#and then it repeats but the last line becomes but I’m not dead yet so I guess I’ll be alright

[theguardianace]

SLEEP good night good dreams actually u should be reading this in the morning (having already slept) so good morninggg

Sorry to disappoint starry :/ I am currently in my bed under the covers!! Unfortunately my brain does not work right and it won’t turn off :)

[neuxue]

Mu Nihuang: "要说谁还能保有祁王哥哥当年的风骨，也就只剩下靖王一个人。// Prince Jing is the only one left in whom remains some of Prince Qi’s character from those days." 《琅琊榜》/Nirvana in Fire ep18

I’m just thinking about this line again, about the identity of it all, and the haunting.

The way the past overshadows the present, the way the living are haunted by the dead they not only can no longer reach but the dead they cannot be.

Mei Changsu haunting his own narrative as the ghost of Lin Shu… a liminality, a transient state, a vessel for the ghost(s) he carries and a promise to be fulfilled; a means to an end that (he believes) will also be his ending.

And then there’s Xiao Jingyan, himself alive but so very haunted by the past, uncaring what the living think of him so long as he can face the dead unashamed. Trapped in memory and ghosts, not only Lin Shu but also Prince Qi, and the echo others see of him in Xiao Jingyan. And so Xiao Jingyan too is drawn into this liminal space of… who is he? Is he himself, alive and graced with a future, or is he the ghost of his brother, the past trapped in a present that does not tolerate it?

There is an irony, is there not, in the way Mei Changsu says things like like "让我一个人去做就好了，我一定要保住景琰身上那份赤子之心 // Let me take on those dark, insidious deeds alone—I must preserve the innocence of Jingyan’s heart," to preserve that part of Xiao Jingyan that so resembles the best of Prince Qi, who is gone, while he himself cannot retain any part of Lin Shu, who is alive.

And yet. And yet for all that an echo of Prince Qi may live on in Xiao Jingyan, Xiao Jingyan cannot—and must not—be Prince Qi; Xiao Jingyan cannot be allowed to remain trapped in the past, for all that he must be its redemption. Haunted as he is, he must not become another haunting.

Because Mei Changsu is transient, ephemeral, and thus expendable. Mei Changsu does not truly exist and so Mei Changsu cannot truly be harmed, because none of the harm is lasting, when there is no future for him into which it can last. But Xiao Jingyan isn’t transient; Xiao Jingyan is the one who is alive, the one to whom this present and the future truly belong. Mei Changsu is a creature of the past, and so let him carry these ghosts as he hands the future to Xiao Jingyan.

But what a fine line it is to walk: for if Xiao Jingyan is chained to the past by his brother who he cannot be but cannot forget, then how can they ever move forward, how can they ever do anything but repeat the tragedies of before? And yet if Xiao Jingyan didn’t hold to the spirit and the character of his brother, then how could he be what they need?

I’m no longer sure where I’m going with this but I am just obsessed with the way this show looks you in the eyes and goes ‘who are you when you exist as a living memorial to the dead who would otherwise be forgotten?’

[sihtricswife]

Prologue

Warnings: mentions of murder, violence, corruption, injuries and sort of imprisonment.

This was no place to perform surgery, it was unsterile, and dusty, and stained with red-brown patches of dried up blood from previous surgeries. Surgeries you had done under the watchful eyes and readied hands of Dr. Strong. And she was dead. Her daughter had found her, apparently it was a heart attack.

You didn’t believe it for a second. What you were doing crossed so many lines, but this was necessary, at least that’s what you told yourself. But if you were right about this…God, you hoped you were wrong. If you were right, that would mean you were in danger too.

You looked down at the corpse on the table in front of you, your eyes burning with tears. She’d been your mentor for over three years. She had taught you everything you know about medicine. She had always been there, ready to step in any moment, but never hovering.

You pulled yourself together and got to work, there had to be something. You inspected every inch of her body looking for signs of what you did not know. Finally you got to her head, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore her dead eyes staring back at you, you looked around her face, her neck, and then you saw it, just behind her ear. A small, miniscule puncture wound, one you often see after an injection.

Dr. Strong didn’t just die, she was murdered. And you didn’t need to guess who had done it.

•••

“Doc, Lawrence wants to speak with you.”

You didn’t move, staring at the smoke ribbons crawling into the sky. The smoke coming from Dr. Strong’s body. There was no ground to bury the dead anymore, so burning them was pretty much the only option.

“Doc,” Micheal repeated.

“I’m not a doctor yet,” you said softly, voice scratchy.

Micheal sighed, “You are now, Kid, you’re all we have left when it comes to doctors, get used to the title. Now come on, Lawrence says it’s important.”

“It’s always important with him,” you took one last look at the smoke before turning around and following Micheal down the dark halls of the base.

When Micheal stopped in front of Lawrence’s office he announced that you were there before stepping aside to let you in. The room Lawrence had chosen when he became leader in the resistance had been a good choice, the lighting was perfect, the only room in the base where there was enough natural light to make everything visible.

“Micheal said you wanted to speak with me,” you said after he kept quiet.

“Yes,” Lawrence mused in his usual mysterious drawl. He turned to fully face you, his rotting face no longer startling you, but never becoming less disgusting. You were glad you were standing a good few feet away from him. “As you know, you are now our only doctor. And we, as a military resistance, an army, need a doctor. And as you also know now, being a doctor for us is not exactly safe.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, almost like he was waiting for your reaction.

“We’re a resistance against a tyrannic organization that’s willing to sacrifice children for a possible cure to a virus that has already destroyed us, with thousands of soldiers and weapons that outnumber ours by percentages I don’t even want to know, no one is safe,” you answered calmly, wanting him to get to the point.

He chuckled, “I suppose you’re right, but you, as a doctor-”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“And who is supposed to finish training you?” He said it coldly, it was a low blow and he knew it, but he was right. Dr. Strong was dead and the only other doctors within a 100 mile radius worked for WCKD.

When you didn’t answer he continued, “Like I was saying, you, as a doctor, are on WCKD’s recruitment list, or their hit list, you choose whatever makes you feel better. This means you’re going to need to be very careful. You’re going to have a guard assigned to you at all times, you will not go into the city anymore, you will not go outside without consulting me. In other words-”

“I’m being imprisoned,” you deadpanned, glaring at him.

“That’s a harsh way of saying it, but yes, in a way.”

You nodded, quietly fuming. Tapping your foot impatiently while crossing your arms, you huffed out a breath of disbelief. You didn’t say anything, you just didn’t go against Lawrence, while you might not like him, you liked the people he led, they were your friends, and if something were to happen to them, you were the only one that could help. There were other people with medical training, but that stopped at simple bandaging.

“We can’t afford to lose another doctor,” Lawrence said, so that was final.

You were officially a prisoner.

…

Anxiety rushed through your body like an upcoming sandstorm. There had been word of a rescue group bringing in an immune that needed surgery. You had never done surgery without Dr. Strong present. You had done procedures completely by yourself but never without her there. She was always there, ready to step in, to answer questions, to guide you through the steps, to make sure you didn’t kill anyone.

Your safety net was gone, dead, soon to be forgotten by everyone because that’s what happened to the dead these days. You die, people get rid of your body and your name is never heard again.

While scrubbing your hands the best you could you saw that there was only one nurse in the room with you. You frowned, then you realized what had happened to Eliza a few days ago. God, you were no better than the rest. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts and dried your hands before walking towards the young nurse, Becca, who gloved and gowned you.

Your hands shook when you held them loosely in the air above the sterile field. Your breaths were quick and shallow and didn’t provide you with enough oxygen to keep your head clear, your brain fuzzed and your eyes blurred, ears ringing and mouth dry you felt panic crawl to you like a rising tide to the shore.

“Dr, breath, you’ve done this before,” kind brown eyes looked into yours, soft hands grasped the sides of your face, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I’m not supposed to be a doctor yet,” was all you could whisper, your voice shaky and eyes watery.

“No you’re not,” Becca whispered back. “But you are, and you are going to save this boy, we are going to save him, together.”

Together.

It was all you needed to hear, you were not alone, Becca was here, and Dr.Strong was with you, her voice still ringing in your head. You knew what she knew, she made sure of that.

The door slammed open and the patient was wheeled in, spear protruding from his chest.

Your brain cleared, eyes sharpened and hands steadied. You were okay, and soon this boy would be too.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

CELEBRITY | chapter 03

rúben dias x original female character [+18]

SYNOPSIS: The protagonist knows for a fact she'll be famous someday. The way it happens is not as she planned, though. WARNINGS: mentions of e.d.; cyber bullying; minors dni.

|[previous chapter]| — |[masterlist]|

CHAPTER III — THE MOVIE

In the dead of night, the room's only witness is a whispering clock on the wall. Rúben's apartment bathes in a dim glow, a haven for the protagonist seeking refuge. Seated on the edge of the couch, she nervously bites her nails, eyes glued to the floor. Rúben, concerned, offers her a glass of water.

"Thanks." She says, accepting the glass but hesitating to drink.

Rúben takes a seat across from her. "Are you okay?" He finally asks.

The protagonist glances up, the dim light accentuating the lines on her face. “Honestly? No. This is a nightmare. This entire day has been a nightmare.”

Rúben sighs, leaning back in his chair. “This never happened to me before.”

She traces the rim of the water glass with her fingertips, creating a haunting melody against the silence and contemplating her next words. “What do we do now? I mean, I appreciate you standing up for me today, but this…” She gestures to her phone, where the image of them together has taken on a life of its own.

“Addressing it head-on might be our best bet.” Rúben runs a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful. “But we need to be careful with our words. REDACTED is not happy about it either…”

“Fuck me.” The protagonist winces at the mention of his name. “I just can’t believe the first time I showed up on the Daily Mail was as someone’s affair… No offense.”

“None taken, I guess…”

“My thing with you-know-who, I don’t even want to talk about it, but it wasn’t meant to end up on the fucking news.”

“I get that.” Rúben agrees with a nod. “We can handle this, don’t worry.”

Her eyes drift back to the phone screen, her thoughts drifting off. “They’re calling me ugly, saying I’m not hot enough to be with you.”

“That’s crazy.” Rúben chuckles, a raw sound that echoes in the room. “You’re beautiful, you’re perfect.”

A blush stains the protagonist's cheeks at the compliment. With little else to discuss, she lets the silence stretch and wonder if he knew about her before they met. If REDACTED had mentioned her. Given their friendship, he probably did. He strikes her as the type who likes to brag.

Breaking the silence, Rúben leans forward. "So it's settled!" He taps his thigh. "We'll drop a joint statement tomorrow. You can toss something casual on your socials, and I'll deny it to the press. We are just good friends hanging out."

He extends his hand to seal the deal, and she takes it, shaking it firmly. "Good friends, okay, deal." She says, trying not to linger on the thought of how good his hand feels holding hers. The handshake lasts for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of their hands intertwining. 

"So, good friends it is." Rúben repeats.

She nods, a shy smile escaping her. "Yeah, good friends."

The weight of the day seems to ease for a brief moment and Rúben studies her face for a moment. "You know, for good friends, we haven't really talked much about non-scandalous things. Wanna stick around a little longer?"

The protagonist's eyes wander around Rúben's upscale apartment, taking in the polished surfaces, the sleek furniture, and the air of affluence that permeates the space. "Why the hell not." She mutters, the words escaping her lips like a reluctant confession. The contrast between her world and the opulence surrounding her is stark.

Rúben's place is a bachelor's wet dream. The allure of the high-end decor creates an atmosphere that feels alien yet strangely enticing. They settle in for a movie, the room taking on a different vibe as the screen lights up. Our girl finds a momentary escape in the luxurious cocoon of Rúben's apartment. The movie becomes the backdrop for questions nobody's putting into words, glances that hang in the air, and a dance of doubt that's as clear as mud.

The film rolls on, and the dame starts to wonder if Rúben's moves had a little hint of flirtation. The dim light casts shadows that flicker across his features, leaving the intentions behind his actions shrouded in ambiguity. 

As she heads home, the question of whether Rúben's actions were fueled by flirtation or mere camaraderie remains suspended in the silent spaces between reality and perception. The protagonist is now entangled in the enigma of the football player's intentions.

The morning seeps into the protagonist's apartment, casting a muted light on her disheveled bed where she lies, eyes wide open, fixated on the ceiling. Sleep had eluded her, slipping through her grasp like sand. 

She pushes herself out of bed, the weight of the day already bearing down on her shoulders. Her appetite has also abandoned her. The comments on her Instagram, calling her "miss piggy" and worse, echo in her mind, suffocating any desire for sustenance. 

The protagonist moves mechanically, a ghost in her own home. She glides past the mirror in the hallway, avoiding her own reflection, unwilling to confront the distorted image the world is trying to impose on her.

“I know this isn't the best time, but we need to talk about Sarah.”

Her roommate's voice reaches her, a gentle touch on her arm accompanying the soft words. “She’s moving out soon, and we need another girl. We can’t pay the rent just the two of us.”

