#bc its not like she’s against speaking her mind . i mean generally and situational but for ppl she’s close to she usually isnt

[astralzeraphias]

“he was mentally ill. this monster was a- was a sick fantasy. a product of his dementia.”

“…i saw it too. does that make me disturbed? demented? does… that make me sick too?”

[mythiccheroacademia]

—lunch box

A/N: just another cute idea i had because i’m obsessed with barbarian/dragon king!bakugo and fantasy shit in general. some context: you and bakugo are betrothed—although, sometimes you wish you weren’t bc he can be a real asshole. luckily for you, he’s willing to work on it bc he likes loves you just that much. a litte angst (it wouldn’t be a mtha story without it) but it ends in fluff <3

Warnings: cursing

Your friends looked at their food with heart eyes and dug into the neatly wrapped box with fever.

“Ahh! Thank you for making this, Y/N!” one of them exclaimed. The other could only nod in agreement, too into your cooking to speak.

You smiled and waved them off. “It was nothing. Consider it a thank you for letting me copy the homework last night,” you chuckled.

“Did you cook one for Prince Bakugo? I’d imagine he’d love it! If there’s anyone’s cooking he loves more than his own, it’s yours!”

At the mention of his name, your expression fell. You looked down at the case of food you had prepared for him as an apology.

Four days ago, you two were hanging around his residence. You managed to get him to dance around with you. Well, it more like you were dancing and he was doing his best not to combust in embarrassment. Katsuki warned you that you shouldn’t be too reckless otherwise you’d break something.

Of course, you paid him no mind, too enthralled with your fun to notice your proximity to a nearby statue—one of the Bakugo family’s treasures.

One thing led to another, and you knocked it over, shattering it before either of you could even react. Your rich skin lost its glow and your boyfriend cursed something nasty.

Least to say, his parents were not happy. But instead of being rightfully scolded, Bakugo had taken the blame for it.

They found him attempting to clean it up and assumed it was his fault. You wanted to correct them, but he threw you a nasty glare, sealing your mouth shut. He was now under punishment until they deemed fit and from then on, he hadn't spoken a friendly word to you.

A little sigh escaped your lips. Your two friends looked at each other before offering you encouraging smiles.

“Hey,” one spoke, placing a hand on your knee. You met her gaze. “You should go give it to him. He’d love it.”

There was a moment of silence before you decided to act. Taking the spur of confidence, you stood up and briskly made your way to the other classroom. Just before you entered, you heard his voice and felt your heart waver with anxiousness.

However, now wasn’t the time to let doubt consume you. Things wouldn’t get better until something was done.

You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, before opening the door and walking in. Your eyes scanned the room and found the young dragon prince amongst his group of friends.

Jaw set, you walked over to them, hands firmly around the packaged food.

Kirishima saw you first and gave you a friendly wave.

“Hey Princess L/N!”

“Hi boys! How’re ya doing?” you politely asked, putting on your best smile.

They gave you an upbeat answer that lifted your spirits.

Despite that, you hadn't heard a response from Bakugo. In fact, he hadn't even looked at you—but you wouldn’t be disheartened. You fueled herself with faux confidence and held out the dish to your betrothed.

“I-I made you something small yesterday, as an apology,” you stuttered.

Katsuki finally looked up, indifference in his stare. Ruby eyes flickered down to the box filled with rice, chicken, vegetables, and a small pastry on the side. His favorite kind. For a moment, he seemed like considered your offer, but you suffered the low blow of humiliation when he turned away to look through the window.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. Should’ve given it to me earlier.”

Something in your stomach fell. Crushing rejection blossomed up your throat with each passing second. His words were cold, harsh, and unforgiving. It might’ve been stupid, overdramatic even, but it hurt.

Heartbroken wasn’t even the word.

Your nose burned, eyes blurring before you could stop it. Your chest tightened with embarrassment. Luckily, you mustered enough strength to hold in whatever was threatening to crumble you.

“Oh,” you dumbly responded.

“I’ll take it!” Kaminari excitedly said.

“No, I will! I’m still starving!” Kirishima chided.

You placed the box down, struggling to keep up your act.

“Split it between the both of you. I hope it’s good!” You internally winced over how high your voice had become. “I’m gonna to get going now. I’ll see you guys after school, yeah?”

And before anything else was said, you bolted straight out of the room. You hadn’t bothered to look at Katsuki. Knowing him, he probably hadn't noticed the strain in your voice.

As soon as you were out of sight, the tears flooded. You held your hands against your mouth, desperate to muffle your cries. You quickly took you into the nearest bathroom and you prayed no one had seen you lest there be questions. If you went to your friends, it’d cause a commotion. Your parents would eventually find out and you didn’t want any more problems.

So, you cried your eyes raw and eventually willed yourself to stop when it was time to return to class.

…

The week had gone by without another interaction. The weekend brought you some relief since you wouldn’t be forced to see Katsuki’s face for the time being. Or so you thought.

All you wanted to do was run some errands for your parents and then go back home and continue sulking. Yet the universe would not let you rest.

The moment you caught Bakugo’s eyes, you pivoted on your heel and booked it the other way. You assumed his anger with you would force him to keep his distance.

But you were thoroughly surprised to find he was following after you.

“Y/N,” he called.

Irritation and hurt filled your chest. You only walked faster, clutching the purse against her chest.

“Y/N, stop,” he demanded to which you promptly ignored.

This went on for a good thirty seconds until Bakugo decided he had enough. Without much noise, he ran up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder.

You weren’t having it.

You harshly shrugged off his hand. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, keeping your eyes forward.

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you. So maybe some other time.”

Truthfully, the crowned prince found himself shocked at your coldness. Despite your innate boldness, he wasn’t used to such an icy tone. Especially directed at him.

His father warned him to never attack in these situations, but Bakugo let his temper get the best of him. His first reaction was to frown and deal back harsher words.

“What’s your fucking problem, dumbass? When I say stop, stop!”

A spike of anger flooded your veins. You whirled around on your heel and glared at him with frosty eyes. You felt compelled to drop your papers and slap him, but instead, you settled for a finger in his face.

“First of all, I’m not some dog you can just order around, you jerk! And just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean I’m some girl you can treat like dirt whenever you feel like it! Until you apologize, leave me alone because my only problem right now is you. Bye.”

And just as quickly as you came, you turned to leave.

Now Bakugo was actually stunned. Forget, cold, this was a side of you he hadn't ever experienced. Admittedly, he hadn’t been spoken to like that from anyone besides his mother—and she only got away with it because she was not only the queen…but he was his mom.

Katsuki honestly didn’t know how to handle it. It was only then that he concentrated back on his father’s advice. Whenever his mother was upset with his dad, his father would fight back, but never with emotional anger. Always with humbleness and an understanding tongue.

It usually did the trick considering his mother could never stay upset with him for more than a night. It always struck the teen with hidden awe. Sometimes, Katsuki thought his dad was an angel.

Bakugo was no angel, but he hoped it’d have the same affect on you.

The blonde teen softened his face and walked up behind you. He stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist to lie his forehead against the decorated braids the fell down your back.

“Damn it. I’m sorry okay?” he lowly said, face burning from such a public display of affection. “Just hear me out.”

You didn’t speak and he clenched his jaw.

“Please.”

You inwardly cursed your rapidly beating heart. If it weren’t for how stupidly nice being in his arms was (he was definitely working out more), and the fact that you found him kinda cute begging for your permission, maybe you wouldn’t have caved in so easily.

For now, you’d blame it on the fact that you two were destined to wed. It was better to start dealing with fights now so, hopefully, the future held less of them.

You heaved a sigh, unwillingly ignoring your body’s urge to curl in his arms. Instead, you pulled away and turned to face him. You peered into unsure crimson eyes with as much harshness you could conjure.

“Fine. Speak,” you permitted.

There was a small pause as he gathered his thoughts. When he opened his mouth, you instantly regretted it.

“I’m still mad at you for being dumb and breaking one of family’s treasures. And I’m still fucking pissed that my old hag is on my ass about it,” he started and noticed how your eyes narrowed in contempt.

You were about to turn away, thinking this was a waste of time. However, Bakugo took a hold of your wrist before you could leave.

“Leave me alone! If you didn’t want to get in trouble, you should’ve just let me take the blame. I can't believe I thought you’d apologize—“

“Let me finish, princess.”

It was your title, yet you felt your stomach flip when it came from his lips. You refused to let it influence you…but you’d give him another chance.

Bakugo stepped closer to you. “I’m upset, but I took the punishment because I wanted to. You didn’t mean to break it. Accidents happen, I understand that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, you softened your gaze a bit, eyes still lit with inquiry. “Why? Why would you do that if it meant getting in trouble? I could’ve taken the blame just fine.”

“Y/N, you freak the fuck out whenever you don’t get a perfect score on an exam. You try not to mess up and when you do, it’s like the world is ending,” he explained with a teasing smirk. You ungracefully snorted. He had a point. “When you broke the vase, I could hear your heart drop. You were two seconds away from crying. And when I saw how scared you looked I just—I don’t know.”

The look on your face was something between shock, surprise, and wonder. You blinked, thick lips parting slightly in awe.

“Katsuki…” you breathed to which the boy heavily blushed. Realizing how sappy he sounded, his mind screamed at him to cut it out.

Bakugo looked down and noticed he was still holding your wrist. He quickly let go and instinctively rubbed the nape of his neck.

“D-don’t be dramatic. I just didn’t wanna see you moping around or some shit. My father said that it wasn’t that important anyway…the vase I mean,” he mumbled.

Sure it wasn’t, you thought. What were you gonna do with this boy?

You supposed an apology was a good start.

“That was very nice and admirable of you Katsuki. Thank you,” you eventually said. “I’m still really sorry about the vase, and for being mean to you just now.”

He shook his head. “I know, but I’m the one that should be apologizing. I ain’t hafta treat you the way I did. I was being an ass for not accepting the food you made for me earlier.”

“Yeah you were, ya bastard.”

He chuckled at that. “The two idiots wouldn’t stop raving over how good it was.”

“Well, I had the best teacher in the kingdom,” you grinned.

“And I had an even better student,” he winked.

Your smile widened. Maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad.

You couldn’t help yourself when you heartily embraced him, enjoying how his arms slowly slithered around the small of your back. Your eyes met and you kissed him on the lips, leaving him with a little gasp. You pulled away and giggled under your breath.

“You know, you're a sweet guy underneath all that false bravado.”

“False brav—what the hell are you going on about!?”

Ignoring his explosive behavior, you readjusted the straps on your shoulder before turning on your heel.

“Don’t bring anything for lunch on Monday, okay? I’ll see you later, blondie.”

Despite his little tantrum, Bakugo still watched you disappear into the store with a gentle expression. You gave him more headaches than he cared for, but you were worth it. Besides, he was sure you could say the same for him.

Bakugo turned to leave and passed his fingertips over where your lips touched his own.

He’d never admit to the giddiness in his chest. He’d take that shit to the grave.

[hexfloog]

Tonight we screm about... LIFELINES

Earlier today, I sent an... admittedly very poorly-phrased question about Gadgetless Conan to a DCMK server - you know, like someone who doesn't proofread.

(I know it was bad because nobody answered me... rightfully so, lmao)

There was a reason for it though!! What I was thinking about was E2, Company President's Daughter Kidnapping Case/The Kidnapped Debutante, and E129, The Girl from the Black Organization.

Rambling below the cut!!

