#and you know what it’s true I got that split dyed hair and round wire frames glasses and platform docs

[subconscious-solipsist]

I finally got new glasses and am wearing them for the first time in like 4 years and man actually being able to see shit without squinting or doing the old person looking at a phone move is fuckin wild

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor��s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

[zmediaoutlet]

conjecture

post-episode, s13e22: Exodus

(AO3)

The bunker's—full. Really full, people bursting out of every doorway. It's weird but it feels—good, too. Kind of good. That first night, Sam and Dean take the Impala into town and buy all the beer that'll fit in the Impala's trunk, and about all of the bread and cheese and bologna at Ladow's, and they stand there leaning against the car in the cool evening in plain, safe, regular Kansas, and Dean's shoulder is crushed up just underneath Sam's, so close against him that their shadow under the streetlamp looks like one long monstrous body. Sam doesn't move away. It hurts, it feels right. He's still wearing the filthy borrowed pullover. It covers the stains on his waistband, and it's warm. Not quite as warm as Dean, who for once in his life seems to be putting out bodyheat like a furnace. "Ready?" he says, finally, and Sam nods. Dean claps him on the shoulder, squeezes it.

They drive home. They distribute beer, and a couple of the refugees start up a sandwich-making station in the kitchen, and Sam talks to who he needs to talk to. Rowena, Cas. Jack, a little, but Jack's quiet. They open up the spare bedrooms, and make up pallets on the floors with spare blankets and sheets and pillows, and one of the women bursts into tears as she sits on the thin, hard mattress in room fourteen. When Sam touches her shoulder she says, barely understandable, "I'm pregnant," and the other woman with her covers her mouth and then wraps her up in a hug, and Sam stands up and moves away, gives them privacy. She's still crying, but he thinks—he thinks, for the first time, clearly, that they did a good thing.

He meets Dean in the hall outside the shower room. "Okay?" Dean says, and Sam looks at him, bone-tired but with his eyes clear, looking up into Sam's, and Sam smiles and says, "Yeah," and it's not true but it's not as much of a lie as it has been, other times. Dean nods, and then tugs Sam in, quick. A hug, again. His cheek a sandpaper scrape against Sam's, his hands curling into Sam's borrowed sweater. Sam sighs, leans into it. More doesn't really need to be said, between the two of them.

"You reek," Dean says, eventually, and Sam huffs. Dean pulls back, and claps Sam's cheek—Sam shoves his hand away, shoves his shoulder, and Dean grins and heads down the hall to his room.

The bunker's full but the noise is quieting down. A long day, a scary day, and with real food (more or less) and alcohol in their bellies the refugees are going to sleep hard. They'll have nightmares, probably, but they'll sleep anyway. Sam's well familiar with those kind of nights.

Finally alone. He turns on the shower, farthest left, the one he always picks. His shampoo, his soap. They're going to have to get more supplies, if everyone stays here. While it hisses down he peels off the sweater, kicks off his boots, shucks his blood-stained jeans, his boxers that are blood-stained worse. A lost cause. His blood, at least. He's never been sure if that's better than the alternative. Under the shower he stands there with it coming down nearly boiling, scalding his shoulders, his muscles at first seizing under the pain of it but then relaxing all at once, so quick he almost falls over. God. It has been a—a long, long day.

He sleeps. He has nightmares, and wakes up, and walks in circles around his bedroom. Dean wouldn't hear of anyone bunking down on the floor in their rooms and Sam wanted to—but he didn't want to, really, and Dean was right. He lays down again, and sleeps, and wakes up. Cavelike, in his room. He turns on his lamp and it doesn't feel much better. He gets a drink of water, and gulps it down, his feet bare and solid against the cool concrete. Porcelain sink. His eyes, in the mirror. His un-torn-out throat.

There's something that won't stop prickling between his shoulder blades. It's always like that, after Lucifer. That feeling of something watching. It isn't as bad, this time. Sam hopes Michael killed him. He hopes, god, he really hopes that's true. Trapped on the other side of impenetrable air, that look on his face—surprise, somehow, that after everything, Sam wouldn't fold. Where has he been, Sam wants to say, and he can't because he doesn't talk to Lucifer when he's not there. He stopped that, a long time ago.

Still, the prickle. He wipes his face, shoves his hair back into place. Changes, into clean jeans, into a t-shirt that isn't bloody, a flannel shirt that's his, that smells right. He'll have Dean turn that pullover into kindling. Out, into the bunker, and he walks extra-quiet through the halls because people are sleeping on the floors of the library, of the map room, in the gym even, and Sam gets into the kitchen to make the coffee—and there's, oh, his mom. Mom. Sitting, with a mug in front of her already, and it takes her a few seconds to look up at him and then a second after that before she smiles and says, "Hey, Sam."

He might never be used to this. The face from the pictures, moving. Here. Sometimes here, anyway. She gestures at the coffeepot, as though he doesn't know where it is, and he goes and pours himself a mug and then sits down across from her, sighing as he does it.

"Couldn't sleep?" she says. Almost bright.

"I got a few hours," he says, with a shrug. He smiles at her, but it falls off pretty quick. Hers did, too. It usually does. He rubs his thumb over the red lip of the mug, and watches her take a quick sip. "You?"

"Few hours," she says, and shrugs, and that time the smile's more sidelong, sly, and feels a lot more real than the one she points at him and Dean when she's trying to be reassuring. She's not great at it.

She only turned on the lights above the island and it's dim in here, shadowy. Caves, Sam thinks, and the prickle between his shoulderblades crawls in an instant down his spine and up his scalp and he shudders, hard, his skin and muscles all rebelling at once. Mom frowns, touches his wrist, and he shakes his head. "Sorry," he says. "It's just—I guess I should be used to it, now." She's still frowning. He licks his lips, and picks up his mug, her cool fingers slipping away from his skin. "Lucifer," he says, and he says it light, too. Like that's believable. "It's—I'm fine. It just, it takes me a while."

"He's trapped," she says. "Behind the door. He can't get out, right?"

Sam huffs. "That's what I thought last time," he says, and it's way more bitter than he meant it to be. Mom's eyes flicker, her lips parting, and he sits back. They haven't… talked, much. Not about anything too hard. It's been her, and memories of Dad, and baby stories about him and Dean—and then easy things, the hunts of here-and-now, the stuff right in front them. The past, the painful stuff, that's been skimmed over. No one needs details. Sam wouldn't tell Dean details and Dean knows the worst of it anyway; no way he's going to lay that on his mother.

She skims her fingertips over the table, little circles. He pauses, looks at the line between her eyebrows, her mouth turned down. "Mom," he says, and she looks up at him. "I didn't mean—yeah, I think he'll, he'll stay trapped. If Michael didn't kill him. You don't need to worry about him, not anymore."

"I'm not," she says, with a small quick smile. Another lie. That's one Sam knows like he knows his own face, or Dean's for that matter.

While they walked through the cold morning toward the camp, Lucifer wouldn't stop talking. He kept pace, two feet behind Sam's shoulder, and he wouldn't shut his fucking mouth. Nattering on, like the worst memories Sam has of that insanity-year. It's nice, he'd said, that we can have these talks. We never talk anymore, Sam. Soft and mocking. He always used to say he was the best boyfriend Sam would ever have—they just needed a little couple's counseling, is all.

Sam's skin ripples, again; he manages to keep it mostly subdued, this time. He didn't touch Sam, much, at least. Not after bringing him back, healing him. He leaned close, his lips too close to Sam's ear, but he didn't touch. Deal or not, dying again or not, seeing Dean one last time or not—Sam probably would've flipped, and Lucifer knew it. After everything, he at least knew Sam well enough for that. A long walk, either way, and all that goddamn talking. About Sam, and about Dean, and Jack, and about Mom, too. All those sly sidelong comments, trying to provoke. Like Sam didn't know better.

Still. He chews the inside of his lip. Mom's silent, hands wrapped around her mug. Dad's ring, dangling in the split v of her shirt. She kept it, somehow. The whole time.

"Mom," he says, again, and she doesn't look up this time. "What happened? After you fell through, back—right when Jack was born?"

"Got captured," she says. She sighs, and sits back, stretching out her arms, her shoulders round. "Have to say, Sam, they weren't very good hosts."

"Yeah," Sam says, dutifully turning up the corners of his mouth. Maybe this is where Dean gets it from. He sits up more, opens his mouth—closes it again. His scalp is crawling. "But—first, um. You were with, with Lucifer, right? For a while?"

She's frowning again. She takes a deep breath. Sam's vision flickers and she looks—entirely like a stranger, some refugee in his house, drinking his coffee—and then his brain clicks back and he sees her and she's Mom. Mary. "For a while, yeah," she says. "We, um. Traveled together. For a while."

He'd been so sure. She was alive, he knew it. He clung to it. If anyone in the world knew Lucifer's motives, it was Sam, and he was right. The thing is, he knows Lucifer. For a few seconds the thought's too big for him even to breathe.

