#apparently hawks just missed out on the top ten

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 254: Who the Hell Is Bucky

Previously on BnHA: All Might welcomed 1-A back after the new year with a pun he’s probably been working on for the entire winter break, the poor man. Aizawa received a call :’) and drove down to Tartarus with Mic to meet up with Naomasa and Gran Torino. Nao and Gran were all “so you’ll NEVER GUESS, but we found out that Kurogiri’s quirk is apparently a FAKE QUIRK which was created from a bunch of other quirks -- AND GUESS WHICH ONE WAS THE ORIGINAL QUIRK?” and Aizawa was all (ಠ ∩ಠ), and Mic put a hand on his shoulder, and Nao was all “YEAH YOU DID GUESS, IT’S YOUR OLD DEAD PAL SHIRAKUMO, FROM CHAPTERS 59 THROUGH 65 OF VIGILANTES!” And okay, so (1) OH MY GOD, and (2) I originally thought this meant that Kurogiri is straight up a zombie!Shirakumo, but others pointed out that he might be some random other dude who just has Kumo’s quirk, among others. And like, okay. SO WHAT IS THE TRUTH.

Today on BnHA: Y’ALL HE REALLY IS A ZOMBIE!KUMO, AND NAOMASA AND GRAN BROUGHT AIZAWA AND MIC TO TALK TO HIM AND TRY TO RESTORE HIS MEMORIES SOMEHOW. Aizawa is all “this isn’t some fantasy world with happy endings, this is THE REAL WORLD WHERE MIRACLES DON’T HAPPEN!” but Gran is all “sometimes they do!” and Aizawa is like “!!” and so they sit down to chat with Kumo. Aizawa launches into a passionate speech about how great Kumo was and how he pulled him along and inspired him, and how he (Aizawa) is strict with his students now and -- get this -- FAKE-EXPELS THEM IN ORDER TO PUT THE FEAR OF GOD INTO THEM JUST ONCE LMAO, BUT IT’S BECAUSE HE CARES, and because he wants them to be great heroes and not hapless redshirts who get killed offscreen. And by the end of it he’s crying and imploring Shirakumo -- “if you’re still in there somewhere” -- to become heroes with him and Mic just like they always wanted. All of it is exactly as emotionally devastating as you would figure, btw.

you guys I have been playing hopscotch on my dash since yesterday trying to avoid spoilers about the popularity poll until I actually had time to write down my reactions! all I know is that of course Bakugou is #1 again, because this fandom always comes through lol. my other predictions are that the rest of the trio will receive lots of love again as well, and Hawks will once again be high on the list, and Aizawa too because of the Vigilantes flashbacks (at least HE BETTER), and probably the villains will get a big boost as well after their arc, Tomura in particular. and Endeavor might break the top 10 again too with the newest arc, although I can’t quite remember whether or not the poll was still going on by the time that started (ETA: actually I don’t think it was). but yeah. anyway so there’s a real possibility that most of the kids will actually be shut out of the top ranks because of these GROWN-UPS and VILLAINS stealing all their glory, smh. your time will come, kids

“more than anyone, you were a hero” oh is this chapter going to play with my feelings yet again. is this just going to happen every fucking week now. okay

HELL YEAH MY BOYS ON THE COVER

@unboundednamelessfuture, to answer your ask about whether I’m planning on watching Heroes Rising, the answer is a resounding YES, POSSIBLY EVEN MULTIPLE TIMES IN THEATERS IF I CAN SWING IT, because I’m pretty sure it’s actually just going to be All My Dreams Come True: The Movie. and yes I have seen some spoilers for it, although I’m not clear on whether or not they’re actual spoilers or just rumors. so because of that I won’t post my thoughts just yet, except to say that if it is true, see above re: All My Dreams Come True: The Movie, and also add a bunch more exclamation points at the end of the title omfg

anyway so my sons are famous now. they’re in Hollywood. good for them

AND NOW THE POLLLLLLLL YES

oh shit, I heard about “Deku & Bakugou Rising”, but is that out this week?? shit I’ll have to do a separate post if that’s the case. I’m assuming it’s more of a bonus chapter than an actual spinoff, kind of like the All Might chapter we got for the last movie. either way, to say I’m hyped would be a massive understatement, needless to say

(ETA: okay so I’ve seen Korean scanlations of this -- which I didn’t look at closely because spoilers -- but no English scans yet. so stay tuned!)

so I was wrong about the kids being shooed out of the top 10! I have never been so pleased to be wrong! so we have Kacchan at #1 (I love his face so much. ghlkhf), Deku at #2 (he beat Shouto this year! good for you!!), Shouto at #3 (wouldn’t be surprised if he and Deku were neck and neck again though), Kirishima at #4 (we stan one bright ray of sunshine), Iida at #5 (YOU DESERVE IT SO MUCH SWEETHEART. I’M SO GLAD FANDOM ISN’T SLEEPING ON THE ACTUAL BEST CHARACTER IN THE SERIES), Tomura at #6 (DID YOU NOT GET THE MEMO ABOUT WEARING A NUMBER ON YOUR OUTFIT? MAKING ME FIGURE IT OUT FROM THE PROCESS OF ELIMINATION IS A REAL BASTARD MOVE. THEY SHOULD HAVE PUT YOU AT #8 TO MATCH YOUR CURRENT NUMBER OF FINGERS YOU STUPID SEXY JERK), Aizawa at #7 (THANK YOU FANDOM, YOU’VE REDEEMED YOURSELVES FROM LAST YEAR), Ochako at #8 (I LOVE YOUUUU), Toga at #9 (LADIES!!!!!!), and Momo at #10 (YES GIRRRRRL)

I think this is the strongest showing of ladies yet in the top ten (ETA: actually no, the second poll was slightly better) and I’m all about it. also can they all please keep these costume upgrades because YES. I don’t care if Horikoshi would get sick of drawing them. THAT’S WHAT ASSISTANTS ARE FOR. KATSUKI HAS A FUCKING BULLET BANDOLIER, COME ON, YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS JUST A ONE TIME THING YOU ASSCLOWNS, THIS IS FOR THE PEOPLE

lol here’s the abridged version of the Shirakumo flashbacks, I guess. everyone was saying last week how Vigilantes was now required reading, and like, I get that everyone’s excited about the crossover, but they still have to make this comprehensible for people who only read the main series. I’m guessing we’ll get the short version here, but Vigilantes gets to provide the more in-depth story for people who want to know more about everything, which is more or less what Vigilantes’s role has been in general

anyway so here’s Kumo doing his usual Naruto impression and cheerfully dooming himself by being ceaselessly optimistic and tempting fate’s sense of irony

you sure can! just so long as that crisis doesn’t involve big, heavy rocks, or gravity. I’m sorry kiddo

“‘let’s all form an agency together.’ it happened just after he said those words.” well there you have it, the BnHA equivalent of “one week left till my retirement.” hero training should really include a mandatory course titled Death Flags: The Silent Killers. there are children’s lives at stake here

lol yeah this really is abridged

“once upon a time we all wanted to be heroes and then Shirakumo got crushed by some rocks the end.” yeah, so maybe not quite the full emotional impact of the original lol

OH SHIT SON

so it is his reanimated corpse, then! which means the potential for him somehow dramatically regaining his memories is very high. since this is a shounen manga, I’m gonna go ahead and put it at... 100%. is that too low

guys I don’t know what to do when Present Mic is making faces like this

when even the Comic Relief Guy is getting all traumatized and serious, you know it’s bad. sob who will I turn to now for comfort. Horikoshi’s really just gonna go full dark no stars here and leave me just stumbling around lost

OH IF IT ISN’T THE ORIGINAL PIECE OF SHIT HIMSELF!!

yeah it makes perfect sense actually, you bastard. you steal the bodies from the crematorium and then give the families fake ashes or something. holy shit you really will not stop until you find the lowest possible level to stoop to, and then grab a fucking shovel and start digging so as to GO DOWN EVEN LOWER. just. god everything about this is just so wrong

oh btw, now seems like a good time to bring up this ask I got last week!

anon you blew my mind, just so you know. you’re absolutely right. so that’s one mystery down! though the way that this is going, I’m not so sure I’m gonna like any of the other answers that the Noumu arc is gonna provide us sob

holy shit look at this fucking simile

dead children = leftovers. sure why not. just in case we all forgot how evil he is

and also, YEAH BUDDY THAT’S WHAT I JUST FUCKING SAID, PLEASE KEEP UP. and who even knows how many other times AFO has done this. I hope they’ve started investigating crematoriums, then. I’m just waiting for them to make some connection that leads to them finally finding out about Ujiko, but that might take a while still

(ETA: although if they actually can get Kumo to talk...)

and did he really just solemnly call Mic “DJ” because omfg. Gran, are you the comic relief. do you even know. are you even aware

oh hey look another dagger to my heart

ouch. that was cold. and... not necessarily true, though, is it? because he was kind enough to Tomura. idk, I know my villain mom has done some horrible things, but you’ll be hard pressed to get me to think of him as all bad, even so. he was the one keeping Tomura from going FULLASS MURDER MODE!! for a long time

HEY WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF COP-OUT IS THIS

well then WHY DID YOU EVEN BRING THEM IN HERE! DID THEY NOT SEEM TRAUMATIZED ENOUGH TO YOU?? “well idk they seem pretty shaken up already, but just to make sure they grasp the full repugnant horror of the situation why don’t we make them visit him face to face.” OKAY THEN YOU SADISTS

son of a bitch and speaking of twisting the knife, Horikoshi keeps showing us these increasingly wrecked glimpses of Aizawa lowkey falling apart and I can’t

at this point the shadows under his eyes have their own shadows. and god dude, I know you’re rational, but it’s really hard to watch you just outright dismiss any and all possibilities of hope just like that :(

what the fuck Gran

so you really are the one in this scene who’s trying to lift everyone’s spirits now. well all right then, just what are you alluding to

OH SNAP

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD NOUMU BACKSTORY AT LAST! jesus christ, do Nao and Gran just know everything already, and they’ve just been keeping it all to themselves for the hell of it?? how long before they casually swing by U.A. and are all “oh and by the way, the traitor is...”

ANOTHER AIZAWA FACE BUT THIS ONE IS SOFT OH GOD!!

HEY WHAT’S UP I’M GONNA CRY. SOMEONE TURN ON SOME SAD MUSIC. AND I WON’T GO, AND I WON’T SLEEP, AND I CAN’T BREATHE, UNTIL YOU’RE RESTING HERE WITH ME

AND I WON’T LEAVE, I CAN’T HIDE, I CANNOT BEEEEEEEE

hey Nao. you know what really would have helped with getting him to talk. NOT KNOCKING HIM UNCONSCIOUS. ??? move over do you need someone else to do your job for you or

-- OH THEY’RE TALKING TO HIM NOW LMAO OKAY

“go ahead and do your thing guys. don’t be afraid to make it real gay”

this would be even more dramatic if Kurogiri actually had a face. but even so... OH I AM WHAT I AM. I’LL DO WHAT I WANT. BUT IIIIIIII CAN’T HIIIIDE

oh my fucking god Aizawa is all “but what about his family?” and Naomasa is literally “if you two are unsuccessful, then...” like straight up acknowledging that the three of them were so fucking gay in high school that their odds of getting through to Kumogiri are stronger than that of his OWN FUCKING FAMILY. wow

chin up my sexy man. you got this

OH SHIT AHHHHHHH

LDSKFHL EASY THERE CHAMP, THAT’S TOO MUCH SEX TO BE CONTAINED IN A SINGLE PANEL, PLEASE TRY AND DO ME A FAVOR AND FUCKING HOLD IT TOGETHER HERE FOR THE KIDS WHO ARE READING THIS!! [frantically googles ‘can a shounen manga get you pregnant’]

so Aizawa is all “I’ll be damned if I let his family hear this sickening story” and like, I’m sure he means that in a “they don’t deserve that pain” kind of noble and principled way, but if it were my child I sure would want to know regardless. and aren’t they going to find out either way?? either you do get through to him, in which case obviously you would want the family to know “HEY, GOOD NEWS!”, or you don’t manage it and Nao has to call them anyway as we just established. but you go ahead and get all fired up then, Shouta

now there’s a panel of him staring at Kumo and Kumo is just a big shapeless blob of black smoke just sitting there lol. don’t tell me he’s still unconscious?!

oh

thank you

anyway so Aizawa, did you know that while you were off being an underground hero, Kumo was studying at Oxford to get his medical degree while bartending on nights and weekends to make ends meet. the two of you have so much to catch up about

Mic’s thinking that even with Aizawa using his quirk, the fog isn’t dissipating, so it means Kumo’s body is now made up of fog. well but then what about the metal neck thingy! huh??

and Mic’s opening his big mouth to complain that Kurogiri is far too polite and classically educated to really be their old pal, but before he can finish, Kumo is interrupting to ask about his son!!

he’s. uh. I guess you could call it “well”? maybe a little too well [marge simpson noises]

well Mic is clearly back to being the comic relief here. but Aizawa is keenly spotting those mom instincts that have remained in Kumo to this day!

yes Aizawa the core of your friend is still in there deep down!

OH MY GOD

LMAOOOO. “EMO PUNK... WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT BEFORE -- !!” [AUDIBLY GASPS AND LOOKS DIRECTLY AT AIZAWA]

oh my lord. like, I don’t think this is actually meant to be funny, but just the fact that he immediately associates “emo” with AIZAWA FUCKING SHOUTA so strongly that it makes him go (•̪ o •̪) all knowingly has me fucking deceased right now good grief

so Kumo says he doesn’t resent his mission at all. some people like looking after emo punks, Mic. you should know

AND NOW MY FEELINGS ARE BEING TOYED WITH AGAIN!! JUST STRAIGHT UP OUT IN THE OPEN!! THIS ISN’T FAIR

heh. don’t mind me I’m just looking for some sort of emotional support to cling to here for my breakdown that’s about to happen about 0.2 seconds after Aizawa starts crying, if he indeed starts to cry. which it looks like he might. oh god I’m not ready for this at all. my hatches are not even remotely battened; my shutters are just gonna go flying right the fuck off

by the way what the fuck is up with the chairs at Tartarus. why do they look like swiss cheese

hmm, Nao and Torino are all “no reaction”, but to me it looks like there clearly is a reaction, though? he can’t even look Aizawa in the eye all of a sudden. it’s clearly getting to him. Nao seriously, do you need someone else to do your job

oh Aizawa

(ETA: Kumo really first-named Aizawa two seconds after meeting him. this man knows how to adopt his introverts.)

okay but Present Mic in a summer uniform is the most punchable version yet, SORRY I JUST HAD TO SAY IT I’M SORRY MIC I LOVE YOU. it was just gonna come bursting up out of me if I didn’t

anyway so Aizawa is gaying it up just as promised

him using his quirk is definitely making the scene more intense, but I’m not really sure why he actually is using it, since we’ve established it’s not having any effect. unless he’s trying to possibly undo some of the brainwashing somehow??

(ETA: so it occurred to me that just because his quirk isn’t dissolving Kumo’s mist body doesn’t mean that it’s not having an effect on his warp abilities. this way they can interrogate him without fear of him trying to use it and them having to knock him out again.)

so Kumo’s continuing to try and play it off all smooth while Aizawa unleashes the full force of fifteen years of pent up grief and trauma!

starting to think Aizawa never did go to therapy after that whole thing. typical U.A. “so you saw your best friend die suddenly and violently right before your eyes and subsequently suppressed it and hallucinated his voice talking to you to avoid facing that reality, huh? eh, you’ll be fine”

oh no a close-up of Aizawa that doesn’t show his face completely. this kind of thing never ends well

BECAUSE HE DOESN’T WANT THEM TO END UP LIKE YOU [sobs forever]

wait are we really going to talk about this?? omg

wait what. so do you mean to tell me he expelled them but then continued to guide them afterwards so they would have long, happy and healthy careers but more importantly would be safe omfg I’m not fucking ready for this shit

we’re cutting to U.A.’s class 2-A! Aizawa’s former class? does that mean he literally expelled EVERY SINGLE ONE of his students last year omg

so then. does every single standout characteristic of the Aizawa we know and love stem from his tragic past and his relationship with this boy then, or what? meanwhile the feelings continue to torrentially lash against my house while I huddle in the basement

I can’t fucking believe we’re actually getting a legit reveal about the “Aizawa expels all his students” gag holy shit

re-enroll!? what?? and “expel” in quotation marks?!?

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS -- HE DID IT JUST TO SCARE THEM!? AND THEN WHAT, WERE THEY PICKED UP AFTERWARD BY THE OTHER HERO CLASSES INSTEAD? SO HE TEACHES THEM A POTENTIALLY LIFE-SAVING LESSON AND THEN GETS TO LAZE AROUND THE REST OF THE YEAR, LOL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. THIS MAN IS A GENIUS

(ETA: and by this logic, Deku really ought to have been expelled half a dozen times by now. don’t ever try and tell me that this man doesn’t play favorites.)

so Aizawa is taking his goggles off and saying that he’s strict with his students because he wants them to live long, fulfilling lives

OH NO

SOMEHOW HORIKOSHI MADE KURO’S FACE LOOK SOFT?! I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW, IS THERE ANYTHING HE CAN’T DO

AHHHHH

OH NO HE DID IT AHHHH THE TEARS, FUCK. WELL MY HOUSE IS FUCKING DESTROYED, I’M CLIMBING UP TO THE ROOF TO AWAIT RESCUE

wow. anyways that really did get gay as fuck at the end, didn’t it. given the meaning that those goggles have to Aizawa, can this be taken as a form of marriage proposal? no? well I’m taking it that way anyway, so. congratulations you two. I’m off to go sob into a pillow now

[hawnks]

coincide pt. v

previous

series rating: r18 (explicit)

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

word count: ~4,800

[soulmate au, slowburn, UST as a plot device, avian keigo, allusion to depression, hurts hurts hurts until it doesn't anymore right?]

warning: canon-typical violence

Summary: You’ve got a talent for melodrama, huh?

.........................................................................

His sabbatical is lengthy and non-broadcast. They’d wanted him to take a respite, recuperate, maybe go sit under a waterfall. You’re not yourself, his handler told him. We need Hawks. Not whatever ghost has taken his place. It’s dangerous to keep masquerading as someone who’s heart is in it one hundred percent. That kind of half-assed heroing will get someone killed, one of these days.