In episode two, it's made horribly clear to us just how harrowing Shinichi's situation has become, even at surface-level. The point is obviously to contrast against the Shinichi we're shown in episode one, who is physically adept, well-liked by authority, and generally comfortable in life. In the span of a single episode, he becomes alienated by symbols of his former self-- his house, which he cannot enter; his clothes, which he cannot fit; his friends, who he cannot confide in; and his own name, which he cannot utter-- and we begin watching him struggle to acclimate to the life of someone who is infantilized at every turn (until he isn't, cough), the degree of which is illustrated most plainly in this first case solved as "Conan."

You only get one shot to establish the floor of a setup like this, and I think they did a pretty good job of it. I'm biased in favor of the Funimation dub, of course:

"You've gotta be kidding me!! I can't even kick a soccer ball anymore!

Aaaaaugh, the panic in his voice.

Anyway, I bring this up in conjunction with The Girl from the Black Organization because, before Shinichi realizes he's being played, Ai taunts him with some dialogue which I found-- among pretty much everything else she says in these two minutes-- pretty chilling:

And she's right - Shinichi flounders so much in episode two because... he really is helpless! He's completely gadgetless for the duration of the case, completely stolen from his former physical prowess (and the familiarity that comes with it), and just to add insult to injury he doesn't even know how to properly masquerade as a child yet, which is arguably the only trick he has when naked (so to speak). As Haibara says... without Agasa, Shinichi has no liberation from the physical weakness of his child body.

So... that got me thinking... Shinichi has a support system that is already loosely established even by this point, composed of people who know his secret, lifelines which bring him back to himself when it seems like there is no escape from his false identity. What are they?

Agasa is, as established above, Shinichi's lifeline to his physical strength and, arguably, his authority. His gadgets allow the young detective to arm himself-- both in the conventional sense, and with a reliable wealth of trickery to skirt the dismissiveness often invited by his child appearance... whether that means simple antics or straight-up mimicking the voices of dead people to scare culprits into confessing WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS--

His parents are, obviously, his connection to family. They are also his general safety net, in the event he chooses to give up... or is forced to.

Heiji is Shinichi's lifeline to companionship. As I mentioned earlier, once he becomes Conan, Shinichi is put in a place where he can no longer confide in his friends (namely, Ran). Heiji, after learning his secret-- and in his ostensibly wholesome habit of seeing right through the veil of Conan every single time-- offers Shinichi a chance to just... be himself without the smoke and mirrors. When the circumstances of his life force him to wear the skin of someone else at every waking moment, I feel Shinichi could very well forget what genuine camaraderie feels like. Also he's the first one to offer Shinichi any semblance of hope for the end of his predicament (albeit unknowingly), how could he not have a place here omg

Haibara is something of an enigma. Admittedly, I have not seen enough of her to be able to say anything (with confidence) on her apparent role in Shinichi's system, but every time she speaks I swear this girl has something PATENTLY 10/10 to contribute asddgfhj. For me, and for all I've seen so far, she represents his value system (and by extension, retribution?) and is the closest I've seen this show come to gray morality. In this very episode Agasa has to hold Shinichi back when their conversation quite clearly turns to challenging who he thinks deserves to be called a victim and I-- mmmmMMMM

More on that in another post about this ep because there's no WAY I'm going to be able to cover everything I wanna say about it in this one aaaaa. Also I do not know at this point whether Vermouth would also fit into this role, I haven't gotten there yet

(Now for this last one... I realize Movie Canon is technically its own thing, but tbh I want the movie and show canon(s) to overlap so much in my mind that I don't even care sorry not sorry--)

...Kaito Kid.* Honestly this boy is such a wildcard, his relationship with Shinichi is so unique and multifaceted that he most definitely plays more than one part in this support system I've interpreted for him in my head. At the very least, being The Foil, it stands to reason he would play a very similar role to Agasa, but rather than bringing him back to the familiarity of his physical body, he keeps him on his toes by pushing his ambition and testing his deductive prowess, which... is especially interesting to me, given that Shinichi never loses that part of him post-transformation. Passion, then, is perhaps his role (or at least one of them): to remind Shinichi of his purpose, of what gives him life... away from the grim backdrop of his circumstance, and removed from the shadow of the Organization... because even in the body of little Conan, that fire could not be stolen from him. Kaito may or may not be doing this consciously (for all intents and purposes, most likely not) but it's still an intriguing thought to entertain, I think...

(*Yusaku could technically overlap with this also, but imo both Shinichi's parents are far too aware of the threat of the Black Organization, I think-- as they should be, being his parents and all.)

(*Heiji could also be the one who stokes this fire, but there's a markedly distinct difference between sharing a passion, and weaponizing it)

Wow uhhHHH idk how to cap off this post uhmm... that's all I've got for now, next time I screm about... YOU CAN'T SAVE EVERYONE (still this ep, bc 129 is SUCH a treasure trove of ideas)

if you've gotten this far tysm for reading much love <333

[strawhatsweets]

the blood on our hands

bakugou x gn!reader

aged up!

cw: a n g s t as hell. comfort. cursing, mentions of drinking, smoking, etc. alluding to depression and anxiety. dealing with trauma of missions and losing people. a ton of mentions of blood

this is a heavy topic in the hero universe i imagine- and generally in the mental health world of it all.

lyrics are from purple flowers by ande estrella which hold a very important meaning that has nothing to do with this- they just worked with the story. But fr go listen to it bc its so good.

come to my asks to be a part of my taglist! just let me know what kinds of fics/ what fandom/ what characters/ etc you want to be tagged in! Requests are open!!

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

reality is heavy and loud

Spacing out was more than being distracted to Y/n. Being a young hero meant stressful situations, overbearing management, tight spaces, stuffy meetings, and so much... blood. It takes a toll on a young person. Of course they wanted to be a hero- wouldn't chose anything else. They grin and bear this shit for a reason- to save and help people.

But god, who saves the heros?

but white has the privilege of washing machines to wash out the stains from their comfortable jeans

Some nights, after wrap-up meetings, everything was a bit too heavy. The usual group of friends and young heroes would choose someone's house to go to in order to destress.

For some, that was smoking. For some, it was drinking, video games, napping, venting, sitting outside alone yet with company. And for some it was merely listening to everyone else.

Not having to make a decision. Not having to be responsible. That's what y/n picked every time.

Bakugou would always notice them alone in the corner of the room. They were the one to come up with destress gatherings after hard missions. Bakugou knew it was so they wouldn't be alone with their thoughts. That's why he would always step in at times like as get them to talk, so those thoughts dont stay trapped in their head.

"Hey." Bakugou muttered, sitting on the floor next to y/n in Denkis apartment.

"Hey."

"You good, dude?" Bakugou asked with genuine concern.

He was always a bit nicer to Y/n. Nobody knew why, yet everyone knew why. They both were fragile and chose to hide it during the day, being strong around others to not raise red flags.

"I'm okay...just. That one was bad. I almost lost that kid. Like she almost fucking- died in my arms." Y/n choked out.

"Hey hey hey, its okay. You got her to the ambulance in time. You did that shit. You always do. You're the best in the game at comforting little twerps." Bakugou attempted to comfort them- somewhat succeeding and holding their head against his chest.

One time, Y/n mentioned that they held kids against their chest during rescues to calm their heartbeat. "If you listen to a calmer heartbeat, you're more likely to try to match it and slow your own down." Of course you wouldn't think Y/n would be able to have a calm heartbeat during a rescue, but they are very talented at controlling their nerves. Part of being a hero.

wiping the blood off their hands to their thighs, wearing the blood of the people who've died

Y/n subconsciously calmed down a bit, Bakugou's ability to remember every word that drips off of Y/n's lips paying off.

"I know. I just can't stop...thinking about everyone I've- we've lost. Its so unfair."

"I know. Hey, you have- uh. Lets go to the bathroom." Bakugou noticed a smudge of blood on Y/n's face and a bit on their hands. Cleaning up was the last thing on their mind earlier on.

"Ok."

Taking each other's hands, they walked into the bathroom. Bakugou sat Y/n on the counter, turning on the sink and grabbing a cloth.

"O-oh god. Thats fucking blood. I thought I washed my h-hands." Y/n began panicking, causing Bakugou to put their hands under the water with soap, washing it all off for them.

Tears mixed with the water from the sink and Bakugou stayed silent. Wiping their face, Bakugou looked into Y/n's eyes. These two have just always known.

They know what people can hide. What secret messages the body language of a person can hold. And he let them grip onto the back of his shirt as he held them in his arms, Y/n not being able to cry anymore and just breathing in his scent from his shoulder.

but dont let the purple flowers fool you

"Listen. We're going to get through this one. I know its hard on you- all of the families involved. But you- we saved them. We're all here for each other right? I'm here for you." Bakugou pulls Y/n back a little to look into their eyes. "You are the strongest one here. I know it fucking hurts. I know it is so...scary-" He sniffles a little, letting his own emotions take over. Something only he did when they were alone together. "- but we're heroes. And human. We are allowed to feel pain and sadness and disappointment- but we're heroes for a reason, right? We can handle this shit."

"I know we can. We always have. Just... promise you'll never leave me?"

"Youre so stupid. I've been more careful lately." He scoffs, wiping tears from his face. He of course knew that Y/n was referring to a few weeks ago when Bakugou got too caught up in the mission and was almost crushed by debris. He was pulled away in time by a fellow hero but it still opened his eyes, as well as Y/n, to how fragile they are, even if they are the heroes.

"I know Kats, but please. You're my rock in here. You're my person." Y/n says looking into his eyes.

"And you're my person. I can't leave you behind. You wouldn't know what to do without me here." Bakugou chuckles, earning a shove from Y/n.

"Katsuki." Y/n starts, holding his hands in their own.

"Yeah." He sighs.

"I don't speak lightly of feelings, you know that right?"

"Of course I know that. You don't talk much about those to anyone-"

"Except you." They interrupt Bakugou, reminding him of the importance of their unspoken bond and making his heart race.

"Yeah."

"Then you'll know how hard it is for me to say this. But- Katsuki I think I love you. I know we aren't super affectionate outside of being alone but- I've never felt what I feel with you before. I understand if you don't feel the same way and if this was all just because you felt bad but I needed to tell you that because you're really important and this is very import-"

Bakugou, in the most cliche turn of events, cuts Y/n off with a kiss to shut them up.

Pulling away, Bakugou rests his forehead on Y/n's .

"I love you too. I thought that was obvious when I never stopped you from saying my first name, idiot." He chuckles lightly.

"I kinda figured you at least liked me-"

"I'm going to keep you safe forever. That means physically and emotionally. No more hiding any feelings from me just because there are people around. Pull me aside. Hold me if you need or want to- I dont care if the whole world sees that. But just- fuck Y/n. I know you feel fragile. I know what it's like to be scared and hide it. I'm your diary now, ok? Always."

"Thank you...Katsuki. Fuck. You're everything I've ever needed. Plus youre kinda cute too I suppose." Y/n giggles.

"Oi fuck off." Bakugou kisses them again, relieved that he can finally be himself with Y/n, that he has them finally.

"I'm your diary too them, okay? I mean it. Anything, any time, say the word." Y/n says lightly, squeezing Bakugou's hand.

"Fuck. I love you."

"I love you too. I love how that sounds coming from you by the way."

"Me the fuck too-" Bakugou was interrupted by a loud yelling-

"I GOTTA PISSSSSS" followed by banging on the door.

"MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T DRINK SO FAST THEN LIGHT WEIGHT!" Bakugou responds, recognizing the voice of Denki.

"DONT MAKE FUN OF MEEEE I'LL LAUGH AND PEE MYSELF" Denki whined.

"Let's go, angel." Bakugou whispers into Y/n's hair, kissing them on the head and helping them off of the counter.

[yukipri]

Bad Batch end of season thoughts/ramble, bc it's been a week and I just wanna get it all off my chest...