"Gosh, it's—not even five in the morning," Mary says, breathy like it's something to laugh about. "I can't decide, to go to back to bed or just start the day."

She isn't meeting his eyes, looking over the kitchen like there's something there to be seen. Sam stares at her and in the back of his head is the smirking lips riding close against the back of his ear, barbed wire on his wrists, hot pain flashing up inside of him, and that awful constant voice all amused, saying, see? Aren't I nice? Couldn't you imagine something worse?

Sam can, now. He can. "Mom," he says, "when you—with Lucifer—"

He can picture it, is the worst part. He's seen Nick's body, standing next to Mary's. His hand on her wrist. He knows exactly what it would be like. He can't say it. He opens his mouth and the words literally close his throat. Anaphylactic shock.

She sighs. "Sam, it wasn't—it wasn't that bad. He wasn't, I mean. Of course, he was awful, but he was trying to keep me alive. Like you said. Could've been a lot worse."

"Yeah," Sam says, finally, and has to consciously unclench his hand from his coffee mug. They're old, delicate. He doesn't want to shatter it. "Lucky, I guess."

Mary gives him a tight-lipped, small smile. "Anyway," she says. She stands up. Her coffee's not even half-drunk. "Maybe I will try to get back to bed. Didn't do much sleeping the past couple months, I should try to make up for lost time."

Sam nods, and says, "Sleep tight," and doesn't flinch away from her small hand on his shoulder. A victory, there. His skin itches, like a real allergy. That image is stuck, behind his eyes. How many worse things there are, he thinks, than no longer being alive.

[tharroswrites]

Tiny Brilliant Suns

Kacchako Week 2018! Day Zero: Rainy Days (Posting a smidge early because I’ll be too busy tomorrow)

Read on AO3

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words slipped out of him the way they always did around her—easy, unintentional, and infuriating as hell because it made him look like he cared.

It was Sunday and he was making his way back to the dorms from a solo training session in Gym Gamma, umbrella cocked above his head and blocking the worst of the heavy summer rain. She, on the other hand, had no umbrella, and stood in the downpour like she was egging it on—face turned upward and padded fingers splayed at the sky. Pools of rainwater hung suspended in the air above her, and she continually added to them, drops splashing against pink pads and sliding off, but upwards as her Quirk took effect. Her hair was plastered to her rosy cheeks and her shorts and tank top clung to her and made Bakugou warm all over in a way that had nothing to do with the humid heat of May.

She grinned when she saw him, like she was actually happy that he was there, and waved him closer.

And in spite of himself, Bakugou took a few more steps in her direction.

Magnetic.

It was really the only way to describe her. She was likeable, sure, and bubbly in the way that Ashido and the invisible girl (whose name, even after a year and a half, escaped him) were—’here-comes-the-sun,’ Kirishima called it. But with Uraraka, there was more. A polar opposite ferocity that shook him and thrilled him and always left him wanting more.

If Bakugou believed in things like fairness, he would say that this was not. He didn’t have a positive side, and he would never be the whole that she deserved to attract.

Without invitation, Uraraka ducked under his umbrella, her body almost pressing against his in the small space. She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, still grinning as she looked out and up at her work.

“Practicing,” she said brightly, in answer to his original question. “It’s a good way to gradually raise the weight I’m lifting. This is better suited for upping my weight limit than going all out all at once, you know?”

“Sucks that it only works in shitty weather.”

Uraraka shrugged, unfazed by his negativity. “Nah. It just makes bad days a little brighter.”

He gave her his signature, derisive ‘tch’ and shook his head, leaving her there and making his way back to the dorms.

She deserved a whole, and she’d already found it in shitty Deku. They’d been dating for more than a month, and the whole class was over the godsdamned moon about it.

So Bakugou returned to his room and pretended not to think about Uraraka Ochako.

—

The next time it rained he watched her from the window. She was glowing and in her element and grinning like All Might as she struggled to lift just a bit more.

And Bakugou, secretly, allowed himself a smile, too.

—

The time after that he made an excuse to be outside—a trip to the supermarket that wasn’t entirely necessary as there were only two days left before summer holiday.

She was puking in a bush when he approached, her inevitable limit reached. He had shopping bags in one hand and his umbrella once more hanging lazily above his head as he slowed his walk just a tick in the hope that she’d be up by the time he reached her (because if he stopped while she was puking, it would make it look like he cared, and he was still working rather pathetically to convince himself that he did not).

She did straighten, pushing wet hair from her face and draining the water bottle in her hand. She wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist and turned, shaking herself and preparing to try again as clear drops ran down her face and trickled from her chin.

Heroes always try again.

It was something All Might liked to tell them when they failed.

And Bakugou, because he was an idiot, fished an apple out of one of the bags.

“Oy, Uraraka,” he called, getting her attention and tossing the fruit to her. “Working on an empty stomach won’t get you anywhere.”

Her eyes widened a bit and the corners of her mouth, which had been pulled down in concentration, tilted upward as she caught it. And, perhaps, she knew him a bit too well, because she didn’t thank him, didn’t comment on the novelty of the gesture. Instead, she bounced over and peered into his other bags as she took a big, crunchy bite from the apple.

“Are you cooking tonight, Bakugou?” she asked thickly; chewing and swallowing were an afterthought in the wake of her question.

“Haven’t decided yet. Does it matter? I don’t share.”

Uraraka quirked an eyebrow and took a second, pointed, bite from the apple.

“Tch. You know what I mean.”

She had a challenging glint in her eyes that made Bakugou’s mouth go dry.

“What would it take?” she asked, prodding him in the shoulder in a way that sent crackling electricity through him from the point of contact. “To get you to cook for me?”

He should have told her to fuck off. He should’ve said that there was nothing she could do, that there wasn’t a chance in hell.

But he was out in the rain because she was, and he didn’t think he could really deny her anything.

“Stop enough rain that I can walk from here to the dorm without getting wet. When you can do that, I’ll consider it.”

Uraraka looked from him to the building several meters away. “Who’s to say I can’t do that right now?”

“Can you?”

“No…”

“Then get to work.”

—

He didn’t see her during summer holiday, though when it rained, his thoughts drifted to pink cheeks and bright eyes and a strength that could move mountains.

—

Word through the grapevine was, or Tsuyu-told-Yaoyorozu-told-Jiro-told-Kaminari-told-Kirishima (no grapeface involved), that Uraraka and Deku had split.

The way Kirishima brought it up, showing up randomly at the Bakugou house under the pretense of wanting a training partner, made Bakugou wonder just how observant the spiky fucker was.

“You think I care, shit-for-brains?” Bakugou had grunted.

Face and arms visibly hardening, Kirishima smiled. “I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did.”

—

When they started the second semester, her spark hadn’t dimmed. If anything, she threw herself into training with more wild intensity than she had before. Sometimes, during practical lessons, he could hear her muttering things like, “Be dedicated like Deku!”

That didn’t sit particularly well in his stomach.

But she kept trying, kept pushing herself, kept holding back the rain.

And Bakugou kept finding reasons to watch.

—

In December of their second year, Deku noticed.

Noticed the way Bakugou always seemed to ‘have plans’ when the sky turned grey. Noticed that Bakugou, who notoriously hated the rain, found reasons to go out during storms.

This noticing culminated, as it often did between them, in a messy, all out fight-slash-screaming-match that leveled more than half of Ground Beta and earned them both a bed in Recovery Girl’s office and a week of cleaning duty and suspension.

But the truth of all of it was, Deku hadn’t been trying to stop him.

“You’re better than me, Kacchan!” Blood and tears ran down his face even as he aimed a roundhouse kick at Bakugou’s head. “You’re better than me but you’re too much of a coward to admit how you feel about her. If you can’t do that, you’ll never deserve her!”

Bakugou dodged the kick, barely, and pivoted with a right hook at the ready. “The fuck do you know about how I feel?”

Deku, infuriatingly, let himself be hit. He staggered, doubled over, looked up at Bakugou. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“You just think I want whatever you have and you’re fucking wrong—”

“No.” His voice was hoarse, a ragged croak filled with more emotion than Bakugou was willing to acknowledge. “I saw so much in her because of you. The rest of us, even me, sometimes wrote her off, but you never did. You never let her kindness or her size fool you. You...you see her like the hero that she is, and it helped me see that in her too. It didn’t work between us because I think I somehow made her feel...less. I think with me she felt like she was always in my shadow. But you...you can share the spotlight with her and neither of you are dimmed because of it.”

“I don’t share—”

“Not with most people, no. But her...a true equal...you just build each other up and I’m sorry I ever got in the way of that.”

—

When the rain lashed at the windows of classroom 2-A, Bakugou sometimes thought he could feel her eyes on his neck as he watched it fall.

—

It was a month into their third year when she did it.

The rain started as a languid, icy mist that seeped from the February sky like a dying breath. It quickened, thickened, cold fog condensing into a freezing tempest.

Only two students were crazy enough to brave it. One, training. The other, pretending to do the same (“You should practice in your weakest environments,” he’d growled at Kirishima with less conviction than he would’ve liked).