They book him a room at a historical hotspring, set up an itinerary with huge swaths of time dedicated to “Rest.” He leaves the hotspring, and the country, without telling anyone.

He goes to Taiwan, to help with some underground hero work. Then France, then Egypt. Most of the jobs are espionage, kept under wraps, need-to-know basis. The rest are off the books altogether. He flies most of the way himself, just so he can pass out each night, bone-tired, and wake up in the morning with nothing but open air behind him. 

Everything hurts, the muscle strain and the altitude headaches and the canned coffee he mainlines just to keep from falling out of the sky on overnight journeys. There’s a pressure in his chest that won’t let up, a constant squeezing sensation that feels like shortness of breath, like drowning. Like all the air sucked out of the world, and Keigo, alone, fighting to stay afloat. 

Maybe he should get that checked out. 

But then, there’s no time to think about the future. He keeps his schedule tight, barely a second to blink between each mission, let alone book a session with his Commission appointed doctor. Besides, it’s pointless, anyway— 

All of it. 

He fights, draws blood, garners secret and dangerous intel. He sits down for dinner with ambassadors and heroes revered among their people. But there’s no glory to any of it, no reverence left in him. 

He imagines himself, a glassy-eyed, shiny little kid. How deeply he would have felt these accomplishments, these feats. Now all he feels is a vague sort of wistfulness. Like he’s already an old man, been through, seen it all. 

“What the fuck, Hawks,” his handler says over the phone. It’s been three weeks since he left, the first time he’s answered their calls. “You can’t just abscond without telling anyone.”

“Abscond?” he returns, with a genuine laugh. “Like I’m a thief?”

“You are an asset to the Commission,” the handler returns. “And you have responsibilities.”

“I’m on vacation,” Keigo tells him, and hangs up. 

And he tries (really, he does), to handle things in a productive way. He reads several (more than three!) listicles about top ten ways to get over a breakup, until he realizes that the two of you were never actually together. He’s not sure what to google for that. Unearned heartbreak? Severed soulmates? Miss her so much it feels like dying? But not even just the idea of her, or our apparent future, or the pretty thoughts about destiny? Miss the way she smells and the weird way she holds her chopsticks? Miss the way she laughs, and the sound of my name on her tongue? Miss her and miss her and miss her and miss her—

He tries the listicles. Does the self care thing, bubble bath, kitschy facemasks and all. 

And — he sees paramors in every country he visits. People from his past who fawn over him, praise him, adore him. They draw his jacket from his shoulders, and it smells like sweat and ozone. They find the tiny, secret clasps on the back of his uniform, unwrap him like a present.

“Pretty boy,” they call him. Coy and sweet. Hands so sure and eager as they caress his body. 

And he winces. Takes a step back. “Can we just—” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair. It’s getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. “Can we just talk?”

They all agree, sure, whatever he’s comfortable with. But the tension never leaves the room, no matter how long the small talk carries on for. Because he can claim fatigue or headaches or just not feeling it all he wants. But he could never admit the truth. How dirty he feels closing the door with another body in the room. How he cringes at the touch of another. How it’s— you. Always. On the back of his mind, at the base of his throat. Behind every turn and inside every decision. You.

You, you, you.

And the constant, painful reminder — 

The feeling isn’t mutual. 

...

The wedding is beautiful. 

Everything goes perfectly. The whole event looks like something off a trip-advisor page, beautiful but quaint, elegant yet intimate. The food is delicious, the cake so moist it melts in your mouth. Even the weather is sunny and mild, as if the powers that be wouldn’t even stand in the way of today. 

You wish you could give everything the attention and admiration it deserves. 

On the trip up, you imagined that maybe this would be just the thing to pull you out of your month long stupor. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it’s hard to resist the rustic charms of this place, and the inherent joy of the other guests. 

Soulmate weddings are commonplace nowadays, but no less special for their frequency. There’s an indescribable quality of felicity to them. A rightness, like everything is happening exactly as it should, like everyone is exactly where they need to be. It’s something of a comfort to guests and to the couple themselves; what’s meant to be will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do, no force of nature that can stop it. 

You try to enjoy yourself. Try to take in the ambiance, the good company. And it’s nice, for the most part. Really, it’s a lovely day, and if it weren’t for the strange tightness in your throat, constantly, you might even have been able to enjoy it.

You throw up in the bathroom, after appetizers, while the first plates are going around. You’ve been drinking, already too much, and on an empty stomach. You have half a mind to simply tap out for the night, but you can’t leave your friend tonight of all nights. Especially not when she keeps turning to you, elated, to make some silly joke, or to sigh and squeeze your hand with a dreamy smile. 

You sneak out when the party begins to pick up pace, leaving the revelry and crawling out a backdoor, into the insipid chill of encroaching night. You find a nice little staircase alcove, planning to settle down for a few minutes, but the sudden sight of another person on the stoop takes you aback. Even more so when you realize it's the groom himself, taking a drag on a cigarette.

You’ve never officially met, until today, and even that was just pleasantries, no time to talk. You’re not sure how to approach this situation; a part of you instinctively wants to apologize, but that would just make things even more awkward.. 

He peers at you, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t, so he does. 

“My last one,” he says, holding it up in salute. “I was thirteen, when I started. Thought I was a real rebel. It turns out I was just an idiot.” He looks at the cigarette, a strangely wry smile on his face. “Could never work up the nerve to stop, but… she hates it, so I’m quitting.” 

“A nice wedding gift,” you say, gathering yourself. You come to lean against the metal railing next to him. It’s cool against your bare arms, and you relish the sensation, the shock of it enough to keep you grounded, for the moment. 

“Ah,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not a gift. Just… wanna make her happy.”

You look at his hand, the cigarette already halfway done. It smells different than any other you’ve encountered before, oddly mild, almost floral. And it makes something inside you well up, the thought that a life could be changed so wholly, so staunchly. 

You think, how special, to have someone who breaks bad habits for you.

It’s enough to cause you to burst into tears. Before you can stop it, your whole face is wet, and your breath is coming out in hiccuping gasps. 

The groom looks on, terrified. He stubs out his cigarette on his heel before handing you, of all things, a handkerchief.

He says, timidly, “Wanna talk about it?”

It takes a few long, awkward minutes before the initial wave of misery subsides, and you can speak. 

“Fuck.” You wipe your nose, unattractively, with his handkerchief. You shake your head. “Nah. It’s your wedding. Go have fun.” 

The groom shrugs. “I’m not one for spectacle. This is for her. Later, when we’re alone and eating pizza in bed, that’s for me.”

That’s nice, you think despite yourself. It just sounds — very nice. 

“She told me,” the groom says after a minute. “About your… soulmate, thing.”

You shrug. What else could you do? There’s nothing to be said. You’ve moralized and offered platitudes your whole life. You’ve lied and said you were content. But here, at your one best friend's wedding, alone, there’s no more slack to give. You’re faced with the truth lying at your feet, like a dead bird. 

You’re alone and it’s so hard. 

“She loves you. That’s never going to change,” the groom tells you. “Even if a lot of other things do.”

You think about that for a moment. Nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I know. Thank you.”

It takes you a few more minutes to calm down, fully. You’d tell him to go back inside, but you get the odd sense that he doesn’t really care that you’re crying in front of him, that he’s not as uncomfortable as you might have expected him to be. So the two of you hover there, on the stoop in the dark, until finally, you feel centered enough to rejoin the festivities. 

You brush off your dress. You offer him a hand up. 

“I can see why she likes you,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back inside. The instant heat upon walking through the door almost makes you wince. 

“Aw, nice,” he says, grinning. “Best friend stamp of approval.”

...

Keigo’s first stop, once he’s back in Japan, is a convenience store. The second is Enji Todoroki’s temporary, secret residence. 

It’s a small house, on the outskirts of a small city. Barely any thru-traffic on the streets. Most of the population is in their later years. No one recognizes Keigo as he trawls the street, looking for the discreet entrance. It’s hidden by a wall of laced kudzu vines. 

Enji is slow to answer the door. Keigo sent a text to say to expect him soon, but who knew if the other man saw it. He hasn’t been himself lately. 

When he finally opens the door with a grunt of surprise, Keigo just holds up his plastic bag in greeting. The outline of six tall boys is prominent. 

“I haven’t had alcohol in 20 years,” Enji says, his voice without inflection. Still, he takes the bag, leaving the door open in his wake for Keigo to shuffle in after him. 

The living arrangements are spartan. Hardly any furniture, and what comforts they offer is slim. Hard, cold surfaces. No throw cushions, or blankets, or pictures on the wall, or magazines bookmarked with old receipts. No sign of life at all, save for the single pair of shoes, tossed in a careless pile at the door.

The pair sit on the floor in the middle of what is probably the living room. There’s no furniture at all, here. The tatami is worn to softness beneath them, ages old. The combination makes everything feel stark, exposed. There’s a vulnerability to an empty house, no places to hide, no way to obscure yourself. 

They drink in relative silence. Keigo arrived in the late afternoon, and the day passes into night without obstruction. No one gets up to turn on the lights when the sunset fades into ashen stars, both of them content to sit there in the dark. 

It’s easier like this, almost a waking dream. Neither of them have been sleeping well, taking care of themselves. 

It’s been a long time since Keigo has drunk, too. Soberness was his default, an expectation of the job. Heroes don’t get days off, not really. There’s always the expectation that if some disaster should occur, they will be able to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mesh well with substance use. 

Occasionally, Keigo will have a glass, to keep up appearances. But he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, tipsy, a mellow warmth settling beneath his cheeks.

Moonrise turns everything to shadow. Like this, tall, dark, and faceless, Enji finally speaks. 

“I wish I’d done things differently,” he admits. His voice is no longer booming, and proud. It’s quieter than Keigo has ever heard it. “I wish I could have seen that more than honor or strength, what they needed was… kindness.”

“It’s not too late,” Keigo says, but the words are empty. How would he know? He’s never had to consider these things before. Never had terrible, all-consuming regrets before. 

“In some ways,” Enji says. “Society would have you believe that amends are as simple as an apology,” he says. “But I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life. And it still won’t fix everything. Some things are broken forever.” 

“That’s convenient for you, too,” Keigo says. He peers at Enji, eyes bright, intent. “In some ways.”

Enji peers back at him, expressionless.

“Now they’re tied to you forever, like you said,” Keigo explains. “You can’t fix things, but you can keep them.”

“That’s not my decision to make.”

Keigo’s response is quick, brusque. “Isn’t it?” 

He realizes he’s leaning forward, too tense, too defensive. This isn’t about what it’s about anymore. It’s not about anything, really. He sinks back into a relaxed posture, reestablishing his practiced nonchalance. He takes another sip of beer. His hand is trembling.

“No,” Enji says, simply. “It’s not.”

The pair fall back into silence. Enough has been said, for one night. 

...

Kirishima sends you home. 

It’s the last thing you’d expect, after taking several days off for the wedding. You come in early, ready to elbow through a backlog of work, only to find the floor already bustling with a small crowd of unfamiliar faces.

It’s about eight people, total. Some of them are heroes. You can tell from the way they’re dressed, the way they hold themselves. Kirishima is in the middle of them, more dour than you’ve ever seen him. 

He comes to you, when he spots you, skirting his way around the visitors to meet you at the door. 

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing back at the group he left behind. “Why don’t you head home for today? This is all kind of, uh. Not safe for you.” 

“Should I be…” you try to glance around him, get an appraisal of the situation, but he’s such a mountain of a man that he takes up nearly your entire field of vision. “Like, worried?”

“No,” Kirishima is quick to say. “No, everything is going to be fine. But this isn’t quite your area of expertise, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

He’s taken on his hero mien, shoulders back, a little more tense than usual. His tone is kind, but unmoveable. Leaves no room for arguments, or questions.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still a little unsure about all of this. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Kirishima smiles at you, but not in a condescending, what would a small-fry like you be able to do, way, like any other hero might. His affection is so stalwart and genuine, his friendship so gentle. It only makes you worry all the more, for anytime that the goodness of Kirishima Eijiro might be at risk, that humanity might be deprived of him, for any moment, in any way. 

He holds out a fist, and you knock knuckles, shakily. “Promise,” he says. 

Then he pats you on the back, subtly steering you back to the elevator, away from whatever catastrophe he now has to face, alone. 

You have a vague idea of what all this might be about, but who knows what might have changed in the three days you’ve been away. The hero world moves at a breakneck pace, and it seems like you’ve fallen out of the loop. 

You think about the classified documents you’ve sorted through, the cases piled up on your harddrive. You’ve seen enough of past villainy to know that it’s not all stars and stripes and showing up at exactly the right moment. There’s a lot of accidents. A lot of almost made it, so close. Sometimes, the heroes just aren’t fast enough. Sometimes they make mistakes. 

It’s a job that risks more than one life. A burden on all fronts. If a hero dies, odds are many other lives get taken down with them. It’s why Kirishima wants you kept away from whatever is going on. The big bold word of the hour — casualty. Someone adjacently related to the incident, an unnecessary death. You’re not strong enough to protect yourself, not the way you’d need to, to exist in the same space as the heroes. Not enough to protect someone else.

Everything feels strange and uneasy. Like you’re teetering on the knife point of something huge. But you can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together, no matter how long you mull it over. It’s been like this for so long, you can’t trace back the origin of this foreboding feeling. Maybe you’ve always felt this way. You try to recall a time you’ve felt completely at ease, comfortable in your own skin, but you come up short, unable to pinpoint a moment, unable to figure out why not. 

You spend the rest of your day in PJs on the couch, eating icecream straight from the tub, fretting and fretting. Wondering when the anchorpoint of your life became fear. 

...

His next stop is the Commission HQ. 

No matter that he hasn’t slept in forty-nine hours. The Commission has already figured out that Keigo is in-country, and there’s work to be done. 

Firstly, he’s reprimanded. Loudly, and for a solid fifteen minutes. 

This is interrupted by a handler conspicuously walking right between him and the higher ups, and dragging him bodily out of the room. Keigo allows himself to be hauled away, waving as he goes. 

He’s asked to report on a number of missions he underwent while he was away. Provide details, recall key facts. He took diligent notes, but a lot of things require his own explanation, or follow up information. This takes up almost the entire day. Suddenly he regrets keeping so busy, over the past few weeks. 

It’s already late, late into the evening by the time he sets foot in his own agency. Things are quiet. There’s not much work to be done when Keigo himself is not around, so it’s unsurprising that most of the night workers have taken off. 

It’s nice to have a little privacy, even with another handler tailing him as he takes stock of the building. Nothing much has changed. Even his office is spotless. For some reason, he’d expected dust to have gathered in his absence, but of course the cleaning people would never let that happen. 

It’s almost like he hadn’t left, at all.

Exhausted, he intends to make one final stop at his locker before heading home. He just needs to grab another flight suit, dump his dirty ones in the hamper, to be cleaned. 

He’s still carrying around the bag he traveled with. He hadn’t taken much; his mode of transport doesn’t allow for heavy packing. He took the essentials, a few toiletries, a few flight suits, one spare change of civilian clothes. He dumps all of it in the bottom of his locker, to be sorted through when his bones feel less likely to melt out of his body altogether. 

He took one personal effect, and it stares at him from the top of the pile. The sweater he’d nabbed from your place. On nights he did sleep, he slept with it. Wrapped around him, or bunched up in his arms. It’s no longer soft, handled so much that the fibers had been worn to crimped bone. It had stopped smelling like you after the first week or so. Even with his heightened senses, eventually all traces of you were lost, the altitude and his own body overwhelming your scent. 

It was pointless to hold onto. It didn’t stave off the cravings, only made him remember all the times he had actually touched you, your skin, your hair. Felt your breath, or heard your voice. Dead weight, unnecessary baggage for his long trips. Still, he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how many times he told himself he would leave it at whatever hotel he ended up in that night. Some mornings he would slip it on, pull it tight around himself, until he felt the constriction, until he thought the threads might snap under his grip. But the craftsmanship of it was impeccable, and it survived his rough treatment, and he would spend those mornings with the not-quite comfortable fabric wrapped around him, watching the sun rise miserably.

He shuts the locker door. Maybe this will be the end of it, now.  

He sends the handler home, assuring him that he’d be up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The handler doesn’t look especially reassured, but there’s nothing to be done now, and he’s ready to call it quits himself.

Alone on the office floor, finally, Keigo takes a moment to just breathe. He closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to shut out all thoughts. They’d taught him to meditate as a child. He’d alway thought it a pointless endeavor, but now he kind of wishes he’d paid better attention, that he could simply will away his mind like turning off a light.

He barely has a minute to try. Someone clears their throat, asking for his attention. 

He turns to them with a smile. “What’s up?”

He recognizes the young man. A PA, hired a few years back. 

“Intel for you, Sir,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wait until tomorrow to take a look.”

Keigo motions for the file in his hands, flipping through it as soon as he has it. No sense putting things off.

The PA explains, “The task force has discovered a list of addresses. Around half of them are the residence of record for established heroes. Another handful are homes that heroes have kept off the books. The one connection they all seem to have is that they are currently occupied by at least one civilian, as well.”

Keigo nods, peering at the list. 

The PA says, “Right now we’re operating under the assumption that these are a list of targets.” 

Keigo had assumed. With the momentum gained from Rei’s attack it would figure that the villain would keep going. Attention tends to spur on bigger and more intense feats.  

“Who else knows about this?” Keigo asks. 

“Only heroes assigned to the task-force, sir.” 

“No one from the Commission?” 

“The intel came to us from Deku’s agency,” he returns. “The Commission will receive the information as soon as Deku has convened with his people.” 

Keigo nods again, then returns his attention to the page. The first step would be to mobilize the people at these residencies, but how to do that without alerting the culprit would take some creative problem solving. The page is nearly full, numbers reaching toward the margins.

Still, despite the massive amount of work to come, this is a step in the right direction. 

He’s about to hand the file back to the handler and pay a visit to Deku’s agency himself when something catches his eye— 

Your building address, and next to it your unit number. You. 

He’s out the door and in the air in ten seconds, flat. 

...