(end of season spoilers and very disorganized rambling)

First off, I do want to say that I enjoyed watching the show. It fulfilled its primary purpose: entertainment. It was nice having something to look forward to every week, and even though it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it was fun. The animation was gorgeous, I liked all the references and tie ins. I will likely watch it again, and will watch season 2. This is by no means meant to be a hate post.

That being said, it is critical so please just skip if you're not into that!

The thing is...it takes very, Very little for me to love a clone. He doesn't need lines, or a face, or even a name, and the default is that I will love him. He can even be a little bastard, like Slick, and it's fine. I always want to know more about them, and wish they had more screen time and time in general to develop their characters. So given that we were getting 16 (20 eps total if we count TCW S7 pilot arc) centered around these guys, I was expecting to absolutely adore them by the end.

And I wanted to love the Bad Batch, I wanted to love them so damn much, and I tried. But I think one of the reasons why they never fully clicked for me was that their thing seems to be "we're unique, we never fit in, we're outsiders in our own home, among the people who are supposed to be our own family, and so we've found our home with each other."

Which! That's usually a wonderful message, and not a particularly rare or unique one either for stories! I usually dig these kinds of stories!

The problem here is the extremely unique situation of the clones. They are literally created to be identical, brain washed to be uniform. They must conform, or are killed off by their creators, and their conformity isn't a choice in the slightest, but one of fear and necessity.

Their uniformity is something that they are also entirely aware of--it's unavoidable, they're clones. Once out in the real galaxy, they all strive to find and establish unique identities for themselves, struggling against a galaxy that just wants them to be faceless products. It's a shared struggle, and all they have are each other, and their brotherhood is sacred as a result. Shunning unique identity is the opposite of who a clone is--it's what they all want.

So on one hand, it's understandable that the Batch stuck out (when all others who would have also stuck out were culled, when individuality isn't allowed). It's understandable that they would have yearned for the brotherhood shared by the other clones, and when they couldn't have it, they stuck closer to each other. It's even understandable that they would feel bitter, having experienced bullying at the hands of the other clones (but isn't it also understandable that the other clones would feel bitter that the Batch gets special treatment, when their own brothers with less-than-beneficial mutations were taken by the Kaminoans to never return?).

And so we have this batch of clones, who the Kaminoans call "mutated," but also specify that their mutations are "desirable" (implying what happens to mutations that are undesirable...). They have their own unique unit, in which they're able to improvise and act freely with seemingly little to no oversight, so long as they complete their mission. No Jedi to obey, no nat-born officers who look down on them. In fact, they look so different from standard clone troopers that most of the galaxy probably don't even know they are clones. They have their own ship (personalized), they have their own possessions (which we don't really see any other clones have), they have their own barracks (probably also very unique), and they even have access to superior weapons and armor (most of the Batch, minus Echo, seem to be wearing modified Katarn-class armor which is supposed to be for Commandos. we KNOW it holds up better than standard trooper armor).

So I'm sure they had some unpleasant experiences growing up, and I do get it. But at least at "present" end of clone wars, they honestly seem to be living infinitely better than all other clones? They still need to follow orders but they have more freedom, and perhaps most importantly, they have clear uniqueness that is denied almost all other clones. And yes, some of the clones on Kamino bully them, but we've seen NONE of the "regular" clones that we know to be particularly nasty to them, and in fact it's Crosshair who starts it by calling them "Regs."

And how does the Batch respond to this situation? By acting superior. It's Crosshair who says and it believes this firmly, and I do feel that the others are likely mostly influenced by this, but it's also true that Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech don't really deny this either. They don't like the "regs," they do act like they're "better." Poor Echo, who they repeatedly seem to forget is in the room, and who they call "machine" and such...yikes yo

So I guess the point is, I just really struggled to feel sympathetic towards them, and was already on a kinda eh about their premise. They're marketed as "the special clone squad"--and yet they're not nice to the clones I love. I thought that wasn't great, but also hoped that the series would work towards them understanding the other clones better, and I love character development so that woulda been fine--but, nothing. A glance from Hunter at Howzer. Extended camaraderie from Gregor, who I feel they mostly just tolerate for the mission, other than Echo who genuinely cares.

And on top of feeling not feeling particularly sympathetic towards what I saw as a pretty privileged group of clones, the Batch seems to place primary blame of their woes on the "regs" themselves, who again, honestly seem far worse off! There isn't blame directed at the people who demanded the conformity from the other clones in the first place, that made it so the Batch couldn't fit in. The Batch was modified due to the Kaminoans (and implied specifically Nala Se). She's the reason why they don't fit in. And the Kaminoans are also why the other clones have to be so uniform, why they must fight to be people and not products.

Bitterness and pettiness can be fine in characters. But it's frustrating to see in a group supposed to be competent and elite, especially when those feelings have consequences. Sure, it sucks when someone throws a food tray at you. You can throw food back. It's not an equal reaction to feel no remorse when you shoot that guy dead in a blaster fight, when for all other clones, having to kill another clone is one of the most horrible, tragic things that one can do (thanks, Umbara).

Fives was the only clone to actually point a blaster at Nala Se.

We know Omega has deeply personal history with Nala Se. She was Nala Se's personal medical assistant. We see her cry when she takes off her head ornament that matches Nala Se. We know that being back in the lab gives Omega complicated, and probably not entirely positive feelings. But we barely learn more about this relationship, other than these glimpses.

And I get the feeling that to Omega at least, Nala Se wasn't all terrible. If Omega grew up with mostly only Nala Se for company, she had to have gotten her sheltered outlook on life, and her willingness to help others from somewhere. Nala Se intentionally let Omega go, to be "safe."

I think Omega's adorable, and I do like her. But I wasn't able to fully love her to the extent I wanted to, because there was always the fear that she was involved in the creation and implantation of the chips. She knows about them, she would have been positioned to do so. I want to think she would never, and I was hoping the show would reassure us of that, but it never did. We don't actually know how Omega feels about Nala Se, or even the chips and their presence in other clones. Instead, all we know is that Omega doesn't like "regs."

And again, "they call me lab scrubber," and "I helped put (or am complicit in putting) mind control devices in their heads," are kinda, unequal. Again I hope it's not the case. But it definitely kept me feeling uneasy throughout the show.

It really boils down to I don't trust or forgive Nala Se, and the Batch's lack of stance against her and the other Kaminoans, and clear distaste for their other clone brothers, really puts them in a situation that makes it difficult for me to take their side entirely.

And then gosh, Hunter. During Crosshair's whole "you never came back for me," spiel, I couldn't help but think he's kinda right. He had 15 episodes. Sure, it's difficult to get Crosshair back. But they could have done something. They could have done research. We could have had scenes of them wondering where Crosshair is, discussions on how best to find him, even if that discussion ended in, "but we can't risk it right now." They could have grilled Omega for information on the chips, which they really shoulda done either way, but especially since that knowledge is important to understanding what (they thought had) happened to Crosshair. Instead, they just ran every time Crosshair showed up. The show could have done better to show that they cared, and were trying, instead of just, y'know, doing chores for Cid. One, "I kinda miss him," doesn't really count as working on getting him back, at least in my books.

The sole exception to all of this, of course, is Echo. Who really, he works with the Batch fine, he's a former ARC and can more than keep up. Skillset-wise, he fits in well enough. But this season really made me wonder why he's with them at all. Crosshair's revelation and true feelings at the end of the season were no surprise to me, as they're consistent with what we've seen of him from TCW S7. But for Echo, a former "reg" to have to work with someone like Crosshair...even if Crosshair thought Echo was "different" enough to accept him, those are his brothers that Crosshair thinks he's so superior to, and has no issue speaking disdainfully about.

The increasing tension between Echo and Hunter, Echo's interest in helping Rex, in helping other clones, in doing something...I do hope they reach a point where Echo demands they go help, or he's leaving.

They gave Crosshair a chance, despite the fact that his choices were willing. I really hope Echo can convince the Batch to help save the other clones who don't have a choice. Because even if the Batch doesn't consider them their brothers, they're certainly Echo's. They matter just as much as Crosshair, and I really hope season 2 shows it narratively.

To conclude, again I'm interested in seeing what happens next, and I want answers about Omega and Nala Se. I find it interesting that they tied the facility where they took Nala Se in with the scientist dude collecting data on Grogu in the Mandalorian and those cloning labs. All of this is interesting, but at the same time I feel like it's trying to build up to Snoke/Palpatine stuff in the sequels which...I don't care nearly as much about, but who knows, could be neat ^ ^;

I'm okay with, and have made peace with the fact that the Bad Batch probably isn't the "clones-centric" show I wanted, and that they'll continue their own story, and probably continue to not care much about other clones in upcoming seasons. That's unfortunate, but alright. I'm interested enough in their story too.

But at the same time...I can't help but think man, if they have the time and budget to do a season 2, after seeing what was (or wasn't) accomplished in season 1...I wish they'd also make a Rex/Cody/Wolffe/"regular clones" show, because in the end, if you're going to do a "clones show"....that's who I want to see most.

If you got to the end, thank you for reading, and being an ear to my ranting ^ ^; Again this is literally just getting this off my chest. If this take isn't one you agree with, please just ignore. For people who did fall in love with the Batch, I'm happy for you, and regret that it just couldn't happen for me. But, I'm hoping that S2 will change my mind, but we'll just have to see! ^ ^;

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I just hope you guys are actually enjoying this book bc you’ve been extremely quiet and it’s making me worry jfdg -Danny

Words: 4,785

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Lemon To A Knife Fight -by The Wombats

Chapter Eight: Arguments.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation..."

Mel discovered that pouring all her attention into the classes was an excellent way to keep Harry and his stupid ogling towards Cho away from her thoughts. She wasn't going to bury herself in homework and miss the fun, but for the first time in her life, she was going to put herself first.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape.

As on queue, the surface of Hermione and Mel's started to create a mist, Snape barely looked at them without saying anything.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" She heard the Professor ask in quite a nasty voice.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry shortly.

"Tell me, Potter, can you read?" "Yes, I can."

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

" 'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.' "

Mel noticed Harry's face shift slightly at the last line.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. I forgot the hellebore..."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco. Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

She knew it had been unfair to vanish Harry's potion, but she picked up her things, delivered her own, and left the classroom in silence.

"That was really unfair. Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," Hermione commented during lunch.

"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

"I did think he might be a bit better this year. I mean... you know... Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad..." He turned and left.

Ron and Hermione looked at her in search for an explanation.

"I think he was pretty clear, wasn't he?" Mel raised a brow. "You two fight a lot."

"Look who's talking!" Ron said heatedly. "You and Harry have been arguing all the time!"

"We don't even talk!"

"You do! But you only fight!" Hermione pointed out. "It's strange, you barely speak and when you do, you end up yelling."

"We still fight less than you two."

"Fine," Hermione replied irritatedly. "We'll stop fighting, but Harry has to stop lashing out on us, we're not the ones he should be treating like this."

"Well then, you tell him that," Mel scowled.

Hermione looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but Ron stopped her and mumbled something Mel couldn't hear.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any..."

"I reckon I can handle it, but if you got any problems I'll help you, you just have to pay me five knuts per essay!" The girl joked.

"I think I rather fail everything, thank you..." Ron pouted.

"Well, good afternoon!" Umbridge greeted them in that unnerving voice.

"Good afternoon," said a few.

"Tut, tut– That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," Everyone replied. Mel and Ron shared an amused grin.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please. Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

"Theory-centred?" Mel looked at Hermione. "I'm hating this already..."

"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" A few replied humorlessly, the woman interrupted them. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge."

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Everyone listened. Everyone except for Hermione, who kept her book closed and raised a hand in the air, waiting for Umbridge to notice her. An awful lot of time passed before Umbridge finally decided to address the girl.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no."

"Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims."

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

"Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?" The woman laughed, Mel found it extremely irritating.

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr — ?"

"Weasley."

Hermione raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"

"What use is that?" said Harry. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Hand, Mr Potter!"

Several students now had their hands up.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge asked to one.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"

"I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but —"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention, extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Mel gasped quite loudly. Several of her classmates stared at her in anxious anticipation.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas, who was as upset as her, "he was the best we ever —"

"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

"How can self-defense be inappropriate at any age?" Mel asked, her hand up without waiting for the teacher to giver her permission. "Why does it matter? Isn't it better if we manage to learn it while still young? It makes room for more knowledge–"

"More knowledge?" Umbridge's eyes had a dangerous glint. "What kind of knowledge, Miss Dumbledore?"

Mel opened her mouth but she did not speak. Umbridge knew her name without needing to ask for it.

"Just..." The girl hesitated, measuring her words, "general..."

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you — Did that help you, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads —" Dean commented.

Mel was starting to like Dean better than other years, she made a mental note to buy him a few sweets on their next visit to Hogsmeade.

"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas! Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?"

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

"Without ever practising them before? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry blurted out.

"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

"Oh yeah?" Everyone stared at him in expectation.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think... maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Mel swore under her breath, this was exactly the kind of stuff they were supposed to be avoiding, and Harry had run straight into the trap.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter. Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"

"He wasn't dead– but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge, her demeanour changing, but barely. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark Wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Shut up!" Mel hissed, but Umbridge spoke louder.

"Detention, Mr Potter! Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office," She looked like she'd just been granted her biggest wish, which Mel didn't like at all. "I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' "

Harry stood up.

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried quietly, she turned to Mel with a pleading look, but she crossed her arms and looked ahead. He handles his own stuff, she convinced herself, too pissed about his careless behaviour.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said without missing a beat.

"It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

"Come here, Mr Potter, dear." She said sweetly.

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

Mel was wondering what was going to happen to Harry when she walked out of the classroom and a younger student stood in front of her, handing her a note. Mel opened it quickly knowing from whom it was, she read it with a new sense of purpose.

'Sugar quills. Tonight after dinner.'

Mel sat down in front of the Headmaster and stared at him, waiting. Dumbledore seemed unimpressed.

"You've got your first class with Professor Umbridge."

"That woman is as close to being a Professor than I am to being a mermaid."

"Professor McGonagall told me Harry had an outburst in the middle of her class."

"He did."

"Why didn't you step in?"

Mel frowned.

"Was I supposed to, sir?"

"You're certainly not obliged, but after all these years I assumed you knew better than to let him speak about Voldemort in front of a member of the Ministry."

He didn't sound upset, but there was an edge on his voice that made her feel uncomfortable about her indifference.

"I tried to get my point across, but she knew who I was and after that, I didn't dare to speak. I didn't want to give her a reason to believe my lessons are more than what they are..."

"I'm afraid Fudge is not entirely wrong about your lessons, Mel."

The girl looked up at the man in confusion.

"What?"

"After the events of last June, I've decided to advance your classes to N.E.W.T levels," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I beg you forgive me, but your studies to become an animagus will have to wait. You'll be learning legilimency and occlumency, and nonverbal spells that you will try to do wandless."

"That's..." Mel started, taken by surprise. "That's okay... why?"

"Professor Umbridge will refuse to teach you in practice because Fudge doesn't want you to learn more than what you already know," Dumbledore explained. "I can't allow that to be your case. I need you to be ready."

"Ready for what? You're not... you're not saying I'm bound to take your place?"

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment before continuing.

"I don't want you to be my replacement. I want you to cover all the aspects that I cannot. I understand, thanks to Emily's letters, that you and Harry have grown apart during this summer, is that true?"

Mel thought about it for a moment before speaking.

"You need me to stay close, don't you?" She said in resignation. "Want me to become Harry's guard? You'll find that hard to achieve, as soon as he found out about the lifeline he cut all ties... He's convinced that this way is safer."

"What we're doing is important and we can't afford to fight in times like this. If you don't stick together, then we already lost."

"It's not that I don't care," Mel started, getting a bit irritated. "I just that he's been acting up on everyone–"

"Have you stopped to think that maybe he's acting this way because he's been cast out?" Dumbledore asked carefully. "He pushed you away, and you decided to push even further. He felt guilty of the pain you went through. I'm not saying you owe him kindness, but I surely expected more of you, Mel. You've always been understanding. What's different about this time?"

'What's different is that he broke my heart', Mel thought bitterly. However, his words did cause her to reflect on her actions.

"We'll start next week then, with the new lessons?" She asked weakly.

"Indeed," He stood up. "I must ask you to keep them in utter secrecy this time. No one must know."

"Umbridge could be listening," Mel nodded.

"Keep a low profile," The man told her once they were standing at the door. "Don't give Professor Umbridge a reason to punish you."

"I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him," Luna approached them in their way to Herbology. She said all this quickly and without blinking.

"Er — right," said Harry.

"I also believe you and your grandfather are misunderstood geniuses."

"The Headmaster's not my grandad, Luna," Mel replied politely.

"I know," She said like it was obvious. "You can laugh!" Luna exclaimed, unaware that the laughter coming from Parvati and Lavender had nothing to do with her words. "But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they? There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Hermione mentioned.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked after Luna left.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her! Ginny's told me all about her, apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler."

"I don't think Luna's a bad person," Mel defended. "Just because she chose to believe in something you don't, it doesn't make her stupid or crazy."

"I know that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But c'mon, Mel..."

"I don't want to hear another word about Luna's 'madness'– she's all right. I don't want to hear any of you calling anyone crazy- I'm sick of that bloody word..."

"I want you to know," Ernie approached them the same way Luna did, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Luna's not a weirdo–!" Mel started, put Harry stoped her.

"Thanks very much, Ernie," He stared at her expectantly.

If she was supposed to prove her point on uniting the houses with good manners and a kind attitude, she had to start now.

"We appreciate it," She kept a smile firmly on.

"Oy, Potter!"

"What now?"

"I'll tell you what now," Angelina stormed towards them. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What? Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers! Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch especially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there! I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who —"

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday and I don't care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"

"You know what?" Harry grumbled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Angelina was gone. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because she seems to be channelling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron as they entered the Great Hall.

"Less than zero. Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno... I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a countercharm for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing, and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

"I already finished half of all that," Mel said with a pleased smile. "If you didn't spend half of your time moping about homework, you would've done so as well."

"I don't remember asking to be lectured," He replied.

"If it weren't because the teachers are pushing schoolwork down your throat, you wouldn't be learning at all."

"Does it look like it's going to rain?" Ron asked, trying to break their argument and looking at the sky reflected on the ceiling with mild worry.

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione.

"Nothing," Ron blushed.

"So, dear ol' Ronnie," Mel sat down next to him in the common room, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Trying out for the Quidditch team, are we?"

Ron let out a choked squeak.

"How d'you know?"

"Oh, please," The girl rolled her eyes. "You asked for a new broom! You brought it with you, and you want Harry to be there on Friday because it'd make you feel better. Am I wrong?"

Ron's ears turned scarlet, which was enough confirmation.

"I think it's a great idea," She continued. "I mean, I've seen you fly and I've seen you play... sort of– I could help you if you want?"

Ron hesitated.

"Would you? I don't want to ask Fred and George because they'd laugh at me."

"They probably would," Mel agreed. "I would try out myself but I don't own a broom, so better you than someone else."

Ron let out a heavy sigh.

"I could really use some help, Mellow."

"No worries, mate. We got this."

Mel was having the worst cramps on her right hand ever since the start of the evening. She thought it was thanks to writing more than she was used to, but after a specially sharp pain, she hissed and grimaced, when she looked down she saw a hand that wasn't hers with the words 'I must not tell lies' carved into the skin.

"Mel, you're all right?" Someone nudged her shoulder and Mel blinked coming back to her senses.

She held onto her hand tightly, breathing unevenly she examined it only to see her skin untouched, her anxiety shot up at a dangerous speed.

"Yes," the girl stood up, leaving her stuff abandoned as she walked to the portrait. "I forgot something in the library..."

She rushed out the door not knowing where to go.

'Look for Harry', She urged herself, running towards Umbridge's office.

Ten minutes later she came face to face with Harry, who stopped abruptly at the sight. Mel stopped too, examining his face carefully and picking on the way he was sweating.

"Hi," She said tensely.

"Mel," Harry frowned. "What're you..."

She looked down at his right hand, Harry was quick to hide it.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with a straight face.

Mel wanted to say what she'd seen, but then she remembered what Dumbledore told her, and she was certain that telling Harry the truth would only cause him to push her away, so she lied.

"I was studying with Neville in the library and I forgot my books there, I was on my way to pick them up."

Harry nodded shortly.

"See you later, then."

Mel frowned, last year he would've offered to go with her, but it was clear that he was adamant to keep his distance. She felt stupid, running out of the tower like that after such a minor inconvenience. Harry was clearly okay! It didn't matter what she'd seen, he could handle it on his own.

"Yeah, see you..." She walked past him, her eyes fixed on the back of her hand, rubbing the skin in circles.

In the middle of her training session with Ron, a cramp pulled all the way to her elbow and she closed her eyes for a moment. It had happened every evening since Tuesday, normally she would just drown the pain and focus on her surroundings, but she was especially tired that night.

"I think we should call it a day, Ron," She sighed. "C'mon, it's getting dark..."

They walked in silence until Ron pulled her behind a statue at the same time the twins walked past them followed by a bunch of first years.

"Ron, you have more dignity than this," She whispered. "You need to stop acting like a baby around your brothers! How're they going to take you seriously if you don't give them a good reason?"

Ron was about to reply when a voice called for them.

"Guys? What are you doing?"

"Er — nothing. What are you doing?"

Harry frowned at them.

"Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"We're– We're hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."

"You're a terrible liar," Mel mumbled beside him. He elbowed her arm roughly, causing her to grunt.

"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Harry asked.

"Have you, Ron?" Mel pressed.

"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right? I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom and Mel's helping me train. There. Go on. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Harry, glancing briefly at her. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?"

"I'm not bad, according to Mel," said Ron, smiling a bit. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"So you've been practicing tonight? With Mel?"

"Every evening since Tuesday... Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect."

"You'll do fine, and if they try to mock you, I'll make sure to hex them afterwards," She replied.

"I wish I was going to be there," said Harry.

"Yeah, so do — Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?"

Harry froze, attempting to hide his hand away.

"It's just a cut — it's nothing — it's —"

Ron grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled. There, exactly the same place she'd been feeling pain all week, were the words she'd seen on her vision. Ron let go of his hand.

"I thought you said she was giving you lines?" He asked coldly.

Harry stared at the both of them, suddenly looking smaller than before.

"She's... she's been making me use this quill... she says it doesn't need ink and I think that's because, well, it's using my blood."

Mel felt her mouth dry. Harry might have been acting up, but he certainly didn't deserve that.

"...I've been writing the whole week with it– and it's been cutting deeper each time," Harry concluded as the reached the Fat lady portrait.

"The old hag! She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her."

"Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," said Harry.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind," said Harry.

"Well, here's a different solution," Mel started. "You go to her office tomorrow, you finish your detention, and then you keep your mouth shut for the rest of the year."

"You can't be serious..."

"I talked to Dumbledore the other day and–"

"And of course you're telling me this just now. What did he say? Surely he asked you to stay out of trouble–"

"He asked me to step in," Mel replied over his voice. "I should've stopped you from getting detention in the first place. I find it funny that exactly the same year I decide I don't give a flying troll about you, suddenly everyone wants me to defend you–"

"Well, I reckon you should —" Ron started, but the Fat Lady interrupted their chat.

"Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

[myghostmonument]

13xReader: Inhibitions

Notes: I’ve been writing a lot more “canon” pieces recently (non-readers, posted on my ao3), but it feels nice to go back to my fandom roots, so to speak, and finish off some requests like this one! Each style has its own challenges to work through, and it’s fun to move between them and keep things interesting. I plan to keep writing for both, so no worries to anyone who prefers one over the other. This is, as always, gender-neutral for the reader, and is also border-line a disaster!reader fic, a loose characterization style created by the incredible @lilaccoats​ that I stole bc she loves me 

Summary: The Doctor takes you and the fam to a trendy bar, promising a night of relaxation and fun. Shenanigans ensue when you maybe-not-so-accidentally get a little too inebriated. 

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunkenness, hangovers, mentions of vomit, and attempted assault. It’s more an uncomfortable conversation than anything, and nothing graphic happens, but please be warned!

WC: 7500 please don’t look at me like that I just picked at it to unwind as I worked on my zine piece and it got entirely out of hand honk honk goes the clown mobile 

The decision to go to a bar had been Ryan’s. That alone, that the destination had been picked during his turn, ought to have been enough forewarning; it seemed that whenever a trip went sideways, it almost always fell on Ryan’s turn (or the Doctor’s, but you and the others excluded that data — her choices were always catastrophes and not worth including in the risk analysis amongst yourselves).

But faced with the usual question of “where and when to next?”, Ryan had requested a bar, and the Doctor had delivered. You had landed on an asteroid, which according to the Doctor was the location of a top-notch bar, situated along a very popular intergalactic trading route. It was certainly busy, as you all left the TARDIS in an alley and approached the sleek, shiny building; there was a short queue to get in, but people — aliens and humans both — congregated in clumps around it and as you moved through the line and entered the bar, you even looked up and noticed people on the roof.

“So,” Yaz said, propping a hip against the bar counter and taking in the sights. “This is where the great Ryan Sinclair works his magic.” She let her eyes rove around the noisy crowd, and grinned over at Ryan. “You feeling right at home then?”

Ryan shot her a scowl, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “Ha ha,” he said. “This is not what I had in mind when I suggested drinks.”

“What?” The Doctor asked, looking around at him. “Really? I thought I did all right.” She put her hands on her hips, surveying the crowded, noisy bar.

“Well I think it’s great Doc,” Graham said, already perusing a menu with interest. She beamed at him.

“Thank you, I try my best,” she said. She had her hands in her coat pockets, something that usually indicated she was being (or feeling) cautious. In this case, you thought she was merely trying to avoid knocking into anyone, or any drinks; the bar (if that’s what it was, it did seem more like a sort of club) was packed with people, and it would be all too easy to hook an elbow or bump a precarious drink.

Yaz and Ryan were still bickering, and although you generally enjoyed wading into those sorts of things, a menu caught your eye and you pulled it closer. You could read it, thanks to the TARDIS’ help, but translation could only go so far.

“Are these all alcoholic?” you wondered aloud, frowning at something listed as a Greyhound.

“Are they even all drinks?” Graham added, and you glanced up with a smile, knowing he was hoping for food.

“I think so,” the Doctor answered, moving over to you. She reached over to pull your menu towards her, and her sleeve brushed against your shoulder. “Hmm,” she said, still standing very close. “Sorry Graham, all liquid.” She didn’t actually sound all that sorry, you noted. Graham obviously noticed it as well, because he gave a theatrical sigh.

“Every drink has an inebriation agent of some sort,” the Doctor continued, scrunching her nose. “Different sorts for different races and species, this is a very diverse bar.”

“Are they all safe for us?” Yaz asked, also crowding your shoulder to look at the menu.

“Y-e-s,” the Doctor said slowly, followed by an “actually no,” and an eye-roll from Yaz. “Well, sort of. Depends on what you mean by safe. Humans are common enough here, but some drinks will still have a stronger or weaker effect than they would for their intended consumer. They’re coded, see?” She flattened her (your) drink menu on the counter and pointed. “This is the symbol for human, with standard colour rankings. Green means intended for you, yellow means it will have less effect, and red more.”

“Get in,” Ryan said, and you knew without having to look that he was perusing the red-coded drinks.

“You don’t want to try a Red,” the Doctor said sternly. “It could have any number of effects.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Ryan muttered, and then it was Graham’s turn to bicker with him while you and Yaz  scanned the menu.

“How do you think we order?” you wondered, after deciding to try the Greyhound, which was coded green. Yaz had decided on yellow-coded drink, which cited a lack of alcohol. Its kick came from the flavor combination and carbonation, apparently. Yaz’s particular choice sounded disgusting, and you were very much looking forward to watching her try it.

“Yeah, I don’t see a barkeep,” Graham added, craning over the counter and apparently done with trying to persuade Ryan to make good choices. “Though I suppose you might not be able to pick one out from this mess.” It was true; though you were congregated around a counter, there was no discernible life-form keeping tabs or otherwise running it, and the crushing ebb and flow of the crowd was a confusing riot of clashing voices and species. Over it all thrummed the heavy beat of music, alien but still somehow recognizable as upbeat and catchy. You had the distinct sense that this was a trendy bar, and wondered how the Doctor even knew about it.

“It’s simple,” the Doctor said, and she bent over you to again point at the menu, her arm resting against yours. “You see this bit here? You press it with your finger, then press the box next to the item you want.”

“How’s that work then?” Ryan asked dubiously.

“It’s DNA activated,” the Doctor said calmly, as if that were in any way a normal thing for a drinks menu to be. “We were all scanned when we walked through the doors, didn’t you notice?”

“Did we notice the DNA scanners in an alien bar filled with aliens?” Graham asked. “No, must have slipped my mind Doc, no idea how I missed them. ”

“Well,” the Doctor said loftily, “you were scanned. So order your drink like I said, and it’ll be brought to you.” She bent over her menu, some of her hair brushing against your face. You sat very still, swallowed, then reached for a menu and dragged it towards you (seeing as how your own had been commandeered.)