“Lily, I can’t even think about this right now. I trust you, just bring in whoever you want.”

A colossal headache clouds the protagonist's thoughts.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah…���

Sinking into her old, worn-out couch, she mechanically types and retypes, attempting to craft the most generic and impersonal Instagram post to dispel the romance rumors. The constant calls from REDACTED interrupt her concentration. Blocking his number seems impossible for now. Since the breakup a week ago, he's found new ways to torment her and be violent towards her. Strangely, she understands and sympathizes with his pain. If she were in his place, she might do the same. The sight of her photo with his teammate plastered everywhere is probably not easy for him.

Suddenly, a notification disrupts her thoughts – a private message from an anonymous account. The message is brief, containing only a cryptic link and the words: "You're not alone in this."

Intrigued and cautious, the protagonist clicks on the link. The screen fills with a blurred video, and her heart sinks as the image becomes clearer. It's a snippet from her confrontation with REDACTED at his house. As she watches, the message from the anonymous sender appears: "More to come. Brace yourself."

A chill runs down her spine, and panic sets in. Who else knows her secrets, and what do they want?

|[masterlist]| — |[next chapter]| join the taglist @kcharlyy @melanieph321 @goregoal

[asirensrage]

Saudade - chapter 14

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: Here we are with the aftermath! I hope you're all well. I'm currently sick but who lets that stop us? I've been working on kinktober and got roped into writing a bonten!abo fic that was supposed to be only a oneshot but it's going off the rails rn lol. Thank you all so much for your comments. It means the world to me. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

also on ao3

fic masterlist - prev chapter

To say her brother and friends were pissed is an understatement. 

Her phone had been bombarded with messages and texts. The sun has yet to rise and the trains are still out of service, so she walks through Roppongi and checks her phone. She goes through the messages, listening as not only Takemichi called, but Hina, Emma, Mikey, Draken, and Mitsuya…everyone she knew connected to Toman was looking for her. 

“Shit,” she mutters. They’re going to kill her. Especially if word got out from her school about the guys chasing her. And the one she left half dead. 

She calls her brother first. It’s clearly bad when he picks up on the first ring. 

“Takara!”

“I’m so sorry!” She says quickly. “I lost track of time!” 

“What the fuck, Takara?! Where the hell are you!?” He sounds angrier than she’s ever heard before. 

“I’m sorry!” she repeats. 

“Mikey has Toman looking for you!”

“What?” she asks, blinking in surprise. “He does? Why?” 

There’s silence for a moment. “...are you serious? Because you’ve been missing for hours! No one knew what happened to you after you got attacked at your school! The school called! The police came!”

“Shit.” 

“Where are you?” he demands again. 

“...Roppongi.”

“It’s four in the fucking morning, Takara. What are you doing in Roppongi?”

“You don’t want to know,” she admits. No one wants to know about their sibling’s sex life. She scrunches her nose at that thought. It’s weird to think she has one now. 

“Call Mikey,” Takemichi demands. “I’ll call Draken. Get them to stop the search. You gave us all a heart attack, Taka.”

“I know, I’m so sorry.”

He gives a long-suffering sounding sigh. “I know. Just…just come home.” 

“As soon as I can,” she promises. “Do I really have to call Mikey?” 

“Consider it your punishment,” he tells her. “Maybe next time you’ll let us know you’re alive.” 

She apologizes again before she hangs up. Takara runs a hand down her face. She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t considered the consequences of her actions. She had just wanted to get away from it all and Ran offered the sanctuary and distraction. 

It’s best to get it over with sooner rather than later, she knows that. She searches through her contacts and calls. He picks up before it even rings.

“Hello?”

“Kara-chan,” Mikey greets. He sounds pleasant but she can practically feel the tension oozing through the line. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress everyone out. I just…lost track of time.”

“Where are you?” 

“Roppongi.”

There’s silence in response. It isn’t like Takemichi. Mikey knows exactly who she was with. “Where?”

She sighs and gives the next intersection she reaches, already expecting the order to stay where she is. She leans back against the wall of the building and waits. She was hoping to get further from the Haitanis’ place than this. She wanted to be long gone before Ran woke up in case he decided to look for her. She doubts it, but things seem to have a tendency to prove her wrong. 

🏍️

It takes ten minutes. Ten minutes of her playing on her phone and responding to messages from concerned friends and acquaintances before she hears the rumble of a motorcycle coming towards her. 

There are two this time. 

She holds her phone in her hand, not willing to risk putting it in the pocket of her borrowed pants and have it drag them down. They already hang precariously on her hips. 

Mikey and Draken both stop in front of her. Mikey’s gaze stays on her while Draken looks around, likely making sure the Haitanis or their men don’t cause problems in this moment. 

“We thought you were fucking dead,” Draken finally snaps when he looks at her. He pauses for a moment, taking in the clothes she’s wearing. “...where is he?” his voice is low and his tone dangerous.

“It’s not what you think, calm down,” Takara says, rolling her eyes even as her stomach flutters at his protectiveness. It feels like a betrayal after the time she spent with Ran. Why does she still have to feel like this? “I just lost track of time.” 

“Get on.” 

She freezes at the sound of Mikey’s voice. His eyes look flat and something in her warns of danger if she doesn’t comply. Like old prey instinct in the face of a predator. It’s the second time that he’s picked her up in the middle of the night and she’s reminded that he’s the leader of Toman for a reason. It’s not just his charisma or strength. 

“Takara.” He uses her full name and it sets her in motion as if he flipped a switch. She moves quickly, climbing on the back of his bike and wrapping her arms around him as though she’s done it a thousand times. 

Mikey revs the engine and she tucks her face against his back as they leave. She wonders how long it’ll take for Ran and Rindou to get the news that Toman was in their territory…and the meaning behind the fact that they came for her.

She doesn’t look up until they stop. They’re not at her house. They’re not anywhere familiar to her. Draken gets off his bike first and Mikey follows before helping her off. Takara actually stumbles, suddenly far more sore than she was before. 

She sees Draken’s jaw clench but Mikey holds her steady and keeps a hand on her as Draken leads the way. It takes Takara a few minutes before she realizes where she is. “Why are we in a brothel?”

“It’s my place,” Draken answers. “I grew up here.” 

“Oh.” Whatever she’s expecting, it isn’t that. 

He greets the women who call out to him with familiarity, requests for groceries or assistance in fixing something. They don’t look twice at Mikey but all the women are surprised at the sight of her.

One of them steps forward out of her doorway. “What happened to you?” she asks Takara. She scowls suddenly and turns to Draken. “I know you didn’t do this, so wha–”

“Give us a minute,” Draken asks before Takara can reassure her that it wasn’t these boys that left the bruise on her face. “Come on,” he nods to them both. 

Takara smiles at the woman as she follows. 

The room Draken takes them to is small but clean and comfortable. It’s very much Draken. She looks around carefully, cataloguing the little things she sees as Mikey sits on the bed and Draken turns back to Takara. 

“Come on,” he says. “You can borrow some clothes from the girls and shower.” 

“I’m fine.”

“You really wanna go home in some guy’s clothes smelling like sex?”

She flushes in embarrassment, shifting as she crosses her arms and looks away. It wasn’t obvious, but now that she knows Draken grew up here…it’s somehow not surprising that he knows. “I told you, it’s not what you think.”

“I don’t care. Come on.” 

Takara glances at Mikey but he doesn’t look at her. She follows Draken out. 

🏍️

Eri is sweet, Takara decides. A little rough around the edges and eyes that remind her of her aunt, but sweet. Draken introduces them and Eri leads Takara to a private room, one not used to entertain. 

Takara showers quickly. It’s different from her last shower, surrounded by a few products the Haitanis use, to now being given more options. She feels better and worse. She’s not entirely sure that’s possible. 

When she’s out and dressed, Eri is waiting with tea. 

“I know you want to go back to your friends, but…girl to girl, are you okay?”

“I wanted it,” Takara says quickly, already knowing what she means. Draken had put the pieces together and took steps to take care of her. It wasn’t fair. 

“You’re 16…”

Takara nods. “Yeah, and he’s…it was good. Is that weird? He was nice and he gave me the chance over and over to pull back and stop and I didn’t because I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel him, to just…choose something for me. Only me.” Takara heaves in a breath, suddenly crying and overwhelmed. She doesn’t know where it came from but she can’t stop. 

“Oh sweetheart,” the woman breathes before moving forward and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” Takara nods. “I know. I just…” She takes a deep breath, forcing her emotions down before she looks up. “I wanted something for me.”

“We all do,” Eri says softly. “As long as you wanted it, you made the choice. We all make the choices we can. I get that. It’s okay.” Eri leans back against the couch they’re sitting on. “You’re lucky, y’know?” 

Takara looks over at her curiously. 

“You are,” Eri says. “To be able to have that luxury to sleep with someone you choose, who actually treats you with care,” her eyes flick down to the marks on her neck. “If he made the effort to make you feel good, you’re lucky.”

“Yeah,” Takara says softly. She remembers Takemichi’s warning and fear, how he kneeled at her feet crying for her. “I know.”

The conversation shifts to protection used and the next steps. Eri gives her a morning-after pill that she makes her take just in case and goes over the side effects she knows she and the other girls have experienced from various birth control methods. It’s weirdly enlightening and terrifying. 

In return, Takara goes over the same information her aunt gave her all those years ago about every way you can injure a man. Eri looks surprised at the information she has, but Takara can tell she’s memorizing it the same way she did. 

When she finally returns, escorted to Draken’s room, the boys are half awake and waiting for her. 

Draken nudges Mikey who rubs his eyes before sitting up as he sees her. She’s dressed in a shirt, jeans and clean underwear the women here lent her. 

“You okay?” Draken asks.

“I said I was,” Takara answers. “You’re not listening.” 

“We are,” Mikey says, drawing her attention to him. “But we were worried. We got the report of ICBM attacking you at your school, that you nearly killed someone and then you were just gone. No one could find you or heard from you.”

“We thought the worst,” Draken adds. 

“Really? Because it seems to me that you think I can’t take care of myself. That I would let myself get raped after destroying the last person who tried to force me somewhere.” She crosses her arms and looks at them. “In case you forgot, I’m not a part of Toman. I said I didn’t need you.”

Mikey stands and moves towards her, faster than she expects. It’s years of dealing with older brothers trying to sneak attack her that keeps her from flinching. “You’re right. You’re not part of Toman, but we’re friends, Takara. I take care of my friends.” 

“Then learn how to fucking trust them,” she snaps. “I know I fucked up. I should have let someone know I was okay, but I was fine. I don’t need you to come barrelling in to rescue me from things or treating me like I’m a wayward goalie outside the net.” 

“It’s not about rescuing you,” Draken says. “We’re worried because we know what happens to girls affiliated with gangs. We’ve seen other gangs land them in hospitals, treating girls like trash because they can.”

“I know,” she snaps. “Takemichi already told me what happened to your friend. But it feels like you’re treating me like I’m useless and unable to protect myself when I can. I’ve proven that enough.” 

“You’ve also proven how reckless you are, Takara,” Draken points out. 

“Fuck you.” 

She stiffens the moment she feels Mikey’s hand on the back of her neck, yanking her forward slightly to rest his forehead against hers. Takara’s eyes meet his, looking at him in surprise. 

“Kara-chan,” he says softly. His eyes somehow look pitch black in the lighting of Draken’s room. “You’re still ours. I said I’d look out for you. Let us.” 

“Mikey…” she doesn’t know why her voice is just as soft or why she can’t seem to look away from him at this moment. She should feel upset at the notion of being possessed in the manner he says it, but it doesn’t feel like the way Hanma tries to claim her.

His thumb strokes the skin it touches and she can’t help but wonder if it’s one of the marks Ran has left on her. 

Draken coughs, jolting her from the moment. She turns to look at him, but Mikey doesn’t move or step back or stop touching her. The weight of his hand on the back of her neck feels weirdly comfortable, more than it should. 

“Takara needs to go home, Mikey,” Draken says, gaze shifting between the two of them. 

“I’ll take her.” Mikey finally moves, smiling at her as though it’s a normal day, like he wasn’t as angry as he was or that she had been yelling at them a few minutes ago. His emotions were likely to give her whiplash. It was only fair since hers seemed to do the same. 

🏍️

Takemichi is still awake when she finally gets home as the sun rises. He nearly tackles her in a hug the moment she walks in the door. She hugs him back just as fiercely. 

“I was so worried!” he says before finally pulling away. 

“I’m sorry! I really did lose track of time!” Takara pulls back and looks around quickly for their parents but the house is silent. 

“Taka…who did that?” He tilts his face to look at her neck. 

Takara shoves him away. “It’s nothing. Don’t ask.” His expression looks determined and she knows she has to calm him down. “I’m serious, Take. It’s fine. I wanted it.”

“Takara!” 

“What?”

“Those are hickeys!” he hisses. 

“Shh!” she shushes him, covering his mouth with her hand. “Are you trying to get me killed by our parents?” 

