for winning a fight against a villain, it was a normal daily routine for him and he already gets all the praise from his fans, so why should you compliment him too? He knew that he was good at his job and it wasn’t like those villains were a challenge for him, so why should you pour some more gasoline into the fire and push his ego even more?

The moment you had said those words, you wished you could have taken them back. It was so embarrassing, your face was probably already tomato red and the fact that your boss had the widest grin ever on his face didn’t really help, but for Bakugou that wasn’t even enough torture. Without a word he just turned back around and entered into his office, knowing damn well that this action was like pouring salt into an open wound.

“What have I done?” you mumbled to yourself while dropping your head into your hands. The embarrassment was getting so overwhelming that you had to get up and walk it off for a bit. You escaped into the office kitchen to get some water, which gave you a little relief but it didn’t change the fact that you wanted to disappear forever.

After cooling down for a bit you finally returned to your desk, forcing yourself to just focus on work and to forget about what happened. At least that was what you wanted to do. Before you could even dig into your paperwork, your boss came out of his office again with an apple in his hand. You stared in horror as he took a huge bite from it, a pleasant smile spreading over his face.

“I am heading out again. Call me if something important comes up,” he said casually, not breaking the eye-contact, but all you could do was pick up your jaw that had dramatically dropped to the floor and nod in silence.

After getting your confirmation Bakugou gave you another mischievous smile and headed for the elevator. There was no way in hell you wouldn’t get bullied over this situation from your coworkers.

“Oh and (y/n)? Thanks for the apple,” your boss said in a loud and amused tone, making you snap your head towards him, only to see his big grin right before the elevator doors closed, not even giving you the time to react at all.

Who would have thought that one apple with a note could change your whole work atmosphere just like that?

Flashback end

From that day on, Ground Zero received your post-it notes every single day, some of them were informative others were silly with the goal to make him smile.

After the first few sticky notes, it didn’t take long for the two of you to call each other by your normal name, which wasn’t any different for Bakugou because he had always called you by your first name. On the other side, you were the only employee to ever call Ground Zero by his non-hero name, which caused quite the tumult in your company and making you the topic of the daily gossip for at least two weeks.

The notes became part of a routine that Bakugou looked forward to every single day, it didn’t matter how bad his mood was, a single note from you could make him forget about all the shit that happened during the day.

He normally wouldn’t even smile at work, his employees needed to see him focused and serious, so they wouldn’t have an excuse to slack on their job but whenever he read your notes, he just couldn’t control his facial features. It even went so far to the point that he actually laughed out loud in his office. It was that one time when he had read the note you wrote right after your phone conversation with “The Bachelor” production company.

“I can’t take it anymore! You need to get a life and I need a vacation! So I decided to sign you up for the reality dating show ‘The Bachelor’ ;) have fun” was written on the note, he knew you would have never done anything that stupid but still, you got him good with that one.

He didn’t even have a sarcastic response to that note, because he damn well knew that his life only consisted of the job as a pro-hero, but he loved his job and even though it wasn’t always easy, he wouldn’t have it any other way, because deep down he knew that he had you to pick him up.

——

Today had been an awful day for Bakugou, a huge villain attack had occupied his whole morning, not even giving him the time for his morning coffee and to his misery, one of the villains had also copy quirk. That clearly was already enough to piss him off but it didn’t stop there, the other villains had pretty strong quirks too, which made the fight a lot more annoying.

After a chase throughout the whole city, some building damage and some pretty terrible ass-kicking, Bakugou and some of the others had finally managed to capture every member of the group of villains.

This fight took everything out of Bakugou, he was exhausted. His whole week had been filled with sleepless nights due to villain attacks and Bakugou’s lack of sleep wasn’t just showing in his facial features, no! It was also showing in his fighting, his impressive reflexes were kinda normal and he could feel that his strength wasn’t at 100 percent.

All he wanted to do was go home and get a good night’s rest, but that isn’t how this job works. The villains hadn’t even been loaded into the prison transport when the first reporters decided to hold cameras and microphones into Bakugou’s face.

“Ground Zero, how do you feel about the organized crime and the group behind it?”

“How come we never see you out with a woman or your pro-hero friends from U.A.?”

“Is your power getting weaker or are the villains getting stronger and smarter?”

“How do you feel after reading this month’s pro hero rankings?”

All those questions turned into an annoying buzzing sound in Bakugou’s ears. His blood was boiling, how could they ask him that kind of crap? 'Getting weaker? Pff the villains could only dream about that!’ he thought to himself.

Normally he would go to the crowd of bystanders and take some pictures with his fans but right now he just needed to get out of there before he exploded. You had always scolded him for being incapable of socializing and after getting scolded every single time he refused an interview or making a kid cry, you finally convinced him to follow your publicity plan.

'Nope, not today!’ he thought, walking away from the crowd.

"No comment” was all Bakugou said.

He just couldn’t handle it today, not in this condition, so he simply catapulted himself into the air and blasted away through the air.

'She is gonna be so pissed’, a small voice in his head told him after arriving at his company. Bakugou knew exactly how you would react, you would scold him for a few minutes while tending to his wounds, followed by giving him his coffee, some lunch with a second scolding as dessert for not taking better care of himself and telling him that he can’t just live on coffee.