The last thing you expect is to see on your impromptu day off is your door literally being cracked at the hinges.

The second to last thing is the man you haven’t heard from in weeks, pushing past you, stalking straight inside like he owns the place.

He looks… not great. He’s definitely lost some weight. There are horrible, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is a little longer than he prefers. He smells like how he always smells after taking double patrols, like sweat, and the city, and the sky. 

Has he been taking care of himself? Has anyone been looking after him?

“Get what you need,” he calls. “We’re leaving.”

He starts grabbing things himself. Your cardigan. The book you’re reading. Your sturdiest pair of shoes. His arms are full by the time you can work up the nerve to respond. Even then it sounds like more of a squeak. 

“Keigo?” 

He glances at you. He’s breathing hard. “Why aren’t you packing?”

“Because,” you sputter, “what the hell?” 

You reach for him. Then pull away. You take a step back, but you’re too unsteady on your feet to do anymore than that. Your legs might just give out, anyway. 

You’re reeling from his appearance, not able to make sense of any of it. Maybe you’re dreaming. But —

He’s standing right in front of you, the brightest thing in the room. If he were a little closer, you could feel his warmth. 

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, it feels like you should have forgotten what he looks like. But it’s just the same as always, him in your space. Feels so right, even when everything is all turned around like this. Recognition, in its basest form.

He leans in toward you. Opens his mouth, about to say something. From this angle, oddly, he looks like he might be about to bite you, the subtlest hint of teeth, his breath still leaving him in heavy drags. Like a predator, all keyed up and ready. 

Like if you run, he’ll chase. 

You can hardly get the words out. “What’s happening?”

An expression crosses his features, a flash of emotion that’s gone in an instant. A tick of remorse, disconsolate. Then he’s back to his unshakeable, placid smoothness. 

“You’re not safe here,” he says. It’s a tone he’s never taken with you before. Stern, cool. 

You have a hundred more questions, but they’re like little dragon flies, flitting around your skull. You keep grasping for them, but missing. You can’t figure out what to say. You can’t figure out what’s happening. 

Then —

You taste it, before anything. A metallic twinge to the air, like an ink blot of blood, coins on your tongue. 

Suddenly, your center of balance is off. You’re falling, bracing, falling. But not falling, because Keigo has you in his arms, hauling you, painfully, in some direction. 

A noise you can feel in your bones, that makes you think your teeth might fall out from the force of it.

You’re airborne. You think you might vomit. The night is whip-cold but also brutally, violently hot. 

—Falling. Again. For real, this time. 

You feel the soft brush of grass. He’s pressing you into it. He’s shifting you on top of it, rolling you.

“Are we on fire?” you gasp.

“Not anymore,” he returns.

His hands are all over you, bracing, touching, searching. Your skin is oddly numb. You can’t quite tell which way is up, anymore. You can barely hear anything, the whole world muffled, static. 

Somewhere, in the dark you catch a glimpse of molten light, and the sluggish neurons of your brain struggle to the conclusion that your home used to be there. Everything that’s yours used to be there. Now lit up, glowing like a midnight sunrise. Blinding you. But you can’t look away. 

Keigo’s on you again. All around you. He has a better grip on you, now. Not painful anymore. 

Two flaps and you’re airborne again, clutching to him with all your meager strength. Being clutched in return.

The heat from the flames follows you up, licks into the sky, and you think you must still be burning, you have to be. 

But Keigo has a hold of you, so tight and visceral it swallows all your thoughts, all your fear, and eventually you make it far enough that the ash is distant, and the night swaddles you like a cool blanket. 

“You’re okay,” Keigo is whispering, lips against your crown, your temple. “I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”

Distantly, you realize he’s been saying it this entire time. 

[yep-ishouldbesleeping]

Time to Vent

Hello My Hero Nation, it is time once again for me to scream into the void about my disappointments in the latest chapters (not all of them but especially a couple were just meh for me). You’ve read the title, buckle up BOIS.

I think Hori might have bitten more than he could chew with this arc and didn’t know how to wrap it up so he started to rush things, and it kinda shows. I’m not even one of those who thinks Horikoshi is a bad writer, he’s not the best but he’s good enough, especially the writings of certain characters I find very, very good.

But lately... He’s not been up to his own standards imo. 

So I made a list of all the things that disappointed me. Why? Because I’m insane and I’ve been hyper for the past 3 days and I need to say something.

Story wise

Midnight’s death was handled awfully. Not even a small flashback? Sis really died off screen like that. With Twice we got a beautifully crafted moment that was very heartbreaking, very well written. And although I’m more of a villain stan myself, I think the heroes’ side deserves the same treatment.

The fuck happened to Toga? Last time she was running and was not reunited with the League. 

The fuck happened to the Pussycats? We even got a small vignette with fucking Wash. WASH. (Like sir you’re great but now’s not the time)But not with them? ‘K. I thought they were a tad bit more important.

An update on Ryukyu? We know she was injured and that’s it, but she was important for Njire, Uraraka and Asui and yet we know nothing about her. I’m not even sure if the decay destroyed her hands completely.

We don’t know what happened to the big three. We know they got injured, but especially Tamaki, we basically haven’t seen him the whole arc, yet he was pretty important for Kirishima and Mirio (2 characters who have a more important role in the story... but yet here we are).

The Todos hospital scene. Not good. The golden child syndrome and the bad victim one strike again. Apparently Fuyumi and Natsuo aren’t as important as Shouto, being that they’re not “the family’s heroes”, when they both tried their best and Fuyumi especially tried to keep the family together (Not saying Shouto isn’t important just that he shouldn’t be put on a pedestal and viewed as better than his siblings).

Actual consequences for the heroes?? A couple of pages isn’t really enough in my opinion, and Endeavor gets to keep his job?? He should be removed if not incarcerated?? Domestic abuse is a crime??? Plus maybe a little investigation on Hawks. Show me something Hori. SHOW ME THE SYSTEM FALLING APART PLS.

An update on the current Heroes’ Top Ten would have been nice. Half of them are dead, another half is injured. Some people are quitting and some others are being cancelled. A quick recap would have helped the readers as well as the story, summarizing the story and showing how the tides are changing.

None seemed to really care that much about the prison breaks. We just know that the panic hasn’t stopped but everyone was more involved in other things. ‘K.

Kurogiri?? What happened to him? Did he escape? None knows.

Where are the new prisoners gonna go? People like the Doctor, Machia and Compress, if Tartarus is not available, especially Machia. Where the fuck can you put this giant. 

Human Reactions

The parents don’t seem concerned at all. Your children were dragged into a war, half of them almost died. Can we get an actual reaction? Give me parents that are angry, that cry, that want to take their children away from that school. Nope. Nothing. Just Inko and Mitsuki moving calmly looking mildly concerned. That’s not even in character.

Inko your child has dropped out of school and is missing. Honey what are you doing. Why didn’t they give you any human reaction I’m so sorry. They did you dirty love. 

Deku and All Might talikng. We don’t know her.

Deku AND KACCHAN TALKING. We don’t know her either.

Deku talking about Nana and Shigaraki. Nope. Not even a small little scene where he tells Gran Torino that Nana said hi, it would have been a small thing but still very moving I think.

THE SECRET IS OUT PEOPLE. Can we at least, at the very least, get an actual decent reaction of Deku’s classmates pls? No, just a page of people holding letters (that we can’t even read completely) with most of the focus on Uraraka, I know it’s because she has a crush on him, but people like Iida and Asui are his friends too, seeing that would have been nice.

THE OTHER SECRET IS OUT. Show me the class reacting to Todoroki’s situation, being hurt that a hero would do that, trying to awkwardly comfort Shouto.

Aizawa and Mic talking. For example about the Doctor or, I don’t know, FUCKING MIDNIGHT.

The League reacting to Dabi. The bitch is just crying blood on a couch none told him anything? 

The League being corcened about Compress and Toga. One is captured and the other is missing, I know that AFO is now in control but saying that your allies are missing should still be of interest to him too.

An update on Shigaraki. We don’t really know how the dialogue is going between him and AFO right now, after the prison escape I mean, just an update about them fighting for dominance (God that sounds bad) would have been nice.

The people reacting to ReDestro. I believe no civilians ever talked about him? And yet his company was pretty big, but now that he’s been exposed to have ties with the league none said anything. Also his ideology was said to be spreading but none seems to care that much.

Aaand that’s that. I probably forgot a couple of things but I think these are the more pressing matters. As I said I’m really disappointed. 

Hori has shown us that he’s a capable writer and now he’s just... not doing too well story wise I guess? I hope he can come back up.

I don’t know. I feel a bit better at least.

Feel free to add or disagree just please be nice, I’m a fragile human.

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[tiredcath]

Zukka Fic Recs

after atla came back into pop culture i found myself falling back in love with zukka which resulted in me reading (almost) every zukka fic on ao3 and here are my favorites

Transference by The_Quatermasters (146k)

In a modern AU, Zuko has to deal with settling in a new school after expulsion, dealing with an angry ex and an abusive father. Maybe his new found friendships and growing closeness with Sokka will help him make it through. 

Borderlines by The_Quatermasters (73k)

Three years after the war, the work still isn't quite done and the Gaang is scattered across the continents in their efforts to help the world recover. When Aang and Katara pay visit to the Fire Nation where Zuko is Fire Lord and Sokka acts as Ambassador for the Water Tribe, sparks fly between the siblings over Sokka's life choices.

Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by Muncaster (47k)

Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes?

(AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

sirens & sleepless nights by Satirrian (54k)

Life can be pretty hard living in a city under a totalitarian regime. Between adhering to the ridiculous curfew, keeping himself from being gunned down by a passing patrolman, and paying his unnecessary tolls to the state for, say, breathing, Sokka has his hands full just getting to work. Add aiding a resistance group on top of that, and Sokka should really be getting paid for this.

Then, one night, Sokka finds an injured patrolman collapsed in the street, who tells him with blood on his lips, “If the patrol finds me, I’m dead.”

 Real Slow by surveycorpsjean (21k)

“I see.” Zuko closes the scroll. “Is the Water Tribe sending a replacement?”

“Uh yeah,” Sokka gestures to himself dramatically. “You’re looking at him.”

 First by HoneyBadgerMole (20k)

Zuko has been nurturing a crush on the jock in his AP Psych class but he has been too scared to talk to him until they get paired up for a project.

the benefits of getting a flat tire by LesbeanLatte (64k)

Zuko makes an impromptu decision to run away from home after a disturbing conversation with Azula. Unfortunately, some plans are better when they're actually, well, planned. Zuko isn't counting on getting a flat tire almost as soon as he's far enough away from the city to really be in the middle of nowhere.

Sokka is immediately taken with the stranger he and his friends find stranded on the side of the road during an afternoon joy ride. However, he has no idea what he's getting involved with and a kind attempt to help a fellow teen in need turns into a massive coverup for a missing person who just so happens to be the son of the mayor of Ba Sing Se.

Azula was just trying to help her big brother - in her own way - by telling him things she thought he deserved to know. Now the situation has gotten wildly out of control. Did she enjoy seeing Zuko upset and afraid? Of course. Had she intended to endanger his life? Not necessarily, but of course, her idiot brother overreacted to everything and that's what happened and now she doesn't know how to stop the chain of events she's indirectly put in place like dominoes.

Operation Leverage by snowandfire (50k)

Sokka's instincts are onto something great. Zuko just wants to serve tea and brood in peace. Ironically, Toph is the only one who can see what's really going on.

 The Stingray by Smediterranea (24k)

“You’re not carrying me.”

“I don’t mind,” the lifeguard says easily.

“I can just hop over.”

“On sand?”

Zuko will never admit it, but being carried feels pretty nice. The lifeguard sets him down and eyes him warily.

“Are you really all by yourself?” he asks in a worried tone. “No friends in town you can call to check on you?”

“No,” Zuko confirms. Tears are forming again with alarming speed; his foot throbs painfully with every passing second.

“What kind of burrito do you want?”

“You don’t have to —“ Zuko repeats.

“I’m getting al pastor. You like al pastor?”

 AU: Zuko falls for Sokka, the super hot lifeguard who helps him after an unfortunate encounter with a stingray.

 it's the illusion of separation by argentoswan (110k)

Sokka takes a job washing dishes at the new tea shop in town. It's a great gig, until he finds out his only coworker is his old high school bully. Sokka really should quit, but he also really needs to afford rent.

Also, Zuko is kind of hot now.

 People like to think war means something by trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once (21k)

Sokka was the first to leave.

Somehow that hurt the most. . . . Not long after Zuko becomes Firelord, forces gather in the South and next thing he knows he's thrown into a civil war with almost no one by his side. Maybe healing is longer and more complicated than it needs to be, but with the right people by your side it is always possible.

 a way that will destroy you by anothermistakemade (14k)

In the wake of Ozai's death, Zuko begins to fall apart. Sokka will do everything in his power to make sure that doesn't happen.

-

or, zuko might be losing his mind, but he also might just be really sad & traumatized

 Those Who Favor Fire by CSHfic, VSfic (30k)

After a failed attempt on his life, Sokka fakes his death, dons a disguise, and infiltrates the would-be assassin's ranks in an attempt to bring them down from the inside.

Zuko learns of his husband's tragic death, mourns, and vows revenge.

 Words Mean More at Night by DaisytheDoodleDog (28k)

Even ten years after the end of the war, rebellions rise and risk the balance of the nations. Sokka was willing to do anything to protect his people, which is perhaps why he's leading an army against the rebellion, attacking only as a last result. But Sokka's unwinding, it's taking a toll on him, and the only thing keeping him grounded are the letter Zuko and him exchange late in the night when no one can see the messenger hawks. But as they say, nothing's fair in love and war.

another word for wanting by eurydicees (23k)

Sokka begins to dream of his soulmate when he's eleven years old, and it just gets harder from there. Or, 125 moments soulmates share, and none of them come easy.

(In which your dreams are your soulmate's memories, and Sokka dreams of an all-consuming fire, growing and eating at his soulmate until it burns up the connection between their souls. In which they find love anyways.)

 It Has Only Just Begun by Kirazalea (39k)

There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring

Zuko had now chosen the path his uncle had been trying so hard to show him; he had someone who believed in him, who maybe loved him; he was travelling with the Avatar and they apparently had a plan to end the war. By all accounts, Zuko should be smiling.

But Uncle was gone (captured by Azula, and Zuko didn't think she would kill him, but he didn’t, couldn’t, know for sure). The Avatar was barely breathing (he could still die at any second and there was nothing any of them could do about it). Azula had conquered the last Earth Kingdom stronghold (all those innocent people who were now at her mercy). It seemed like, for every step Zuko took forward, the world sent him back three more.

But he was determined to push forward anyways. He needed to make his uncle proud, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

aka: zuko joins the gaang at the end of season 2

 Nightmares and Reveries by HisMomoness (20k)

Zuko doesn't sleep because when he does, he's haunted by nightmares. Sokka worms his way into a job and makes it his mission to get Zuko to relax. Lots of head pets and one vacation to the South Pole later, Zuko might just be getting the hang of it.

Cue pining, some fluff, and eventual romance.

 The One Who Stopped Time by ohhihoney (66k)

All hope was lost to Zuko until one day, his uncle asked a random person at the Jasmine Dragon to tutor his nephew. Gritting his teeth and embarrassed beyond the point of no return, Zuko gave the blue eyed boy his number.

Little did Zuko know how much Sokka would change his world.

 Rubbed Off Stars by ohhihoney (2k)

Sokka wasn't going to just sit and watch the boy at the back of the bus cry while trying to rub off pride flags off his cheeks.

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

WIP

Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought (168k)

After that fateful Agni Kai, Ozai makes a different call. Branded as a traitor and banished to a prison camp, Zuko learns how cruel the Fire Nation can be to its citizens. Three years, a water tribe raid, and an unexpected meeting with a gang of over-enthusiastic idealistic children puts Zuko back in the spotlight. The revolution is coming and it wants another poster boy, but Zuko is not willing to lend his face to the cause.

 Another Brother by AvocadoLove (312k)

It was a mission of revenge. There weren't supposed to be any survivors, but Chief Hakoda couldn't bring himself to kill the Fire Nation boy. Against his better judgment, he brought him home. A Zuko joins the Water Tribe story.

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

BONUS : zuko x jet

Something to Hold Onto by Wildgoosery (122k)

Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for, and where his heart lies.

[the-lincyclopedia]

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime. 

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is. 

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute. 

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault. 

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always. 

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other. 

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad. 

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity. 

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap. 

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form. 

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story. 

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

[pinktintedmonocle]

Dedicated Followers of Fashion - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - Chapter 3

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked.

Johnny blinked in confusion.  “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

In which Daniel is not on fire, Johnny performs a heist and they finally attempt to deal with their feelings for each other with the help of two iconic outfits…

Trigger warning: some references to outdated and ill-informed views on homosexuality and bisexuality.

1981

“Mr Lawrence.  Stay behind for a moment, will you?”

Kreese’s voice cut through the air, and although it was framed as a question Johnny knew that it was a command rather than a request.

“I’ll see you later”, Johnny murmured to Bobby, and hung back while the rest of the class shuffled out.

When they were alone Kreese surveyed him for a moment, his cool gaze sweeping Johnny from head to toe, and Johnny forced himself to stay standing straight up, head high, shoulders held back rather than turning tail.  He knew that gaze, not just from Kreese but from Sid as well, knew that it almost always preceded a sneer followed by a torrent of insults carefully constructed to inflict the most pain possible.

But no insults were forthcoming; instead Kreese just nodded, once, and walked past Johnny into his office. He emerged a few seconds later, a pile of black cloth held in his arms, and crossed back over to Johnny, holding out the bundle.

“For you, Mr Lawrence”, Kreese said smoothly, and Johnny’s jaw fell open when he realised what it was.

“A tournament gi?” he whispered, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice just in case he was mistaken.  “For me, Sensei?”

Kreese smiled indulgently and inclined his head down, indicating for Johnny to take the uniform.

Johnny picked it up, sucking in a deep breath as he did so.  He’d just been a spectator at the All Valley tournament for the last two years, sitting in the front row and cheering his fellow Cobras on, hoping against hope that one day it would be him up there, leading Cobra Kai to victory.  He ran his fingers over the patch on the front of the top, scarcely believing that he was seeing his own name (his own name!) printed above the motif of a fist.