“What the fuck? Seriously?! I thought you were dead and you’re just…”

“I said I lost track of time!”

He sighs. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yes,” she smiles. “I’m good. I’m really sorry, Takemichi. It…everything was insane..”

“Yeah? What happened? Who came to your school? Did you really almost kill him?”

“They attacked me! I just…defended myself.” She pauses, thinking of what he told her when they finally spoke before. “Did the cops really come?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad are pissed that the police are looking for you again.”

Takara sighs. Of course. The only time they remember she existed was when she was in trouble. “I’ll…I’ll deal with them.” 

“I tried to cover for you.”

She smiles gratefully. “Thanks Take. I’m…I’m gonna go change. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna…get some sleep.” 

“Thanks for looking out for me.” She hugs him again and leaves, mentally trying to figure out how she’s going to get out of this one now. 

tag list: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87 @hayatoseyepatch

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies

saudade tag: @thisbicc @scythegal  @maraya-007

network tag: @pixelcafe-network

[teruki-inoue21]

Possible Link Click III plot line??

This, my friends, is the latest poster for Neo Aurora (which I believe is some type of upcoming Link Click concert?). Take a look

Who’s there at the center, u ask? Why, it’s none other than the Hat Guy aka Liu Xiao aka THE GUY WE’VE BEEN WAITING OUR ASSES OFF FOR YET IS NOWHERE THE F**K TO BE SEEN!

So yeah, I don’t know about y’all, but I think I know how Link Click II is gonna end. In the last episode (well, only god and the staff behind know what it’ll be ‘bout), just before the cliffhanger, there’s going to be a brain-damaging, coma-inducing, heart-attack-starting badass entry of this guy, Liu Xiao, who’s probably been manipulating EVERYTHING behind the scenes from the very start and maybe also has some ability we know nothing of….

Ok, now that I’m done ranting, let’s get the theories addressed. Here, we see Tianxi at the leftmost, Qiao Ling at the rightmost, followed by Tianchen right beside Tianxi at the left, and Cheng Xiaoshi beside Qiao Ling at the right. Center stage goes to Lu Guang n Liu Xiao.

Hmmm… Y’all see where I’m going with this????

Well then, let’s draw some parallels.

Let’s start with our main trio. Qiao Ling is the sister counterpart, whilst Cheng Xiaoshi is the main character, impulsive and emotional, yet with a strong sense (in his case this sense is of justice), whilst Lu Guang is the best friend of the main character, who one day appeared out of nowhere, and who we know nothing about, and who’s quite mature and calm-n-collected.

Now, about the pink twins and Liu Xiao. Tianxi = sister. Tianchen = impulsive guy with a strong sense too (which for him is the ideal of becoming a hunter, a “murderer” if u will), and finally Liu Xiao = the friend of the impulsive boi, who, just like Lu Guang, appeared out of nowhere in Tianchen’s life, who we know 0% of, AND whatever scenes we’ve seen of him, we can clearly deduce that he’s ALSO level-headed n a mature guy (quite a bit much for his age, and that’s what makes him all the more eerie and enticing).

[NOTE: Thanks a lot to @mrbokchoi at myanimelist.net for bringing up this wonderful and feral-making theory.]

So, I think we can safely deduce what could be the plot for Link Click III (and trust me ppl, it WILL happen). All the while we were watching II and we’re waiting for the CXS vs LTch showdown, it was never about THEIR showdown. It was always about the face off between the two guys in the shadows, the two mysterious variables who were working on their own agenda, never revealing what they were truly there to do. Yes, it was always about Lu Guang and Liu Xiao. Just as Link Click II has been completely from CXS’s POV (and a little bit of QL and Xiao Li’s perspective), I believe Link Click III will definitely be Lu Guang’s perspective, how he’s been traveling between and thru various timelines to save CXS from dying, a bit of focus on the alternate timelines, and finally, his showdown with the ominous Liu Xiao, the man behind EVERYTHING (?).

With that being said, I’m gonna drop one last bomb to make y’all go truly feral. If what I think is true, then in order to shift the POV from CXS to LG, this means that Link Click II will have a……….(wait for it)…………….(dramatic silence)……………………… BAD ending!!!! CXS will be gravely hurt, if not totally dead, and LG will be repeating the cycle, once more, as his pain grows……

Well then, I hope all of you who’ve been reading thus far, have a great wait for the final two EPS of Link Click II and for the third season.

(And a happy journey to becoming feral too, me lads!! 😈😈😈)

[whispers-soundtrack-project]

The Last Of Us

Fanmix - Part One

Link to the Spotify Playlist is at the bottom of the post

Note: This fanmix was originally posted here, but I am currently in the process of restructuring and reposting all of my playlists!

Red Tide (Rush) Nature has some new plague * To run in our streets * History some new wrinkle * We are doomed to repeat

Sound Off The Sirens (Sam Tinnesz) Yeah bang there goes the sky * All the shots ring out in the dead of night * There’s tension in your eyes * ‘Cause we all know what’s on the line

Fragile Minds (Cinematic Version) (Silent Theory) It’s getting harder to know if I’m sane * My issues are leaking outside of my veins * Somebody save me or end me * I haven’t yet made up my mind

The Way It Ends (Landon Pigg) Run * Is this to be our fate * Hide * Freedom is ours as long as we escape * We walk in the shadows * We do * Find out what we all know * Our time is near

Survivalist (Anica) They say we should have known * It stays until it goes * Faster than it ever came * Stay warm until it snows * No one will ever know * Just how much a soul can take

Iron (Acoustic) (Woodkid) The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head, * The thunder of the drums dictates * The rhythm of the falls the number of dead * The rising of the hordes ahead

United (Hidden Citizens, ft. Ranya) Silent we stand on this burnt ground * Dust off the ash, we’re closer now * Breaking our cover, cover * Don’t want to keep my head down * Stronger beside each other

End Transmission (Fire From The Gods) Where did we go? How could we stray so far away? * Delusional, tell me that we’re not the ones to blame * I suggest you walk this lonely road * To find redemption and become a hero

Fire On The Mountain (Rob Thomas) How do you sleep while the city’s burning? * Where do you go when you can’t go home? * How do you drink when there’s blood in the water? * Where do you turn when the world moves on?

Daylight (Asia) All of the nights when the light was low and day seemed so far away * Darkness was endless and I kept seeing ghosts turn in shades of grey * I wanted to see things just the way they used to be * Don’t want those shadows hanging over me

[icebear4president]

This was just a small prompt that my friend and I came up with about if Alfred could ever meet his past self. I would place younger Alfred as post-Revolutionary War.

“You hate me.”

The room seemed to fall completely still after that, the words lingering in the air.

“I do,” Alfred agreed easily, smiling thinly. “But I never liked myself all that much in the first place.”

His younger self visibly flinched at the bluntness of his words. “Way to be brutal, man.”

“Honest,” Alfred corrected. “Honesty is not brutality.”

The boy frowned, looking unsure now. “I guess I just haven’t learned as much as you yet. I haven’t learned anything at all really,” he mused, the last sentence mostly to himself.

Alfred paused for a moment, carefully contemplating what he should say next. “I wouldn’t say that, not really. I just already had to survive what you’re going through now. I’m further ahead in the sewers in other words,” he said trying to lighten the mood, but the joke fell flat.

Scrunching up his nose in disgust, young Alfred scowled. “Why the sewers? What does that even mean?”

Alfred chuckled at the familiar childish expression, shaking his head in slight amusement. “There’s a lot of words not meant for a kid’s ear that could describe our lives a lot more accurately.”

Young Alfred seemed to close down on himself after that. The look of unease and uncertainty was all too clear on his face as he glared at the ground. “How did you make it then? What’s there to hope for if nothing changes in the future?”

Alfred closed his eyes, the all too familiar ache spreading across his chest, before taking a deep breath and opening them again.

“Surviving. Surviving no matter what it costs, because if I’m dead than I won’t get to make any kind of difference anymore.” He placed a hand on his younger self’s shoulder, wincing at the all too familiar weariness in his blue eyes. “I’d rather hope than give up. And when I stop choosing to hope, than life becomes pointless.”

“Hope for what?!“ his other self spat, suddenly looking so, so angry. “What is there left to hope for?! The only semblance of a family I ever had hates me, nobody takes me seriously, and I’m always so confused!”

His shoulders drooped in exhaustion after the outburst, the anger suddenly leaving him. “And I’m so alone,” he said, the last word nothing more than a whisper.

Alfred pressed his lips in a thin line, choosing his next words carefully. “Hope that you find a shiny penny on the street.”

“What?”

“Hope that you win a prize for guessing how many gumballs are in a jar,” Alfred continued, ignoring the confused stare. “Hope you make it to the next green light before it turns red. Hope you can wake up early enough in the morning to see the sunrise. Hope that you can see someone you love smile again.”

He backed up a bit from his younger self, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “You don’t need to understand life, or overcome every tragedy or throws at you have to hope. Even though it never really gets better you have to choose to hope. Even when there's nothing left you can choose to hope. Because if you have hope you can survive, because you're looking for the smallest thing to hold onto."

Young Alfred rubbed at his eye, trembling slightly. "And when you're all alone? When nobody's there?"

The question felt a lot like being punched in the gut. Alfred cleared his throat, blinking back the tears that threatened to escape. "You'll have to choose to hope for someone who chases all the gloom away for you.

The boy looked at him for a moment, contemplating the truth behind his words. "Or learn to chase the gloom away. That's what you did. You learned how to be okay."

And there was no way for Alfred to hold back the tears now. "No. I had to learn it's okay to not be okay. Being sad and upset doesn't make you a bad person. When you snap and lash out, it doesn't make you a irredeemable monster. It means you have a right to not be okay for now."

"For now?"

"For now." Alfred repeated, giving him a watery smile. "Because bad is inevitable, but that also means good is inevitable too. They can't exist in their extremes without each other."

The young boy in front of him choked out his next words, so quiet that Alfred had to lean in to hear them. "I never expected to still be here, you know. I was surprised to see you."

"I know." His voice broke. "I know. But we did it anyways."

“And it still worth it? Even without him?”

Alfred chuckled at that. Some things never changed after all. "Yeah, yeah it's worth it. We made it worth it."

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me."

TW/CWs: Implied/referenced character death, grief, survivor's guilt

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

Punz leaped forward and Technoblade had to tackle them to the ground to keep them from going after Dream, both pairs of eyes locked on the doorway the split second it all exploded into flames.

Punz let out a wordless scream, their hands scrambling against Techno in an attempt to free themself. Techno tried to push back down on them without actually hurting them. It was hard. Techno found that it was always easier to hurt someone than to not, to actually help them, but he was willing to put in the extra effort. He wasn’t always close with Punz, but they’d grown to appreciate each other, and, even if he hadn’t, Techno didn’t like to make a habit out of hurting people (who hadn’t hurt him) for no reason.

“Let me go, Technoblade!” Punz hissed, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. Their hands were still clambering, scratching against his arms.

Techno rolled off of them, releasing their wrists last. It couldn’t hurt to be careful, he had learned time and time again. “There. You good now?”

“No, I’m fucking not! I’m not!” they spat. “Why–why did you fucking do that? We could of done something–”

“I did that so that you wouldn’t end up dead,” Techno stated calmly. He had to just not panic. He just had to try to defuse the situation. He could deal with everything else later, once everything was taken care of and done. Just not yet. He had to hold himself together for now. “It wouldn’t do either of us any good, and I don’t want Dream’s ghost haunting me for all eternity because I let you get yourself killed, Punz.”

“Well, that’s the thing! There’s no ghost!” Punz spat, stabbing a finger in Techno’s face. “Not when the soul’s instability’s the cause of death. Not when it’s a sacrifice.” Their voice broke, becoming softer. They reeled back, curling in on themself, hugging themself tight with their arms. “If there was just a ghost, it’d be easy. This–this is permanent.”

Techno moved to comfort them, pulling an arm around them, careful to pull back if they refused. He was honestly surprised that they were so vocal – all the time that he’d known them, they’d been reserved and tightly-strung – but he supposed that it was better they were lashing out now instead of trying to bottle everything up inside. “Dream got to go the way he wanted, on his own terms. Most of us don’t get that chance.”

“I know,” Punz whispered. “I know. It still doesn’t make it any better.”

Techno wasn’t sure why he kept talking. He wasn’t good at emotions. He wasn’t good at people. Phil was the one who was good at comforting people, reassuring them that everything was okay. Prime, he wished Phil was here, able to take care of this whole situation. But he wasn’t, so Techno would just have to hope that he was enough. “There was nothing either of us could do. If one of us went in there, we’d be dead too.”

“I know,” Punz repeated. “But…” they floundered, grasping for the right word. “But it would still be doing something. Being able to do something. Not just having to helplessly watch it happen.”

“Yeah?” Techno asked, knowing that he probably wouldn’t get a response. He knew that feeling; he was the one trapped in Pandora’s Vault for three months with Dream, having to watch every time Quackity “visited”. Punz might not have been there, but they’d been through their own share of suffering and not being able to do anything about it.