After some consideration you ordered your Greyhound, and it arrived in an interesting, fluted sort of glass, delivered by a waiter. The drink was a pleasing sanguine colour, complete with a wedge of fruit on the glass rim. The whole effect was quite good, too, which was more than Yaz could say for her yellow-coded drink, which she almost choked on. You didn’t deign to try it after that, but Ryan and the Doctor both made a big show of tasting it and being subsequently horrified. Graham, equable as ever, took the abandoned yellow in hand and sipped it serenely, something the rest of you took in with an impressed sort of horror. The Doctor drifted away shortly after with no drink of her own, which wasn’t too surprising; you rarely saw her ingest anything more than a taste of food or drink before flitting away, like some sort of overgrown and absent-minded hummingbird. Ryan and Graham wandered off too. You lingered at the counter with Yaz for a while, as she ordered a new (and improved) yellow-coded drink. You found your own glass empty, and after some hesitation, shrugged and ordered another Greyhound. It hadn’t been too strong; you simply felt warm, and bright. It was nice. Second drinks in hand, you and Yaz decided to do a circuit, it was dark and loud and you were quickly separated in the swirling crowd. No matter, you thought cheerfully, as you took another sip. You’d catch Yaz up eventually, no doubt. The music was blasting, and you unconsciously matched your footfalls to the beat, feeling it warm and sizzling in your blood along with the drink. You tipped the glass in your mouth at the end of the song, and were surprised to find it empty. “Well that’s rude,” you told the empty glass, which flashed  in your hand in a thoroughly unimpressed manner. You pivoted in the press of bodies around you, trying to find a free table and a menu. You needed replacement drink, seeing as how your current one was clearly faulty. “Must’ve shorted me,” you mumbled to yourself. “Typical. Think I can’t handle my glasses - I mean, hounds. Dogs. Drinks.” You stumbled as you pushed through a group of people, but regained your stride easily enough. You even spotted Ryan in a shadowy corner, chatting with a very lovely alien indeed. She seemed to be trying to entice Ryan to dance; you wished her the best of luck. Ryan was a hilarious dancer. Not bad, but definitely hilarious, and he took some convincing. You reached a table on the edge of the dance floor, and pulled a menu towards yourself. It took you a couple of jabs to correctly order your Greyhound — your finger kept slipping. Or maybe it was the menu, actually. “Faulty drinks, faulty menus,” you complained to the room at large, leaning back against a pillar as you waited. The people swirling around you were difficult to focus on, and you wondered suddenly if the room was tilting — surely the room itself wasn’t faulty! “Have to get the foundations checked,” you informed the alien server who appeared with your drinks. They gave you an odd look and vanished. You reached for your drink, but paused, hand outstretched as you considered the not one but three glasses set before you. Two Greyhounds, and one that was something else, a smaller, opaque glass. The liquid shimmered in a very interesting way indeed, and it was difficult to look away. Well, perhaps they had brought you the extra drinks on the house, in order to make up for all the faults you’d been uncovering left and right. You stumbled as you pondered this, which as far as you were concerned was proof enough of the foundational flaws; you were, after all, standing still, so what other reason would you have to stumble? Unbelievable. You reached for the Greyhound, but your hand paused, then changed course halfway through and grasped the smaller, shimmering cup instead. It was very light in your grip. You tasted it and stumbled again; it had hit your tongue with a wallop, your entire body was fizzing with a bolt of what must be pure electricity, there was no other possible explanation. Everything around you was abruptly brighter, louder, richer. You blinked, fascinated. “Not too many humans can handle their reds,” a voice said next to you, and you set the cup down with a thud, squinting as the alien next to you came slowly into focus. “You usually so squiggly?” you asked him, and he titled his head, dark eyes moving from you to the half-drunk cup, and back again. His smile flashed in the low light, and for a moment it was all you could see, becoming somehow the brightest, sharpest thing in the room. “It’s a curse,” he said, and you nodded sagely, taking another sip. His eyes followed the cup, and his smile sharpened. “Could cut myself on that,” you observed. “Teeth,” you added, when he looked confused. Perhaps he was drunk; it was ridiculous how many people couldn’t hold their liquor! “Want to try?” he asked, and his hand was on your arm. You weren’t sure when it got there. “Excuse me?” you said, loftily, aiming for a bit of the Doctor in your speech. You thought you did quite well, but the alien didn’t look as annoyed as anyone on the receiving end of one of the Doctor’s questions usually did. Rude. “Do I want to try what?” you asked belatedly, and realized that you were being towed towards the dance floor. When had you made that decision? Time seemed to be leaping ahead and then stalling out in great lurches, and everything was fuzzy and dull. You felt the glass taken from your hand, and were vaguely surprised to find that it was empty again. Another faulty glass? Really? You might have to register a complaint. “Not a lot of humans here,” the alien said, and his hands were on your sides, moving you to the music. People pressed all around you, bumping your shoulders and making it difficult to get your bearings. Your shoes squelched on the slightly sticky floor as they moved. You wanted to stop and see if you could get the room to stop spinning so much, but the hands on you kept you in motion. The alien was speaking again, close to your ear so you could hear him over the din. “You come here alone?” he asked, his fingers warm against your side, and tight. You tried to pull back to get a better look at him but he kept you where you were.“No,” you said, blinking as you tried to orient yourself. Your eyes kept sliding in and out of focus. “Came with m’friends.” “And they left you all alone, to drink a red?” he murmured, and his grip tightened. He was pulling you across the dance floor; the light was fading, and you realized all at once, as you moved into a more shadowed section of the room with only the gleaming crescent of his smile visible, that you were actually quite drunk, and didn’t know where any of the others were. “Should - should get back to them,” you tried to articulate, and he laughed, one of his hands sliding lower. “You’re right where you want to be.”  You stiffened, and tried to pull away. “No, I want to find my friends,” you slurred, jerking back. He held your arm, and pulled you into him in a great twirl, and suddenly your back was against a dark, slightly sticky wall. He loomed over you, one hand still vise-like on your arm, the other pressed against the wall by your head. He smiled down at you, except it didn’t really look so much like a smile anymore, but just a lot of very sharp, gleaming teeth. Your face was very cold, and you wished the room would stop spinning enough that you could push him off and find the others. “I could be your friend,” the alien said, his breath fanning across your face, his hand sliding lower again. The hand on the wall touched your hair, curled a lock of it musingly through his fingers. “I just love red-drunk humans, all alone and lost and looking for a friend to help them.” You struggled again in his grip, and this time he let you go. You lurched sideways along the wall, falling against the corner in a heap. You thought you should feel sick, but you only felt annoyed, and cold, and something else, something like confusion that was tipping towards fear. The alien lifted you back up, hands on your arms, then pressed you back against the corner, his weight against you. Annoyance flared and you tried to push him away. “Let go,” you ordered, but he only laughed, touched your face. “You don’t want to be alone right now do you little Red?” he asked. “I’m sure that’s true,” a new voice interrupted. It had a familiar, lilting cadence, but you didn’t recognize the sharpness to it, or the way danger simmered beneath the surface. The alien didn’t glance away from you. “We’re busy,” he said, touching your face again. “Find your own —” but then he was ripped away from you in swirl of grey fabric and flashing eyes. You swayed, then jerked back as hands touched you again, but — “It’s okay,” that voice said, “it’s alright, it’s me,” and you recognized it this time. The Doctor tucked you against her side and you inhaled that familiar scent of tea and vanilla, and it cleared your head a little, enough to let out a shaky breath. “He’s being - rude,” you told the Doctor, your voice muffled as you glared at the alien. “Yes, he is,” she answered. Her voice was still light, and soothing, and you weren’t able to see the way she was looking at him.  He scowled, gaze darting from you to the Doctor and back before making a dismissive sort of hand gesture and melting into the crowd. The Doctor stood very still for a moment, and you all you could hear was the thunder of her hearts. She let out a breath, then turned you. Again you found your back against that wall, only the hands on you were gentle, and cool. The Doctor touched your face as she looked at you, and that was better too. “Are you okay?” she asked, and you wondered at the appearance of that crease in her brow. She looked dangerous, in the half-light, but her hands were still so light. You nodded, and suddenly her grip on you was tight as she kept you from toppling over. “Wouldn’t - leave me alone,” you told her. “Rude.” “You already said that,” she observed, removing one of her hands to fish in a pocket for her sonic. You blinked at her, swaying on your feet as she ran it over you. She read the output and exhaled. “Tell me you didn’t drink a red.” “I didn’t drink a red,” you repeated dutifully, and watched as her entire face scrunched up in exasperation. It was nice.“You’re so pretty,” you informed her. It was important that she knew in that moment how pretty she was, with her face all scrunchy and the flashing lights making a halo of her head. “So pretty. Too pretty.” You stumbled, and again she caught you. “Okay, I think it’s back to the TARDIS with you.” “Says who,” you slurred, even as she steered you away from the wall and towards the exit. “You’re not — you’re not the boss of me.” “I certainly am,” she muttered. “Especially when you’ve gone and had a red, and I explicitly told you it was a bad idea.” Her grip on your arm was firm and cool, and infinitely preferable to the alien’s. The other alien, that was, because obviously she was alien too. So many aliens! “You’re the best alien though,” you mused aloud, and she darted a quick look at you, tongue poking briefly out of her lips. You liked that quite a lot. You wanted her to do it again, in fact, but she had drawn her lips back into a thin line as she watched you. She steered you towards the exit, but the crowd seemed to have doubled in size, and she was forced to shove her way bodily through the dancing, yelling patrons. A much larger person staggered into her and she grunted as she took the blow. “I think I hate bars,” she said, her voice all but inaudible over the din. “That’’s new. Maybe.” Someone else knocked into her, and the force was heavy enough to jar your arms from her grip. She receded from you in a blurry tunnel of light and sound, and then it was just you, pressed between strange bodies on the dance floor while the music thundered through your bones. Huh. Almost everyone was taller than you, and you had no idea which way the exit was, or the Doctor. You didn’t care much about the exit, but it’d be good to find the Doctor; you had felt less…. fuzzy, when her hands had been on your arms, and more like yourself again. And also she was just so pretty. Wandering in a blurry haze of music and voices, you began to wonder if maybe you might locate another drinks menu. You weren’t so sure about another red, but it also didn’t seem like quite as bad of an idea as it had an hour ago. That was interesting. Weaving and stumbling, you tried to push through the press of bodies, and had made a little bit of progress when — — hands, there were hands on you again — You lurched sideways as you tried to bat those hands away, but there was nowhere to go, the wall of people bounced you back, and the lights were flashing and people were shouting and there were hands on you again — “ - alright? Hey?” The hands succeeded at spinning you around, and a person loomed out of the crowd. Two things followed in short order: you recognized Yaz, and you threw out a defensive fist. They didn't happen in the optimal order, however. “Oi!” Yaz cried, dodging your fist and catching it in her own. “It’s me, what the hell?” She was still sliding in and out of focus, but you were aware of the fact that she was quite pretty too. "’M sorry,” you told her, wondering why she was pulling away from you. You hadn’t actually hit her, after all. Had you? “Sorry,” you repeated, swaying.She was peering at you, her hands firm on your arm. Her eyes were very dark, but they reflected the dancing lights all around you and you blinked, fascinated. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. “Absolutely corking,” you slurred, proud to remember the phrase you had heard Graham use (and Ryan mock) earlier. You weren’t sure why it made Yaz look so alarmed. “Yaz — oh, good —” The Doctor popped into your view as she squeezed between two dancing aliens who took no notice of her, which was probably good because her expression was quite stormy indeed. She still looked quite pretty. How’d she manage that? It wasn’t fair. “Doctor,” Yaz said, turning, “I think something’s wrong —” “Someone decided that they should have a red,” the Doctor said, grim. “I also had two - three - I had - greens!” you told them both, proud. Yaz’s look of alarm deepened, and it was so comical that you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. When that did nothing except make her and the Doctor’s brows both snap into synchronized, angry little v shapes, you only giggled harder. “Right, TARDIS,” the Doctor said ominously. “Yaz, can you find Ryan and Graham and let them know?” Yaz nodded and between one blink and another, she had vanished again. “Just like magic,” you told the Doctor, wondering why your lips were numb. She gave you a swift, searching look, her eyebrows still angry little vs and her tongue still poking between her lips. “Come on,” she said, wrapping a cool hand around your wrist. The contact was steadying, and very nice. She kept you close, clearly not wishing to be separated again as she towed you towards the exit. “Don’t want to go,” you told her abruptly, and you couldn’t hear your voice over the crowd and the music. You didn’t even know why you said it; it wasn’t true, strictly. You still felt like you could fit in another drink or two worth of fun, but you didn’t really care where you went, not if the Doctor was with you. Even if she looked so angry as she glanced back over her shoulder. She had heard you, evidently. She had very good hearing; you and Ryan and Yaz had been working on an experiment to test the limits of it, but hadn’t put it in action yet. Someone bumped into the Doctor hard and she grunted, but her grip on you remained iron-clad and she pulled you closer, actually folding you into her arms to protect you from the jostling crowd.“This is not what I had in mind,” she muttered, her lips very close to your ears as she spoke. It was nice, and extraordinarily distracting. “Do people actually enjoy these places?” “Ryan does apparently,” you said, remembering him chatting up that pretty alien. “This was his idea wasn’t it?” the Doctor mused, moving again and pulling you with her. You were still very close. “I don’t suppose we’ll be letting him choose the next adventure. Ah. That’s better,” she added as she stepped out of the bar and into the night, towing you with her.  A blast of cool, humid air hit you, wrapping around your body and cooling your cheeks. Even though the bar itself had been fairly dark, your eyes still relaxed as the flashing lights fell away.The Doctor let go, and the sobering effect of the night seemed to pull back, a little, as if you’d lost your anchor. The world tilted around you, the stars overhead wheeling and dancing. It made you feel a little bit sick, but it was also beautiful. The Doctor was talking, and you struggled to focus.“Think we parked just over there, yeah, must’ve. Let’s go — where are you going?” The last was delivered with an air of extreme exasperation as she turned in time to witness you bolting away. “I want to be colder,” you told her as you stumbled through the night. You were on pavement (alien pavement, anyways) but in the distance you could see the shadow of what had to be trees (alien trees) and maybe some grass (alien grass). You wanted nothing so much as to lay down on that grass. The Doctor’s protests followed you as you reached the tree and hurled yourself down at the cool earth. Well, not earth. Whatever passed for earth here. What was dirt on an asteroid called? A shadow fell over you, blocking the stars, and you turned your cheek in the grass to look up at the silhouette of the Doctor, hands on her hips, stray hairs blowing in the wind.