Bakugou watched her from across the yard as he shivered and tried, at least, to sweat.

Uraraka danced through the downpour like some sort of ninja/ballerina hybrid, her hands moving above her head so fast he couldn’t follow them. And the rain parted around her, floated upward as soon as it reached her outstretched padded fingers.

“Bakugou!”

He tore his eyes from the graceful curve of her spine, along the thin, wired muscle of her arms—arms that, despite their size, contained an infinite sort of strength. The past two years at U.A. had melted away her baby fat, leaving her slim and chiseled and full of sharp edges where there used to be roundness, but her voice had never lost its easy warmth. It was a tone that he’d used to hate, until he’d learned how quickly it could become a wicked, challenging battlecry.

His eyes continued upward, passed the rough pads of her fingers (he remembered the feel of them from a few sporadic Quirk combination lessons and the uncanny way she had of touching him at random moments—a hand on his arm to get his attention, both hands on his cheeks as she squished them together in stupid attempts to get him to smile, her fingers woven through his when she thought he was knocked out on a bed in Recovery Girl’s office after she’d managed to drop a building on him during an in-class spar).

His eyes, moving upward still, found what she’d been trying to show him.

There, suspended in the air a few meters above her head, was a massive, cohesive bubble of rainwater, and he saw the path to the dorms was sheltered by it.

It was an effort, fighting the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

“The real trick,” Uraraka said, smiling triumphantly even as her teeth chattered against each other and she wobbled a bit with the stress of holding up so much. “Was figuring out how to get the new rain falling into the bubble to absorb in a way that keeps my Quirk active on both the new and the old, rather than the new stuff falling straight through.”

“It’s badass, Uraraka.” And it was.

Her eyes, somehow, lit up more than they had already, the stormy sky splashing them in silver.

“Come on then, let’s get out of this godsdamned cold before my fingers fall off and I can’t hold up my end of the deal.”

“You’re cooking tonight?” She raised her eyebrows as she wrapped her arms around herself and fell into step beside him. They walked under her anti-gravity umbrella, soft light refracting through it and making the space seem a bit surreal.

In spite of the cold, Bakugou’s face heated. He tried to play it off, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I knew you’d do it eventually, so I’ve been buying extra.”

“Really?” She nudged him with her elbow, her whole face beaming like inside her lived a tiny, brilliant star. ‘Here-comes-the-sun,’ indeed.

“Why would I lie about dumb shit like that?”

“You wouldn’t,” she said, still grinning as she pulled open the door to the dorm building. “Your confidence surprised me, though.”

“Your regular routine is to practice until you puke and then keep going, dumbass. I’m not going to doubt a work ethic like that.”

He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or the sudden temperature increase upon entering the dorms that caused Uraraka’s cheeks to go from pink to red, but either way it made the corner of his traitorous mouth twitch up into a half smile.

She was staring at him, her brown eyes slightly wider than normal as she continued to grin. When she realized this, she shook herself a bit, blushing deeper.

“Uh...I’m going to go find some dry clothes.”

“Good idea.” His voice was rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat, nodding toward the giant water bubble outside. “You putting that down?”

“Oh! Right!” she went to the window and pressed the tips of her fingers together. “Release!”

The water crashed to the ground, splashing up against the door to the dorm and forming a small crater-like lake on the grounds. Uraraka winced.

“Oops.”

Bakugou shrugged. “Good thing you’re not interested in becoming a landscaper.”

She laughed. At a stupid joke he’d made. If Kirishima were here he’d probably pinch Bakugou to prove it wasn’t a dream. Uraraka bounced off to the girls’ staircase and he, hands still in his pockets, trudged up the boys’, feeling a warmth burning inside him that could make him sweat in spite of the icy damp of his clothes.

He returned to the kitchen first, his sweatpants and tank top warm and dry against his clammy skin. Uraraka appeared a few moments later as he was digging out a large pot from the back of one of the cabinets. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt—grey with Ryukyu’s blue-winged emblem emblazoned across it—and had her hair pulled up in messy twin top knots that came undone a bit as she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter and watch.

There were a few other people throughout the common area—Tsuyu, Deku, and Iida glanced in their direction briefly, sharing secret smiles that would’ve pissed him off on a different day. They soon gathered up their things and went up the boys’ staircase. Yaoyorozu and Jiro were on one of the couches, much too involved in each other to notice what was going on in the kitchen, and Todoroki sat reading a book in the far corner. It was almost like being alone.

“Whatcha making?” Uraraka asked, her eyes following him as he put the pot on the stove and went to the refrigerator.

He shot her a look. “Not telling.”

“What if it’s something I don’t like?”

Blankly, hoping it sounded like a simple, everyday observation, he said, “You like all food.”

She smiled, a hint of wickedness in it that caused his heart to stutter.

Before she could say anything, Kirishima came down the stairs, whistling, with Kaminari and Sero in tow. The latter two were arguing,

“Bastion took out White Wolf with his signature Ion Doubletake,” Kaminari was saying. “Not the Electron Wave. He debuted that move a year later in his fight with—”

He was cut off as Kirishima, without the faintest hint of subtly, slapped a hand across Kaminari’s mouth, jerked his head in Bakugou and Uraraka’s direction, and began trying to drag both of them back up the stairs. Sero caught on first, and helped Kirishima carry a confused Kaminari out of sight.

“What was that about?” Uraraka asked, though her cheeks had gone a bit pinker. “Uh...Bakugou? Did the cutting board insult your mom or something?”

He looked down, starting a bit as he realized he was digging the tip of his knife into the aforementioned object. “Idiots,” he said, because they were. And not just because they were getting heroes mixed up, but he could pretend that was all that irritated him. “Top Gun beat White Wolf. Bastion’s suit is modeled after the one Top Gun was wearing in that fight, but Bastion was still in school when White Wolf went down.”

A chuckle, a low rumble that rolled out of her like thunder, and then she was laughing, laughing as if all of his knife-wielding hostility was nothing but a gentle patter of rain in the face of her obliterating sunlight.

“What’s funny?” he asked, not able to look her full in the face for the brightness, and settled instead on her hands, which clutched her knees in her mirth, as he began chopping carrots.

“I just forget sometimes how much of a dork you are.”

“Oy!”

“Not in a bad way!” She pulled her hands from her knees to wave them in front of her face, grinning. “Besides, Kaminari was just wrong on all counts, Bastion debuted the Electron Wave first. He’s had more success using the Ion Doubletake, so people think he’s always used it, but he actually used the Electron Wave in his very first public fight as a sidekick versus—”

“Whiplash,” Bakugou finished with her, focusing intensely on his carrots and swallowing the sudden urge to kiss her or fight her or both. “And you call me a dork.”

She laughed again, lightly, and the corners of Bakugou’s mouth ached from fighting a smile. He dared a glance at her face as he pushed aside the carrots and started on potatoes, and found a soft smile there as she watched him. Her eyes darted away when he met them, her cheeks red again, but the smile remained.

The silence between them was easy, if a bit charged with a host of emotions that Bakugou knew he was feeling, though he couldn’t speak for her.

Part of his brain echoed back to him the words he thought the first time he’d seen her practicing in the rain—you’re not a whole. She deserves better.

The voice in his head that sounded like Deku countered with Coward.

“What’s with the face?” she asked, her voice a bit softer now as Bakugou dumped all the vegetables into the pot, adding broth, herbs, and chunks of beef for the spicy stew he hoped would chase away the wretched cold that still pounded against the windows—more ice than rain now that the sun was setting.

“Face? I always look like this,” he said, rearranging his features into his usual scowl as he placed the lid on the pot and went to stand beside her, his back leaning against the counter on which she sat, her knee just grazing the elbow of one of his crossed arms.

“Nuh-uh,” she argued, poking him in the shoulder. Finger pad on bare skin sent a shiver through him, though if she noticed, she ignored it. She didn’t press the matter, thankfully, and sniffled a bit as she said, “On a scale of one to Bakugou, how spicy is this going to be?”

“I’d call it a solid Uraraka,” he said automatically, feeling his face heat up again.

She beamed.

“That’s ah—”

“What?” he asked as she stopped mid sentence, a weird, scrunched up look on her face.

“It’s ah—ah—ah CHOO!”

The force of it must have activated her Quirk because it sent her to the ceiling, top knots flying out of their ties as she spun wildly heels-over-head-over-heels.

And Bakugou couldn’t hold back.

He was laughing. Cackling, howling. The doubled over, hands-on-your-knees-just-to-keep-you-upright kind of laughter that he rarely indulged in.

And soon, she was laughing too.

“Get down, dumbass,” he said a few moments later, though there was no bite in it at all as his breath was short and his voice didn’t sound quite right. “You don’t need to be getting sick.”

“It’ll be my own stupid fault,” she said, still chuckling a bit as she released her Quirk and dropped back down to the floor beside him. He pushed her toward the now-empty couches, and she allowed it, plopping down cross legged and grabbing the blanket he shoved at her.