“Do you really think I’m ready, Sensei?” he asked quietly, and Kreese’s smile widened as he laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Yes son”, said Kreese. “It’s time for you to get out there and show everyone what a true champion is made of.  I have a feeling that gi is only the first of many.”

Johnny felt his chest swell with happiness as a grin spread over his face.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei”, he promised fervently.  “I swear it. I’ll never, ever let you down.”

 December 20th, 1984

“Johnny?  Johnny, are you OK sweetie?”

Johnny burrowed deeper under the bed covers, ignoring his mom.  His throat was throbbing painfully and he desperately needed to pee, but he didn’t want to move from his dark cocoon.  After a minute his mom stopped calling his name, and he thought she’d gone away when he heard his bedroom door open softly and feet pad across to him. He felt the bed dip as she sat down before her hand landed on his back, rubbing soft circles into it through the covers.

“Hey”, she said soothingly. “It’s OK, Johnny.  I know you did your best.”

“How?” croaked Johnny, voice muffled by the blankets.  “How do you know what I did when you weren’t even there?”

His mom’s hand stopped moving.  “I’m so sorry I missed it sweetie, but Sid had a work dinner and I had to go-”

“You always choose him over me”, Johnny said hoarsely, shifting across the bed out of his mom’s reach.

“You know that’s not true, Johnny”, Laura said quietly.

Johnny didn’t reply, and a few seconds later he felt his mom stand up and start to walk away.  He heard her footsteps pause, and then a rustling sound; the crinkle of cloth.

“Where do you want me to put this, Johnny?” she asked, and Johnny didn’t need to look to know that she was holding the gi that he’d torn off and discarded on the floor when he’d got home.

“I don’t care”, he said, curling up further under the blanket.

Laura sighed.  “OK, well I’m going to keep it if that’s alright with you.  I’ll put it with the others.”

Johnny was silent, and after a minute he heard his mom leave, the door closing behind her.  He held his breath for a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to come back, before he let himself cry, the tears running down tracks still present on his cheeks from the night before.  He didn’t care what his mom did with the gi; he never wanted to see it again.

 2019

They won the tournament, Miguel delivering the winning kick against Robby in a nail-biting final, and while the kids celebrated Johnny and Daniel had hotfooted it out of the All Valley Sports Arena, desperately searching for Robby and Kreese.  They eventually found them around the back of the building, Kreese having apparently learned his lesson from last time and avoiding the crowded parking lot.  He had Robby in a headlock, second place trophy in pieces on the ground, and for a sickening moment Johnny felt as if time had rewound thirty-five years and it was all happening again.

They had acted as one, Johnny sweeping Kreese’s leg while Daniel delivered the kick to his face, and while Daniel had pulled a shaken and spluttering Robby out of the way Johnny had stood over his old Sensei, mouth set in a hard line.

“Now get the hell out of here and never come back”, he had growled.  Before Kreese had a chance to respond Johnny had turned away, attending to Robby.

After an exhausting few weeks of sorting out the mess Kreese had left behind (“A lot of those kids he was brainwashing are going to need many years of therapy”, Daniel had said) and making sure Robby was OK (he had let Johnny and Daniel take him to hospital after the tournament, but had barely talked to either of them since, opting instead to move back in with Shannon who was fresh out of rehab), Johnny and Daniel had decided to keep their new dojo open, with them both teaching evening classes while Johnny managed most of the day sessions solo when Daniel was at the dealership.  (“Just try to be nice, OK Johnny?  No inappropriate nicknames.”  “Define inappropriate.”  “Anything you would’ve used in the 80’s.” Daniel answered drily.  “Then what the hell am I supposed to call them?” Johnny protested. “Their names, Johnny.”)

They had also managed to avoid being alone together for any length of time; Miguel, Sam and Hawk had begun to join them for lesson planning and nights out always included Amanda and Carmen.  Johnny was starting to think that Daniel had either forgotten or decided to abandon their plan to talk about The Thing between them (Johnny had started to refer to it as The Thing in his mind, even though that also made him think of the Kurt Russell film, which was confusing at times.  But he didn’t know what else to call it; what was the appropriate terminology for the overwhelming urge to kiss the face off your childhood karate rival turned reluctant co-sensei?), when he’d received a Facebook message from Daniel one night after practice.

Dinner.  My place. Saturday night, 7.30pm.  Amanda out and the kids at sleepovers.  And get a damn cell phone, Johnny.  I’m sick of having to wait for you to turn on your laptop before you pick up my messages.  (Johnny had rolled his eyes and responded with the middle finger emoji, followed shortly after by yeah, whatever, see you then.)

On Saturday night Johnny tried on the entire contents of his wardrobe, searching for just the right outfit in which to discuss what to do about The Thing.  After several hours his bedroom looked like an explosion in a thrift store and he finally settled on his dark suit and yellow shirt combo, telling himself as he adjusted his tie and slicked his hair back that he was going to Daniel’s to deal with the business of The Thing between them, so what better outfit than a business suit?  They would drink (there was no way Johnny was doing it sober), they would talk, they would eat, they would try and come up with a solution to their feelings which didn’t end with Johnny just pushing Daniel up against a wall and ramming his tongue down the other man’s throat.

The outfit selection had taken so long that it was well after 7.30pm by the time Johnny headed out of his apartment and drove round to the LaRusso house, but even after he arrived he still stayed in the car for a while, hands clutching the steering wheel as the Valley darkened around him.

Eventually he took a deep breath and got out, grabbing a bag from the passenger seat and locking the door before squaring his shoulders, walking purposefully up to the front door and ringing the bell.  He shifted nervously from foot to foot, and when Daniel didn’t come to the door after a minute he pressed the bell again, keeping his finger held down on it for a good ten seconds before letting go.  After there was still no response, Johnny started to feel a little uneasy.  What if something’s happened to him?  Johnny had a sudden vision of Daniel trying to cook some overly complicated recipe that involved a blow torch like Johnny had seen on the Food Network and setting fire to himself.  Or maybe he’d tripped over those ridiculously long legs of his and fallen down the stairs and was lying in a crumpled, broken heap at the bottom.  Or what if Kreese had returned despite his promise to stay away and had finally gotten his revenge?  Johnny’s heart started to race as he thought about what it would be like to live in world without Daniel LaRusso.  He felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down as he found his feet carrying him swiftly around to the rear of the house.  He was making for the back door (rapidly formulating a break-in plan in his mind, which largely consisted of just kicking the door until it opened) when he saw that there was a light on in Daniel’s home dojo; he hurried in, shoes squeaking on the floor, half expecting to see Daniel’s lifeless body spread out in front of him.

“Johnny?” asked a familiar Jersey-accented voice, and Johnny turned to see Daniel sitting on a bench pushed up against a Japanese style screen, a wine glass raised halfway to his lips.  “Are you OK?”

Johnny breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then felt like an idiot.  His cheeks reddened.  “What? Er, yeah, I’m fine.  I just thought you might be on fire or something but you’re not, so we’re all good.”

Daniel frowned. “Johnny, why the hell would I be on fire - ” he started, before he cut himself off and shook his head.  “You know what?  I don’t want to know.  He shuffled along the bench, making room for Johnny, and gestured to a bottle of wine. “You want a drink?”  

“I’m good”, said Johnny, holding up his bag as he sat down and pulling out a crate of Coors Banquet.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, instead reaching out for the bottle of wine and topping up his glass.  Johnny stared at him; he was dressed in corduroy pants and a fleecy blue sweatshirt, hair product-free and sticking up in fluffy tufts as if he’d been running his hands through it.  Johnny tore his eyes away, feeling a little hot.  He shrugged off his suit jacket and undid his top button, pulling at his collar. He took a bottle of Coors of out its cardboard container and twisted the cap off, taking a big gulp of beer.

“You missed dinner”, Daniel said.

“What was it?”

“Pesto and arugula linguine.”

Johnny pulled a face. “Sounds green.”

Daniel huffed, although Johnny thought he saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Yeah, well.  I did”, Johnny said.  He was just close enough to Daniel that he could smell the smaller man’s aftershave (clean and fresh with just the slightest hint of musk).  He took another swig of beer.

“Yeah”, said Daniel, leaning in ever so slightly.  “For some reason you’re dressed like a detective from the 1970’s and you were over an hour late, but yeah, you came.”

Johnny reached out and shoved Daniel’s shoulder playfully, but rather than pulling back he left his hand there, fingers gently stroking Daniel’s arm through the soft fabric. Daniel bit his lip and Johnny realised he was about five seconds away from giving into temptation and kissing Daniel until his own lips were too sore to form coherent sentences.  He let his arm drop and glanced away, shifting on the bench to put a little more space between them, looking around the room for a distraction.  His eyes settled on the framed gi hanging on the wall.

“Of course you framed it. Bet you look at it every day and get a little thrill thinking about how you beat me.”

“Actually the reason I framed it was because Mr Miyagi gave it to me for my birthday”, Daniel replied. “The bonsai was embroidered by his wife before she died.”

“Oh”, Johnny said awkwardly, but then Daniel’s mouth quirked up in a smirk.

“But yeah, it does also remind me of kicking you in the face.”

Johnny picked up his discarded bottle cap and threw it at the smaller man.  It landed softly in Daniel’s hair and he scowled, plucking it out and throwing it back at Johnny who caught it easily.

“Asshole.”

“Twerp.”

They drank in silence for a minute before Johnny finally asked the question that had been bugging him for weeks.

“Why is blue my fault?”

Daniel didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard Johnny, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of his fleece.  He drained his glass and then picked up the bottle to re-fill, and Johnny was about to repeat the question when Daniel finally spoke.  

“I- I liked you in high school.”

Johnny snorted in derision. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Daniel sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “No, I mean I liked you in high school, Johnny.”

It took Johnny a moment to realise when Daniel meant; when he did, he blinked in surprise. “Oh.  Shit.”

Daniel swirled the wine around in his glass.  “Yeah. After the tournament I started having these dreams about you, and when I saw you at school…”.  He paused, taking a sip of wine and staring down at the floor. “There wasn’t any information about it in those days, you know?  About men who liked men or men who liked both men and women.  Not useful information, anyway.  The news just said it made you sick, and my neighbour Freddy told me he’d once seen an Al Pacino movie about it and that it meant you had to wear a lot of leather and might be murdered.”  He took a big gulp of wine and stared down at his feet, not meeting Johnny’s eye, and when he spoke again his voice was somehow both soft and brittle.  

“So I just tried to ignore it and hoped that it would go away, but of course it didn’t.  So the next time I needed new clothes I just bought everything in blue, because – I don’t know, it just seemed like a safe colour. Like people were less likely to know…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh”, Johnny said again.  (He felt that he should probably have said something else, but had no clue what that would be.)  “And then what?”

Daniel shrugged.  “And then, eventually, there was more information and I learned that it was OK to like both men and women, but by that time I was already with Amanda and I didn’t want anyone else.”  He went to take another sip of his wine but then seemed to change his mind, placing the glass down on the bench and running a hand through his hair.  

Johnny realised his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.

“And what about you, Johnny?”

“What about me, LaRusso?”

“Did – did you like me too? Back then?”

Johnny had a sudden, vivid memory of the day they first met, of looking down at Daniel playing with Ali on the beach and feeling an odd swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of long legs and slim hips that he hadn’t fully understood and had masked with anger.

“Maybe”.  He went to take a pull on his Banquet, but the bottle was empty.  He cracked open another and took a long swig from it.

“We would be terrible together”, Daniel said bluntly.  “We’d argue over everything and we’d probably try and kill each other within a week.”

“Yeah”, Johnny agreed. “It’d be a fucking nightmare.”

“And yet –”, said Daniel, gesturing at the space between them, at the thirty-five year old heart-shaped elephant in the room.  “-there’s this”.            

“Yeah.  The Thing.  Our thing, I mean, nothing to do with Kurt Russell.”  Johnny looked down at his feet.  “I don’t know what to do about it, LaRusso.”

“No”, Daniel said miserably. “I don’t either.”

They looked at each other, and Johnny was suddenly overcome with the urge to just get up and run out of there at full pelt (he could be in his car and on his way home in under a minute if he moved fast).  He hadn’t expected it to go this way; he thought that Daniel would have some carefully constructed five-point plan for how to deal with their feelings, or that he’d get some sudden flash of inspiration (damn business suit had been no help at all). Instead he breathed deeply in and out and shifted just a little closer to Daniel, holding out a hand.  Daniel hesitated for a fraction of a second before he took it in his.

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked after a while.

Johnny blinked in confusion. “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

“Oh.  No.  But it might still be at Sid’s with some of my mom’s old stuff.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “You think you could go round there and see if you can find it?”

“Maybe”, said Johnny, frowning.  “Why?”

**********************************************************************************

Johnny loitered outside the house, watching as Sid clambered into his car with the help of Rhonda. The chauffeur got in and started the engine and Johnny ducked behind a bush as the car swooped down the driveway. When it was safely out of sight he walked briskly up to the front door and rang the bell (he knew better than to try and sneak round the back; Sid’s home security systems had always been state of the art and he’d tripped the alarm more than once as a teenager, creeping back home after an all-night rager).

When the butler answered the door Johnny walked straight past him, talking fast.

“Hey, is my step-dad home? It’s just that I think I left something here last time I visited and I wanted to see if he’d found it.”

The butler hurried behind Johnny as he walked into Sid’s study.  “Mr Weinberg is out at the moment, Mr Lawrence, but perhaps if you come back another day after you’ve made an appointment-”

“Ah, it’s OK, I think I know where I left it”, said Johnny.  “I’ll go grab it and be out of your hair in just a sec.”  He looked at the butler again.  “Well, actually, you don’t have any hair, but you know what I mean.”

“Mr Lawrence, I must protest-” began the butler, but Johnny stepped around him and back out into the hall before turning left and taking the stairs two at a time.  He ran along the corridor to his old bedroom (now a storage room) and began to search for the boxes with his mom’s name on them. He could already hear the butler talking to someone on the phone and he reckoned he had about three minutes before the burly security guards that Sid kept on site found him, and a further two minutes before Sid arrived back home (Johnny knew that he would order his chauffeur to turn right back around as soon as the butler told him what was going on; his step-father would never miss an opportunity to kick Johnny out of his house).

After a minute of searching Johnny found the boxes marked ‘Laura’ and tore them open, pulling out high heels and floral dresses, some of which still smelt faintly of his mom’s perfume. His stomach clenched at the scent, memories flooding back; he shook his head, forcing himself to focus.  He opened another box, and then another, and was just starting to think they weren’t there, that Sid must have thrown them out, when he found them folded up neatly at the bottom of the last box. Four black gi’s with yellow trim. He pulled them all out and held them up one by one to determine which was the biggest, which was the one from 1984. When he’d identified it he quickly stuffed the pants, top and a belt into the backpack slung over his shoulder and sprinted back down the corridor and the stairs.  As he barrelled out of the door he heard heavy footsteps behind him and several deep voices shouting at him to stop, but he kept running, breath hitching in his chest.

Sid’s car pulled back into the driveway as Johnny ran out of it, and as Johnny raced down the road, the security guards puffing along behind him for a few paces before giving up, he heard Sid shout.

“And don’t you ever come back here, you good-for-nothing schmuck!”

Don’t worry, Johnny thought, slowing his pace a little as he turned a corner out of sight.  I won’t.

**********************************************************************************

“Good work today everyone!”, said Sam, clapping her hands together, and Johnny smirked as Daniel raised an eyebrow at his daughter as their students began to talk amongst themselves.

“You know that’s my line, right?” Daniel asked.

Sam grinned.  “You snooze you lose, Dad.  Maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about stepping back a bit, let the new guard take the lead.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.  Plenty of life left in this not-so-old dog yet.”

“So what’s the plan for tonight, Sensei and Mr LaRusso?” piped up Miguel, taking a slug of water from his bottle and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “More lesson planning?”

Johnny and Daniel exchanged a glance.

“Ah, no, not tonight kid”, said Johnny.  “Me and LaRusso have got some stuff we need to work on.  Just – er – just us two.”

The teenagers frowned.

“What is it?” asked Hawk. “Some kind of secret new move?”

“Paperwork”, Daniel replied quickly.  “Although if you really want to stay and help out-”

Sam, Miguel and Hawk all made noises of protest, muttering vaguely about needing to get home.  Sam gave Daniel a quick hug while Miguel and Hawk chorused “See you later, Sensei” at Johnny before all three of them joined the other students as they trooped out of the yard.

Robby smiled tightly at them as he passed.  He’d shown up a few days prior and stood at the back of the class, joining in with kata but abstaining from sparring.  He hadn’t talked to Johnny or Daniel yet, but it was a start.  

Then it was just the two of them.  Johnny stared down at his feet, scuffing his shoes against the grass, before raising his eyes to look at Daniel.

Daniel’s tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously.  “You hungry?” he asked.

Johnny took in Daniel’s appearance, skin flushed and hair mussed from training.  Not for food.

“Ah, no, I’m good. But if you wanna go get something for yourself-”

“No”, said Daniel.  “I just – I just want to get on with this. Did you bring it?”

Johnny nodded, and together they walked inside.  Daniel gestured around the dojo.  “I’ll get changed in here.  You take the office.”

“Alright”, agreed Johnny, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.  He walked into the next room and snagged a bottle of Banquet from the refrigerator before opening up his gym bag.  He pulled out the black uniform, freshly washed and neatly folded.

“It’s important it looked how it did then”, Daniel had said. “Don’t show up with it all smelly and crumpled.”

The plan had appeared to make something resembling sense when they were drunk.  Johnny, remembering Ali’s words (“Sometimes it’s good to visit the past to know where you are now”) had agreed to it, but sober (or at least as sober as Johnny ever was) the idea seemed more than a little bat-shit crazy.  But if it had even the slightest chance of helping them process their feelings for one another he was willing to give it a shot. Besides, Johnny had always felt most clear headed in the midst of a fight; adrenaline singing through his veins, blood pumping, everything appearing just that little bit sharper and brighter.