True to form, Punz just closed their eyes and leaned back against the wall behind them, swallowing quickly. A moment later, they opened their eyes again and sighed. Techno could tell they had changed. Their eyes were icy, remote, aloof, and their mouth was pulled into a thin line.

“You’re wrong,” Punz stated, coldly, confidently, emotionless, inflectionless.

“Heh?”

“It would of been better if you didn’t do anything. If you let me go after him,” Punz told Techno, simply, like it was simply a matter of fact.

“Why? Do you want to die?” Technoblade demanded.

Punz shifted entirely, the cold melting away and being replaced with frantic, helpless anger. Techno suddenly realized he had never seen them upset before, just irritated or annoyed, or at least not this viscerally. “Because at least then we would of died together! Because it should of been me!” they screamed, hands turned into vises and clinging desperately to their arms. “Technoblade, it should of been me!” Their eyes were filled with desperation, panic, a need for someone to blame and finding that within themself.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that. Why would it be better if it was you?” Techno asked, trying to calm them down. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was panicking. Focus, focus. What would Phil do?

“Because he’s already suffered so much and I haven’t! Because people care about him and they wouldn’t if it was me! Because–because it would be kinder, Technoblade!”

“Death is never kind–”

“What would you do if it was me who died, Techno?” Punz demanded. “You’d be fine! You’d keep walking and tell Dream to forget about it and think to yourself good riddance!”

“I wouldn’t–” Techno tried to start.

“Don’t lie to me,” Punz commanded, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Technoblade.”

[lmk-aus-galore]

Cinema Sins/Wins Rip off of Lego Monkie Kid

‘Duplicatnation’

Inspired by @satansaidmyturnintheh3llscape

Rules:

-I won’t be counting Animation Mistakes, because Idk how to do that, and I myself am a beginner animator (more like incredibly amateur, to the point I’m asking my sister for help) Unless of course the Animation is obviously and clearly having a mistake for me to watch. (Or it is said in the wiki) The other reason is because I don’t want to keep repeating a scene just to check for an animation mistake.

-I also won’t be counting flashbacks as ‘mistakes’ because most of them are based on bias.

-I’ll be formatting it like this

-Neutral

-Sin

-Win

-Most of this is Commentary, so there won’t be a last sentence nor win or sin counter.

-This is mostly for fun, no need to get offended.

Alright I’ll be placing the rules every single time, without further ado, let’s get into the episode

———————————————————————————

-Intro

-._.

-Already we’re having a good start to the episode, having a look at our dear boy’s daily life.

-And already we see the side effects of being a people pleaser…

-And already we can see the negative effects it’s having on MK-

-I do wonder if that paint’s gonna last in the water…heck what does the water look like with all the painting he’s doing?

-So is it normal for people to go at the arcade every night?

-Stress in a TV show, this is why kids, you don’t overbook and you can always say no.

-‘Wow MK, you look like hot garbage’ that line always throws me off for some reason, Tang was brutally honest here-

-Also he’s here again, so he just comes there everyday…I feel worried for his stomach-

-That bowl of noodles is obviously MK’s breakfast, no way in hell is Pigsy gonna let him eat that.

-I always wonder, if the place is so busy, then why is the shop always empty?

-‘You’re pushing yourself too hard MK, working all day, partying all night, painting boats?’ And this my friend is the reason you’re not a dad, you’re a mom.

-But in all seriousness does anyone not notice that for MK or…?

-‘I don’t wanna let my friends down y’know’ establishing the character development right away.

-I’m still wondering why Mei is partying every night at the arcade.

-It’s specifically the arcade even- like they don’t even go anywhere else-like seriously girl how are you not bored yet?

-MK forgetting Wukong’s abilities makes him more life-like cause damn even I don’t know all his abilities, like, we know the main ones are in the show, but in the original JTTW he’s confirmed to have the ability to revive the dead-

-‘One of Monkey King’s 72 transformations’ wait, is that true? Or is this a mistake? Does this even count as a transformation?

-The animation is so beautiful :3

-Glad they changed it to blow, in one translation, Wukong had to chew on his own hair and turn it into a hair ball before making it into a monkey, that would have been unsanitary to be honest-

-I’m also guessing they changed it to blow as in ‘Blow life unto it’ Idk, I’ve seen a lot of legends in Asia that tell about the creation of people and how Gods literally have to ‘Blow air into them’ to bring them to life.

-Foreshadowing

-Tiny little detail that not everything about the animation is copy and pasted.

-Love how Tang slowly gets concerned over time- perhaps this is how he just becomes that other parental figure in his life?

-Another tiny detail, both MK’s don’t leave at the same time.

-Man, Tang’s really chill compared to his past life-

-So…when delivery MK was made…was the reason he ate all that food was because this MK was skipping breakfast? Because he’s taking those orders surprisingly fast…

-I LOVE Party MK

-Again, Tang why are you still here?! That amount of noodles can’t be good for your stomach.

-Notable detail, Pigsy squeals when scared.

-I know some people will call this out as fat shaming, but they may be trying to do the old 2015-2019 format of cartoons. Still this might be offensive to some people.

-See this is why you shouldn’t constantly work someone to perfection.

-Also Porty MK got a point Mei, no one parties this much- So kinda miscommunication there?

-Haha

-Ok that is a concerning amount of hair loss…

-Although Delivery MK is pretty adorable, he acts like a baby :3

-‘I don’t know.’ PFFT HAHAAH- it’s funny cause it’s never really said in the book how Wukong got rid of his clones.

-Delivery MK confirms that even the clones can lift the staff.

-The fact the only wavy kung fu MK knew was that one move Wukong taught him last episode.

-Hairball

-I kinda feel bad for these clones tbh.

-‘OG MK in the House Yo!’ ‘I don’t even know what that means!’ Implies that MK would have learned ‘90’s’ or ‘party slang’ if he kept partying with Mei.

-You know, MK being evil is terrifying tbh.

-‘You’re really bad at making clones by the way’ Sorry Mei- but uhm, I think the clones are him, just in a much deeper level than you’d expect.

-Why did you need that many clones?!

-Ok, first off how was this legal? Secondly, did Porty MK bribe the owner or something? Thirdly, How the hell did you even make this?!

-Oof, played yerself.

-The fact the hair just…sticks.

-‘Did you learn your lesson?’ Yeah, it’s MK learn to say no, and Everyone, ask someone else, he isn’t the only person in the world. Seriously guys, from what I see you only overwork him.

Yeah! Sorry this came late-

[mizumech]

My thoughts on Martyn’s Limited Life lore so far

“Every grain that passes

Comes to rest

A pillar built

Another test

These fickle feuds

Unguided hand

Forever moulding

In the sand

The thrill to kill

The fleeting gill

All washed ashore

To settle still

A single day

And then it’s gone

Doomed to repeat

Our will be done”

That’s what flashes on screen in Martyn’s episode 4 at 12 hours, 39 minutes and 2 seconds, right after the timer flashes 11:33:09 (the three numbers are divisible by either 1, 3, 11, or itself, does that mean anything?)

This implies that something big happened off-camera and Martyn is hiding something, because that’s a whole one hour not shown. Even weirder is how no one seems to have any footage of that.

I’ve only really watched Etho and Martyn PoVs so far, and I’ve been unable to find evidence if Martyn doing anything suspicious at that timing with Martyn roughly two hours behind Etho. (boogey victim+triple tnt victim+scott and bdubs kill)

As far as I’m aware, Jimmy is the only one of Martyn’s previous allies who have reached that timing (Cleo’s POV is currently unavailable, so I am unaware of anything going on at that time. Scar, although not an ally, skipped over that timing in his timer). At that timing, his plans to extort something from the Nosy Neighbours are interrupted by Pearl. In my memory, joined the shadow clan in Last Life, which could be an interesting fanfic thing as Jimmy is heavily related to Scott.

The first four lines don’t mean much to me, it could just be a way to emphasise that time is only running out and it is permanent. I’m not sure about what the ‘pillar built’ refers to. This could be a DLSMP fishing rod reference, an LLSMP end crystal reference and perhaps much more. My main theory is that this pillar refers to Scott’s MLG, as he was tested in LLSMP via end crystal. Once again, it seems he has failed this test, because, hear me out: He was not willing. Their will was not done.

After all, the Shadow liked Ren because he was willing. The Shadow would’ve preferred Ren winning over Scott. Scott’s test of the end crystal was a test of will. His unwillingness to kill and boogey-kill caused the Shadow to target Scott. And yet again, Scott defies. Scott refuses to die. Scott evades and Scott lives.

The first two lines could also be a reference to LLSMP thing about the Shadow consuming the souls of the dead or how every day passes eventually and becomes the next using the (grain=grian meme). Maybe it even refers to how many places the bread bridge passes suffer destruction.

Now, in video time, at 11:33 (I know that this doesn’t matter when it comes to other POVs as lore is Martyn-specific, but it is fun) Martyn, Jimmy (LLSMP ally), Etho (3rdLSMP & LLSMP ally) and Scott (current ally) respectively are saying ‘I want my time back’ agitatedly, trying to kill Martyn on the Bad Boys Manor (or just defend Joel), watching the chat announce Martyn’s death to fall/ender damage while fighting Tango and watching the chat announce Martyn’s death to the triple tnt kill.

In response to Martyn at video time 11:33, I want to talk about ‘These fickle feuds, unguided hand’. I know this could be a reference to the absence of Ren, who Martyn has had a track record of allying with, and I don’t deny that theory. In fact, I agree with it. The Shadow has been shown to rather like Ren. However, I wish to point out that Martyn explained he had only wanted to stress Joel out, and that he hadn’t wanted to kill him, but only decided he wanted to do so because everyone else was doing it and well, Martyn really is that kind of guy. Fickle basically means to switch loyalties or motives fast, which could apply to his sudden change in motive when feuding with Joel. Unguided Hand could refer to how the Listeners did not tell him what to do, and it was not their Will being done. ‘Forever moulding in the sand’ could refer to how all of these fights have to do with the want and need for time and perhaps how Martyn became the Hand in response to the Sand People.

Which brings us to the next part! We can also assume the verse is meant to be ‘Forever moulding/In the sand/The thrill to kill/The fleeting gill/All washed ashore/To settle still’ instead of ‘Fickle feuds/Unguided hand/Forever moulding/In the sand’. This could refer to how the passing of limited time moulds the need and the thrill of killing and also to how Scott was the last green among many yellows. Although I am unsure as to what ‘The fleeting gill’ may mean, fleeting means something lasting for a very short period of time. Did he mean ‘The fleeing gill’? Does this refer to Scott the merman dying underwater? Does this refer to Scott’s skin being ‘corrupted’ by coral? Speaking of which, the Shadow is opposed to Scott (if I remember rightly), and the coral is the symbol of the partnership between the H2Bros, which is…interesting to say the least because Scott told Martyn to kill him, mimicking 3rdLSMP. Is this an example of Scott being willing? ‘All washed ashore, to settle still’ could refer to Scott respawning on land, and how the beef between the Shadow and Scott is not done. This could also however mean that Scott’s willingness to die has caused the Shadow to reconsider but not completely. The Shadow can Hear the similarities between Dogwarts and the H2Bros. but is not totally trusting of Scott because Scott is hated. By literally everyone. The Watchers hate him, Pearl hates him, the server is after him, the Listeners hate him, and by extension, the Shadow hates him. But that’s why the Shadow could be reconsidering. There is drama to be had. However, the words ‘washed ashore’ invoke the imagery of shifting, washed sand, which could refer once again to Scott’s death, or imply that something big happened at 11:33:09 on the timer (e.g. killing someone, someone dying, someone going red). This could also imply that arguments and disagreements from previous games are not yet settled and that Martyn may attempt to kill Grian, Scar, etc.

He could even kill Scott again.

The last four lines are pretty standard lore stuff talking about the nature if the games and of course, the last line.

Our Will be Done.

Their will be done indeed.

[riahlynn101]

"History Repeats (More Than You Think)."

Written for Obscure-Dads Week 2023 Part 2

@daddecember

Summary: En and Izuku are brothers who have a dead father and a mother who abandoned them. Banjo-after getting a call from a concerned neighbor of the boys-finds them sleeping in an alley way. He takes them in.

(Now with an extended ending!)

Trigger Warning: Child abandonment!

--

They’re alone.

Mom hasn’t come home in weeks. The two thousand yen she left is long gone. En even budgeted it all out this time, but everything’s so expensive and his baby brother got sick and needed medicine, which ate up most of their cash. 

He’s tried to reach her, leaving voicemails pleading with her to return. But she hasn’t. 

This is normal, he reminds himself. 

He stands in the middle of a convenience store, guilt washes over him in waves. His skin feels too hot, like he’s burning up. The cashier-a frail old man-eyes him and his messenger bag with an air of suspicion. 

En manages a smile. 