“You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” she said. “You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” you replied cheerfully, and even though you couldn’t see her expression very well in the darkness and swirling stars, you could feel the scrunched-up scowl she leveled at you. “Come on,” she said, and her voice was exasperated but her hands were gentle as they lifted you off the ground. Gentle again, as they caught you when you stumbled sideways. “Careful, now. Come on.” “Don’t feel - so good -” you told her, and it was true; the fuzzy, warm glow was fading and the whirling of the stars wasn’t so much aesthetically pleasing as it was now sickening. “I expect not,” the Doctor muttered. “What could have possibly possessed you to drink so much? To drink a red?” “I didn’t mean t’ order it,” you defended yourself. “It was just - just there.” “And you drank it? Something you hadn’t ordered?” the Doctor demanded. “Surely you know not to do that!” “Just trying to have fun,” you mumbled, guilt rising up in you alongside the nausea. “Just wanted —  didn’t mean to — I wasn’t —” “Okay, it’s okay, I know,” the Doctor said, her voice softening. She shifted you against her as she spoke, and you realized she was fumbling for the TARDIS key. The blue box was humming at an almost inaudible frequency, but you could feel it moving through you bones, cooling your blood, steadying you. “Thanks,” you said weakly, patting a hand on the wood as the Doctor steered you through. The interior slights dimmed as you came in,  and it was a soothing balm on your eyes and raw nerves. “She’s spoiling you lot,” the Doctor muttered, but you could hear the fondness threading through her voice. “She likes us,” you thought, or maybe said. The Doctor made a soft sound, not quite a word, and you weren’t sure if she’d heard you. Weren’t sure if you’d spoken. “Okay, try and eat this,” the Doctor said a few moments later. Or maybe hours, you still weren’t entirely sure how time was progressing. Her fingers brushed your lips as she placed a fizzing sort of tablet on your tongue, and you realized all at once that your lips weren’t numb anymore, but blazing with sensation. “Swallow it, it’ll help,” she added. You blinked, looking into her face, so close to yours. There was still that furrow by her eyebrow but she didn’t seem angry, anymore. Not like she had with she’d stared down that rude alien. Her eyes were bright, glittering like the star field outside of the bar. “Too pretty,” you complained, then promptly choked on the tablet you had forgotten on your tongue. “Swallow,” she repeated, placing two fingers on your mouth. Your breath hitched, which did not help the choking one bit. You did, at least, in the midst of the resulting coughing fit, manage to swallow the tablet,  but it burned and your eyes streamed as you blinked at the Doctor. “Good,” she said, placing fingers under your chin. Her touch was somehow both cooling and blazing, comforting and so very distracting. You made an indeterminate sound, and her eyes flicked to yours, a brief touch, before flicking over your face. “That should kick in soon,” she said, dropping her hand. “Is it — gonna cure me,” you asked, and the breathless quality to your voice was due to the lingering affects of drunkenness, surely, and not the Doctor’s touch. She snorted, pushing hair out of her eyes.“It’ll speed up the process, burn the chemicals out of your system faster,” she said. “And it’ll make for a quicker hangover.” She fixed you with an amused look. “Quicker, but not easier. You’re in for a fun night, I think.” You groaned, throwing yourself down on the couch. You regretted it at once, as your head spun and your stomach roiled, but the drama of the moment had dictated.“I didn’t mean to,” you complained, shutting your eyes as the lights spun around you. The spinning didn’t stop, in the darkness behind your eyelids, but it was a little bit better. Maybe. A cool hand brushed your forehead, and that definitely was better. “I know,” she said, and you could hear the gentleness in her voice. “Am I going to die?” you asked, not because you thought that you were — you’d been sick before, though admittedly not from alien alcohol — but it had the right flair of drama to it. It also made the Doctor snort again, and regrettably, her hand slid from your brow. “You’re drunk, not dying,” she said, and her voice was receding as she moved around the room.  “Humans and their substances, honestly.” Something was placed on your brow, cool and damp and soothing. The Doctor tucked the cloth against your head with deft, gentle fingers even as she continued to explain her thoughts on humans and all of their myriad of flaws. “You’ve never been drink — you don’t drunk —” You stumbled over the words, and felt her fingers still, then fall away from the cloth. You opened your eyes and with the room spinning and the dim light and the serious, difficult to read expression on her face, she looked as remote and otherworldly as she actually was for all that she was your friend. “Time Lords are an advanced race, we certainly don’t have the same genetic predispositions towards inebriation or the desire to attempt so,” she said finally, still looking down at you. You grunted, considering her words as they slid in and out of your head.“Didn’t answer the question,” you observed, and were rewarded with a scowl. “Hm,” was all she said, but she was smiling slightly. “Try to rest now, and if you need to be sick —” she kicked something on the floor that gave a hollow thud. “Try to aim in here, yeah?” “I am not going to be sick,” you said firmly, and the Doctor’s smile flashed in the dim light. “I hope not, the pill’s supposed to help with that but,” she shrugged expansively, and even through the spinning room you were able to focus in shocking clarity on the pull of her shirt across her frame she did so, “I don’t really know what combination of ingredients you drank, and how they’ll react to the other things you drank or your own biology. So. Bin.” She nudged it with a boot again. “I’m going to check on the others, and you’re going to stay here. I’ll be right back.” You didn’t want her to go, but you were feeling worse by the moment as the alcohol was burned out of your system and, as far as you could tell, migrated to your head. You could feel each heartbeat rattling in your skull like knives, and your roiling stomach kept speed with it. You moaned something that the Doctor took for agreement. Time passed, although you weren’t in any way able to keep track of it. You suspected it had been a century based on the pounding in your head, but it could have only been a few heartbeats. Either way, you were still alone when you realized that what you really needed was some water. Nobody was around to hear you, but you still complained and groaned and generally made a spectacle as you swung your legs off the couch, sitting upright. Your stomach made a solid pass at leaping out of your throat, but you steadied yourself with a snarl; you were not going to need the bin, you were not going to be sick. And you were right; all thoughts of nausea fled as you pushed yourself to your feet, because your skull might as well have shattered. Your headache pounded so violently that you thought it might be slamming you through the floor; it felt too heavy, too thick, too white-hot with blinding pain. Death was infinitely preferable to this miserable thing called life. “Never — drinking — again —” you vowed, swaying, hoping the floor might just swallow you whole and end your suffering. “A noble sentiment,” the Doctor said from behind you. “But one rarely adhered to, I suspect. What are you doing off the sofa?” She appeared at your side, a steadying hand on your elbow. “You didn’t sick up somewhere did you,” she added with sudden trepidation, looking around your feet apprehensively. “I just wanted something to drink,” you told her, wretched. Your head was still pounding, and even the dimmed lights were still too bright. They stabbed your eyes with sharp, splintering shards of pain. You groaned, and leaned your head instinctively against the Doctor’s shoulder. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink,” she said, with a touch of asperity, but her hand was gentle as ever as she smoothed hair back from your forehead. “Water,” you clarified, your voice muffled from the folds of her coat. It was soft, and cool, and smelled like home. “Ah,” the Doctor said, steering you back to the couch. She eased you down again. “Stay, I’ll get you some water and a new cloth.” “Where are the others? Are they coming?” you asked miserably as she reappeared, setting a glass of water in your hands. It had a truly spectacular bendy, swirly straw that was almost as long as the glass itself, a vibrant purple and orange that hurt your eyes to look at, but you appreciated the gesture as you lifted it to your mouth with weak hands. “They’ll be here soon, they’re trying to find Ryan,” the Doctor said. The cushions dipped as she settled on the other end of the sofa. “They might have to expand the search,” you said, thinking of that alien he had been speaking with. You groaned as your head gave another spike of pain, and slid down the couch as sitting became too much effort. “Just rest,” the Doctor said. “It’ll pass.” “Promise?” “I promise,” she said, and your eyes were closed, but you could hear the slight smile in her voice. “I am the best alien, after all.” You could definitely hear the smile, now, and something niggled at your memory; you suspected that the Doctor was poking fun at something you had said while in the bar, but the memory was sliding in and out with tremendous spikes of pain and you let it go. You suspected that you had said many unfortunate things, and you could only hope that the Doctor hadn’t heard or remembered most of them. You drifted for a time, after that, surfacing to occasional bursts of pain or nausea or, more welcome, cool hands on your brow as they took your temperature or readjusted the the damp cloth. Clarity — and more importantly, an absence of that all-encompassing pain — arrived abruptly. You sat up gingerly, feeling weak and shaky and not even remotely good, but it was a normal not-good, not I’m going to die and if not I wish it would hurry up about it not-good. “Ah, here we are,” the Doctor said, and you looked over to see her curled up at her end of the couch, a book in her hand.  She closed it and tucked it in the cushion. “Feeling better?” “Yeah,” you said, peeling off the now warm and dry cloth from your head. You looked down at it, then the mercifully empty bin at your feet. Something else rolled in your stomach, almost worse than the earlier nausea: shame, with a side of guilt. “Ah. Sorry, about all that,” you mumbled, darting another look at the Doctor. She was watching you, a slight smile curving her lips, but her eyes were sharp as they flicked over you, still assessing. “Accepted,” she said, scooting over to you and fishing her stethoscope out of her pocket. “Deep breath,” she said, resting it against your chest. “You don’t have anything to apologize for anyways,” she added.  “It’s not your fault you got served a red, or that someone tried to take advantage of you for it.” You had forgotten about that, had forgotten about that other alien and his heavy, unwelcome hands, and his sharp, hungry smile. You shuddered, and the Doctor’s eyes touched your own, a welcome distraction. “I’m okay, you don’t need to waste time on me,” you muttered, but she was pushing a fresh glass of water into your hand. “Drink. And yes I do, or do you not remember bolting up and trying to climb the  TARDIS console?” You goggled at her. “Apparently not,” she said with a wicked grin. “No, don’t apologize again, it’s okay. You got me out of that bar anyways, I really wasn’t vibing with it. ”You had been awash in horror at your actions, but the Doctor’s last words snapped you out of it. “Vibing with it?” you repeated, incredulous.   She shot you a look, tongue poking slightly between her lips.“Yeah, am I using that right? Ryan taught me.”  You were still goggling at her, but the sound of a door opening and a rush of voices distracted you both. “Ah, finally,” the Doctor said, brushing off her legs and standing up. “I wonder what kept them. We’re in here,” she added, pitching her voice to carry to the others and making no effort to define where “here” was; it was obvious to her, and that apparently was to be enough for everyone else. It was very her. Everything she did was very her, you mused. Not just because it was her doing them, but because she did everything with such one-hundred percent commitment, energy, and enthusiasm. You smiled slightly, watching her as she stood with her hands on her hips. She’d taken off her coat at some point, and she looked smaller without it, more wild and fleeting, something ephemeral. She glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled when she met your eyes. That smile was also wild, fleeting and ephemeral, but it grounded her, a little bit, in the here and now. And you, too. “Hello,” Yaz said, stepping into the room. She looked tired, her hair coming out of its braids, her jacket mussed, but it was a happy sort of tired. “Have fun?” The Doctor asked as Yaz threw herself down on the couch next to you. “Yes,” Yaz said, leaning her head back on the cushions. “Not as much fun as some other people, though,” she added, and turned her head to fix you with her dark, glittering eyes. “How are you doing?” “I feel like death,” you told her, and stuck out your tongue when she grinned. “That’s what you two get for going off-book,” she said smugly, wiggling her shoulders deeper into the couch and kicking off her shoes before lifting her legs and curling them up on the couch. “Oi, I didn’t drink a red,” the Doctor said, indignantly. “Not that I would have been affected, if I had. You humans are so — ” “She been going on like this the whole time?” Yaz asked you, and the Doctor gave her a dark look. You giggled, and it only made your head split down the middle a little bit. It was worth it, for the expression on the Doctor’s face. “Definitely,” you confirmed, wincing as you lifted a hand to rub your temples. “This is the thanks I get, for spending my night chasing after red-drunk humans? Mockery and false accusations?” “Not you,” Yaz said, rolling her eyes. “I was talking about — “ “Hellooooooo TARDIS!” “That,” Yaz finished, turning to watch as Ryan crashed into the room, with an aggrieved Graham in his wake. The Doctor groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ryan! Not you too!” “Guilty your honor,” Ryan crooned, spinning a wild circle and narrowly avoiding the couch with his flailing feet. You hastily copied Yaz, drawing your feet up onto the cushions and settling in to watch the show. “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love! Congratulate me.” “You’re not in love, son, you’re drunk,” Graham said wearily, trying to grab Ryan, but he spun out of reach. And fell over. The room shuddered. You gasped, Yaz clapped a hand over her mouth, Graham cursed. The Doctor closed her eyes. “Ow,” Ryan said, but he was smiling beatifically up at the ceiling. “What happened?” The Doctor asked resignedly, crouching by Ryan and taking his pulse, then pulling out her sonic. He ignored her, still smiling happily up at the ceiling, his toes clicking together as he hummed. He was still firmly in the “fun” stage of the Red inebriation, it seemed. “What do you think, Doc?” Graham answered tiredly, moving to stand by them. “He wanted to impress a pretty girl.” “Did he?” you asked, interestedly. The situation was a lot funnier when it wasn’t happening to you, it turned out. “Well, he chugged a red and challenged some bloke to a dance contest,” Yaz said. She was grinning, and it was the grin of a sober woman witnessing the carnage wreaked by foolish friends. “We almost didn’t get him out of there.” The Doctor stood up, pinching her nose. She came to a decision.“Right. I’ll get him a pill, but I’ve done my babysitting duty for the night. He’s your problem after that.” She stode from the room, and you heard her mutter something about never going to a bar again. Yaz heard her too, and you shared a grin. Ryan, it turned out, had very little interest in taking the hangover-speed-up pill from the Doctor. It also turned out that red-inebriation or no, he could still move very quickly, and it took the combined efforts of Yaz, Graham and the Doctor to get the pill in his mouth. You filmed most of on your phone you'd fumbled quickly out of a pocket, which as far as you were concerned did just as much to help the situation as any of them. The Doctor threw herself down on the sofa next to you with an explosive sigh. “I am never,” she said, tipping back her head, “taking humans to a bar. Ever again.” Ryan moaned from the floor, punctuating the statement with eloquence. Yaz sat down on the Doctor’s other side, then scooted over to make room for Graham who was looking silent and shell-shocked. You found your shoulders rubbing the Doctor’s, and you curled your feet up under you to make more room while leaning your head against her shoulder. You could hear her twin heartbeats, and after a moment she rolled her head so that her chin was resting in your hair.“You’re all on probation,” she said, firmly. You hummed skeptically, and Yaz snorted. Graham was still grimly silent, but you knew he’d come around. Silence, for a moment, interrupted only by Ryan’s increasingly pathetic moans.“Shall I pop in a movie?” Yaz asked finally. “Go on then,” the Doctor said, resigned, but you could hear the smile in her voice. “We’re going to be here for a while.” “‘’m never drinking again,” Ryan groaned from the floor.  He clapped his hands over his ears as you all began to laugh, which did exactly nothing to help. “Humans,” the Doctor said to the TARDIS ceiling, but she was still smiling. “You love us,” Yaz said, standing up and moving to put on a movie. “Yeah,” the Doctor said after a moment, so softly that you thought you might be the only one who heard it. “I do.”