He pulled off his workout clothes and sneakers and held up the black gi pants, wondering if he was even going to be able to get them past his thighs.  He pulled them on very slowly, just about managing to get them all the way up without busting a seam, and then leaned down at an awkward angle to grab the rest of his uniform.  He put on the top (was it really a good idea to be showing so much chest around someone who was madly in lust with him?  Probably not), tied the belt and walked stiffly into the dojo.

Daniel was standing on the opposite side of the room, fiddling with his sleeves.

“You haven’t even changed yet!” Johnny protested, gesturing towards him.

“What?  I have!”, Daniel replied, pointing towards an identical heap of white cloth on the floor.

Johnny shook his head. “Of course it still fits you.”  He walked towards Daniel, trying not to bend his knees too much.  Daniel just stared at him.

“Jesus, Johnny.  How did you even get that on?”

Johnny shrugged, still moving robot-like across the room until he was in front of Daniel.  Close up Johnny could see that Daniel’s gi was not quite identical to the one he’d worn in class; it was slightly more worn, frayed around the edges, and it was also quite snug.  His hand crept out and he touched Daniel’s chest (fully covered unlike Johnny’s, no exposed nipples in sight), and let his fingers glide down the fabric, coming to rest low on Daniel’s stomach, skimming the softness there.

Daniel shifted, but didn’t pull away.  “Why do you always touch me there?”, he asked.

Johnny felt a smile pulling at his lips.  “Only place you’re not perfect, LaRusso.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Well you’ve spent enough money tying to still look like you did in high school”, replied Johnny, gesturing with his free hand to Daniel’s carefully dyed hair and moisturiser-softened skin.

Daniel scowled, but then his eyes drifted down to Johnny’s hand, still resting on his stomach.  “So it’s my imperfections that you like, Johnny?”

“Maybe”, Johnny said. He thought back to the night of the pink shirt, of the brief glimpse of Daniel’s bare torso.  He would only have to move his fingers a little to the left to reach Daniel’s gi belt; one tug and the top would fall open, exposing Daniel’s body, just like opening a present on Christmas Day.  Instead he stepped back, arms dropping to his sides.

Daniel cleared his throat. “You remember your moves, Johnny?”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so”.  (Of course he remembered them; that fight was part of him and always would be, whether he wanted it to be or not.)

“Just go easy on my knee this time, yeah?” asked Daniel.

“Ditto, but for my face”, countered Johnny.

They got into position and Johnny bowed, deep and deliberate, locking eyes with Daniel as the smaller man mirrored him.  Then they straightened up, getting into fighting stances, and began.

Johnny lunged forward with a jump kick and heard a tearing sound as the too-tight material of his gi pants gave way.  “Oh shit”, he muttered.

Daniel sidestepped Johnny’s leg, avoiding contact, “You alright there?” he asked, inclining his head towards Johnny’s crotch.

“I’m fine”, Johnny replied, feeling his cheeks redden.  He dived straight back into the fight with a flurry of kicks and Daniel landed a blow to the chest (“one point LaRusso”), his knuckles skimming over bare flesh.  Daniel went in for a punch and Johnny pushed him to the ground, hand lingering for a second on Daniel’s chest before Daniel flipped himself up (not quite as gracefully as the last time, Johnny noted a little smugly) and they circled each other, panting heavily, before Johnny kicked out and Daniel went low, pulling Johnny down with him and tapping him on the back (“That’s two for LaRusso”), and they both lay there for a moment, legs tangled together (those legs, what Johnny wouldn’t do to stay wrapped in them), before they clambered up, parting reluctantly, getting ready to face off again.

“You need a time out, Johnny?”  Daniel asked lightly, but there was an edge to his voice and his body was braced, ready for attack.

“I’m good.  Didn’t bust my nose this time, LaRusso.”

Daniel nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and suddenly it was as if it was 1984 again and they were in the All Valley Sports Arena, the crowd roaring around them and Kreese standing to the side, arms crossed, confident that Johnny would obey him no matter what.

“Sweep the leg.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No Sensei.”

“No mercy.”

Johnny’s leg went up, his body moving by itself as though he had no control over it, like a puppet on a string.  Daniel tensed, waiting for the inevitable blow to his own leg, and Johnny wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when it never came.  Instead the kick struck Daniel’s chest, a fair kick, not targeting a known weakness, and the smaller man fell back onto his ass, blinking in surprise.  They stared at each other for a moment, panting heavily, and then Daniel’s face split into a grin before he got up again, and Johnny felt his own lips pull into a smile as they continued.

Johnny fought the rest of the fight with his own moves, every kick and punch shredding the material of his gi a little bit more, and he found that he felt lighter with every ripped seam as if shedding a too tight skin that he hadn’t realised he was still wearing.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei, I swear it.  I’ll never, ever let you down.”

“You’re nothing, you lost, you’re a loser”.

“I did warn you about this.  I told you not to show weakness.”

“I will never let my students lose.  Even if they have to learn the hard way.  One day you’ll thank me for this, Johnny.”

Rip

Tear

Pull

Break

Johnny kept his eyes trained on Daniel as they sparred, on the man who Johnny had blamed for so many things that were never his fault, weren’t Johnny’s fault either, but instead were entirely the fault of someone who had seen Johnny as an impressionable young kid and decided to warp him into a solider.

Johnny didn’t grab Daniel’s leg, didn’t ram his elbow into the back of his knee.  Instead they danced around each other, Johnny’s cheeks aching from the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face, and then Daniel raised two arms and a leg, preparing for the crane kick. There was a moment of stillness and Johnny stared at the person in front of him; this tiny, forceful creature who had crashed back into his life after thirty odd years, and he felt that same swooping sensation in his stomach that he had that night at the beach.  Then Daniel’s leg flew out, or at least it almost did; Daniel’s gi pants pulled tight around thighs that were just a little thicker than when he was a teenager, and as the material restricted his movements Daniel’s eyes went wide and he fell over backwards, landing on his ass.

Johnny felt something rise up his throat and into his mouth (for a second he thought he was going to barf all over Daniel’s precious gi, which would have kept him amused for weeks after even if he did have to pay the dry cleaning bill), but instead what came out was a snigger followed by a chuckle, and before he knew it Johnny’s body was wracked with laughter and he dropped to his knees next to Daniel, chest heaving.  For a moment Daniel stared at him as if he was mad, but then Daniel’s own shoulders started to shake and soon they were both laughing uncontrollably.  Johnny felt that lightness again, both wonderful and dizzying (“the unbearable lightness of being Johnny Lawrence”, Daniel said, years later, when Johnny tried to recall the feeling.  Johnny just rolled his eyes and threw his bottle cap at Daniel, grinning when it landed in the other man’s greying hair).

When they finally stopped, guffaws subsiding into giggles that eventually petered out into silence, Johnny felt limp but happy, as if all the tension had been drained from his body. He looked at Daniel sat on the floor before him, sweaty and out of breath but with his white gi still pristine and perfectly intact while Johnny’s black one hung off him in tatters (and if that wasn’t a perfect representation of their relationship then Johnny didn’t know what was).  He shuffled forward and raised a hand to Daniel’s face, thumb rubbing against a soft cheek where just the slightest hint of stubble had appeared.  

“Johnny”, Daniel murmured, leaning into the touch.

“Daniel”, whispered Johnny, the name unfamiliar on his lips, and they locked eyes before closing the distance between them and pressing their mouths together.

Johnny had never really understood the act of kissing as something in and of itself before; for him it had always been a means to an end, and that end was usually sex or at least a good grope (Dutch had taught him that; always try to put a hand on a girl’s boob while making out), and he had imagined it would be like that with Daniel; a desperate, frantic mashing together of lips and teeth as they ripped each other’s clothes off.  But although Johnny could feel lust coiling in his belly the kiss was nothing like that at all; it was slow and sweet, Daniel’s soft lips moving gently against his, his mouth warm and inviting.  It was somehow both too much and not enough, and Johnny didn’t know if it was the first kiss or the last, the beginning of something or the end.

Eventually they broke for air but stayed close, breath mingling, foreheads pressed together.

“It’s getting late”, Johnny said, pulling back and nodding towards the slight gap in the screen doors where a sliver of inky black sky was visible.  He gestured between them.  “We should – ah – we should probably get changed”.

“Yeah”, Daniel replied, glancing at Johnny’s ruined gi. “We should.”

But neither of them moved, and Johnny found himself wondering what would happen if they just stayed there forever, curled around each other in that little house (he could get Bobby to send food parcels).  But his legs had started to cramp and so he got up reluctantly, holding out a hand to help Daniel to his feet.  They smiled at each other for a moment longer before they both nodded in silent agreement and turned away.  Johnny started to walk into the office to gather his clothes, but only took a few steps before he turned, drinking in the sight of Daniel’s bare back as he carefully removed and folded up his gi top, muscles shifting.  Johnny tore his eyes away and forced himself into the next room, firmly closing the screen door between them.  Maybe there would be time in the years to come for him to explore Daniel’s body, maybe not, but whatever happened at least the past was finally behind them while the future stretched out in front, unwritten, a blank page ready to be filled with whatever story they chose for themselves.

[kirnet]

kirnet x atton (but not really lol). 2.2k words. Dxun sucks ass

Despite everything that she had done as Revan’s left hand, Kirnet believed in the light side of the Force. It moved through every living creature; every sentient, beast, and plant (and droid, Kirnet had argued at every opportunity with Malak as Revan laughed at their squabbling). Therefore, everything deserved compassion and humility, from the Grand Chancellor of the Republic to the smallest insect. As flawed as she found her old masters, she still clung to their belief that all life was precious, even when they couldn’t bring themselves to live and die by their own teachings.

As hard as had been since taking over the Ebon Hawk, Kirnet tried to follow this philosophy. Of course, sometimes it couldn’t be helped that the occasional mercenary needed an emergency amputation or that a Sith assassin got gently helped over the side of one of Nar Shaddaa’s lofty gangways. But, to Kreia’s frustration, Kirnet tried to be kind. She had done her share of harm in the war. Harm that she could feel seeping from the scarred surface of Dxun into her bones as she circled the Hawk, checking for any damage from their recent run in with Onderon’s fleet.

Harm that she was about to unleash all over again if these kriffing mosquitos wouldn’t leave her alone.

She waved her hand around her ear, trying to gently signal to the offending creature (Yes, creature, she reminded herself. A creature that can feel the Force just as well as the people on my ship) that it should get lost. For the moment, it took the hint and buzzed off. Kirnet sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Dxun wasn’t just hot, it was humid. Oppressive. It sat on her shoulders and pressed her down into the overgrown earth. She was well aware of what lay buried under the tall grass. Ship fragments. Mandalorian armor. That overeager Jedi with the lopsided smile, just knighted the week before, who always sat at her right in the mess hall and offered her their leftover gruel. They had the funniest laugh, she remembered.

The tall grass tickled her calf, bringing Kirnet back to her senses. She forced her right foot forward, then her left, until she was back on her lazy path around the pockmarked Hawk. Her hand fell to her bare neck, where she could already feel the bumps left by Dxun’s own insect fleet beginning to form.

Sure, it’s not in mint condition, and there's damage from Onderon’s “Welcoming Committee”, but I don’t see why Atton needs to spend all of his time-

Buzz.

The kriffing bug was back. 

Or maybe one of it’s friends. No, Kirnet was sure it was the same one. It was here to spite her. Punish her for everything she had done to this moon. Her fists clenched at her side as she closed her eyes, partly to relax herself, and partly to keep the insect from successfully diving into them.

This was a living being, a fellow creature of the galaxy. A being deserving of a Jedi’s compass-

Was there another fucking one?

There was! The droning was twofold around her head. Pressure built behind Kirnet’s eyes and pushed up on her feet and down on her shoulders. It pushed and squeezed on all sides like a vice as the swarm grew and stabbed at her eardrums. That nasally, buzzing laugh. Kirnet had made a joke at Malak’s expense. The table had laughed along with her. What was that knight’s name again?

Her hands snapped open, leaving her with blissful quiet as the mosquitos hung suspended in the air. Force, she would embrace any ancient Sith teaching to be able to suspend every mosquito on this Force forsaken planet at once. Anything to get that incessant droning to stop. Maybe Bao-Dur would make her another Mass Shadow Generator. 

Wow. Revan had really rubbed off on her.

“Uh, Kirnet? Everything alright?”

She released the insects at the voice, not even noticing their stuttering buzzing as she turned to Atton. He had eschewed his usual jacket for his undershirt, currently drenched in sweat and rolled up past his pale forearms. Kirnet tried to blink the dots from her eyes. Or were they mosquitoes?

“Kirnet?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if everything was alright?” He was closer now, brow furrowed as he leaned in. Kirnet could feel his gaze ghost up her arms and over her swelling neck.

Mustering a flimsy smile, she shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Whatever assessment he was making of her had apparently concluded. Atton’s eyes hardened again as he waved his hydrospanner in her face. “Because you raised the temperature by about ten degrees, and it does not need to get any kriffing hotter on this planet.” He looked down at his own shirt, his face contorted in disgust. “Just look at me,” he grumbled.

Kirnet crossed her arms and leaned against the Hawk’s landing foot, her homicidal ideations towards insect-kind long forgotten. “I don’t know about that. I quite like the heat,” she lied, ignoring the fat bead of sweat running down her forehead, and held out her hand. Atton rolled his eyes and released the spanner, Kirnet snatching it up with the Force from his open hand. Space, it felt wonderful to be able to do that again. She studied it for a second before turning her attention back to the ship. “And labor makes you warm, flyboy,” she quipped. “I know you’ve never worked a day in your delicate life-”

“Excuse me?” Kirnet sniggered at Atton’s predictable outburst, a quiet laugh behind his words betraying his amusement. “I’ve spent all day working on this hunk of scrap metal and this is the thanks I get?” He scoffed and leaned on the support next to Kirnet, their arms brushing together. “Delicate! Delicate she calls me!”

With a snort, she dropped her head onto his sweaty shoulder. Atton jumped the tiniest amount, so subtle that even Kirnet almost missed it, before leaning into her. “I do appreciate everything you’re doing, Atton,” she said, smirk dropping to a faint smile. He just nodded, his proximity ruffling Kirnet’s damp hair. She didn’t need to say it. He already knew.

“Though,” she drawled, pointing at the Hawk’s durasteel underbelly with the hydrospanner. Atton looked up with her, his cheek leaving the top of her head. The chill set in again. She hadn’t noticed it had left. “You could work a bit faster. The sooner you finish taking your sweet time the sooner we can get off of this hell planet.”

Cursing, Atton snatched the tool from her hand, throwing out his arms as he made his way to another battle scar in the ship’s hull. Kirnet giggled at the theatrics, the sincerity of the moment before slipping into their usual routine. “I stay behind and slave in the heat while you guys go off and -”

“And get eaten alive by bugs and bigger things.” Kirnet cut him off. Her smile dropped as she stepped closer to him. “Atton, you’re the one insisting on staying back. I’d much rather leave Bao-Dur and T3 here and take you with.” She tried to convince herself it was because Atton was much better with mines than her. (Though Mira was undoubtedly the best and was already going to be in her party. She hurriedly pushed the connotations of that thought aside.) Dxun was littered with them from the Mandalorian occupation, and while her soldiers had cleared as many as they could at the time, there were doubtless thousands more that had been missed. That Jedi had stepped on one, she blankly recalled. Their legs had flown off in two opposite directions. They had advanced on her orders.

Atton swallowed hard. “You think that droid can repair the Hawk better than I can?” Despite his tone, his voice lost it’s playful bite. 

“Yes. And so can Bao-Dur. Much faster, too.” Atton pointedly ignored her, now apparently immersed in sealing the blaster hole. Kirnet sighed and closed the distance between them. Gently, she put her hand on Atton’s, his knuckles white around the hydrospanner. He turned it off but didn’t move his gaze from the hull. “I understand not wanting to go out into the jungle,” she laughed mirthlessly. “And I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. But, Atton, if something is wrong-”

“No!” he started too forcefully, wincing as Kirnet withdrew her hand. “No,” he said again, finally turning to look at her. “Nothing’s wrong. As boring as it is I’d rather be here than on the receiving end of a landmine.” Kirnet shrugged. No argument there. “It’s really nothing too complicated. It’ll just take a while.” His face split into a smug smile as he leaned forward against the Hawk, his arm now above her head. Kirnet noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Unless you want to be crammed in an access hatch with me for a day or two.” He had the audacity to wink.

Ah. There it was. The flirtatious deflection. Usually, Kirnet would be more than happy to join in the banter, but the growing vignette around her vision and the hammering in her skull put an end to that line of thought. Fine, he didn’t want to talk about it, and Kirnet was not eager for a real argument, not one of their usual playful spats. Maybe he felt the painful chill in his bones like she did despite the sweltering heat. He was getting stronger in the Force, after all. Or was there something else he wasn’t telling her?

Maybe he just didn’t want to be the latest victim of her leadership on Dxun.

Kirnet rubbed her arms, the chill seeping in further. “I don’t want to go out there any more than you do,” she grumbled. “But something tells me that we won’t get to leave until I find-” She paused, her face contorting as she gestured vaguely towards the jungle. “Something.” Perhaps an old base? The final assault on the Mandalorians, the suicide mission she had ordered, had taken place at one of these abandoned strongholds. If she stumbled onto one, would she recognize it? Or would it be just another scar, long since scabbed over by the eager jungle?

“Suit yourself.” Atton shrugged, pushing his mop of hair out of his face and quickly turning back to the blaster hole. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Nothing special, I’m sure,” Kirnet deadpanned, already starting towards the Hawk’s entrance. “I’m leaving T3- no, do not start with that. Be nice and let him help. And take time to do your meditations. We’ll be back before sundown. Hopefully.”

“Anything else?” Atton scoffed.

Kirnet paused. “Yes, actually. Just a word of advice. After you admit to someone that most of the words that come out of your mouth are lies, it’s easier to tell when you’re not telling the truth.” Atton opened his mouth, but Kirnet put out a hand to stop him. “No need to explain. You’ve already come forward with enough. But if you are stalling repairs for some reason, Atton, then I hope you’re filling your free time with something productive.”

Expression hardening into a scowl, he turned back to the damage. “I’ll get right on that, General,” he all but snarled.