The bell over the door chimes, and the cashier turns to greet the new customer. En ignores their conversation, going down a random aisle. 

For Izuku , he thinks to himself. I’m not a bad person for doing this; we’ll starve if I don’t. 

His skin burns a little hotter. Steam rises from En, giving him cover. He listens to the cashier and customer panic. Lucky for them, this time it’s just water vapor. Non toxic but harder to clear out. 

Not wasting a second longer, En scoops anything and everything off the shelves. He stuffs packets of ramen, bottles of juice, chips, medicine of all kinds, and even some toys into his bag. The steam has started to lessen by this point, and the cashier has likely already called the cops. So, he only has a few more minutes to clear out. 

He runs by the adults who are still swatting at the air around them. They pay him no mind at all, too preoccupied with finding the cause of the “smoke.”

Outside, En doesn’t stop running until his apartment building is within sight. He takes the stairs two at a time, as the elevator creeps him out. It’s old and some of his neighbors joke it hasn’t been replaced since the dawn of the age of quirks. 

En can’t tell if they’re joking or not, but he’s not willing to chance it. Not when he has someone relying on him to come home. He isn’t mom and dad. 

“En, child, has your mother come home yet?” He turns to address his elderly neighbor, Naomi. A middle-aged, muscular woman with hair that changes colors depending on the sky. Quite literally too, she possesses a quirk that reacts to the level of moisture in the air (kind of like his, except her’s utilizes it in a different way) and changes her hair color depending on the different levels. Today, her hair is a calming blue with flecks of white here and there. 

She’s the only one that seems to notice that they’re all alone. But if he tells her how bad things have gotten-that the water and electricity has been off for over a week, which means most of the leftovers they had in the fridge spoiled. Which means they can’t bathe, so En has to use bottled water to wash him and his brother. Which means he has to conserve the last little bit of battery on their phone, just in case their mom calls them. Which means they’ve been going to bed an hour earlier because the only way they can look at the time is through the phone but that uses up its battery. And going out to find places to lessen the load is hard to, because he’s too young to get the help they need to survive, and taking Izuku with him only makes things worse. This isn’t even mentioning that rent was due three days ago, and the landlord has been hounding them for the money he’s due-Izuku and him might get separated. 

He’s heard horror stories about the system. As bad as their situation is right now, it could become a whole lot worse. At least, right now, they have each other. 

He smiles at her. “I’m fine Mrs. Naomi, thank you.” 

The worry lines in her forehead unwrinkled just a little. She purses her lips together. Her eyes go to his overfilled messenger bag. “....Okay, sweetheart, but let me know if you two need anything.”

He nods. 

The minute En steps into the apartment, he drops to his knees. He throws his messenger bag off, feeling it weigh him down. He allows himself to cry, the sounds of kids playing outside a reminder of what he and his brother have lost. 

He lays his head on the carpeted floor. Idly he plays with the fabric, running his fingers over it. Eventually Izuku and him will have to leave the safety of the apartment. The landlord will call the police, and by then they’ll need to be long gone. 

En turns onto his back. He stares up at the water-stained ceiling. His brother should still be taking a nap, so he can spare a few minutes to rest. 

It didn’t always used to be like this. En remembers when they were all a happy family. But then his stupid dad had to go and get himself….

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. It…doesn’t matter anymore, because their dad is never coming back. 

En feels his eyelids grow heavy. The racing of his heart calms to a slow, steady beat. All the excitement of his latest haul has completely exhausted him. 

Before En knows it, he’s asleep.

-x-x-x-

En wakes up to a pudgy, little finger poking his cheek. “Nii-Chan?” His little brother asks. 

He cracks an eye open. Izuku’s kneeled down next to him, he’s worrying his bottom lip and using his one free hand to grasp onto En’s sweater. It’s a familiar sight. Unfortunately, they both seem to have inherited their father’s neurosis. 

He forces himself to sit up. His brother follows the motion, leaning into his space. 

“Hey, Izuchan. Hungry?” 

His brother nods, looking at the bags of chips and packages of ramen that have spilled onto the floor. 

“Great! ‘Cause I got us a bunch of food, but we have to save some of it for this week,” En carefully explains. “Okay?”

“Okay, Nii-Chan.”

That night they eat broken up, dried ramen, sprinkled with the seasoning packet.

-x-x-x-

A few days later, En packs two backpacks. One for him and a smaller one for his brother. He packs a few changes of clothes, as much food and water as he can, some mementos, and a toy or two to keep his brother entertained. 

It’s hard saying goodbye to the apartment. It’s the only home Izuku and he have ever known, but it’s time to move on. The landlord had yelled through the door last night that he was calling the police today. 

No amount of memories and nostalgia is worth being put in the system.

He ties Izuku to his front with a blanket. An old practice mothers use to carry around their children, though usually they tie them to their back. It’s kind of hard, and he almost drops his brother while securing the blanket in place, and then, he very nearly falls forward when trying to retrieve his own backpack. 

He tapes a note to Mrs. Naomi’s door. The woman has been nothing but kind to them, and En would hate for her to think they’ve been kidnapped. 

They’re long gone before the sunrises. 

-x-x-x-

Later that morning, leaving her apartment, Naomi sees a note taped to her door. It reads:

Dear Mrs. Naomi, 

Izuku and I have to leave now. Our parents aren’t coming back, and the rent’s been due for awhile now. It’s for the best that we move on. I wanted to thank you for being nice to us! Sorry I didn’t tell you how bad things were. I thought I had things handled :(

Thank you for being kind, 

En 

She drops the note, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Those poor boys! How could she not have contacted him sooner? If she had, then they wouldn’t have had  to survive on their own. 

After she calms down, picking the note up and sliding it into a drawer, Naomi calls an old friend. 

“Hi, it’s Naomi Aoki. I hope you’re doing well. I know it’s sudden, but I do have a favor to ask of you….”

-x-x-x-

En walks for what feels like, hours upon hours. His little brother slumbers periodically, heading bouncing off his shoulder. People give them strange looks, whispering to each other, but seem otherwise unwilling to lend assistance. Typical. 

Eventually, he has to rest. He goes into an alley. It’s midday, so En’s not as wary about potential dangers. Though, it wouldn’t hurt to remain vigilant and move before dusk.

He sits up against the cool brick wall; his little brother is still attached to him by a blanket. Together they rest.

-x-x-x-

“-id?” Someone calls, sounding faraway. “Kid…?” The person pokes his face. 

En jerks awake.

It’s nearly dark out, casting the alley into near pitch-blackness. How long had he been asleep? Heart hammering in his chest, he sends a glance downward. To his immense relief, his baby brother looks back at him, oblivious to the distress the older boy is under. 

“Kid?” The person says again.

En looks up at them. 

A large, bald man with the weirdest taste in fashion he’s ever seen, hovers over him. His eyes are soft, looking at them with some semblance of pity. 

He hates that. He hates that so much.

“We’re fine,” he snaps, pulling himself into a standing position. Or, at least, trying to. It’s kind of hard with the excess weight on his front. 

The man doesn’t answer, just helps En readjust and stand up straight. “Your neighbor, Naomi, asked me to find you two.” He bends down. “How long have you been out here?”

En squints his eyes. He really shouldn’t be talking to a stranger, but he seems nice. Childishly, he hopes the man will help them. It’s this childishness that wins out and indulges the man to some answers. 

“Uh….” he tries to think back. “What day is it?”

“That’s all I need to know.” He takes a cloth out of his jacket pocket. Carefully he reaches over to wipe at En’s face. “Your face is a little dirty. Hope you don’t mind me cleaning it.”

En’s too shocked to do anything besides nod his head. The gesture is gentle and….nice….

“Nii-Chan,” Izuku whines, little legs digging into his sides. “Who’s that?”

The man chuckles. “I’m a pro hero-”

At those magic words, En’s and his brother’s eyes go wide. They glance at each other, wordlessly carrying on an entire conversation. 

“Really!?” En asks. “That’s soooo cool! Me and my brother love heroes! What’s your hero name?”

“Lariat.”

“Oh, like the rope?”

The man, Lariat, laughs at that. “Yeah, kid, just like the rope. But you can call me Daigoro, or Banjo. Doesn’t matter to me, as long as you don’t call me late to dinner.” 

En stares blankly at Lariat, or Banjo, or Daigoro (there’s too many names to keep track of). Even Izuku, who once laughed at his own reflection in a spoon, is completely silent. 

“Sorry, bad joke.” he claps his hands. “Anyways, I’m here to take you both somewhere safe.”

“Where’s that?” En asks, warily eyeing the man’s movements. One hand remains firmly on his brother’s head, shielding him in the event that Lariat is actually insane. 

“My place!” Lariat says with way too much enthusiasm (though, En is starting to suspect that might just be his default).

En follows Lariat out of the alleyway, clutching his baby brother close. His back aches, likely from a mix of carrying Izuku and the heavier backpack, but he can’t bring himself to put his brother down. 

“Where’s that?” He asks.

“It’s a few cities away, Musutafu. It’s nice there, you’ll like it.” 

There’s no one outside the alley, the city winding down from the day. It feels surreal, like a liminal space that knows no bounds and isn’t beholden to the laws of their reality. The orange glow from the street lights aren’t helping matters. 

“How are we going to get there? I don’t think the buses operate this- hey!”

A tentacle-like appendage wraps around his chest, sending him flying right into Lariat’s arms. He goes to tighten his (ever-increasing) hold on Izuku, except the appendage has already beaten him to it - wrapped securely around both of them, keeping them safe. 

“Is-is that your quirk?” En asks, heart thundering in his chest. 

“Black whip!” Lariat announces, jovially. “It’s very versatile! I can stop criminals and save civilians at the exact same time.”

Still in shock, he nods. 

At least his baby brother seems to enjoy being thrown through the air. Kind of. It’s a little hard to tell the difference between squeals of joy and squeals of terror, especially when his heart refuses to calm down. 

“It takes some getting used to, but I’m sure you’ll get there. It’s a very inexpensive way to travel, not to mention fun!”

En has hardly processed the strange man’s words, before the weightless feeling returns. 

-x-x-x-

Somewhere between the city he’s grown up in and Musutafu, En falls back asleep. The constantly being thrown through the air, tucked against Lariat’s chest, isn’t that hard to get used to. If he ignores the gnawing anxiety surrounding heights and sudden drops, he kind of likes it. 

It’s been a long time since he’s been held. 

Longer still since anyone’s made him feel just the tiniest bit safe.

Mixed with the familiar chatter of city life, it doesn’t take long for his eyes to grow heavy and head to loll forward, bumping against Izuku’s mess of curls. 

-x-x-x-

En wakes up on a bed, alone. Morning light blinds him when he opens his eyes. He groans, sitting up. Stretching his arms high above his head, he takes in his surroundings. 

This isn’t mom and dad’s room…?

There’s not the tell-tale picture of their small family collecting dust on his dad’s nightstand, the heavy scent of rose perfume, mom likes to douse herself in, or the ever-growing pile of laundry in the furthest most corner of the room. 

This room is larger, less familiar, but somehow more homey-feeling. 

He slides off the bed, still dressed in his clothes from yesterday. If he remembers right, a strange, very energetic man in a leather jacket took him and-

For the first time since waking up, En remembers he is, in fact, not an only child and panics. There’s no sign of Izuku here, so where could he be? He looks towards the door that probably leads to the rest of the apartment? House? A cabin in the woods? 

He isn’t one hundred percent sure where they are, just that it isn’t familiar. 

En creeps to the door, steadying himself to face Lariat and run away. Coming here was a giant mistake. His parents taught him better than accepting a stranger’s invitation to go home with them. He can just picture his mom’s scathing words and even more scathing look for getting him and his brother into this mess. 

What if Lariat is a human trafficker?

He worries his bottom lip, hand hovering over the doorknob. 

What if he’s a serial killer? Or worse…..

His thoughts trail off, not wanting to finish that particular thought. Better not to think about that unless it happens. 

His hand makes contact with the doorknob-

The door suddenly opens, slamming right into En. He hits the wall, falling on his side. “Hey, kid- Oh, no! Are you okay?” Lariat kneels down next to him. He helps him sit up, gingerly brushing En’s bangs back. “Sorry, kiddo, didn’t see you there.”

Tears prick the corners of his eyes, his body aches badly, but he really, really doesn’t want to look like a baby. He sniffles, forcing himself to nod. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“I hit you pretty hard with the door. Do you want some ice?” Lariat eyes him nervously, panic clear in his eyes. 

“No, I’m okay.”

The man doesn’t look convinced, but he backs off anyways. He helps En up. “Okay, but let me know if you need anything for the pain. I came in here to tell you breakfast is done. Your brother has been eyeing the pancakes, so if you want any I would get to the kitchen fast.”

“Oh, you made us breakfast…?” He asks, an odd feeling welling up in his chest. 

“Yep!”

-x-x-x-

In the kitchen, En breathes in the heavenly scent of bacon and pancakes. After making sure his brother’s food is cut up into manageable pieces, he takes a single pancake and piece of bacon for himself. 