When he returned to the kitchen to check the stew, she watched him over the back of the couch, her chin resting atop the cushion.

“I’m not gonna spit in it, you know.”

“Well I wasn’t even considering that until now,” she teased, and Bakugou could hear the smile in her voice even as he was turned toward the stove. “But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I don’t want to waste it.”

He didn’t respond to that, wondering if he should tell her that he didn’t want it to be the only time they did this. He could come up with some excuse, some higher bar she could meet to make this happen again, but he thought she might see through it.

A few more minutes past, and Bakugou deemed dinner ready, spooning the thick stew into two bowls and bringing them to the couch. He sat beside her, mirroring her cross-legged posture, and she un-cocooned herself from the blanket just enough to stick her arms out and take the offered food.

It was quiet, save for the rain on the windows, and dark, save for the light still spilling from the kitchen and the single lamp Jiro and Yaoyorozu had forgotten to turn off when they left. Bakugou worried, a bit, if she could hear the way his heart thundered in his chest as he realized that Todoroki had left too, and they were utterly alone together.

“This smells amazing, Bakugou,” Uraraka gushed, taking her spoon and blowing on the first bite. Her lips, pursed and a little chapped, drew Bakugou’s gaze, and he was thankful she was too focused on dinner to notice. She popped the spoon into her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, her mouth full. “So good.”

“Swallow, Uraraka.”

She shot him a playful look, but did as he said, smacking her lips a few times as she tested the aftertaste. “‘Uraraka Spice Level’ is perfect. Enough of a kick without ruining the other flavors. How did you know?”

“You’re one of the only other people who uses the hot sauce at the condiment bar in Lunch Rush,” he said. The truth. “I’ve seen how much you use.”

Her knee brushed his and she hid another smile behind her spoon.

The rain turned to snow, falling thick and fast beyond the window. Uraraka watched it, lost in thought, and Bakugou, for the hundredth time, wondered exactly what had led them to this—which events along the way added up to this uncertainty. Because he knew what he wanted, but he also knew why he didn’t deserve it (and that was saying something, as Bakugou had been raised believing that he deserved just about anything he wanted). And Uraraka...was she just being her usual nice self? With the smiles and the laughs and the—fuck all he hated not understanding something. He hated not knowing what to do.

He hated that he didn’t hate her for making such a mess of him.

“Weird to think this is our last year, huh?” Uraraka said this quietly, eyes suddenly downcast, the manifestation of whatever it was she’d been thinking as she looked out the window.

“Shit, it’s not like anyone’s dying.”

“No...but I mean it’s not like we’ll all see each other everyday anymore. It’s not like we’ll all be living together.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.” This, with more confidence than he felt. He knew she’d be fine, at least. And he would too. He’d be Number Fucking One. He just hoped that alone would make him happy.

“Mostly...mostly I worry that you won’t stay in touch.”

His heart faltered at that and he tried to keep it from showing on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah. It’s not like you really like any of us. Why would you want to spend time with us if you weren’t being forced to?” She was looking into the bowl in her lap, one knee bouncing nervously as she chewed on her bottom lip.

He watched her, a wry smile cracking across his mouth as he waited for her to glance back up. When she did, he took a slow, pointed bite from his stew. “You proved me wrong about sharing. I’m proving you wrong about liking some of you dipshits.”

She smiled, but was quiet for a long moment, and Bakugou continued. “Besides, you shouldn’t worry about me. There are plenty of better people here you’d be happier hanging out with, even if most of them are shitty extras.”

It was her turn to take a pointed bite, using her eyes to gesture to the limited space between them. Her voice was little more than a breath as she said, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their eyes locked, and such a fire burned in hers that Bakugou wondered if it had been there all along. If he’d missed it by spending so much time avoiding her face for fear of the sun that resided in it. A small, hesitant half-smile tilted at the side of her mouth as she took a shaky breath.

He was blazing, scorching as he had the first time he’d ever fought her, his nerves vibrating and his blood singing at the steel and nerve and challenge that shone from her eyes like a searchlight.

And the uncertainty inside him snapped. 

He grabbed the bowl from her hand, slamming both hers and his onto the coffee table with enough force that he heard one of them crack, but he didn’t care because his hands were on her face, pulling it to his. Rough, calloused fingers grazing across pink cheeks. His lips found hers, and a hungry sort of growl ripped out of her throat as she twisted her hands into the front of his tank top, pulling him closer still as she came up on her knees to tower over him. The moan, low and satisfied, that came from his own throat surprised him, and he slipped his hands from her face into her hair, rolling forward onto his own knees as her mouth opened up to him. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it and caressing it with his tongue, and Uraraka’s resulting gasp brought a grin to his lips.

Her hands moved from the front of his shirt to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle and holding him in place. He finished with her bottom lip, and she immediately imitated him, slipping his between her small teeth and running her tongue along it.

“Gods, Uraraka,” he groaned against her mouth, and she smiled, biting down a little harder as she did so. Her hands, like they wanted to be everywhere at once, slid into his hair, twisting it between her fingers like she was clutching a lifeline.

They pulled apart enough to breathe, hard and shallow, foreheads still pressed together, and her hands moved to his face, index fingers behind his ears and padded thumbs moving across his cheekbones.

“Don’t…” Bakugou started, wanting to say it and not wanting to at the same time as his own hands gripped her wrists, keeping her close. “Don’t kiss me just because you’re afraid of losing me.”

Uraraka’s eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open, still burning as they searched his. It surprised him, then, when she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him at every possible point. Her hand on the back of his head guided his face into her shoulder, and he didn’t resist.

Her own face was in his neck as she said, “I wouldn’t do that to you. Honestly...I—I’ve kind of wanted to kiss you since first year.”

“What?” He pulled back, his hands on both shoulders, holding her in front of him so he could search her brilliantly red face. “What about Deku?”

She shook her head, bit her lip, smiled like a single ray of sunlight through thunder clouds. “It just felt like that was what I was...I don’t know. What I was supposed to do, maybe? And it didn’t feel wrong, really, liking him. But there was always this sort of nagging at the back of mind...that maybe ...maybe it should’ve been you. But of course I talked myself out of that because what would you ever see in me?”

“What—”

“But then you did see something in me,” she said, cutting him off and bringing her eyes back to his. Her hands twisted back into his shirt, both as a means of comfort and as a symbol of her resolve in what she was saying. “You always took me seriously and treated me like an actual rival and that...it inspired me and it made me want to be better, to prove you right. You made me better, because you always believed I had the capacity to be better. And that was just such a...a positive influence for me. It meant more than anything anyone else ever did to help me grow.”

There were bright tears in her eyes as she smiled, and Bakugou crushed her back into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back in her shoulder because he, for once, was at a complete loss for words. In a few simple statements, she’d destroyed the one argument he’d been having with himself all along. In a few words, she made him whole.

“Ah—ah—ah CHOO!”

Like a shift in the axis, the room was suddenly tilted and spinning end over end as Uraraka inadvertently sent them both to the ceiling with her second sneeze. Bakugou used a small pop of his Quirk to stop their whirling, his arm around her waist and her fingers in his shirt as they stopped upside down in the air.

He would’ve laughed, but her lips sealed themselves over his again, clearing his mind like a slate. And it didn’t really matter that they were floating upside down in the common area as he wrapped his other arm around her and brushed his tongue across her mouth. It didn’t matter that if he wasn’t sick already, he probably would be now as she tilted her head back and parted her lips, her own tongue dancing out to war with his.

And, annoyingly, it was like Deku had said. Bakugou and Uraraka weren’t dimmed at all by sharing a spotlight. Instead, the sun inside her seemed to multiply in his presence.

And they fucking glowed.

[wasabi-duck]

halfblood joonie

guess what my school computer has a blue screen lol what is this i dont understand what’s going on

not gonna lie i would rather be updating my nct blog because those are written scenarios and i prefer writing that way because i feel like it actually shows my ability but i owe it to you guys to get something out there

my mark lee thing can wait yikes :((

anyway demigod joonie was the most requested?? and i was like

THE SCREEN CHANGED

anyway i was gonna do like birth order but here we are now, doing namjoon

which is fine because i love namjoon

okay so if you guys couldn’t guess

namjoon is the son of athena

how could he not be??

the stereotype was always like blond hair and gray eyes but nah fam me and namjoon both don’t fit that stereotype and we are athena kids

but in this au namjoon is gonna have that off blond hair like there was that one photoshoot and there is a specific image in mind but it’s like sandy blond and it’s always messy because he constantly runs his hands through his hair when he’s thinking so always a mess but a nice mess because cutie

and he wears the big wire rimmed glasses that aren’t perfectly circular but almost like a bowl shape kind of thing?? like rounded at the bottom but then straight at the top or only a little bent is this making sense i bet it isn’t lol

he’s that kid that always wears the camp half blood tee with skinny jeans and some obscure accessory like idk a scarf or hat

and the aphrodite kids sit there and constantly roast him for his fashion sense but jin always scolds them and says that namjoon is a pure cutie bean who must be protected…

okay but backstory time because hell yah i love backstories

namjoon’s dad was a professor at a local college and he was a genius so it was no suprise that athena was attracted to him

unlike jin’s situation, athena and namjoon dad’s romance was a fleeting thing, and it only lasted but a few months

both of them were too proud and too headstrong to admit actual feelings or that they needed each other

but i personally believe that you don’t just have one true love, you love a lot of people in your life and it’s okay to love and be loved more than once and the mentality that you should save love for the true one actually pisses me off not gonna lie to you

and like they were in love and maybe it wasn’t the strongest love and maybe it wasn’t the truest love but it was still love regardless

athena kids are thought of like that’s how the athena kids happen i remember because percy was like do you have a belly button??