Bakugou had already mentally prepared himself for your scolding, but when the elevator doors finally opened, he wasn’t greeted with your pissed off face at your desk. It was a rather unusual sight, which made him wonder about your whereabouts, but he simply pushed the thought away with a 'maybe she’s busy’.

Fully expecting to find a sarcastic note on his desk he walked into his office, only to find a clean and empty desk waiting for him.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled as he searched his office for your daily post-it note without any luck. Was he blind or did you forget to make a note? No, you would never forget to make him a sticky note, that wasn’t like you at all and you didn’t have a day off so where was his note?

His mood was dropping even further after his unsuccessful search for your note, he really needed that little post-it note to cheer him up after a morning like that.

He didn’t even care how shocked his other employees were when he showed up to their workspace, which was on a different floor.

“Has anyone seen (y/n) (l/n)?” he asked with a stern voice causing the whole room to go deadly silent.

“S-She called in sick today,” a small woman said in the back of the room. All eyes had been on Bakugou, which meant that everybody had seen his utter surprise when that woman told him you were sick. You were never sick, in those two years you had worked for him you had never called in sick. Bakugou was convinced that you couldn’t even get sick, he always thought you had a quirk which made you super healthy or something but he apparently was proven wrong about that.

“I am taking the rest of the day off. Don’t call me, even if the whole city goes up in flames, we have enough other heroes who can take over. Call Deku or someone else but don’t you dare try to reach me!” Bakugou threatened, not bothering to see the terrified faces of his employees, as he was already on his way out. He knew exactly what he was going to do for the rest of this day and no villain could stop him from doing so.

A sudden knock on your pulled you out of your feverish dreams. 'Who the hell would have the indecency to bother you on your sick day?’ you thought to yourself as you wrapped the blankets around you and shuffled towards your door.

As you opened the door you couldn’t believe your eyes, was this another fever dream? You stared in pure shock at the person who was standing at your doorstep. Some wires in your head just snapped and before you even knew what you were doing you had slammed the door shut into your boss’s face.

“If you don’t open up that door within the next 10 seconds, I will blast it open!” you could hear him growl from the other side of the door.

What the hell was he doing here? You looked like a freaking zombie, there was no way in hell you were opening that door again, but your thoughts got interrupted by Bakugou’s pissed off counting.

“5.. 4.. goddammit (y/n) just open the fucking door, I brought you soup!”

He did what now? Not even a seconds after Bakugou had spoken out the word soup the door to your apartment swung open. It wasn’t a dream, your subconsciousness could never produce the picture you were seeing in front of you. A terribly beat up Bakugou was holding up a bag with some steam coming off of it. He couldn’t even dare to look into your eyes as you were staring in disbelief at his face, which made him blush even harder.

“Are you gonna invite me inside or not?” he grumbled, making you snap out of your trance. You simply gestured him inside as you held the door open even wider, watching his every step as he helped himself into your kitchen. 

You followed him silently, observing his every move as you tried to figure out if this was really happening right now and not just a dream or a bad joke, but your doubt was immediately forgotten the moment you smelled what Bakugou had brought. 

Your mouth started to water and you couldn’t hold back the growl your stomach made, causing Bakugou to raise an eyebrow at you. You hadn’t eaten all day due to your sick stomach but that soup smelled so good even your sick stomach couldn’t resist. You watched how your boss moved through your kitchen effortlessly and not even a minute later a steaming hot bowl was placed in front of you.

“This is sooo good!” you mumbled to yourself, shoving the soup down like you were drinking shots at a bar.

“Thanks,” Bakugou said in a pleased but still casual voice, which made you choke on your soup.

“Don’t tell me… you actually made that soup yourself?!” you managed to choke out underneath your coughs. 

'Bakugou could have never made a soup like that, he barely even feeds himself so there was just no way in hell he could make something this delicious.’ you thought to yourself while gulping down your water glass but when your eyes met his crimson ones you knew he wasn’t kidding.

“Yes I made that soup myself! You know, I can take perfectly good care of myself and I don’t really need you to bring me lunch every day,” he said blankly. Nobody in the world would believe you when you would tell them that Ground Zero was an outstanding cook, you didn’t even believe it yourself if you weren’t eating the soup yourself at the moment.

“You wouldn’t even survive a whole day without me” you shot back at him with a challenging stare. You were feeling so much better already, not only because of the amazing soup but the company was helping too.

“Pff I could survive at least a week without you!” he replied with a snort, rolling his captivating crimson eyes at you, but you were ready to end this man’s whole career right then and there.

“Yeah? What is your social security number?” you fired right back at him with an award-winning smirk. You knew you had won this fight before you could even see Bakugou’s facial expression drop in surrender.

“That is what I thought! You would be screwed without me,” you laughed out loud after seeing his sour face, but you couldn’t help yourself this whole situation was just too crazy. Never in your dreams would you have imagined that your boss would nurture you back to health with homemade soup after you called in sick for the day, but here you were sitting in front of your boss having the best time of your life, completely forgetting about your headache and sick stomach. You were laughing with all your heart at this point, squinting your eyes and clutching your stomach, nearly missing the small smile that had crept its way onto his lips as he said: “I really do need you.”