As delicious as everything smells, it would be rude of him to eat more than his fair share. 

They all sit together-Lariat (“you can call me Banjo, kiddo!”), his baby brother, and he-around a small dining table. In place of a highchair or booster seat, Izuku is seated on a stack of encyclopedias and phone books. He would think it is funny, but he himself has to kneel on a copy of Pride and Prejudice to be able to reach the table. 

“So,” Lar- Banjo starts, “how long have you kids been on your own?”

The question nearly makes En choke on his pancake. He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth before answering. “A week, week-and-a-half.”

“Do you have any extended family?”

“I-I think we have an uncle on our dad’s side, but dad used to say he's coo-coo for cocoa puffs.”

Banjo snorts. Seeing En’s confused look, he composes himself. “Sorry, sorry. When you say that, what do you mean?”

“He’s very clingy,” En says, shrugging his shoulders. Their uncle has always been a sore subject for their dad. It was one of the only things that could send him into an anxiety attack. Well, that and confined spaces. 

“Ah, I see. Well, I’ll try to track your mother down. Until then, you two can stay with me.”

“Yay!” Izuku squeals, smiling widely. Syrup stains his hands, face, and hair. “Nii-Chan, food! Yummy, yummy food!” He pats the table with his sticky hands for good measure.

“Izuchan,” he scolds, lightly (of course, because he could never bring himself to actually shout at his adorable baby brother), “look how messy you’ve gotten.”

His brother proceeds to try to see himself, eyes rolling up and down in an effort to see his own messy face. 

“‘Zuchan,” he giggles. His stomach gurgles, making him quiet. He looks down at his empty plate. 

Three more pancakes and two strips of bacon are put on his plate. En tilts his head at Banjo, brain unable to process what he’s doing. 

“Eat your fill. Plenty to go around here.”

Without another word, he digs into the proffered food. 

-x-x-x-

En stares at the bathtub filled with soapy water. His little brother hits the surface of the water with his palms, grinning from ear-to-ear. His wet hair sticks to his forehead, and he has to keep brushing the stray pieces away to be able to see. 

“Nii-Nii, look! Lots of bubbles!” 

He nods, giving Izuku two thumbs up. 

Banjo chuckles, sitting on the floor next to the tub. He pokes Izuku’s button nose, leaving behind some bubbles. 

It hadn’t been the original plan for En to go first, but Izuku’s never bathed anywhere besides their apartment. And he got scared when the water was turned on, hiding behind his big brother. 

So, even though Izuku was the messier of the two of them, he got out of bath time (for ten minutes, but ten minutes in toddler time is different from older people time). 

He sits on a stool that Banjo dragged in from the kitchen, kicking his legs. His old clothes were dirty, so he dug through their backpacks to find a couple clean outfits. 

“Here,” he says, holding an outfit out in front of him. 

Banjo murmurs a thank you, toweling off Izuku. 

-x-x-x-

“Are you sure you don’t need me to help?” En asks, shuffling nervously outside the bedroom door. His baby brother stands next to him, their dad’s old, light blue jacket is so big on him that it hangs below his knees. 

Banjo looks up from the mess of furniture parts. “I’m sure, kiddo. Why don’t you take your brother outside to play.”

He frowns. They aren’t as familiar with this city; the area could be dangerous. 

“The city’s safer than the one you came from,” Banjo reassures, probably sensing his growing worry. “I think there’s a park a few blocks away. Why don’t you take you and your brother there? Come back before sundown.”

En is hesitant to leave. 

What if they got hurt? Or Banjo up and leaves them? He doesn’t want to come home to another empty apartment, with a letter filled with excuses and a measly amount of money on the dining room table. 

But what if Banjo gets so annoyed with them that he locks them out?

In that case, maybe they should leave for the park. 

“Nii-Chan?” His brother asks. 

His train of thought is derailed; his brother once again saves him from a downward spiral. 

“Sorry, Izu. Alright, we’ll go to the park. But you have to promise you’ll still be here when we get back.”

Banjo freezes, putting down the instruction manual he was reading. “Where else would I be?” 

En still isn’t fully convinced; his mom said the same thing and look where they are now. But acting suspicious is not a privilege he or Izuku can cling to, so he takes his brother’s hand and leads him out the door.

-x-x-x-

It takes a while to actually find the park. When Banjo said, ‘a few blocks away,’ he should have asked in which direction. Backtracking aside, the park is nice. It’s fairly small and doesn’t seem to be that busy, which strikes En as odd - it’s three in the afternoon on a Friday, but maybe school doesn’t let out until later here. 

His brother giggles as he races for the jungle gym. 

Out of habit, En chases after him. “I’m gonna get you!” He sing-songs.

“No!” Izuku bursts into a fit of giggles. “Nii-Chan, can’t get me !”

“Oh, yes, he can!” He shoots back, climbing the stairs to the playscape two at a time. 

-x-x-x-

They play until the sky turns into a mish-mash of oranges, purples, blues, and pinks.The sun is barely peeking out of the horizon. 

En ushers his brother off the playscape (more like drags him off), and leads him by the hand back to Banjo’s apartment. 

Once there, both boys are greeted with a heavenly aroma of a home-cooked meal. 

“Can you set the table, En?” Banjo asks, finishing up on the fried rice. The pork rolls sit on a plate next to the stove, cooling. 

“Me, me!” Izuku shouts, stepping from foot to foot. “What about me? I wanna help too!”

Banjo hums, tapping a finger to his chin. “Hm….would you like to help me do the dishes after we’re finished eating?”

From his place, laying out the plates and silverware, En watches his brother’s face light up. He chuckles. Another thing little Izuku has taken from their father - his (almost) impulsive need to be of service. Although….

He looks down at the plate in his hands, staring at his too-pale, too-sad reflection. Maybe they both inherited that part of their father’s personality?

En puts the last plate down, just as Banjo places steaming platters of fried rice and pork rolls. “Thanks for setting the table. It looks…” he seems to mull over the word that would best fit. 

“Okay?” En asks.

“Mmmm….”

“Cool!” Izuku supplies helpfully. He stands beside his chair, unable to climb up himself. “Nii-Chan is the bestest at everything! ”

“ Funky! ” Banjo says, patting him on the back. 

En narrows his eyes, tilting his head to one side. “That’s….that’s good…?”

“Very!”

“Ah,” he says, falling back into his own chair. He hardly notices the presence of the countless books underneath him (keyword being: hardly). They’re still something of a bother, sharp corners of old novels dig into his thin, bony legs. But the pain is negligible in the face of the praise he received and the taste of warm, homemade food on his tongue. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs during a lull in conversation. 

Banjo smiles. “I’m glad I found you boys before-” he clears his throat, cutting himself off. His smile falls, turning not exactly into a frown but fairly close. 

“Banjo…?” En asks. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” the man reassures, though from the unsettled look on his face, En doesn’t believe him. “Just thinking about adult things.”

“Like what?” Izuku asks through a mouthful of food. 

“Ick! Gross, Izu!” En sticks his tongue out, face scrunching up. No matter how many times he, or his parents scold his brother for talking with food in his mouth, he never listens. 

“Taxes, mostly.”

“Ah,” Izuku murmurs. “Taxes.” He nods at his plate. Eyes serious, he glances over at En. “We have taxes, huh, Nii-Chan?”

“No, we’re too young. I think.”

“Ah, okay!”

En feels the ice surrounding his heart melt, just a little. Maybe Banjo isn't so bad. At the very least it wouldn't hurt to put some trust into the man sitting across from them, he is taking care of them. For his brother. 

All for him. 

-c-c-c-

(Continue reading here if you want a more angsty, ambiguous ending. Not posted on Ao3, because I wanted at least one of my stories to have a happyish ending :D The trigger warnings for this part of the story are: kidnapping, anxiety attacks, small children in distress, and referenced/implied death.)

Living with Banjo is not so bad. The man is friendly and makes sure they go to bed and school with full stomachs. And, more importantly, he’s always there when En and his brother return from school. (Well, Izuku’s more in daycare, but the sentiment is the same). 

After homework and a snack, En likes to take his brother down to the playground. It remains empty no matter the time of day, but he has to admit, having a playground all to themselves, is extremely cool. Sometimes he likes to pretend they’re kings or emperors of an exciting land. 

He hangs on the monkey bars. Izuku watches him with rapt fascination. “Go, Nii-Chan!” He shouts. 

En smiles, dropping to the ground in front of his brother. “I can almost cross all the monkey bars!” He proudly proclaims, pointing a thumb at himself. 

Izuku claps his hands. “Yay! Can you chase me now? Please?” His green hair flops over his eyes as he tilts his head. 

En sighs, throwing his hands up in a show of fake exasperation. If there ever comes a day where he doesn’t want to chase his little brother, then he’s probably been replaced with a clone, or a doppelganger, or….hmm…he tries to think of more things he might hypothetically be replaced by. 

“Ennnn,” Izuku calls, using the same tone he uses when being forced to interact with strangers. The name, his name, sounds weird coming from his brother. It’s abnormal and, in an instant, En is on guard. 

He turns to where his brother’s looking and sees a very tall man. The man smiles at him, waving. This is the first person they’ve seen at this park since they started coming here three months ago. And the fact that it’s a grown-up, doesn’t sit right with En. 

Especially considering there’s not much to do while sitting on the bench.

(Unless you consider sitting and staring at children a hobby….)

Maybe it’s his nerves, or an embedded, cultural need to be polite, but En finds himself waving back. “Hello, sir!” He calls. 

The man must take that as his signal because he strolls over to them, pace unhurried and unbothered. “Hello,” he says. 

“Hi,” Izuku murmurs, peeking out from behind his older brother.

The man glances at Izuku. His eyes widen for a second, but it’s so fast En almost thinks he imagined it. Almost.

“What are your names?” The man asks, kneeling down. His voice is sugary sweet, soothing, and deep. 

Izuku starts to speak, but En is faster.

“I’m Roku, and he’s Ku.”

The man tilts his head. An amused expression takes over his face. “Ah, okay, Roku and Ku.” He stands. “Well, six and nine, I’m Shigaraki Hisashi.”

That name is…familiar. Where has he heard it from?

Izuku squirms behind him. Apparently all previous apprehension is now gone. He slips under En’s arm. “Hi, Mister Shigaraki. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, both of you.”

En shivers, stepping back. As subtle as he can, he drags his brother back by the shirt collar. “Yeah….you too.”

Shigaraki-San looks around. “Where’s your boys’ parents?”

“Close by,” En answers immediately. “They’ll be back any minute.” Izuku gives him a confused look. There’s a tug on his jeans that he pointedly ignores, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s head. 

“Uh huh.” Shigaraki-San taps a finger to his chin, humming. “They seem to be taking their time, aren’t they?”

Izuku rocks backwards on his heels, obviously losing his battle to be quiet. 

“Maybe,” En says. “We don’t live too far away. If they take too long, me and Iz- Ku can walk home.” He doesn’t understand why he’s explaining himself to the man, but he’d do anything to get him to leave them alone. There’s something very, very wrong with him. 

“I can walk you both home.”

“No, we’re okay. We want to keep playing.”

“It’s no trouble, and the sun looks like it’s close to setting. You both should go home and eat dinner.”

En takes another step back, dragging his little brother along. “I said, we’re fine. Please, leave us alone.”

The smile falls off Shigaraki-San’s face. It’s replaced by a scowl. “I tried to be nice,” he mutters, seemingly to himself, before taking a step closer (with his long legs, each of his steps equals six of En’s, or ten of Izuku’s). “Come along now.”

En half-carries, half-drags Izuku towards Banjo’s apartment. He runs as fast as he’s able to. They’re still three blocks away, but if he can duck into one of the stores or restaurants, then maybe they can lose him. 

Strong arms wrap around his midsection. They grab onto Izuku and him, restraining them. “Come along now,” Shigaraki-San repeats, voice no longer sugary sweet. 

-x-x-x-

Shigaraki-San carries them a few blocks away before stuffing them into a sleek black car. Any attempts to call for help are met with a light pop to the mouth, a warning. And by the time they’re being buckled in, En has no more fight left. Not that Izuku is any better, clinging to his big brother.

After they’re settled, Shigaraki-San slides in next to them. He snaps his fingers, and En realizes for the first time that the three of them aren’t alone. Up front, in the driver’s seat, somebody sits, awaiting instructions. 

“Take us to the base thirty miles west of here.”

As the car starts, Shigaraki-San sits back. He looks at them, a fond smile on his face. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

En hunches into himself, using his arms to bring his brother closer and shield him from the evil-doer next to them.

Shigaraki-San chuckles, but seems to get the hint. He starts to small talk with the driver. 

“E-” his brother almost says his name, but stops himself. “Roku, what about daddy?”

En bristles at that. “That man is not our dad, Ku.” He makes sure to lean down, close to his brother’s ear, and keeps his voice quiet. His heart hurts as he says that, but it’s hardly been three months. It feels disrespectful to their real father’s memory - even if he did leave them.