so athena was like you’re different than all my previous lovers and i think our child should be different too and that explains why namjoon naturally has black hair and brown eyes, not the usual blond and gray thing going on

when athena and his dad split up, things were kinda not amazing

his dad didn’t want to think about the relationship and about athena and so he just kind of chose to selectively forget about it

and so he doesn’t tell namjoon that he is a half blood

he tells namjoon that his mom and him were a college thing and that she didn’t want to deal with a child because she needed to finish her schooling whereas namjoon’s father was graduating

namjoon never felt a bitterness towards his birth mom but he always had the want to meet her one day and just have a conversation with her and have some sort of relationship with her…

his dad got married when namjoon was fairly young, in the third grade, and his stepmom and dad had three kids so namjoon has a bunch of half siblings

he really loves his family though, like he was extremely close to them especially his brother who’s the middle child out of the three half siblings

namjoon never felt out of place with them but there was always that longing to meet his mother that never went away

and guess what namjoon gets that chance

by age ten namjoon has already attracted numerous monsters, despite his dad’s efforts to mask his scent by marrying someone else and spraying febreeze in the house every two seconds

namjoon is already an extremely gifted and powerful demigod, already exhibiting powers that mimic something like telekinesis, and monsters have started to take notice

but namjoon, our clumsy bean child namjoon, always has a way of avoiding any harm

it’s because athena has her eye on him constantly and she’s always doing her best to make sure he’s safe

so like one day for instance, he’s walking home from the school bus and this monster comes at him and athena was posing as mom waiting for her kid or something and as soon as namjoon looked away she pulverized that monster into dust

but she seriously underestimates her child

because at age eleven namjoon is like boy genius and he notices the same lady always around and he’s like yikes creeper alert maybe??

so one day instead of you know, telling his dad, he confronts her down at the dollar store where he’s going to by his siblings some candy with his allowance money

idk the dollar store is within walking distance from my dads so this makes a lot of sense to me like this a very valid and relevant point in my mind okay so um like

anyway she senses another monster attack so she’s posing as a cashier and namjoon just kinda heads over to her counter and slams his five dollar bill on the table and he’s like

“we have the same eyes i think”

“also i see you around all the time”

and he just blinks up at her with big inquisitive eyes and she’s like oh sh-

and she’s like well i cannot just tell this kid that i’m his mom but i can at least get him to safety right??

and she’s like i gotta talk about this demigod thing but

suddenly a horde of monsters appear from the aisles and athena is like there is no time and so she uses her goddess powers to transport them to the boundaries of camp half blood

and she’s like look i know you’re probably scared and confused and worried but you need to go past this boundary here and you’ll find help i promise, but i need to get going, i’m not allowed to be this attached to you-

and she ushers namjoon past the border but then she’s gone and namjoon is like what the duck is this about

he doesn’t know if he should run back out and chase after her or if he should move forward and explore but maybe he should cry? always a valid option??

he just stands there dumbly and he feels like maybe he will cry because he doesn’t understand what’s going on but he wants to be home with his dad, not standing in the middle of god(s) only know where

but alas his saving grace arrives

it’s you

you’re the saving grace

you’re also a younger demigod and you’re in the hermes cabin currently because you haven’t been claimed and you’re just kind of wandering around camp because you still are a little !! about this whole demigod thing and you need some time to adjust

but you see namjoon standing there and you’re like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you run over and stare at him for a few seconds and you then grab his hand and you’re like we gotta find chiron

“you mean the centaur from greek mythology”

and you smile and nod excitedly “well duh, you are at camp half blood”

“what now”

“that place where all the kids if the greek gods and goddesses chill to escape the monsters in the mortal world? seriously how did you get here if you don’t know what this is”

so namjoon tells you his story and you’re holding his hand because small kids and you’re like oh i see i see okay i got it

and then you take him to see chiron and you’re like hello this is a new camper his name is joonie

and namjoon is like actually- but chiron is so busy welcoming him and all that he never really gets to say his official name (is that the right word probably not lol) isn’t joonie but whatever

anyway you stay by namjoon’s side while he gets the explanation of the whole demigod thing

and you’re the one who takes him to the hermes cabin and you’re like yes you can have your bed under my bed because we are basically best friends now!! and ofc namjoon agrees

he’s the kid who sits up really fast and bangs his head on the bunk above him

i actually fell off the top bunk once but that is another story

you and namjoon become bros and all the older demigods think it’s so adorable how you two always waddle around camp together and challenge everyone to duels and riddles and the likes

but then namjoon gets claimed

oh yes namjoon gets claimed one day when you two are sparring and it’s been a while now since he’s arrived at camp and you know what being claimed means

it means that namjoon isn’t gonna be your bunk mate anymore and it means that he’ll be at a new cabin with new siblings and he’ll probably end up forgetting about you or something

and your small brain is not about to let that happen no siree so you fail to mention the glowing emblem above namjoon’s head

you think that it would like go away eventually but it’s been thirty minutes now since it first appeared so um yikes a daisy it probably won’t go away anytime soon but you are not about to lose namjoon

while you’re sitting there debating what to do, one of the athena kids (is it annabeth chase, my queen, my hero, my everything)

no another athena kid comes over and they’re like duDE UM!!

and you’re like b i t c h do you wanna throw down

and namjoon is like wait what’s going on what’s happening am i dying or something

and the athena kid is like no, well yes, we are all technically dying, but i mean you’re our new sibling

“our”

“the athena cabin, i’m sorry”

and namjoon’s eyes light up and he’s so excited and you’re like who am i to take this happiness from him

you don’t walk with him to meet up with chiron or anything, you go sulk in the hermes cabin tbh and kick his bunk and then whine when it hurts your foot

but guess what guys

guess what

guess who comes back later

you right

it’s namjoon

he waves to you and you’re like !!

“i missed you already, you wanna keep sparing. i already got my new bunk set up and all. it’s not as fun around here without you”

and then you run into his arms but he is not expecting that and he tries to catch you but that doesn’t really go so hot and he ends up toppling backwards with you crashing down on top of him

based on true events in case you’re wondering

you knew from that day on that you and najoon were inseparable

fast forward many years so you are out of the awkward small child phase which isn’t awkward really because it isn’t middle school yet

you got claimed by your godly parent so neither you or namjoon are in the hermes cabin anymore!!

but you still are thick as thieves get it lol because hermes cabin-

okay anyway

i dont wanna be generic with all of these so guess what

in media res my dudes, on media res

behold you and namjoon are on a quest and guess who else is there it;s hoseok and yoongi and you guys are having a blast because yoongi nearly managed to become the captive bride of the god of the west wind

hoseok kidnapped a dog and he keeps the thing in his shirt when you guys are setting up camp for the night so he won’t be cold

namjoon almost became a gang lord down in southern new york

you had to fight off rampant cereal gods when the others were going to take a group bathroom break

you and namjoon are sharing a sleeping back

wait what

hoseok somehow managed to burn his and yoongi was like you can’t sleep with me you freak, im still mad you love that dog more than me anyhow and hoseok was all excuse me are you trash talking our child

they were so busy bickering and whining and namjoon, the designated squad leader, was not having it, and so he’s like hoseok here just take mine okay

and then you were like but joonie what about you

and hoseok was all like share

namjoon looked to yoongi hopelessly and yoongi just flipped him off

“excuse me, how;s jungkook gonna feel when he knows you’re trying to win me over”

and you kinda “well i mean i guess we can share”

and hoseok is like “wow what are the odds you’re the only person with the huge two person sleeping bag haha #crazy”

yes he said the word hashtag

but namjoon is all stamerry and blushy and it’s so funny because the super composed, super calculating, super strategic son of athena is at a loss for words and it’s

#crazy

and yoongi is like wow i guess hoseok will take the first watch then

and hoseok is like wow that’s so sweet of you for volunteering-

yoongi smirks and curls up in his sleeping bag and yawns and slips off into dreamland and hoseok is pouting but he starts patrol duty with his puppy safely poking his head out the top of his shirt

and namjoon kinda gives you this look and you shrug “it’s not any different than that time we had to share a bunk when connor and broke the one and they needed extra room you know?”