Of course, General. What are your orders?

The migraine hit Kirnet with renewed vigor, almost knocking her to the ground. It took all her effort to keep her shoulders square. “Stay safe,” she mumbled at the grass. “Try not to let the bugs eat you alive. Comlink’s open if you need me.” She didn’t wait for a reply before heading up the hangar door.

“Stay safe,” is what he wanted to shout back. “Keep your head on a swivel, and I’ll come running if you need me.” Atton opened his mouth, then closed it, then settled on grinding his teeth as he listened to Kirnet’s retreating footsteps. The patch of flattened grass that she had stood on moments before tried in vain to stretch back up to its original height.  “Nice going, shutta,” he groaned. No one was around to hear him.

A mosquito landed on his arm. He slapped it before getting back to work.

[mysterylover123]

Top Ten MHA War Arc Moments (So Far)

Man guys, this arc has been insane. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever read an arc this busy, plot-heavy and batshit crazy in anything else in my entire life. So many crazy moments, and I’m gonna try and capture my Current Top 10 here today:

#10. TOGA VS OCHAKO

I was annoyed for a long time that Ochako’s screwup, her moment of hestiation at training camp, would never have any direct consequences - or at least not ones she’d ever hear about. Toga had only used her blood to help save Eri. But now she knows. Now she knows her power was used to kill - and she’s being invited to sympathize with the killer in a dramatic confrontation where villain asks a hero if they could see them as a person too. It’s a little lower here since there was the usual shipping nonsense to contend with first, but nonethelss.

#9. TEAM LEADER MOMOKAMIJIROU

More like two separate moments, namely Jirou encouraging Kaminari and Midnight electing Momo the new team leader, which she takes to with her usual grace and badassery. This trio just gets each other,  and while this moment (aside from Midnight’s incapacitation) may not be as shocking as the others on the list, it still ranks highly for me in my recollections of the arc, especially as all Class A and B unite. Speaking of....

#8. KIRISHIMA AND MINA VS GIGANTOMACHIA

Now that is how you do some setup and payoff. Years ago, it was Mina who bravely ran to face the villain and Kirishima who hesitated. This time, it’s Mina’s fear that stops her, and Kirishima’s willingness to jump into danger that saves the day. Of course, it didn’t do much in the end, but that payoff to the emotional relationship setup in previous chapters...it’s something this arc does really well in callbacks to Chapter 1. Maybe another one might pop up on this list.

#7. GRAN TORINO’S DEATH

The second death of an established major character in this arc, and it’s just as brutal and depressing as the first. Those Shimura flashbacks. Deku going batshit crazy on Shigaraki after this scene. The loss of one of the most likeable characters in the show. The actual death of a major, recurring heroic character in the narrative and the way that raises the stakes. Just...dammit. Why characters gotta die this way?

#6. MIRUKO LOSES AN ARM

Miruko’s en tire fight against the high-ends basically goes here; all of her head-severing efforts will never be forgotten,as this entire visceral, brutal and bloody battle between the #5 and the most OP villains seen so far will be etched into the collective fandom’s memory. And the outcome where she loses an arm...it’s not the highest ranked dismemberment on the list but hey, if Miruko can keep trucking with one arm there’s some hope Deku can too.

#5. ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL

It’s weird that what should feel like the most important plot thing in this arc (Final Villain vs  MC) is oddly only #5. But yeah, a battle in the center of Shigaraki and Deku’s minds as the two powers link and duke it out for the fate of the world, OFA Primo saving Midoriya from losing his power even if his arms are dead now - and Shigaraki rebelling against AFO, that was definitely cool and worth seeing. 

#4. TWICE’S DEATH & HAWKS’ MAIMING

FUCKING MURDERED TWICE. started the arc by FUCKING MURDERING TWICE. 

#3. AIZAWA DISMEMBERED

The other dismemberment on the list. The permanent incapacitation of one of THE main characters. It was brilliantly executed, shocking and visceral (and I missed it on my first readthrough like an idiot), and leaves the most troublingly OP character in the series permanently left on the sidelines at least a little. I mean, you wouldn’t think we’d find a Main Character having their limbs brutally dismembered shocking at this point but that’s how it is.

2. “MY BODY MOVED BEFORE I COULD THINK”

“HOW THE HELL IS THIS NOT #1?” you may be asking. Well before I explain let’s talk about this scene. Nobody can wreck me quite like these two. My two favorite characters, my favorite relationship in the whole show, a callback to the moment that started it all - the scene that hooked me into MHA and still remains just as powerful all these years later. Bakugou throwing himself into near death to save Izuku. I was in a state of shock for days after reading this chapter (hell, even before thanks to the leaks) and I still am not over it. When this scene hits the anime I will probably be completely destroyed.

So what on earth could possibly top THAT scene?! What could this arc have possibly pulled off that was even better than all these fated matchups, character deaths, character maimings, OTP dreams coming true and again, my favorite characters wrecking me for all time? Well, only one thing.

1. “COME DANCE WITH YOUR SON HERE IN HELL”

We all knew this was coming and it was still better than we could have ever imagined. Picture Hori watching all our frantic fan theories and maybe having this scene up his sleeve the whole time. This scene is basically IT; the fall of hero society, the final curtain, the biggest bombshell. Moreso than any scene of Shigaraki using his quirk, you can feel as this scene plays out the sheer sense of crumbling decay. Each panel, each inexorable shot that plays out this reveal and its execution, you feel the strokes in a master plan as the entire foundation of the series cracks and spools about your feet. This scene was such a big deal it apparently out-trended the US election the week it came out. For that alone - and everything else in this moment, 200+ chapters in the making - it deserves to be this arc’s #1. (unless something else is coming that can top it, holy crap).

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

um

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch 3)

Chapter Three: Unusual Monday (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting! 

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga. 

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga 

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

You arrived to work Monday morning, coffee in hand, ready to start another usual week. Your boss had already unlocked the building and was sitting behind her desk, scanning over some paperwork. You mumble a “good morning” while heading to the break room to drop off your work bag. When you walk back out into the lobby though, your boss is eyeing you intently.

“So?” She asks, clearly holding back some excitement. “How was lunch yesterday?”

“It was fine,” you keep your face flat so as not to encourage whatever wild scenarios she might be concocting in her head. “He just had questions about quirk copying and transferring like most people do these days.”

“Sure,” your boss wasn’t giving up. “But he isn’t really like most people, is he?” You weren’t sure what aspect of him she was referring to, so you shrug. “Did you not watch the Hero Billboard Chart announcement last week?” She asks incredulously.

“No,” you admit. “I missed it because I had a video conference with that professor from America. I set it to record, but I haven’t gotten around to watching it yet. I saw the rankings printed in the newspaper though.”

“Did you pay attention to them? Hawks isn’t just any random hero,” your boss lectures. “He’s ranked number two in Japan.” The surprises just kept on coming.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” your boss shakes her head. “He’s actually the youngest person to ever make it into the top ten heroes.”

Apparently the bird man hadn’t been kidding about working fast. He was so young, yet he had already established his own agency and worked his way to the number two spot. It was very impressive, but it made you wonder even more about the case he was working on. It must be something serious, probably involving the League of Villains.

“Hey guys!” Simon the research assistant burst through the front doors suddenly, waving a tablet around. “This is incredible. I just got the results of the study! The findings were significant!”

“Let me see,” you take his tablet and did a quick scan of the data. “These numbers ARE outstanding,” you tell him, “but they’re wrong.”

“What?” his face falls as you reach over the desk and grab the stack of papers you’d left there the day before.

“I ran the numbers myself,” You tell him while handing back the tablet with the printouts. His eyes move back and forth between the papers and the tablet screen.

“I was so excited,” he says in defeat.

“The numbers aren’t bad,” you console him. “We can still publish, but we’ll need to do further testing if we want to make any real impact. We can talk about that later though. We should run the data through your program again together to see where you went wrong.” The kid seemed to perk up a bit as you headed to one of the labs. You worked with him for about an hour when your boss knocks on the door frame to get your attention.

“Your bird is here,” She was smirking. You’d never seen her smirk before. You tell Simon you’d be back in a bit while heading out into the lobby, wondering if this was a joke.

“You know,” you whisper to your boss, “one lunch meeting does not make him MY bird.”

“Some might say it was a lunch DATE,” she fires back.

“I think you’re the only one who would say that,” you tell her honestly.

She hadn’t been joking. Hawks was indeed waiting at the front desk, standing out with his bright red wings and devilishly handsome face. He smiles happily when he notices you and waves a gloved hand. “Long time no see!”

“Hello Mr. Number Two,” You wave back. Hawks lets out a short laugh.

“You looked me up, huh?” he asks in amusement.

“No,” you shake your head. “I was informed… against my will.” You tilt your head toward your boss who blushes a bit in embarrassment. Hawks took pity on her.

“Aw,” he smiles at her. “At least someone loves me.” Your boss looked like she might be experiencing extreme heart palpitations.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you two days in a row?” you ask Hawks. Teasing your boss was fun, but you really did want to know why he was back. Hawks reaches into his coat and pulls out a plastic folder with some papers inside.

“I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday,” He hands you the folder and you flip it open. “I talked to some people and got you access to the research center in Tokyo where they’re holding the captured nomus.” You could hardly believe what you were hearing.

“What? Are you serious?” you skimmed through the papers which contained confidentiality contracts and protocols for keeping the data private. It all looked legitimate.

“You’ll have to fill out all that paperwork,” Hawks grimaces. “Sorry about that. But once you submit the forms you’ll get a special badge that will grant you permission to enter the building.” You continued to flip through the pages for a moment, still in a state of shock.

“This is… unbelievable,” You look up at him. “Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it!” He grins, seemingly pleased with your reaction. “You’ll still have to take the trip out there too which is a pain. I’d offer to go with you, but I’m being sent back to Kyushu today. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Is there like, a catch to this?” You had to ask. “You just met me yesterday. Having direct access to those nomus is every scientists dream right now.”

“No catch,” Hawks puts his gloved hands together as a promise. “Well, except that I might come to you for help again in the future if that’s all right with you.” You had no idea why he would want to do that, but if it got you into the nomu research lab, you could accept it.

“Fine by me,” You put out your hand to seal the deal. Hawks grabs your hand and shakes it happily. His wings ruffle behind him and it reminds you of a dog wagging its tail.

“Awesome!” He nods his head. “Well, I’d better be off. I have a long flight back to my agency. It was nice working with you though.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you say honestly. “Travel safe.”

“Of course,” he smirks. “I’ll see you later then.”

Hawks was out the door a moment later, leaving you to wonder how all this was happening so suddenly.

[radiojamming]

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that? 

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again. 

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be— 

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact. 

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say. 

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon. 

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with. 

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake. 

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image. 

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them. 

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.  

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic. 

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

[movedyoakkemae]

my thoughts on the en.deavour redemption arc (chs 164 - 302). DO NOT REBLOG.

DO NOT REBLOG !!

the endeavour redemption arc is a rather controversial arc in the manga, and, tl;dr: i think it started eh, continued badly, turned better, then ended like shit.

note: if you are anime only, this will contain spoilers ! trigger warnings: child abuse, domestic abuse, suicide, and murder.

here are the things we know: endeavour physically abused shōto, tōya, and rei. he ignored natsuo and fuyumi, and he discarded tōya once he realised that tōya got burnt through using his quirk. he also mentally and emotionally abused all of them. separated shōto from the rest of his siblings. not to mention the fact that he married rei on purpose in order to create the perfect tool that would become the number one hero in his stead. he thinks of his children as objects, as extensions of himself.

however, endeavour, not out of his own power but because of all might's lack of strength, ends up reaching the number one spot as a hero by himself. this kickstarts endeavour's "redemption" arc, particularly in chapter 164 when endeavour asks all might:

endeavour: you hear about this? how the crime rate this past month... is up 3% compared to past years? i... i'm the guy who resolved more incidents than anyone, now more than ever... but i can hear it. the thing you've built that cannot be seen... is crumbling down. so, #1 hero... what's it mean to be the symbol of peace? (ch 164)

in a lot of ways, this question is surprising to hear. as we can tell even in the question itself, endeavour's main area of focus has been about the amount of incidents that he has stopped, the amount of villains that he has defeated, but recognising that there was something missing, something that all might had built up, certainly shows an awareness that endeavour seemed to lack earlier.

in the next chapter, the conversation continues:

endeavour: i gave shōto everything. by age 20, i'd already climbed to the #2 position. it was because i made that climb that i understood... unless i reached the summit, it was all for nothing. if all i cared about were titles, i could've worn a smile like you... and played the part of the lovable fool. but i wanted to be the strongest! [...] all might: endeavor. the position you've been put in... i know what people are saying. a lot of people compare us. but you and i are different. the symbol i strove to be... that isn't the path for you to follow. take your time to figure out... ...the way you ought to do things. (ch 165)

again, we still see that hint of same sort of "all he cares about strength". being number one was all about being stronger than all might, which is why when he found it impossible for him, he went on to try to create something that could end up being stronger than both him and all might. that would be, after he beat it into shape.

also, the fact that he says "i gave shōto everything". (yeah, you gave the poor kid trauma if that's what you mean by "everything".) that's something some abusers routinely say about their children -- that they gave them everything, that they should be grateful.

at the end of the chapter, we see shōto warmly giving a little girl a small fire to put her hands next to when she was chilly, a smile on his face, and endeavour has a weird look as all might says:

all might: what purpose does our strength serve? endeavour... the answer is a simple one. (ch 165)

this is what sets the tone for endeavour's part of his conversation with shōto in the next chapter.

endeavour: i'm proud of you, son. on that note... i'm hoping to become a hero you can be proud of. as your father and the #1 hero... i want to be deserving of those titles. shōto: [clearly aggravated and tense] good luck with that... (ch 165)

inasa sees endeavour talking to shōto and notices how his eyes have changed from being cold and not looking at anyone around him to actually focusing on shōto. as such, the readers are basically hinted to see that endeavour has changed, even just a little, already. he's no longer just looking at all might as the summit he needs to climb; he's actually seeing the people around him.

now, this kickstarts endeavour's arc of thoughts that being a better #1 hero would mean that he would be a better father. this we especially see in the endeavour v. nomu arc.

i think the first interesting conversation we have about the endeavour's redemption arc is in chapter 187 with natsuo and fuyumi visiting rei in the hospital. natsuo says,

natsuo: about him... they made him number one yesterday. it's official. the world still doesn't know the truth about you [rei]. about our siblings... about how he's always treated his family. for one, he doesn't do the talk show circuit. i can barely remember most of it, really. thinking back, he was like a perfect stranger. but... what he did to you, to shōto, and to... [tōya/dabi] well, i can't let anyone pretend it all never happened. it's been almost ten years, and he still hasn't come to apologise to you. his past, his family... it's like he wants to leave it all behind. [...] rei: apparently he's [endeavour] come many times. though... we haven't met. i'm a bit scared though... and my doctor says it's not a good idea. of course, i can't say what he's thinking. it might be external pressures. but... he's not leaving anything behind. not his past. not his family. i know he's trying to make sense of it all. (ch 187)

he's also apparently been leaving rei flowers, flowers that she told him that were her favourite once when they met for the first time.

i actually think in this aspect, it's good that he hasn't actually seen rei or pushed himself onto seeing her. he's letting her take control of her own recovery (although, i will say it's pretty fucking telling that even after a decade, she's still scared of him). i'd argue that the flowers might be crossing the line, but it seems that rei thinks of them as a nice gesture, so i'm not going to argue about how that could be perceived negatively.

the battle between endeavour and the nomu gets serious, and endeavour nearly dies (which is broadcasted on TV for shōto to see, ofc).

in chapter 189, we see three different characters' thoughts on endeavour never giving up (some of it in particular directed towards his fight towards surpassing all might and being number one via strength alone).

natsuo: he knows better than anyone... that he'll never be the next all might! that's why he gave up so quickly... and basically went insane... abandoning the kids he didn't care for... and driving mom to the breaking point... [...] fuyumi: he never gave up. in fact, giving up is what he's worst at. [...] hawks: i was watching you this whole time. i get it. there was nobody else out there... really trying to surpass him [all might]. only you! you were the one working to surpass him. [manga showing endeavour building a small bridge over the chasm that metaphorically separates all might from the rest of the heroes] (ch 189).

i actually agree with fuyumi here more than anyone. endeavour marrying rei and creating his children wasn't because he was giving up (for one, he thinks of his children as extensions of himself...) but part of his way of trying to surpass all might. he also continued to work and get stronger himself, which he wouldn't have been doing if he had just given up.

that being said, i do agree with natsuo's description of their childhood, just not about it being because endeavour gave up.

also, from a narrative perspective, the shift of endeavour's obsession with surpassing all might being thought of as negative (from shōto's statements of it in the sports festival arc) to positive (you're the only one who actually tried!) through hawks point of view is... interesting. horikoshi is re-contextualising endeavour's obsession as a good thing, and that, in point, is done to soften endeavour's actions overall.

after all, if it's a good thing that endeavour was trying to surpass all might, then doesn't his actions against his family make a little bit more sense? doesn't that mean that he had good intentions, even if he did something bad?