Izuku twists away. “You’re mean!” He shouts. 

This draws Shigaraki-San’s attention. “Who’s mean?” He asks Izuku.

Izuku, with all the energy of a little sibling trying to get the older one in trouble, points at En. His bottom lip juts out. “Him.”

Despite the circumstance, En scoffs. Everything feels so wrong and weird and he feels bad for saying-

“I remember the days back when my little brother would tattle on me,” Shigaraki-San says. “You’ll miss it one day, but for now, do try to get along.” He turns back to his conversation with the driver. 

En’s mouth opens and closes. What- what just happened?

Izuku huffs, but leans into his space. “I still wanna go home,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for En to hear. 

“I know,” he murmurs back. 

They settle into an uneasy silence, listening to their captor talk animatedly about the weather for the upcoming week. 

-x-x-x-

At some point, he must have dozed off, because the next thing En knows, he’s waking up in a bed. This isn’t his bed at Banjo’s a-

He jolts upward. 

Memories come flooding back. The park! The man took them! 

He looks around the room. He needs to find Izuku, and leave!

His eyes catch a tiny bit of movement from across the room. Tufts of green hair poke out from under a comforter decorated with pictures of ducklings. 

His brother…..

….his brother’s okay. 

En sighs in relief. At least that mystery is solved.

But they still need to leave. 

He slides out of bed, and quietly tip-toes his way over to the other bed. Tentatively, he reaches for the covers, hands trembling from the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body. His fingers ghost over the blanket-

“Hello, En,” Shigaraki-San greets. 

A light clicks on, revealing the man sitting in a rocking chair in the opposite corner of the room. A book with more pages than En has ever been able to read in his lifetime, sits on his lap. He sits close to the door. 

Escape was never an option. 

“Who are you!? How do you know my name? I-I never told you that.”

The man shushes him, pointing to Izuku’s sleeping form. “I’ve been…hm….observing Izuku and you for a while now. Ever since my idiotic brother got himself killed trying to protect what’s his face?” He taps his chin, as if trying to conjure the name to his head.

En blinks. “What does that have to do with me and my brother?” Shigaraki-San might be crazier than he previously thought. 

“Everything,” he answers. “Well, mostly everything.” Shigaraki-San puts his book on a side table before getting to his feet. “I’m your uncle.”

En shrinks back. 

Wrong! Something about this is wrong, with a capital W!

“My dad told me you’re crazy.”

“Ah, Yoichi. He was always saying things like that.” He stands in front of En. “My little brother and I often had disagreements about what was best for him.”

En stares at the man’s chest, unable to force himself to look up (and up and up) at his piercing red eyes. “Our dad knew everything,” he says, with all the conviction of a child holding onto the delusion that their parents are infallible. 

Shigaraki-San chuckles, patting his head. “I’m sure he thought so.” He kneels down to be at eye-level with En, making it hard to avoid the man’s gaze. His expression twists into something more serious. “But he was wrong.”

En bites his tongue, willing himself to not make things worse. It’s not only himself he has to watch out for. He has no idea how crazy Shigaraki-San really is, and if even half the stories their father told are true, then….

…..then, he needs to maintain his composure. 

Shigaraki-San must take his silence as En agrees with him, because he continues on. (Or he just doesn’t care, which is probably the correct option). He sighs, placing a faux-gentle hand on En’s tiny shoulder. “My brother was….smart and kind and I’m sure he loved you boys very much, but in the end, he still left you both.”

En jolts back, as if slapped. It was one thing to think such things to yourself but a whole other thing to hear someone else say it. “No,” he whispers, bottom lip quivering. 

“Yes, En-Chan, he left you both and got himself killed.”

“No,” En repeats. 

“He got himself killed trying to protect….hm…what’s his name again? 

En shakes his head. “Stop.”

“Ah, I remember now. The “Black Whip” hero.”

Despite his slow spiral into hysterics, En finds himself blinking slowly up at the (much) taller man. “Do you mean Banjo?”

Shigaraki-San shrugs. “His name is irrelevant to me.”

“B-but my dad told me that knowing someone’s name is respectful.”

“Yes, I taught him that.”

“Then, shouldn’t you-”

For the second time, he shrugs his shoulders. “Like I said, irrelevant to me.” Before En can retort to that particular remark, his self-proclaimed “uncle” scoops him up and puts him back into bed. 

He’s tucked in tight, the soft fabric of the comforter tickles his chin. “Sleep-tight,” Shigaraki-San says, patting him on the head. He then leans in to kiss his forehead. “You both have a long day ahead tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.”

He leaves, though En remains vigilant, watching his brother’s sleeping form. 

Shigaraki-San’s words don’t hit him until later on, his eyes heavy with sleep. But Banjo-the man who took them in and seemed a stable enough environment-was the one who got their dad killed. In a roundabout way-if what Shigaraki-San says is true-then he's the sole reason En and his brother’s life has been hell. He’s the reason that mom left and hasn’t come back. 

With his remaining energy, En cries himself to sleep.

-x-x-x-

A city away, Banjo finds himself on the phone with the police. It’s like pulling teeth, slow and excruciating, to go through the proper channels. He knows he shouldn’t have left those boys unsupervised. 

All for One isn’t known for giving up. Yoichi told him that. 

The mind-numbing bureaucracy isn’t helping him any. And it definitely isn’t helping those boys either. He hangs up. If the police won’t do anything, then it’s up to him (both as a hero and unofficial legal guardian) to rescue them. 

If he remembers correctly, All for One has three main bases (Information on their whereabouts given to him second-hand by a dying Yoichi). It’s a toss-up if the boys are being kept at any of them, but he has to try. 

For them.

[wrecking-man]

Komivergence Chapter 3 - Dark History Tour 1

Chapter summary: This chapter, things start to take a different turn... Tadano and Komi are dropped into a universe in which the two had yet to even meet. The title is your hint.

This is actually going to be chapter 4 eventually, but I'm skipping over the Komi Theft Auto Komiverse for the time being so that I can plan it out more... I also just have a stronger desire to write this one...

Click here to read the full chapter on AO3.

Click here to see all of my works.

A deeply unsettling chill ran down Tadano’s spine as he looked around and noticed exactly where it was he had just ‘dropped in’... He could run a marathon on the amount of adrenaline that started pumping through his system when the realization fully hit him.

Had it not been for the extreme mental fatigue caused by his current set of circumstances, perhaps he would have been okay with seeing this place again—he had a girlfriend now, after all—but there was no way of knowing that for sure. What he did know was that in this moment, he would almost rather die than return to ‘this place’...

It was his old middle school... Or, more precisely—its athletics field...!

It was exactly how he remembered it. In essence, it was nothing more than your standard, wide-open dirt field. A runner’s track had been laid out in chalk dust just recently, and so the lines were still looking neat, crisp and fresh...

Tadano started to feel a bit weak in the knees, so he squatted down low, with his feet perfectly flat to the ground.

He subconsciously clenched his teeth in shame over his weakness, and fought the slowly-rising urge to vomit his guts out as the events from ‘that day’ began to loop in his mind... The memories had long since crystallized in sickening detail, and they had become an inescapable part of his legacy... His ‘dark history’!

He could practically see the echoes of his younger self naively painting away with the school’s ‘field chalker’ (or ‘line marker’). It was a small piece of equipment on wheels that released chalk at a set thickness, and at an even rate. On that infamous day, he had used it to write the word ‘LOVE’—in English, no less—in the center of the runner’s track in big, bold letters... It was more than large enough to easily be seen from their classroom.

That was naturally a crucial step in his preparations for ‘Operation L’.

Later that same day, perhaps even a news helicopter might have seen it and reported on it for a fluffy, feelgood piece. Who knows?

...As the thoughts of that day continued their assault, Tadano covered and gripped his face with one hand out of reflex while his fight or flight response kicked into overdrive. It was a wonder he had not yet had a heart attack. He felt, more than anything, that he should not be there.

Could anyone blame him...? Setting aside the current matter of involuntary universe hopping... A part of him had died that day. And truth be told, he would have loved nothing more than to keep it dead... That old cringey, forced persona of his.

He marinated in his feelings of embarrassment and anxiety for just a few minutes.

...

Okay, that’s enough...

Tadano took in a long, drawn out breath in an effort to relax. He held it in for at least half a minute before finally lowering his arms, resting his elbows on his knees, and letting it all out slowly.

At least the sun on his skin felt nice... With his eyes closed, he lifted his face towards the sun and let out the last of his breath.

The initial shock was finally wearing off, and the gears in his head were gradually beginning to turn once more. He took several more slow, deep breaths to calm himself further so that he could think about this latest development more rationally...

He had quickly learned not to entertain such optimistic notions as him and Komi finally being back in their original universe. (Last time he did that he was met with a gun to his head, after all.)

...That was a traumatizing experience he would like to not repeat if at all possible.

This time was already shaping up differently, of course... And not merely for a lack of guns in his face.

This time, he was completely alone...

As he thought things over more carefully, Tadano finally understood the significance of his arrival at this place and time. It was not a knowing based on any tangible evidence, mind you, but rather a knowing that welled up from deep within his soul... Why else would I have dropped in here?

It was that kind of feeling.

He let out a deep sigh... His body lightly shivered despite the mild heat he was currently basking in. For the life of him, he could not fully calm his nerves.

Being alone in this moment was pure suffering.

This entire ordeal would have been so much easier if only Komi were there with him... but regrettably she was nowhere in sight. He had to keep telling himself that she had to be fine—that she was probably just in a similar situation right now...

Heck. For all he knew, she was probably just ‘home’ and trying to give some kind of explanation to ‘her parents’. Not to mention her middle school counterpart... He could scarcely envision how that might be going for her, but nonetheless it brought a sad smile to his face as he briefly tried to picture it...

Regardless of whatever she was doing in this moment, he just wished with all his heart that she could be standing there with him instead—or squatting, in this case. Failing that, he wished that she was at least safe.

Being separated, on top of being in another universe, was no trivial matter. He could not help but worry... What if they never saw each other again?

He shook his head. I can’t go thinking like that... In any case, let’s just get this over with already so I can go look for her. Where is ‘me’...?

Meanwhile, a short distance away—hidden inside a set of bushes—a middle school boy was carefully observing our protagonist.

He had been watching... waiting... for a little while now.

This was just what the boy needed... Of course it had to be now of all times, didn’t it...? A delinquent was squatting right where he needed to ‘get to work’.

He was fully prepared to enact Operation L—and in fact, you could say the operation had already begun! He had put a letter in his crush’s shoe locker earlier in the day asking her to meet him behind the school building after school... So the clock was ticking!

He had planned this out over a month in advance, even going as far as scoping the place out with his best friend Najimi.

...Tadano (C) was getting restless. Come on, man...

He was hoping that the delinquent would simply leave on his own, without any need of direct intervention.

The more he read the situation, however, the more he got this weird sense of familiarity with the delinquent. Do I maybe know this guy...? He couldn’t really tell, as the delinquent was facing the other way.

The delinquent seemed... ‘stressed’, to put it one way. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but that was the impression he got from the delinquent’s body language.

Before he even realized it, his legs had already started moving on their own. Normally he would avoid getting involved with someone else’s business, but for some reason he could not explain, he was drawn to this delinquent as if they were connected by fate.

As he closed the distance between them, he briefly felt a strange resonance course through his body. It was like a vague pulsing of energy that stretched beyond the physical plane. For him this was a first, and it was a very freaky experience to have out of the blue... But this was our protagonists’ third time that day. This feeling... So I’m really not an ordinary person...

His heart fluttered.

Our protagonist suddenly swept back his hair, and it stayed in place thanks to a thin layer of sweat.

Not knowing what to expect, the middle schooler anxiously stopped on a dime. There was only about 2 meters of distance separating them now.

Their hearts were both racing faster than either of them thought possible. Each for their own reasons.

Every fiber of Tadano’s being was screaming in horror at what he was about to do. If only it were as simple as shaking some sense into his doppelganger, and telling him that this was wrong... That he was just a normal guy trying in vain to impress the wrong girl...

He would have loved nothing more than to keep it dead... This old cringey, forced persona of his... But somehow he knew that this was the only way...

There was no guarantee that his counterpart would listen to him—even under these absurd circumstances—if he behaved like an ‘ordinary person’...

Besides... To begin with, in what way was this situation ordinary? Ordinary people do not travel across the multiverse, do they...? His embarrassing past aside, he could hardly ignore the uniqueness of his and Komi’s situation any longer.

With this as his justification, he ‘released the seal’, so to speak... If he wanted to strike this accursed moment from his dark history, then he had to do... ‘that’...!

Tadano slowly got to his feet, and unzipped the black leather jacket he had received from his doppelgangster (heh) before slowly turning to face ‘himself’. My shirt doesn’t have a dragon on it, but this much has to be enough, right...?!

“Yo, Hitohito...” Tadano said with a grin steeped in false confidence.