except it is very different because namjoon is in l o v e with you and he doesn’t want to share a sleeping bag because he might do something weird like try to hold your hand or sleep talk about you and that would not be a good time

but he curls up in the sleeping bag and he motions for you to join and you’re like okay chill nice not like i like namjoon or anything haha

you snuggle up beside him and you’re like are two person sleeping bags even a real thing

they are confirmed

you guys refuse to speak and you can hear hoseok giggling and that makes things more awkward tbh but it’s okay because he’s warm

and so your put your feet on his legs and even through the socks he can feel your cold feet and now the two of you are laughing

but then yoongi sits up and threatens to murder you both in cold blood

so you end up zipping it and going to bed

hoseok wakes namjoon up an hour or two later because switch shift and he’s sleepy

namjoon groggily wakes up and he goes to sit up but??

is that your head on his chest??

why yes it is??

hoseok starts to squeal and namjoon glares but hoseok is

you know that spongebob meme with squidward and crabby patties

that’s hoseok @ namjoon

“you like them don’t you namjoon”

and namjoon was like hoe i thought that was obvious please

and hoseok was like um idk if they know dude

and najoon just groans and stands up and waves hoseok off and goes to stand guard

he doesn’t like the whole crush thing because his entire life as a child of athena you know, he’s used to approaching everything as a problem that has a solution

something that he can work through and tackle if he takes the right steps

everything is a process and with the smart logical choices, he can accomplish anything

but this is different because suddenly his head isn’t in charge and no matter how hard he tries to examine the situation logically, you can’t think like that, not when you’re in love with someone all rules go out the window and namjoon is like wth is this i am not a fan can this not be a thing

he overanalyzes every single scenario and one second he’s determined that you must be in love with him but one second later, he thinks you must hate him or something and that the two of you will never work out and it’s such a vicious cycle

he just wishes he would have some answers-

and then this voice pops up in his head and it’s very familiar and namjoon is like i know who this is but also at the same time i have no idea whatsoever

and then it hits him- the mysterious lady from his childhood, the one who got him to camp and he’s ! because he had totally forgotten about her till now

and the voice is like “you really forgot about your own mother”

and namjoon is !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because mom since when was that a thing

but it makes sense and suddenly everything starts to click and namjoon is like wow your local son of athena couldn’t figure that one out, amazing

but she’s like look kid im sorry that i havent been around, things are complicated, dont be mad

and namjoon is like im not dont sweat it

athena just tsks like thats because you never let your emotions lead

“but it’s okay to let them take over sometimes you know”

you know what she’s implying and the conversation doesn’t last much after that

and namjoon is like right i should maybe confess maybe ill do that when i get back home or something---

but suddenly he’s taken aback because there’s this clanking and rattling and all of th sudden there are these skeletons rising from the earth and namjoon is like just my luck

he draws his sword and starts yelling for the rest of you to wake up and hoseok is first up and he’s racing to get yoongi awake and meanwhile namjoon is battling off these monsters

he uses those telekinesis powers i mentioned to hurl boulders and other projectiles at them while using his long sword to fend off others but they keep multiplying

hoseok comes in with his double daggers and he’s slicing and diving and jabbing

and yoongi has his scythe and he’s totally wrecking these monsters and smashing them to dust

you’re nowhere to be found though and namjoon turns his head for a split second and that’s his mistake

he doesn’t feel the arrow pierce his shoulder, not initially, but he feels the searing pain as yoongi yanks it from his flesh later

he stumbles and trips forward and he’s clutching his shoulder and hoseok is shrieking and yoongi is cursing

namjoon feels like he’s slipping from reality and he doesn’t know what’s happening save that the world is spinning before his eyes

but then your cry snaps him back from his daze and he watches you stumble towards him

yoongi and hoseok fight off the rest of the monsters as you kneel beside namjoon, cradling his head in your lip

namjoon is too shocked to cry but then he sees the tears streaming down your face and he suddenly feels overwhelmed

yoongi and hoseok run over when the coast is clear and yoongi is the one who pulls the arrow out because hoseok is shaking too badly to do so

“i thought i heard something and so i woke up and went to check it out, but clearly i wasnt right and now you’re going to die because of me namjoon, oh gods, you can’t die!!”

and youre sobbing and hoseok is like you need to calm down so i can treat this thing and namjoon is slipping from consciousness and you’re holding his hands tightly between your own

yoongi is praying hard while hoseok does his best to clot the blood flow and go through his bag in search of ambrosia and nectar

namjoon’s eyes close and his lips part and you’re crying harder now because this it, this is the last time you’re going to see namjoon

“i love you, i love you more than life itself namjoon, and im not going to let you die, do you hear me!?”

hoseok pulls out the thermos of nectar and he hands it to you

for those who dont know, nectar is like the healing thing for demigods and it’s not guaranteed life saver, it works hella good

anyway, you hold the thermos to namjoon’s lips and do your best to make sure he drinks some of it

hoseok assures you that namjoon is gonna make it, upon further examination, the wound isn’t deep and it missed any vital nerves or organs

still you can’t help but cry

you hold namjoon in your arms the entire night and none of you guys sleep because you’re so scared??

namjoon does wake up, and he’s fine… he’s just sore the next morning

he first asks about you though if you’re okay and then he looks up and finds you staring down at him and he’s o h

you smile down at him “i swear to god, dont you ever pull that on me again”

“i wasnt trying to die”

omg wth my namjoon ones are always the longest, namjoon, yoongi and jungkook

anyway you mouth “i know” and then stroke the hair from his eyes

hoseok and yoongi watch on but they don;t interfere and they dont get nosy, they jsut let you guys have your moment

it’s like a mutual understanding after that

like the scare makes you realize that yes, you love namjoon, more than a friend

and yes, namjoon loves you too, more than anything in the world

and hoseok and yoongi realize that they’re third and fourth wheeling on the quest and it’s awkward

because once namjoon starts feeling better, it’s like a switch was turned on and now he’s trying to impress you with the psychology of attraction and holding hands and love and it’s a hot mess

and he’s vowing to protect you and you’re like honey i gotta protect you…

yoongi and hoseok regret their life choices

but they think it’s cute and when you guys all return home safely (with the dog in tow), everyone starts handing over drachmas and dollars because their was a camp wide bet on if you guys would get together on your quest

[the-dragonborn-cums]

if you havent got a song prompt yet for the fallout thing: Dark Doo Wop by MS MR

…Well I just found a new song to fuel my MacCreadyxSoSu fix thanks anon.

Ahem…

It always happens like this : one moment, the world is quiet, narrowed by the scope of her sniper rifle. It’s just her and the raider, and everything else seems to hold still with her, like any sound or vibration or movement had been sucked into a vacuum. This moment is most precious; for once the world is quiet, the most peaceful it’s going to get. And then chaos explodes in the next.

All it takes is one shot, and the silence is shattered - and just as it always happens, her peace erupts in gunfire.

The raider fixed between her crosshair goes down, signaling the rest the emerge for a fight. It doesn’t take long for them to find her - she wasn’t exactly hiding - and they quickly aim and fire. She ducks behind a short wooden barrier. Not much cover, but it saves her enough time to reload her gun.

That’s when she hears a sharp whizzing, followed by the gurgling of two dying raiders. She smirks - she can’t help herself. It was all planned, this little sneak attack. But she liked how they worked together, how they moved with each other in combat, like two wolves surrounding a flock of sheep. It never got old.

She pulled out of cover, cocking and firing at any raider that chanced to show themselves. It was full on chaos, and she had to admit that she’d underestimated their numbers. They’d stumbled upon this particular hideout of crudely made shacks in an old medical building, and the whole setup spiraled all the way down to the basement. When three raiders went down, five more replaced them.

A piercing bark came from behind her. She turns just as the mongrel lunges and clamps down on her arm. She yells, struggling against the dog’s grip. Her blood coats the floor and the dog’s muzzle. The pain sears beyond her arm. She drops her gun.

A crack. A burst of orange. The dog drops like a rag doll.

In between shots he runs for her and pulls her close. “You okay?”

She nods. She knows she isn’t, but they also don’t have much time. She pulls her 10mm out of it’s holster on her hip, easing it into her good hand.

It’s only a flesh wound, she tells herself, despite feeling like she’s balancing on suspended wire. I can do this…

Every raider in the building was probably on them by now, pounding their cover with bullet holes. She could hear each one tearing into the planks, and tinging into the metal behind them. It would hold for now, but for how much longer she couldn’t say.

She crouched back down after firing all her rounds, leaning against the solid wood and panting. Beside her, MacCready kept firing intermittently, cocking, firing, reloading.

“I’m self-taught, you know,” he’d told her what seemed like yesterday. “Picked up a rifle when I was ten and never looked back.”

She remembered him leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms and raising a brow, expecting her to be impressed. A smile crossed her lips without her realizing it. White specks dance in her vision.

She doesn’t know what, but some part of her is slipping away. She’s sliding through a current, into an ocean that envelopes her in bone-chilling cold. For one second, she thinks she’s back in Vault 111. Kellogg’s a swimming vision in front of her, watching from behind her bed of glass. Shaun is dead, he tells her in his sandpaper voice. Shaun is dead, and so are you.