(nope. not in my book.)

so, the next part of this arc happens in 192, where endeavour comes home from the hospital and after defeating the nomu with a huge scar on his face (the exact same side as shōto's!), and we get that beautifully passive aggressive "nasty scar you got there" from shōto while he's slurping up soba noodles.

and then natsuo tries to leave and this conversation starts:

endeavour: natsuo... if you got something to say, then say it. natsuo: say it...? that's rich, coming from a guy who's never even looked me in the eye. listen to this... i didn't know shōto loved soba until today. why? because you never let him play with us failed experiments. i get the feeling that mom and sis here want to forgive you, but all i see is the same maniac who, all of a sudden, is getting rave reviews. you might look like a changed man, but you're not. you abandoned us as failures, left us to hear mom's screams, shōto's cries. and big bro tōya too... you being the top hero and beating some big baddie can't erase any of that. did you decide to have a change of heart?! think we can just hug things out and make up?! it's sickening! don't you freaking get that?! endeavour: i'm trying to make amends, going forward. natsuo: is that so?! [leaves] (ch 192)

for one, god fucking bless natsuo. i think he fully encapsulates my issue with this part of the endeavour redemption arc, which is solidified by shōto's own speech:

shōto: as a hero, this endeavour guy... is pretty darn amazing. but it's like natsu said. i'm not ready to forgive you... for abusing mom. so, heroics aside, what sort of dad are you going to be? that's what i want to find out. sure, the perfect turning point can actually change someone. i know it's possible. (ch 192)

endeavour doesn't need to be a perfect hero to earn redemption from his family. hell, even when shōto hated endeavour the most, he could admit that endeavour was a great hero. maybe his reasons for being a hero was off, but he saved people, he stopped the bad guys. i think it's even canon that he's technically saved more people than all might.

the problem was never with "endeavour", it was with "todoroki enji". todoroki enji was a shit father who didn't give a shit about his kids aside from what he could use them for. he was too obsessed with defeating all might that he lost sight of his family -- which endeavour finally seems to realise after this little speech.

endeavour's thoughts: [having a flashback to all might saying "what purpose does our strength serve?"] power... a reason to dominate... when he told me that, it came to me in a flash. an ordinary, simple thought. "i have to safeguard the future for them." that's the job for whoever's on top! and yet... what about the futures i cut short? [image of rei in the midst of a mental breakdown] just demanding forgiveness isn't enough. it's too late for that. at this point, i need to atone... there's no other route. endeavour out loud: fuyumi, i'm sorry for everything. that was the wrong thing to say to natsuo. (ch 192)

we see actual growth in his character, him actually starting to learn what he should be focusing on rather than what he was focusing on. he still slips up, like with him trying to demand shōto's attention through texting with contact information that he only got because FUYUMI gave to him (ch 203), which i have my own issues with. as in, fuyumi better have asked shōto permission before giving endeavour his contact information because, if not, then holy fucking shit, that's so gross.

in the next part of the endeavour redemption arc, we have shōto in chapter 242 invite izuku and katsuki to join him with training at endeavour's hero agency.

we still see hints of endeavour only really thinking of shōto as an extension of his will and his beliefs when he asks izuku and katsuki in chapter 247 what they're working on and what they want to achieve. he starts to move in without even asking shōto, which shōto objects to in his own way.

endeavour: let's get to it -- shōto: [clears throat] and me? endeavour: you're here to master flashfire, shōto! shōto: all the quirk training you beat into me as a kid... i've put it into practise with my right side. thinking back, it's no wonder i couldn't escape my own hatred of you. then i got into u.a. competing alongside these two [izuku and katsuki]... and everyone else... really opened my eyes. endeavour... in the end... i'm going to do exactly what you always wanted. but please understand... the man i admire... is the one mom and i watched on the tv back then. [all might]. as a fledgling hero... in order to become a man worthy of the title... i came here of my own free will! you're a rotten number one*. you were just in the right place at the right time -- that's all. sorry this isn't going the way you want it to, number one. so let's stop that father-son crap in front of my friends. endeavour's thoughts: since he was willing to come here, i thought the boy's heart was open and ready to accept me... what a fool i was! i had it all wrong! endeavour out loud: right. i'll be evaluating you three as heroes. (ch 247) *the translation isn't quite accurate, but i don't have access to the original japanese right now to translate myself. i just remember that this translation isn't the best.

once again, we do see that endeavour is learning. shōto expresses his feelings and endeavour tries to move on from there in the way that shōto wants him to -- and he does ! he stops acting like he's close to shōto as a dad in front of the others and acts only like a hero training an apprentice (without the abuse that happened all throughout shōto's childhood).

i think this and what happens in the next part of this internship arc, is probably the best written bits of the endeavour redemption arc.

by that, in chapter 249, we open with this inner dialogue from endeavour:

endeavour: i'm trying to make amends... going forward. it might be too late... but i fall asleep every night thinking about... what i can do for my family. lately, it's been the same dream. the wife and kids, looking happy... at the dinner table. but i'm... never there with them. (ch 249)

this kickstarts his decision that he gives to natsuo later, but before we get there, we get this awkward todoroki family dinner with izuku and katsuki. izuku finally finds out that katsuki overheard them during the sports festival, and fuyumi and shōto talk when they think they're alone.

fuyumi: it's not like i don't share some of natsu's feelings... but... it feels like we've been given another chance now... how do you feel about dad? shōto: this burn... i think of it as something our old man gave me. [cue horrific flashback of the aftermath of rei pouring boiling water on shōto's face and immediately apologising] mom endured and endured... until she couldn't anymore. so, i can't just decide to forgive the guy who wore her down... but... mom is trying to get past all that now. honestly... i don't know... how i should feel about him. i still... haven't seen anything. [...] izuku: todoroki, i think... you're getting yourself ready to be able to forgive him. just say "i'll never forgive him" if you really hate the guy. because you're so caring yourself... it's like you're waiting... or at least that's how it seems. (ch 249)

i think each of the siblings (including tōya / dabi!) really showcases a lot of the different reactions children can have towards abuse. fuyumi is the type who fully embraces the abuser back because they want to become a family again. shōto is the type who isn't quite sure but doesn't want to just kick the abuser down if he's actually trying to change. natsuo is the type who just does not want to be around the abuser at all and doesn't think the abuser can change. tōya / dabi is the vengeful one who literally wants the abuser dead or feeling how he caused them to feel.

i also have an issue with how izuku words this to shōto -- does that mean that natsuo is not caring? should he not be upset with endeavour for all of the abuse, and, in natsuo's thoughts, for causing tōya to die? he cares too much, and that's really it, and i think endeavour (funnily enough) encapsulates my thoughts on that completely.

for context, natsuo gets kidnapped and held hostage by a villain who wants endeavour to kill him. the villain is threatening to kill natsuo if endeavour doesn't kill him. endeavour chokes on the save aside from catching katsuki and natsuo after the boys implement their plans to rescue natsuo, stop the villain, and save the civilians. then, endeavour has this to say:

endeavour: i'm sorry! in that moment... i couldn't help but think... about how if i saved you... then going forward... you might feel... like you couldn't stand up to me... natsuo, believe it or not... i was never trying... to neglect any of you. but... all i could do was blame others and dodge responsibility. with tōya too... i might as well have killed him myself. natsuo: didn't neglect us? so what...? tōya has always told me everything. it'll be a cold day in hell... before i forgive you. 'cause i'm not as caring as shōto. endeavour: even so... even so... you keep showing up for fuyumi, right? and for your mom's sake? your sister loves the idea of being a big happy family... because... that's exactly what i ruined. she wants that back... she's so eager to fix everything. and that's why you're trying. because you care about how she feels, right..? because you are caring. so... you don't have to forgive me. i'm not looking for forgiveness. just atonement. natsuo: [starts crying] wow. you got a real way with words all of a sudden! i know how happy it makes sis, having us all together! but... when i see your face... those memories come rushing back. why do i gotta be the one to come around? atonement? how're you gonna make that happen? endeavour: i have an idea, actually. (ch 252).

endeavour saying "i wasn't trying to neglect any of you" is such a fucking backslide, but he somewhat saves it with explaining why. at the same time, the explanation doesn't really matter -- he did neglect natsuo and fuyumi. however, the next bit of it, when he says that natsuo does care, and that it's okay for natsuo to never forgive him -- that was real fucking character growth, and we see it come to a beautiful place at the end of the chapter where endeavour talks with fuyumi and natsuo.

endeavour: fuyumi. i've already talked about this with shōto and natsuo. you've been doing your best to create a safe and sound household for your mother to come home to. i've let you shoulder all of that... and i stood by while you worked hard... but it's all okay now. [thoughts: it's always the same dream. my whole family's there, but not me.] because i'm building a new house for you all. one that makes sense for your commutes. and one where you can give your mother a warm welcome back. fuyumi: what about you, dad...? endeavour: [thoughts: if i really care about how they feel...] i'll remain here. (ch 252)

this is where i fucking cheered. this is where i really thought horikoshi was going to save this arc. abusers forcing their presence on the family is absolutely the wrong way to do it. endeavour trying to be the "best hero" is absolutely the wrong way to do it. endeavour stepping back, making sure that they're all comfortable, but (most likely) being there when they want to reach out on their terms in the way that they want to -- that's beautiful. that's actual growth. that's literally the best decision any abuser can make ever; leaving it in the hands of the people he abused.

in this part, in this moment, i could have accepted the endeavour redemption arc. i might not have agreed when shōto decided that he could see endeavour as a father (depending on when it would happen in canon and what would cause it), but in this regard, i could actually see redemption.

and then we get the fucking shitshow that is dabi reveal arc and the dabi backstory arc, and then i just want to throw away the whole fucking redemption arc.

in chapter 290, we get the dabi is todoroki tōya reveal (surprise, surprise /j). tōya, being the dramatic bitch that he is, washes off the probably water-soluble black dye off of his white hair and tells endeavour and shōto that he's tōya and that he's been waiting for years to take endeavour down and that he's sending out a broadcast to every TV station live detailing about endeavour's abuse of his family.

dabi: when, at long last, you could stare your kids in the eye... didja finally start to feel the warm and fuzzy bonds of family?! you must've thought, "as long as i can face the future, i can be better!" i can tell you're at a loss for words, so here's the answer! the past never dies! get it, yet?! you reap what you sow! so let's tango, you and me -- todoroki enji! a dance with your son, here in hell!! (ch 290).

in chapter 291, we continue the dabi reveal (including a 99.9% match between his DNA and endeavour's DNA as proof of their relation! hint: that's not actually fucking possible, but i'm pretty sure that's either a translation error or a wording issue) in the public eye. we get this fun little monologue from endeavour in the beginning of the chapter:

endeavour's thoughts: i thought it could be you [tōya]. you could have been the one... to reach my eternal goal. my frustration... my envy... the ugliness in my heart... you could have been the one... to smash it all to dust.

again, we get that whole "using child as an object/extension of endeavour" thing that has characterised endeavour for a long time. tōya shouldn't have been created to fix his frustration about not becoming number one himself.

regardless, endeavour stays in shock for the rest of the battle, unable to even move despite the fact that shōto managed to pull himself together in order to try to save everyone on the battlefield despite dabi trying to kill him.

we then go to chapter 300, where endeavour wakes up in his hospital room and ruminates on everything that he had done. he cries and expresses guilt, especially on how things played out with tōya when he was a child, and he declares that "i might get to live on... but endeavour died back there. my son's a mass murderer, yet... i can't fight him." (ch 300).

then, shōto, natsuo, and fuyumi enter the room while endeavour continues to cry.

endeavour: sorry... i'm... so sorry. i'm sorry... i didn't realise until now... these regrets... this guilt... it's too late to matter! my heart... it's... rei: [walking into the room] yes? what about your heart? those regrets and guilt... the rest of us have borne that burden... much more than you have. endeavour: rei?! why are you here?! rei: i'm here to talk about our family. and about our son, tōya. (ch 300).

this jumpstarts into a flashback of what caused tōya's "death", and i think in some truly horrific scenes that i think horikoshi writes in a way that we're supposed to feel some level of sympathy for endeavour. reading all of that makes me feel even -infinity sympathy for endeavour.

in chapter 301, we start the flashback into the past, where tōya wants to continue quirk training but endeavour begins to discard him, saying that it was for tōya's own good (because he burns himself when he uses too much fire). unfortunately, tōya doesn't care about his own burns, he just wants his dad's approval and wants to surpass all might himself.

endeavour, meanwhile, is still focused mostly on creating a child that would surpass all might, as we see in this conversation between endeavour and rei:

rei: no... that would be too much! it's too cruel! especially now that tōya knows what you're hoping to achieve through the children! endeavour: no matter what i say... he comes home with fresh burns every day. he inherited that pigheaded stubbornness from me! that's the only way to make him give up! since he'll never be the one to surpass... [all might] (ch 301)

(sure, that's your motivation. you say that while you literally have the same eyes as when you think about all might being better than you).

endeavour's eyes when thinking about all might being better.

endeavour's eyes when thinking of "stopping tōya" through the birth of more children.

we see that shōto is born, and that tōya doesn't stop training on his own, which causes endeavour to snap at tōya:

endeavour: no! why won't you stop?! you're covered in burns... and you still don't get it?! why?! tōya! you have to... look beyond all this. play with natsuo and fuyumi! make some friends at school! there's a whole other world besides the hero stuff... i know you understand that! take my advice, and this'll all be a distant memory soon. tōya: the kids at school all say they wanna be heroes. i can't understand that. because i've got you as a father. you lit this fire in me, dad, and it's not going out! i can't just pretend it's not there! [uses his fire] look at me, endeavour! look... at me!! [goes to attack baby!shōto] (ch 301)

all tōya wanted was not to be discarded, and he could see just as well as anyone that endeavour didn't seem to care about the others as much -- that's why tōya went for shōto, not for any of the other siblings.

endeavour had no real idea how to talk to tōya, or even knew how to reach out and get some help, and that was probably (mainly) because what he was doing with rei and creating his children was illegal, as we hear from a doctor earlier.

and before anyone blames tōya, he's young ass kid who knows he's being discarded by his father, and he wants attention. just any sort of attention. yes, he's going to lash out. yes, he's going to keep on doing what originally got him his father's attention (aka training). yes, he's going to try to attack endeavour's "perfect child" for "taking his place". i don't blame tōya for that -- i blame endeavour.

rei: [in the present] you don't get to claim you're hurting more than anyone. and you're not the only one who didn't really see him. (ch 301)

this next chapter, the next part of the flashback, chapter 302, is particularly rough, and it's in part with what's hinted in rei's last part of this comment. (i agree with the first part! endeavour doesn't get to claim that he's hurting more than anyone else. it's the second in context with chapter 302).

we return back to the flashback where endeavour is talking to rei about separating shōto from the rest of his siblings.

endeavour: i'm too busy with work to look after him [shōto] 24-y... which is why i've hired help. but you -- don't you take your eyes off of tōya. rei: he just wants you to look at him. to notice him. that's all. endeavour: all i can show anyone... is the world of heroes. rei: heroes? aren't you just running away? (ch 302)

interestingly enough, endeavour's face in this conversation is covered by shadows. all we really see are the whites of his eyes and the side of his face where sweatdrops of stress are running down. rei's face, too, is practically covered aside from a close-up on her stressed eye. a lot of rei's downward spiral focuses on rei's eyes over anything, so i think this is where we kind of see -- well, not the start of that (we do see that focus in ch 301), but the continuation of her stress that leads eventually to her mental breakdown.

then, we continue on (with an interesting conversation between tōya and rei, but we're focusing on endeavour unfortunately, so alas) with tōya talking to endeavour.

tōya: listen, dad. next time you get a day off... you gotta come up to sekoto peak with me. endeavour: [grabs tōya's shirt violently and lifts it up. his thoughts: new burns! where he can keep them hidden! he's been training that way on purpose!] damn it! again?! tōya: no, wait! what i can do now is really cool! you gotta come see! i might be as awesome as shōto sooner or later! maybe i'll be even better than all might someday! then you've gotta give me some respect, dad! you'll be glad you created me! i just know it! (ch 302)

the next scene is a very clear domestic abuse scene (even if it cuts away from the actual hitting).

endeavour: why didn't you stop him?! huh, rei?! damn it, that's all i asked you to do!! shōto: [crying and stepping in front of rei, trying to defend her] don't bully mommy! stop it! don't be mean to her! endeavour: get out, shōto! it's none of your business! natsuo & fuyumi: [cowering, crying, and covering their ears] rei: i... can't stop him. (ch 302).

skip the next scan if the narrative hint of domestic abuse happening might upset you. 

now, i'm putting in the scan to showcase that we essentially get to explicitly see this all go down. endeavour is a shadowy figure in the bedroom, we see nothing of rei's face except for her eye (crying, and again, that same focus where we see her slow descent into her mental break), and we see all of the children cry except for tōya because he's out training on his own again.

the fact that endeavour decides to berate, and most likely hit, rei instead of going after his son -- well, he'd come to regret it later when tōya supposedly dies because "all he [endeavour] taught me... was how to turn up the heat." (ch 302). tōya burns himself to death because endeavour decided that because his quirk wasn't good enough to beat all might that he rather not train him at all anymore. that -- ugh.

and then we get out of the flashback and back into the hospital room in some of the most abhorrent lines of the present moments of this arc.

endeavour: if only i'd given it all up that day... but having killed tōya... i felt there was no turning back, so i poured all my energy into shōto... at the expense of everything else. rei: once tōya was gone, you grew worse and worse, until i couldn't stand the sight of you. it got so bad, i even started seeing hints of you in the children's faces. fuyumi: i knew our family was broken, but i was too scared to interfere. all i could do was try to fix things just to keep up appearances. natsuo: it was you who started all of this. you're the root cause, but... maybe, if i'd just slugged you in the face and made you have a few serious talks with him... "dabi" never would've come about, and i would've been enjoying some good soba with shōto all these years. rei: you're not the only one who's responsible, and now we all have to take responsibility for what comes next. (ch 302).

ignoring the next part for now, holy fucking shit. horikoshi makes the decision to spread the blame of tōya's death to the rest of the todoroki family, never mind that rei was also abused by endeavour and that fuyumi and natsuo were twelve and eight respectively.

endeavour showed no signs of listening to ANYONE. rei told him flat out that he just needed to give tōya attention, and he didn't listen. the fact that fuyumi felt burdened on trying to keep up appearances and felt like she didn't try to fix things at the age of twelve -- horrific. the fact that natsuo blames himself for not trying to talk some sense into endeavour at the age of eight -- horrific.

this is the moment where i threw the endeavour redemption arc into the garbage -- the rest of the family taking blame onto themselves that they shouldn't blame just so that endeavour can just right back up and be a hero.

endeavour was not going to change, not for anyone. hell, even with tōya's death, and endeavour admits it himself, it made him even more stubborn in his ways because one of his extensions of his will sacrificed himself, so he best make sure that shōto becomes the best extension of his will he can be.

this is genuinely so disgusting that i can't even put into words just how terrible this is. the fact that horikoshi made this decision -- i lost all respect for horikoshi as an author and in the endeavour redemption arc.

this chapter ends with shōto being proclaimed as the family hero and that endeavour needs to come back as a hero and fight dabi and by this point, i already hate everything, so throw the bitch out.

i think if the endeavour redemption arc had stopped in chapter 252, i think it would have been great. i think if they had played off the dabi reveal in any other way, without the family blaming themselves to partially absolve endeavour of his guilt, i think it could have been fine. but the way that this played out, the way that the victims are blaming themselves in part to make the abuser feel better -- no. just, fucking no.

is that a thing that happens in real life? do abuse victims internalise the abuse and then think that the abuser was just trying to do their best? oh yeah. however, with how the rest of the arc seems to be going with endeavour (endeavour showing up in the newest chapter still going around as a hero -- the number one hero, even), horikoshi is condoning that instead of writing it as unhealthy as it should be written.

thus, nope. throw the whole fucking thing away. no thank you.