“Y... Yo...” Tadano (C) replied reluctantly... But as one might expect, his reluctance soon turned to excitement.

He’s just like me! He’s just like me, for real!

Read the full chapter on AO3.

Read from chapter 1.

[montagu3]

What one of my issues are you?

Depression

Everyday I wake up submerged in cement that’s nearly dry. I have to pull and push against the edges, fighting against the suffocating grip until I’m finally sitting on the edge of the bed. I open my eyes to see my drab reality and I’m ready to go back to bed. I don't want to shake off and peel away the pieces of cement that stuck to me. The casting separates me, muffling the voices of others and masking the monster that gnaws at my core. You’re tired. You’ve been holding onto a rope in the overcast waves, in the relentless churn of water. You could pull yourself in, maybe, but you don’t want to. The water is comforting, even when it cascades over you and you think you’re finally going to drown. You didn’t even have to drop the rope. It wasn’t your fault.

Possible Psychosis (undiagnosed)

A voice of a loved one comes from behind me, telling me how I should do it. I know it’s not real, but I let them talk anyway. Time is a slippery eel, wriggling out of my grasp with every attempt to hold onto it. It moves erratically, twisting and contorting until yesterday bleeds into tomorrow and today is lost in the chaos. The maggots eat me in my dreams even though I let them know I’m not dead yet. I know I’m not dead, I have to remind myself every night, but it never stops the maggots. I repeat the mantra like a prayer, a desperate attempt to rid the maggots that are eating the last sane parts of me. But with each repetition, the line between reality and hallucination blurs until I’m no longer sure which is which. I’m greasy and soaked in my own sweat, the stench of decay clinging to me like a second skin. I'll have to shower and change the covers before I can go back to the dirt. You need something to be wrong with you. It has to be some type of outside force, an unseen hand guiding the puppet strings of your existence. If it is you (and you alone), it means that there’s no chance for redemption or normalcy. It means that the maggots will never rest in the grave with you because you’ll never be dead. And so, you cling to the illusion of external influence, a disease, a psychosis, a fragile lifeline in the maelstrom of your madness.

Abuse (from others)

I try to hide in plain sight until the time I can move out, navigating each day with a carefully constructed facade of normalcy. Behind closed doors, I wrestle with the memories that haunt me, the echoes of pain reverberating through every fiber of my being. I attempt to subdue any inch of care that I still hold onto, burying it beneath layers of self-preservation, yet inevitably, something small will peek through, a glimmer of vulnerability that they'll seize upon as an opportunity to inflict more harm. I'm not invincible. Despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise, the wounds of being drugged, touched, and hurt by those I once trusted have left indelible marks on my psyche. It's as if they've carved out pieces of my soul, leaving me feeling fragmented and lost. I can pretend that it hasn't changed core parts of me, that it hasn't eroded my sense of self, but the truth is undeniable. I am wounded and it hurts. I cling to the fragments of myself that remain, determined to reclaim what was taken from me, one shattered piece at a time. Most of the shards fall through the gaps in my fingers. You can resonate with that. It doesn’t have to be anything big (if it is, I’m sorry, I really am), but it still tore the same hole inside of you. It took something from you, something precious and irreplaceable, and now you're left grappling with the aftermath, trying to piece yourself back together in a world that feels irreparably broken. Keep holding on and keep pulling. I hope you can get it back.

Abuse (from myself)

Hurt becomes the balm for the ever-aching hole inside of me, a void that seems insatiable. With each added hurt, I find solace, as if I'm closing another small hole of Tartarus, where a piece of me was imprisoned by my own transgressions. Why I ended up in Tartarus, I don’t know; perhaps I committed some unforgivable sin, or maybe I simply exist as a vessel for suffering. Regardless, I know I belong, it’s woven into the fabric of my being. As I navigate this labyrinth, I don’t know which will come first: when my body inevitably gives out or the eventual closure of each festering wound inside of me. The prospect of release from Tartarus terrifies me. There's a comfort I can’t find elsewhere in the hurt. Whether the pain is self-inflicted or delivered by the hands of others, it serves as a reminder of my existence, a validation of my worthlessness. You, like me, share a perverse communion with pain. Maybe it’s the guilt and self-loathing that make you seek absolution through hurt. Or, maybe, it’s a subconscious desire for punishment, cemented by your believed unworthiness. The only question is, do you know what you did to deserve your own personal Tartarus?

Obsession

The old Christmas lights that light the depths of my mind come alive in a way that they never do. They throb with the pressure of my heart, my gut thrills and I feel. I’m going to win this war, regardless of the cost. Obsession is passionate, it’s one of the only (usually) non-malicious things that remind me that I’m alive. But with every flicker of light, there's a shadow lurking in the corners, threatening to engulf me in its darkness. Like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn deeper into the allure of my obsession, unable to tear my gaze away even as it consumes me from within. Every thought, every action becomes consumed by the object of my fixation, distorting my perception of reality until it's unrecognizable. The highs of euphoria are matched only by the crushing lows of despair when reality comes crashing down around me. It's tearing me apart and slowly eroding my sense of identity. I yearn for someone to share this intensity of my passion, to see me as I see them. But the bitter sting of unrequited longing only serves to deepen my sense of inadequacy and isolation. Each rejection feels like a dagger to the heart, reinforcing the fact that I am inherently undesirable and unworthy of love. God, you want to be wanted, no matter how much you believe you’re undesirable. That same hunger you pour into your passion projects, you long for someone to reciprocate that fervor towards you. It's a yearning that, if fulfilled, could make you feel complete. That you would die happy with. But deep down, I believe you don't seek death; rather, you crave the raw intensity of emotions that obsession ignites. I hope in your passion you don't succumb to despair but instead learn to navigate the intricate maze of desire, emerging on the other side with your humanity intact. May you embrace that insatiable hunger, finding purpose amidst the chaos that surrounds you.

Burnout

Although the light is already out, the whirring of the electricity never stops ringing. The light I produced stopped hitting the earth lightyears ago and the only thing still present is the decaying of my final form, a reminder of what once was and can never be reclaimed. As I languish in this state of deterioration, the relentless drone of the machinery persists, a haunting soundtrack to my descent into oblivion, into the void of nothingness. There was a time when greatness seemed within reach, you had potential, but now it feels like a distant memory, a ghost of your former self haunting the corridors of your mind. The picture you painted was that of the classics, but now you’re one of the starving artists. Every day, you pass by the remnants of my aspirations, your painting, you’re reminded of what could have been—a masterpiece left incomplete, a dream left unfulfilled. With each passing moment, the chasm between your former self and your current reality widens, stretching further into the depths of uncertainty. Is it better to continue grasping at the fading embers of your former glory, or to come to terms with the fact that you may never reclaim that lost brilliance?

[qvid-pro-qvo]

Macheresin, where we have a role reversal of coyote going into g-loc. Like the entire dagger Squad watches as Jake gets reamed out by Javy for refusing treatment, and it ends up with them screaming their feelings for each other in front of everybody and their mother.

maverick’s on the radar, and jake finds his teeth grinding.

“we need this guy off our ass,” he mutters, but phoenix’s voice is clear in his helmet.

“we keep going. finish the mission.”

so they do. they follow the path, they swerve and juke and spin. inversion, laser goes dead, so jake fires. misses.

“goddammit,” he snaps, and feels his rage fuel his flying, feels the incline go a little too steep, feels his chest start to cave in.

and that’s when it all goes south.

jake’s eyes are staring into the sun, and yet everything goes black. he fights and he fights and he fights but soon it just doesn’t matter. his hands go slack on the stick, and then his body goes limp, and the last thing he hears before he’s out is maverick’s voice chirping away.

one beat. two beat. three beat.

pull up, pull up! pull up, pull up! pull up, pull up!

“hangman! c’mon, hangman! hangman!”

suddenly a flood of colors, of his senses, of ringing in his ears. his eyes go wide, he sees the mountain, and with the reflexes that only training and skill can manage, he pulls up. straightens out. his heart is pounding and his eyes are still blurry, and as he gasps for breath he hears phoenix’s voice, then bob’s, then mav’s, and then the voices become words.

“hangman? you all right?” maverick asks. there’s worry, fear, all of it.

“i’m — i’m good,” he coughs out. tries not to think about anything but landing this thing. if his hands shake, he can’t afford to notice. “i’m good, guys. let’s go home.”

—

he repeats it all the way home, and soon it’s the only thing he can say. good. good. fine. thanks. everyone asks, even the people who never gave a shit before. he supposes it could’ve been any of them, but it was him, and the embarrassment chokes his airway just as good as the g-force did.

so he nods and brushes off any concern, and he’s halfway to telling the nurse sent to fetch him that he’s just fine when the storm comes rolling in behind him.

“hangman.”

jake knows that voice. almost missed it in the air, when he came back to himself. but he doesn’t turn to face javy, just smiles sweetly at the woman before him.

“i’m all right. i’ll nod off early tonight, promise.”

“hangman,” javy repeats, but the nurse looks half to breaking.

“you really should be kept under observation,” she tells him, and she sounds solemn. concerned. it makes his teeth grind. “i at least need some vitals.”

jake doesn’t think that’s a good idea. he’s sure his heart rate alone would warrant a hospital visit he doesn’t need. “i’m fine,” he says, again, like he’s done over and over until he’s blue in the face —

“jake.”

this time it’s not just javy’s voice, it’s his hand. he’s whirled around, so quick he’s dizzy with it, and when his vision clears there’s an expression on his best friend’s features he can’t quite read. unfamiliar territory.

“coyote,” he says, flashing a too-sharp grin. he almost misses the way the nurse reaches for his arm with a cuff in her grip because he’s so focused on his front. but his body jerks away from her, toward machado, almost falling into him. “hey, watch it, i’m not staying.”

“like hell you’re not,” javy says fiercely, and then he’s grabbing the cuff himself. “you’re getting looked at.”

the look is still there. jake concludes it must be anger, because his brows are so furrowed he sees every line between them. has the urge to rub them away.

“javy,” he says again, keeps his smile to make it somewhat convincing. “get the stick out your ass. i’m okay. i flew back home. with a perfect landing, if i do say so myself.”

but if anything, it seems to make javy more furious. his jaw sets, twitches, and jake feels guilt, that embarrassment rise up in his chest, makes his cheeks flush with it.

“don’t play with me, jake.” the tone offers no place for argument. “you’re not going anywhere until a doctor signs you out, and that’s —“

“what? an order?” jake snaps, because he feels so small. compared to a mountain, he’s a bug on a windshield. “fuck off, okay? i’m perfectly capable of handling this mission, i’m not letting them baby me —“

“baby you?! you almost died, jake!”

javy’s voice cracks with it, shatters, takes jake’s heart along with it. there are looks from everyone milling about, and they’re not being subtle about anything. but jake sees no one else in the room. and then that looks reads so much clearer, because now jake can see every line, every furrow, every worry.

every fear.

it’s fear, in his best friend’s eyes. fear he caused.

he feels sick.

“you almost died,” javy repeats. gentler. but jake thinks in that moment, that javy must feel small, too, because while jake was a bug in flight, javy was a million miles away on the ground. “i almost — i almost lost you, you realize that? i was seconds from hearing you crash-land, and all i could think was that i was losing you and i couldn’t get in a plane fast enough to save you.”

“javy,” jake whispers, nausea swirling in his gut. his eyes must be shining, just like the man in front of him. “javy, i made it back. okay?

“but you almost didn’t. and i couldn’t do anything but listen, jake, you get that? i couldn’t do a damn thing. so please, i’m asking, hell, i’m begging you, let them make sure you’re all right.”

it’s then that javy grabs his hand. he’s ready to drag jake where he needs to go. against his will, god forbid. it’s then that he looks jake in his eyes, fear plain on his face, written all of it.

something more, between the lines.

“i can’t lose you,” javy tells him. “not like that. never like that.”

their hands are still interlocked. the grip is so tight, he knows he’ll feel it even after javy lets go.

but he doesn’t want javy to let go.

“okay,” jake finally says. glances to the cuff still in javy’s other hand. “okay. fine. but — but you put it on.”

javy’s gaze drifts past him, jake’s sure to the nurse. and she must nod, or something, because javy’s using one hand to wrap the thing around his upper arm, the hand still in his grip pulling him to the couch so they can sit side by side.

the nurse takes his vitals. declares his blood pressure is through the roof, his heart rate is way too high. “i do have to recommend observation to the doctors,” she tells them. “for one night, settle your system.”

and jake wants to rebel, wants to fight it, but javy’s look haunts him. that fear, that pain.

“okay,” he says quietly. “one night.”

it’s clear javy’s relieved. he’s finally smiling, almost triumphant. but their hands still haven’t dropped from each other, and as the nurse calls in her findings jake squeezes his fingers to pull his gaze back to him.

“please stay,” he asks his best friend, his closest companion, the only person he’s loved like this. “i can’t — i can’t lose you either.”

it’s a big ask. a night away from a bed, a night of bad sleep and shittier food than normal. but javy doesn’t hesitate.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.