Shaun is dead, Shaun is dead… The words crash with the ocean waves, and she soon realizes she’s drowning.

“Mac-” she sputters. Her blood is a ruby pool spreading around her. “Mac.” The word feels thick like swallowing a hammer. Her eyes roll back.

“Siobhan!” The word’s a scream that jolts her entire body, but the weight of the water keeps her from resurfacing.

“Siobhan! Damn it… Siobhan!”

Her eyes roll like glass beads in their sockets, and for a split second her eyelids flutter open. He’s peering down at her, and she recognizes she’s being held, but she doesn’t feel it. He’s a reflection she’s seeing through muddy water.

And that was her last thought before she went under.

It was the rain that brought herback. Everything was dark and silent, save for a lazy drip… drip… drip that pounded her head.

Siobhan stirred a little then opened her eyes. She was outside,unnder a metal-roofed shelter, and it was almost evening. The rain was onlystarting, intermittent droplets hitting the tin roof like insects. Sheremembered everything – the raiders, the flash of gunfire. She tried to move,but a stabbing pain shot up her arm to her collarbone, making her hiss.

“Hey, easy.”

In a swift moment MacCready was by her side, and heart jumped atthe sight of his familiar blue eyes and thick brown mop of hair.

“Thank God you’re okay,” she said, reaching for him with hergood arm.

“Yeah, no kidding. You scared the heck out of me back there.”His tone was chastising, but still he grabbed her wrist and pressed her palmagainst his cheek.

“C’mon. You think you’d lose me that easy?”

MacCready sighed, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t exactly the timefor those kinds of jokes.”

She sat up despite the pain, looking him dead in the eye. “Andyet it’s okay for you?”

MacCready exhaled audibly through his nose, lowering his gaze.Despite his sour demeanor, he still held her hand, rubbing the top of it withhis thumb, putting together his words. Seeing him like this made her rememberwhy she loved him. No matter how upset he’d get, he still couldn’t keep hishands off her.

The pause of intermittent raindrops hung a bit longer before hefinally said, “Look, I was worried. Seeing you go down like that… It brought alot of shi- a lot things back.”

Siobhan was about to interject, but stopped herself. Before shecould divert her thoughts, she remembered her baby boy and how he looked in herarms. She remembered his laugh, how it’d grow in pitch whenever she’d blowraspberries at him, and how he’d defiantly fight the sleep that was weighing onhis eyelids – opening, closing, then opening again. And how, inevitably, aftersinging a soft lullaby that would sometimes almost bring her to tears, his eyeswould close, and he’d be gone to the world.

Despite herself, tears began to sting the corners of her eyes.She knew loss. It was a lesson Kellogg had taught her, as he shot Nate deadcenter in his heart. And she knew the loss that was pulling MacCready down,because she carried the same weight.

She released her hand from his grip. “I’ll be morecareful next time,” she said, running a finger down his cheek, prickly withstubble. “Promise.”

MacCready snorted, shaking his head. “You know whatthose kinds of promises lead to out here.”

He furrowed his brow, looking her dead on. “This isn’tsome kind of fairyland where wishes come true and we get to frolic into thesunset. But I’d at least like you to stick around. For a little while, atleast.”

“Oh I plan to,” she said before kissing him. “It’dtake a hell of a lot more than nuclear fire to keep me from you.”

Her response seemed to make him relax. He chuckled,pulling her close to him. “I could’ve said the same.”

The rain’s pace quickened, but they stayed there, armslocked around each other in a familiar embrace, soaking up each other’s heatwhile the rain cooled the smoldering world around them.

[johnbukowski-blog]