[yespleasetommyshelby]

When I was your man ~ Jay Halstead

Song imagine based on ‘when I was your man’ by Bruno Mars. ~ It’s super long, my apologies

‘Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now, our song on the radio but it don’t sound the same...’

Jay clenched his eyes shut moments after opening them, reaching out he felt the cold side of the bed, hoping it had all been a dream and that when he woke she’d be lying there in his old t-shirt hair sprawled across the pillow, but with no luck, she was really gone.

Trudging his way to the kitchen he switched on the radio as he waited for his coffee machine, the first song just happening to be the song that they shared their first kiss to that night in Molly’s, while celebrating Adam and Wendy’s engagement... What had gone so wrong?

“Jay talk to me! Please!” She begged watching as he opened yet another beer before strolling back over to the coach.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Jay shrugged focusing back on the Hawks game on tv, not knowing just how badly he was hurting her.

“You was kidnapped Jay, beaten and tortured for hours before the team got to you, it’s been three weeks and you haven’t said a word about it, it isn’t healthy.” She said moving to stand opposite him, next to the tv that was slowly losing his attention.

“I’m fine! The team got to me in time, I’m okay!” He raised his voice, feeling his temper rising he clenched and unclenches his fists to try and stop the storm he could feel inside.

“No! You’re not fine, you’re not okay, sure the bruises have healed and you were cleared for work but you are not okay! You’re constantly mad about anything and everything, you only leave the apartment to go to work, you’ve barely been able to look at me since you got home! You are not okay Jay.” She said quietening down as she got to the end of her short speech, feeling the tears slip down her cheeks she hastily wiped them away before looking back at Jay, his attention still on the tv, although he was barely concentrating.

“You know what Y/N, we’re done. I don’t need you nagging at me to talk all the time, I’m fine.” He yelled standing up and finally looking at the worn out girl standing before him, the bags under her eyes and the tear stains lining her cheeks, feeling his anger dissolve instantly he slowly reached out towards her. “Y/N, I’m sorry ple-“

“You know what Jay, you were right, we’re done.” She shrugged dropping her arms down to her side before walking into their shared bedroom.

“I didn’t mean it like that, please don’t go.” Jay said quietly as he followed her to into the room, regret and guilt instantly making their way to his heart as she looked up at him with sparkling eyes and a sad smile.

“Jay, I’m done, I can’t deal with your mood swings anymore, just, make sure you talk to someone, okay?” She looked over at him as she lifted her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll always love you Jay Halstead.” She whispered placing a chaste kiss on her love’s cheek before walking past him, out of the door and out of his life.

6 months, he thought to himself as he watched his cup fill up, the stench of coffee filling the space in an instant. 6 months without her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her touch, her, he missed everything about the girl who had managed to snatch his heart in an instant. The girl who knew just what to say on his rough days, who could always see through his lies, she could light up a room just by walking in but most of all he missed how much she loved him, how much they loved each other.

‘When our friends talk about you all it does is just tear me down, ‘cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name...’

“Soo, guess who’s bringing a guest to Platt and Mouch’s wedding.” Kim grinned as she practically skipped over to Kevin’s desk, raising an eyebrow he silently told her to carry on, he’s always ready for some gossip. “Y/N is bringing an old friend from highschool.” She smiled before showing him the texts that she had shared with the girl the night before.

Jay could feel his heart split when he heard Kim, just hearing her name brought back the sharp pain of regret, there was a lot of things that Jay regretted in his life but none compared to the day he let her walk out. Now, not only was he going to have to face her at the wedding but he was going to have to stand and watch as she spent her night with a man, a man that wasn’t him, and that broke his heart just that little bit more.

‘I should’ve brought you flowers, and held your hand, should’ve have gave you all my hours, when I had the chance... Take you to every party ‘cause all you wanted to do was dance...”

She had missed the ceremony he had been checking every time the door opened, Kim had said it was something to do with work but she’d definitely be at the reception, she promised. As he sat out the back of the dance hall Jay couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as he thought about the memories that he and Y/N shared over the course of their year relationship, yet a tear escaped as his thoughts turned to all the little things he could’ve done to keep her.

“Look how pretty those are.” She grinned pressing her nose against the store window, flowers of every colour and arraignment filling her sights, a gleam in her eye that went unnoticed by the man standing behind her, nose stuck in his phone. “God, I love flowers.” She smiled over at him, quickly frowning as she noticed he wasn’t paying any attention. “Jay?”

“Yeah, real pretty.” He agreed, not really knowing what to, before starting to walk again. With a sigh she took one last look at the flowers and stepped away to follow him, making it no further than ten steps he stopped, he had to get to work, he always had to get to work.

“Hey baby.” She greeted him with a kiss as he walked through the door to their apartment, home after a long day chasing criminals and trying not to be shot at.

“Hi.” He muttered, quickly dumping his coat on the table in favour of picking out an ice cold beer from the fridge.

“So, Kim said that their having a karaoke night at Molly’s.” She said suggestively, moving closer. “You know we’ve never really been dancing before.” She mentioned, dropping a subtle hint that she wanted to go and dance, to let go of life’s stresses.

“Not tonight Y/N, I’ve had a long day.” He sighed walking away with his beer in hand, not realising the look of hurt on her face as she watched him go, she knew she was losing him.

“Hey! Look who decided to show up!” A voice from inside echoed catching Jay’s attention, she must be here, he thought to himself, she was the only one who wasn’t there yet.

‘Now my baby’s dancing, but she’s dancing with another man...’

“Hey guys!” She grinned as she rushed over pulling her friends in for a hug as she let go of her ‘dates’ arm, it had been an agreement with Trudy that she would bring a date to the wedding, even if Trudy had to set it up herself, which she did.

“Who’s your date?” Adam asked motioning over to the man who was looking around the crowd, not feeling as though he belonged with the crowd.

“That’s Jason, he’s Trudy’s nephew, apparently we both needed a date to keep her happy, so here we are.” She smiled thinking back to their agreement. “How are things?” She asked casually although Adam knew what she really meant, ‘How is he?’

“Broken.” He shrugged, eyes searching the room for the man he was referring to. “Things haven’t been the same since things ended Y/N, he misses you like crazy.” He told her watching as pain appeared in her eyes before she blinked and it vanished.

“I wasn’t first priority, Adam, I wasn’t even in his top ten priorities, there was always something more important or more urgent that needed his attention, I loved him Adam.” She said thinking back on their failed relationship, the squeak of a door opening caught her attention, looking over to see the man she’d been missing for the past few months walk in, still looking as perfect as ever but a slight twinkle missing from his eyes, his smile was no longer as bright as she’d remembered it to be. “I still love him Adam.”

As he walked back into the room the first thing that caught his attention was her, his eyes finding her like it was natural she was stood talking to Adam a small smile on her face, a smile that once would have been wide, bright, able to light up a whole room. Mentally preparing himself he started to walk over to them, but what he hadn’t prepared for was for her to be tapped on the shoulder and whisked away by some tall, dark and handsome man who spun her onto the dance floor.

“Hey man.” Adam spoke, tearing Jay’s attention away from the couple on the dance floor. “You good?”

“I lost her man, she should’ve been dancing with me.” He sighed watching as she smiled and laughed while being spun in a circle before falling back into her dates arms. “Now she’s dancing with another man.” His heart hurting as the words left his mouth, patting Adam on the shoulder he trudged his way past the couple towards the bar where he sat in his own pity party.

‘Although it hurts, I’ll be the first to say that, I was wrong... Oh I know it’s probably much too late, to try and apologise for my mistakes, but I just want you to know...’

Tired from the spinning Y/N handed her partner over to Kim and headed towards the bar in need of a drink, spotting Jay sitting on his own she sighed and decided it’s now or never, they need to talk, at the very least to get some closure.

“Hey.” She said quietly as she slid onto the stool beside him, thanking the bar tender as they handed her the drink she had ordered.

“Hi.” He said stunned, looking over at her he couldn’t believe that she was actually sat there talking to him, the past few months he had spent his time imagining what he would say if he had the chance, a chance to make things right. “I’m sorry.” He said smiling sadly at her for a brief second.

“Jay..” She trailed off not knowing what to say, the pain on his face making her heart feel like it was breaking all over again.

“Y/N listen, I am so sorry. I know I wasn’t the best boyfriend, shit, I wasn’t even a good one full stop and I know that now. I didn’t treat you even nearly as good as you should’ve been treated, I just wish it didn’t take me losing you for me to realise how special you are.” He said sadly, picking up his beer and taking a swig, trying to hide the pain he was feeling.

“Hey, don’t think like that, you was a great boyfriend, when you were around.” She said part-jokingly but mostly seriously and Jay knew that, he could always tell when she was serious, when she was lying, or just when she needed some time alone.

‘I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hand... Gives you all his hours, while he has the chance, takes you to every party ‘cause I remember how much you love to dance... Do all the things I should’ve done, when I was your man...’

“I know things didn’t work out with us and I regret it everyday, every night, everytime I close my eyes.” He said reaching over and taking her hand, feeling the warmth he’d been dying for the past 6 months, no idea that y/n had missed the feeling just as much, maybe even more. “But I hope he treats you better than I ever did, I hope that he gets your subtle hints about wanting flowers and isn’t so engrossed in his phone that he forgets by the time you pass the next stall.” He said thinking back to all the times he had noticed you looking at flower displays. “Make sure he holds your hand in public so everyone knows you’re his, and don’t let him get too caught up in work like I was, am, spend every hour you can with him. And I hope he takes you to every party he gets the chance to, Ive always regretted not taking you to dance because I remember just how much you love it.” He said smiling slightly, intwining their fingers.

“Jay..” she whispered staring down at their hands, her heart breaking all over again hearing him telling her that it’s okay if she moves on, and how lowly he thinks of himself because of this whole situation. “It wasn’t all bad, you made me the happiest person alive just by being mine, I don’t need every second of your time or flowers or even to go dancing, I just needed to know I was a priority, that I was important to you.” She said sadly looking down, feeling a warm hand cup her cheek she looked up to see Jay staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You were the most important person in the world to me, hell, you still are y/n, just promise me he’ll treat you better than I ever did.” He said letting go of her hand, finishing his drink he stood up and started to walk away before a small hand grabbed onto his wrist and pulled slightly, holding him back.

“He’s gay Jay.” She said with a small smile. “We both had an agreement with Trudy that we’d bring a date to the wedding, I didn’t have any one to take and neither did he, so we made our own agreement, I’m still in love with you Jay Halstead and I don’t think I’ll ever not be.” She shrugged pulling him closer, so close she could smell his aftershave and see the small hairs above his lip.

“I love you y/n.” He said placing his hands on either side of her face, looking in her eyes for any sign of doubt.

“I love you too Jay Halstead.” She smiled bringing their lips together in perfect sync, both feeling more whole than they had felt since their relationship had ended.

“I promise you,” He began as he pulled away. “I will treat so much better this time.” He smiled slightly.

“I know you will.” She smiled, feeling as though her life was full again.

** I apologise for the ending, I had no idea where I was going with this one.. Anyhoes, feel free to send any requests :) **

[autumn-foxfire]

You know, I REALLY love all of your takes on MHA especially on Hawks and Dabi, so I was kinda wondering, what would you say are the deeper themes within My Hero Academia? Like, what messages do you think Horikoshi is trying to tell us through the story?

Hmmm, I think a major theme for BNHA is teamwork and it’s importance, though I think that gets muddled from time to time due to Horikoshi trying to make Deku stand out. Specifically we’re seeing the new generation of heroes and the “new” top ten heroes succeed as teams.

We’ve seen the students develop moves that support each other (especially with Ururaka and Tsuyu), heroes forming team ups (Endeavor and Hawks, Edgeshot forming the Lurkers), and this arc alone has been about teamwork too, especially when handling Machia.

Another theme I would say is persevering even when you’re backed against a wall. We see this many time with Deku but we’ve also encountered this with other characters too (but this is a pretty common theme in shonen so it’s nothing entirely special).

There’s also an underlining theme of change in BNHA. Heroes and villains alike have changed in some ways (though not necessarily for the better for the villains) but it’s a very apparent theme in BNHA. The characters have had to adapt to their circumstances and learned to change in some way and we see this many, many times in the manga. Deku, All Might, Shouto, Endeavor, Shigaraki... they’ve all changed in some way and it’s very interesting to see. I actually like how Horikoshi has shown us that it’s never too late to change who you are (as we’ve seen with Endeavor), though I also like how he didn’t give instant forgiveness to him either just because he has.

I can’t think of anymore at the moment but I’m sure there are more that I’m missing too.

[sinsbymanka]

Chapter 48: The Storm Begins is on AO3!!

Unending white sand, dotted with crumbling ruins and jagged stones, marked the only scenery Varric could make out in the Western Approach. Nothing interesting to look at for fucking miles. The sun beating down on them made sweat run in rivulets down his temples, the grit of sand sticking to his skin.

It was, by far, the worst place he’d ever been dragged to. He opened his mouth to start complaining, but lost his train of thought nearly immediately at the sight of bare, freckled shoulders and a generously displayed set up breasts.

Maria’s generously displayed breasts, the sports bra she wore trying in vain to contain them. She had been wearing a red plaid shirt over top of the tank top she revealed, but apparently the clinging fabric irritated her as much as the sand in his asscrack irritated him. He watched, entranced, as her small fingers tucked wisps of her hair back in the half undone braid wrapping around the nape of her neck.

He lost himself for a moment, imagining the sounds she’d make if he traced his nose down the delicate shell of her ear, if he let his tongue trace the curve of her neck.

Like she felt his hot gaze burning her surely as the sun above, she looked back at him, in the process of tying that flannel around her waist. Her chapped lips curled and she tipped her head to the side. “What’s a matter, Varric?”

“You’re gonna be red as a tomato.” He advised, shoving his desire back where it belonged, even as it fought him all the way.

“Maybe Varric can put some sunscreen on you.” Hawke’s innocent tone fooled nobody, least of all him. “He’s got big hands. Won’t take him long.”

Cassandra and Blackwall groaned in unison and speared each other with chagrined looks over Maria’s head. She didn’t acknowledge them, or look away from Varric’s eyes. In fact, Varric thought he caught a quick, roguish wink before she turned forward again.

And if his eyes drifted a bit lower to trace the curve of her rear… well. There wasn’t anything else to look at except more blighted sand. May as well enjoy the only view he had.

“I need to send her a fruit basket and flowers.” Hawke sighed.

Varric pulled his eyes from Maria and up to the humans who strode alongside him. Chantal looked around with rapt curiosity, but Hawke looked nearly as bored as he felt. “Explanation, Waffles?”

“You haven’t complained once. It’s a Satinalia miracle brought to us by the Herald of Andraste herself.”

Chantal giggled and dropped her voice low, not to carry past their group of three. “She is pretty, isn’t she? Zevran and I were talking…”

“Why spend time talking?” Hawke taunted, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I know what I’d do given half a chance.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to pick a fight with the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, but if he was gonna do it, this was the hill worth dying on. “I thought you both liked your sexual encounters taller. And stabbier.”

“Trust me Varric.” Hawke grinned. “That is a woman who has stabbed a man.”

“At least one.” Chantal agreed, lowering her sunglasses to peer over them at him like a professor keying up for a lecture. An impressive look to pull off, considering the beat up leather jacket she somehow still wore, despite the heat. Annoyingly, neither witch seemed perturbed by the temperature.

They also didn’t seem inclined to pay his sniping much mind. Hawke sunk her eyes back to her boots, concentrating on trudging through the sand, but she still murmured a question to Chantal. “Hard to say goodbye to Zevran?”

“We’ve been separated before.” Chantal answered. “You and Fenris haven’t. Not for years.”

“I’m sure he was about sick of me.” The agony flitting over Hawke’s expression only lasted a second, but she couldn’t hide it from Varric.

It almost made him tell her, but he bit his tongue. The notification, right before they got on the helicopter, still rang in his ears.

One of the emergency credit cards has been used and Fenris’s device has been turned off.

Hawke wasn’t going to be missing her Broody elf much longer and Varric knew better than to get in his way. They’d sort it out, hopefully, and if they didn’t… well, fodder for his next book. The one where he’d kill off the Broody bastard for breaking Hawke’s heart.

Not that he hadn’t considered killing Broody off in a book before. He was pretty sure he even had some drafts he could scavenge.

The three figures in front of him staggered to a stop at the top of a rocky outcrop. Both Cassandra and Blackwall hunkered down in crouches, but Maria didn’t bother. She stood, legs firmly planted on the stone, head tipped to the side as she looked down the slope.

Below them, a sprawling complex of flimsy, prefabricated buildings littered the landscape like a child’s abandoned toys in a sandbox. Beyond them, a crumbling stone tower rose on the edge of the abyss. The buildings, bleached white in the sun, stood out far more starkly than the dark ant-like shapes flitting around between them. There were less than ten people down there, all tall enough to be humans. He shifted his gaze to Chantal. “This can’t be all your missing wardens.”

“Not even close.” Chantal sighed, crossing her arms over her torso. “This was… an arcane tower meant for blood magic rituals, I think, from back when the Tevinter empire stretched this far.”

“Before the first blight?” Cassandra asked.

At Chantal’s terse nod, Hawke whistled, long, low, and impressed. “They just don’t make malevolent ritual towers like they used to.”

“Do you take anything seriously?” Blackwall asked, beard just about trembling with disapproval.

Hawke offered a lazy salute. “I certainly try not to.”

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