What a stupid thing to do! As the bus came around, it stopped and opened only the front door, the one close to the driver. This was because there were only two people there, and perhaps he was disturbed by the shadowy and pale presence of both of us. What a strange world we live in, to go from ecstasy to the pinnacle of the ordinary and the             This duality has to be the core principle upon which all realities operate. I however did not wanted to go, but perhaps out of my timid and proper nature I boarded the bus with out giving any special impression to the driver. I hated my decision as soon as my mind had settled on it, and ans soon as I saw myself with my entire body inside it. As soon as I heard the distinct sound of the bus driving off, I began to imagine. I imagined that in stead of us boarding the buss, a concrete slab that belonged to the old building behind us, would have loosen up and fall on the plastic roof that made up the bus stop. And in the pile of rubble, our pale skins would blend in with the complex shades light gray tones, with only one major difference: thin strands of blood gently flowing from the pile. I smiled as I added the final finishing touches to my imagery. I always a had talent, and inclination for the visual, for the aesthetic, and imagination was for me my only escape as the bus drove away to nothingness, to the nothingness which became my life. Imagination was always an escape for me. In fact one of my oldest memory was when my mother confronted me about the ware about of her bed sheets, which I stole one spring morning in order to attach sales to my newly constructed wooden boat. Imagination and lying, my only real friends. I started to forget that the years had seasons. That’s how much my life had become a repetitive in nature. But during the summer just before my 29th birthday, there was a reshuffling that happened in my parents house.    Just before september 2019, my sister had moved from our house into her new apartment with her husband and child, sow the room in in which she sat for several years together was suddenly empty. Since most of her furniture was hers, she took it all and left the room almost empty. It was bitter sweat in a way, after all this was the room where I’ve spend most of my childhood in. This was the room I where my grandmothers large mirror sat, the one in which I saw my ‘double’ for the first time, no dought an event which changed my life completely. This was also the room where the family books where, where during the long cold winter days, or the dry summer ones where spend by me sitting on the carved up space inside the large, imposing teracota heater that seamed to keep vigil over the whole room, and read, read, and dreamed.  One day, right after they had moved out, I gently walked inside the room once more. The room was of an emptiness of which I never thought I would see it in. Here and there, there were scattered furniture pieces and rols of packaging material, no dought a from a hob left to be finished the next day. The silence which I was enveloped, now repulsed me. It was as if I was witnessing a pale, rotting  carcass. It’s features which gave it it’s character, its very life were still intact: but for how long ? No longer will I hear my little nephews laughter in it, no longer will is see his shadow through the glass of the door. I felt as if this room did not deserve such a deserting end. I moved around the place as memories came gently one after the other. Only the noise of my footsteps on the old wooden floor accompanied me. I stepped into the light of the day, and looked once more into the distance. Suddenly, I was distracted by noises from the streets. The layout of the room was, and still is like this: On my left side there was another large window, at a 45 degree angle to the one I was looking through. One showed the front garden, while the other the street. As I turned my view to window  next to it, I saw a group of neighbourhood children playing the middle of the street.   I gazed at them from the safety of my room, from the anonymity of my silent act, from the cold touch of my desperation. I felt a tenderness grow inside me as I continued to watch them. As it was all to nature for my weak character, I quickly became absorbed by the beauty of their abandonment. Summer magic in it’s full force. I feel to the conclusion once more, that there was a force outside of me which manipulated me at times to remember, to relive certain memories which tie in almost perfectly, as a form of special meaning to the very physical moment in which I happened to find my self at that particular time. That moment of trance like abandonment was no different. Another memory rushed my mind. It was the middle of my 12th summer. The year was 2002. In the small community where I lived, I could hardly call it developed. I remember my world consisted of only 3 windy street, which where unpaved for the longest time. Our empty , childlike lives consisted of lounging at any given sidewalk corner, for whatever reason one could not remember. The only thing that comes o mind, puncturing my conscious is the sound of a distant car that came and rushed in front of our very eyes, lifting a could of dust with it, disturbing the lazy tranquility of the day. Dust rising ,dust falling down. The neighborhood (which at that age I thought consisted off only these 3 streets) where surrounded by open, animal grassing fields, and a long 5 mile hillside we called the Observatory. It was in these places where our wild nature and our never ending appetite for freedom showed itself, for all day long, wether it was on the weekend free days, or after we came home from school, one could always find us playing in the short grass until sun set. I remember there was a field, in particular, one surrounded from all sides by a low hanging fence. As you entered you were greeted by a path way, which was barely visible from the tall grass which grew to cover it. We simply werent supposed to be there, but on one particularly memorable august day, me and a band of children, regular suspects I might add, jumped the small steel wire fence, and began our walking towards the small hut. I remember my senses becoming more refined and alive to everything around me. Unnoticed things, like the curvature of the fence we just jumped. As we were getting further and further away from it, as sense on sadness erupted from it, as if it was warning me of something. Quickly, the sound of the ruffled tall grass surrounded me it infernal, shredding sound. My friends diden’t seem to be disturbed: it was natural for them to be rebellious, for me it wasent. This state of things, I would learn to utterly regret in life as I grew up. We couden’t stop talking, pushing each other, testing ourselves .It was as if we were wild hares, living in a world of concealment, in which we could act out our most craved fantasies, as our destination drew closer. The hut was surrounded from 3 sides by wall nut trees. As we got with in ten feet of the place, we started to circle it as we continued our talking, unconciously as it were, as if it was our strange way of greeting the final point of our destiny. The bent aluminum sheets that constituted it’s roof tilling reflected sharp rays of sunlight to my eyes. I suddenly and for a mere split second felt a bitten feeling of deception enter my hearth, like the horrible taste one gets in his mouth when biting into a decomposing sun flower seed. Soon however, we entered the ‘hut’. Inside we found a desolate place. The where only two wooden, windowless framed standing in a corner opposite of the door and nothing else. But the mutual feeling that we all had upon finding whats inside filled us with the sweetest wonderment and joy. It’s sad that this particular quality of a child’s soul, that of finding a ‘something; to wonder about even in the midst of total emptiness does not survive the cynicism of adulthood. Perhaps knowledge ruins it, but I personally think there is something entirely else at work. Soon however something unexpected happened. My friends have all but left, almost with out sound, with out a single added gesture. Some of them began playing with the empty frames in the tall grass just outside the hut, while others where climbing the trees and talking to each other from a distance. I remember, because I cannot forget, just how much I felt in soul the distance between them and me became horrifically amplified, almost to infinity itself. Was I afraid or distressed? No. I was dying to see just what will happen next! However soon I noticed that in the room there was another person. I young girl, which was about the same age as me, that i would give her the name of Maria, in order to keep her anonymity. She had short, black hair and a round face. There was a calmness which was unnatural for a child, I thought, and felt as if she was one of those girls which are somewhat “forced” to mature as quickly as possible, on account of her strict religious upbringing. I was even then, a helpless presence. To shy, to frail, to afraid of being afraid even. I stood still as she looked out a small, dirty window. Wich stood opposite of me, thus I had a prime view of her back. I became enthralled by what she was doing. She was peeling the dead and curled up white paint on the bottom of the bent and raged frame with her perfect finger nail, with her perfect finger, with her perfect purpose and resolve. As she was doing this, she was staring at something outside, at what exactly even my wildest fantasies could not produce an answer. Perhaps there is no vision in rare moments like that. Only the mind seeing with the back of it’s eyes worlds impossible to calculate. I know for sure, she did not noticed me being there, behind her. For her, everyone had left the room and she was left alone as she probably deserved, as she probably wanted. My perverted eyes immediately became fixated at her ankles. It’s true that in that particular summer my fixation with the human body had ‘progressed’ or rather should I say ‘regressed’ towards the human ankle, particularly the female ones. She kept raising them up and down, gently, as to not reveal to much muscle tension or a tendon popping through the skin. Lets now begin an exercise of imagination. Lets conjure up the image of a mad genius doctor, who has lost his entire humanity, and now in a secret laboratory, has concocted a being which at every step of the way, at every moment in which it’s natural life force is expended outwards, converts the superfluous and the decorative into it’s exact opposite: into substance, into pure meaning. Thus only from the hands of such a imagined ‘creature’ can beauty achieve the highest ordering known to exist in the universe. One can become pure evil at the sight of such something like this. Under the effect of this powerful sight to behold, my body felt like a training dummy, profoundly helpless in an open field, repetitive hit by different adversaries one after another. The wind current slammed the door over and over again, as I could barely see a patch of gray clouds gathering somewhere in the distant sky. I continued to contemplate her ankles as if her entire soul was somehow located inside that area. Like the petrifying eyes of the Gorgon, she froze me in place. She turned to me and I quickly saw her eyes. I couldent distinguish what color where they, green, light blue. At this age I was made to believe, by the words of the older children on my block, that the people from whom you cannot decide decisively what eye they have must be evil in nature and supernatural. Now it all made sense. Now I was certain she was not of this world. In short, her eyes , with their strange color and ‘stifling’ capacities had somehow sucked all the oxygen in the tiny, ragged ‘hut’. I felt far to compelled, far to humiliated by the moment. I felt like a poor, ill equipped animal caught in the crossfires of a skillful hunter. He pules the trigger and with out disturbing the grass under me, I fell with out a sound. The incapacity and futility in front of a form of absolute beauty.   She looked at me and said: “Should we leave? Her voice sounded uncaring, as if the response was all ready set in stone beyond my possible will otherwise. My mood and my spirit suddenly changed. I responded to her with my own gazing, which could never rise up to the shear power and intensity of hers. I was full of revelry, as if i was a schoolboy that had just heard the long awaited bell that announced the end of the classes for the day. In my hearth however, pored a satisfaction akin to stupidity. And perhaps cowardice as well? Was I really glad to get away from her unforgettable presence? Or was this just my pride trying to quickly and unconvincingly cover the power that her presence had over me. Better yet, my incapacity to somehow alter, act against this beauty had become unbearable. I never knew self hatred before like I knew then. An yet,it was in those unfaithful moments did the unexpected. I took two timid steps forward and quicker than I imagine my lips where touching hers. I was to be my first and perhaps last theft. With this act, all of a sudden my world was violently cut in half. In  between them, inside the ‘cut’ that split reality into two sides as it were, I was standing alone,with a perfect view of both of them, of both of these ‘worlds’. On one side there was the world I knew all to well, the world that my perpetually undecided mind  my weak constitution allowed to it to be drenched and overfilled with an imagination that was out of control, which was only a a justification for the complete lack of courage to act when ever my conscious dictated it. To many times in my life I allowed a thick and heavy layer of imagination to take over when I in reality I should have acted in stead. The other half was the unexplained sensation of her lips touching mine, particularly the tips, the top rim. In a split second I opened my eyes as the kiss continued. Bad call. I closed them faster that I felt could be measured. On my mind an image became imprinted. There she stood, the improbable beauty of her face, her alien like sophistication, perfectly detached from the world around us which only that year stated to understand, and learn to detest. I gently pulled back and never looked at her face again, never hoping even in my deepest fantasies of  ‘earning’ more from the moment. However, with ever anticipating it, I quickly glanced at her as she stood there, frozen and with out response. She looked like a pale candle inside a abandoned room.As much as I wanted to stay there, in that solitude perhaps until the end of our lives, I got out the room and started walking through the tall grass towards the hunched piece of the fence that we hoped earlier. From the distance I heard the voices of my friends,some felt as if where aimed at me, others at themselves, it was a mess of words and sounds ultimately aimed at nothing. I felt that everything around me, everything I encountered was incriminating me. I was sure at first that the bend fence reacted more like a spring than ever before when I attempted to clime it. ‘’Something is wrong’’ I said, trying to comfort my self somehow. I stumbled on the way back home. Houses with their broken shindlers, peoples the cherry trees with their white flowers blasted by the winds, all of these accompanied my journey to the safety of my home, whispering accusation of what I have just done. I had no one to tell, none I wanted at least to tell, to confess, only to myself. Trapped in daily routine, the members of my household did not notice my odd behavior. I climbed the ladder which lead to our attic, and there I sit on an old mattress which had an aluminum frame that barely hanged on to support even my light weight. I’ve placed my hand behind my head and looked through a broken piece of a shingle, that was a bout the size of a large coin. I squinted my eyes, as the light reach them like sharp needles. It was there that i became inexplicably tired for some reason, and soon I fell a sleep in the most unexpected way. I don’t remember having a habit to sleep in the afternoon, but for some reason that day I just couden’t help my self to stay awake. I slept and I dreamed that whole time. In the first dream I imaged myself running back home after I had kiss that beautiful girl in the small abandoned house. I dreamed that her parents came to my house and started to argue with my father as if something terrible and unpardonable had happened between her daughter and me. I saw a fight ensue, shouting and throwing fists, it all looked like a dramatic theatrical play was unfolding before me. The next one was even stranger and in a disturbing way resonated with me more than the first. I saw my self back inside the empty house with her. She was on the floor, sow quiet was she, than she seamed as if she was sleeping for days on end. But there was something profoundly wrong. I saw a pool of red blood(it could have only been blood) shallowly emerging her ankles which were sitting one next to the other. In my hand I felt the vague sensation of a object. I looked down to my right and I saw a small hammer in it. Even thou this would have constituted a perfect moment to be horrified, on the contrary, I felt a distinct and compelling sense of freedom, of a peace which lye's beyond a every border, beyond anything my mind can understand. The whole scene was kept in a state of petrified beauty, and all of it’s elements were working at unison. The next and last dream was more ’casual’ in nature. In it, after we kissed,me and her would have decided to live there inside the small room as husband and wife. All of a sudden, she grabbed my hand and gave me a hard shake. ‘Come!’, she said looking at me with a rock like determination. I had no excuse to say no. When we got out the door and in an instant she called for the kids that were playing outside to join us. She said something to them, looking at them with uncanny determination. In my dream I looked at her lips to my right but I could not determine what she was saying, nor could I hear anything in that moment. I always wondered why my senses failed me in that particular segment of the dream? After she finished talking, her lips became once more silent and staunch. I felt as powerless as a slave. The pressure of her hand had become such a common sensation, that I had forgotten completely how it was before, how my hand felt when it was empty. Sow this is how truelove must be,I said to my self as i was dreaming. The total destruction of one way of existence in order to bring in another,                                                  Vrabies Mihai, Towards  a Poetic Life