[sourdough-morbread]

Morgana 👀

ok so i know you left this ask ages ago and this is like so fucking long i am so sorry.

but i just... i have a lot of thoughts on morgana. *hides pages of notes made for two big morgana-centric WIPs*

First impression: this is what went through my mind in my first watch through

s1: i fell for morgana really quickly. i was like. YES she has MAGIC and she tells off uther and arthur. 

s2: i still liked her but i getting concerned about the direction the writers were pulling her character in season 2. i was quite disappointed in the way her turn to evil was written. like she was good then barely on screen and very damsel-in-distressy for some reason. and then she became evil!morgana with zero explanation and zero reluctance. didnt really make sense to me.

s3: i enjoyed her as a villain in, but at that point she was a completely different character in my eyes. not in the old character new instalment but in a entirely different person was put inside her. 

s4: she was so boring and one dimetional. just. meh. she barely felt like a threat.. 

s5: i wasnt even paying attention to her.  she has become the random conflict generator the writers rather than a character. so i just didnt care. also i skipped a few eps in my first go so. like dark tower bc i didnt want to see gwen hurt. so i missed out on the emotional impact of that.

Impression now: after rewatching i can see her character arc a lot better. i still think her arc wasnt well done. but thats because the execution was lacking, rather than the trajectory of her character not making sense. because it actually makes a lot of sense.

like in season 1, she is basically immune. she is caught aiding mordred and yet she can get away with uther yelling at her and have it all be forgotten with an apology. meanwhile tom is executed for being seen with a sorcerer. when she wants to kill uther, i dont think she thinks she will be caught. nobody would ever dare accuse morgana and arthur would never suspect it. 

then she discovers she has magic herself and all of that immunity is gone. and without that safety net she becomes willing to endanger so many people, including the allies of magic in camelot. you know, people she would be screaming at the defence of previously.  

her in 1x10 is a small glimpse of what she could have been. a force for good. someone willing to actually fight against what uther and rulers like him were doing. and i would have loved to see that. 

but thats not what the writers chose. instead she regains her footing in hatred and blaming everyone for the fear she felt of death and disgust she felt of herself once she became one of those she defended but saw as beneath her none the less. 

and i will never not be salty about how they skipped over her turning evil and how flat she became. like. let me have a deeply evil terrifying witch damn it! 

i think what makes her terrifying is that she doesnt want power. not really. she wants revenge. she wants to take everything arthur cares about. she wants the throne because arthur doesn't get to have it. she wants camelot to kill its people. she doesnt care about power beyond how much pain she can cause with it. and thats so terrifying. enemy with no goal but to cause you pain. and knows all your weaknesses and can fool the people you have wronged to think she is fighting for their salvation. how do you even fight that? 

idk i just think it was underutilised. again she was just a conflict generator the writers used until the final battle. even then mordred was more significant than morgana. 

Favorite moment: just her in the entirety of beginning of the end. if i had to pick one moment it would be her goading arthur to look behind the curtain. its just so good.

Idea for a story: again... the WIPs. but one i havent written yet.

i had one au where arthur found out about her magic on accident and like. it kicked off a whole plot of her learning magic, and arthur finally facing how terrible uther is and getting his shit together. its not a very detailed idea. morgause would probably use this opportunity to manipulate arhtur. agravain would proably be not evil, tho still a spineless slimy noble. idk.

Unpopular opinion: this is not going to be a surprise to people who know me, but i dislike pretty much all of the discussion ive seen about 2x03. 

fandom seems to be stuck on this dichotomy of either merlin should have told her about his magic and by not doing so he betrayed her— he did not. merlin tried to help her at the risk of his own life. go watch 2x03 again. or merlin reacted perfectly— also he did not. even while helping her, he still refused to acknowledge her magic.

in a situation where something invisible about you can get you killed, subtle word choices matter. merlins words, him continuing to say he wouldn't know if it was magic, even though they both knew it was and that the other also knew, means something. it means i will keep your secret but i cannot help you. this is by no means a moral failing of merlin. he made this choice out of fear for his own life, and i think it is unreasonable to expect him to react perfectly.

morgana in turn had no reason to go to merlin again about her magic. he has made it clear he doest want to be involved, which he has no responsibility to. and why would merlin be able to help her? he, as far as she knows, has no personal experience with magic except his sorcerer friend. 

besides, druids were the safest place for a her to be. it was the safest place for any warlock to be, including merlin.  her knowing or not knowing about merlin has nothing to do with it. like. everything that happens in camelot between merlin and morgana in season 2 is perfectly understandable. they didnt wrong each other. 

what merlin and morgana actually did wrong is getting all those druids killed because they didnt think the plan through. like all of those people in that camp died. aglain, the person helping morgana, died right in front of her and mordred. the druids were the only ones wronged in that situation. which i have never seen pointed out. 

Favorite relationship: her and mordred

listen there is only a singular instance of morgana genuinely hesitating to hurt somebody after her turn and that person is mordred.

Favorite headcanon: oracle!morgana. this is like a whole big headcanon thats basically the origin story of how draognlords came to be. something happened and oracles stole dragons wills and their births to give to mortals as punishment. and then a group of these people came to albion and became the Seers and the dragonlords. who have like different traditions to the druid seers and the priestesses who use methods adapted from scry methods.

thats why she can speak with aithusa even though aithusa cant speak. 

[the-voltage-diaries]

Guns N’ Roses - Taki Kozaki (BirTAKIDAY Countdown: Day 5)

Early update today! Truth be told, I have no idea how this turned out, so I’m publishing it now instead of keeping it in drafts any longer bc then i’d shoot myself over the self scrutiny. So, if I pray to the gods that its good, and I hope you like it.

What if instead of the MC, Taki was the one who got shot?

Minor spoilers for Taki’s Season 4 Part 2. Like very minor lol. The creator chose not to give any warnings. Have fun. ;)

A gunshot. That’s all I heard.

That’s the only sound that flowed into my ears while my arms mustered all their strength to push (Y/N) away from me, and into Yosuke’s safe embrace.

I think she screamed my name, but my mind probably didn’t register it as everything lulled around me. It was as if the world came to a slow stop when I felt the bullet rip through me. That was possibly the first time in a long time when I crumbled. Not emotionally, but physically. Right onto the ground in a heap of powerless limbs. What a bloodied sight to behold.

‘When was the last time I felt so lifeless?’ I thought, gasping for air. ‘Was it when my dad left me? Or was it when I got beaten up for not paying the debt on time?’ A lazy smile made its way to my face as broken flashbacks presented themselves to me. It had been a similar situation then, with me being a mass of broken bones, pulsating bruises and blood trickling out of me, just like my life.

How had I even survived?

I didn’t know. And maybe my mind didn’t want to think any further on those lines either, for the next thing I knew, I felt myself giving in to the vortex of black calling out to me, almost sensually. I sensed its fingers reach out to me, caressing me with a certain ease before it opened its arms to welcome me in its soothing, lifeless embrace.

Just as I felt myself extend an arm towards it, I heard someone calling me. No, I heard her calling me.

I tried to ignore it, I tried to ignore her, but the voice just kept getting louder and louder. It was as if it was trying to tell me that I couldn’t leave... not like this. I couldn’t leave it all without ending things the right way. The moment that epiphany came to me, my chest heaved as a burst of life was pumped back into me.

I somehow opened my eyes, clenching my wrists against the immediate pain, and blinked the haze out of them. I looked up, on the verge of losing consciousness again, only to see (Y/N) in front of me, clutching my hands tight in hers.

‘You’re too good for me,’ I thought, and I chuckled, ignoring the stabs of discomfort shoot through me. I gazed into her eyes, wet with desperation, begging me to fight, pleading me to do everything in my power to just, somehow, anyhow, just... stay.

“Ta...Taki, no, don’t- don’t do this, please,” she whispered, trembling. (Y/N) intertwined our fingers and bit her lip, staring back at me with a longing like no other. “Please, don’t close your eyes, okay? We can make it through this, I know we can, okay? We will make it through this,” she breathed, looking away, “Just... please, please don’t close your eyes...”

“(Y/N),” I finally uttered, pushing against the dryness coating the insides of my mouth. "(Y/N), look at me, love,” I whispered again, somehow lifting my fingers to her face, tilting it so that our eyes would meet once again.

“T-Taki- no, no no, please, no,” she murmured in one quick breath, as if sensing what was about to happen.

“I love you,” I breathed, smiling as I finally felt my life slip away from my loose fingers.

And with that, I slipped into a senseless, timeless dark world, feeling it consume me from the inside out.

Things escalated quickly after that. It was like the time that had slowed down to a stop finally sped up into a run, sprinting through my fading consciousness. 

Yosuke called an ambulance, even though he knew it was too late, and I was rushed to the hospital where Shun and Kiyohito sat, awaiting any update Yosuke had for them. It didn’t take long for the doctor to leave my side and walk out of the room to let them know that there was no use praying, or hoping, or... wanting. 

What was done, was done.

I was with them no more.

Kiyohito, for the first time in ages, looked downright terrified as he curled into Shun’s side, whose tense shoulders did nothing to hide the anxiety he felt either, but he tried to distract himself by rubbing comforting circles on Kiyo’s shoulder as the latter’s eyes welled up with tears, refusing to believe the news. 

I feel a crack echoing in my already shattered heart when I recall how pale (Y/N) looked when she crumbled to the ground, silent as a graveyard.  Yosuke stood right beside her, clenching his fists to numb the pain even as a silent tear dripped down his cheek.

It happened only a week ago, but I remember everything so vividly that I still have a hard time believing if it’s really just memories or an actual movie playing at the front of my mind, every single day.

Sometimes, I still wonder if pushing her away was the right thing to do.

At the time, it seemed like it was. Pushing (Y/N) away meant saving her life, and that was all that mattered.

But now, as I watch her bite her trembling lip, quivering in her black dress while looking at the photo of me in a navy blue frame, I feel a twinge of regret. I look down at Sydney sitting beside her leg, curled up at her side, staring into my soul through the picture, and I feel a pinch of guilt for leaving this life and the two most important woman in them behind.

If anyone asked me why I’m here, I wouldn’t know how to answer them.

After all, what does one do at their own funeral?

‘I want to spend more time with you,’ I think, scoffing at myself for only realising that now, of all times. If only I looked her in the eye and not Ashiba when I felt the bullet pierce me, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I would have fought harder, longer. Maybe... maybe I would have saved us both.

But there never is any use crying over spilled milk, now is there?

I sigh, taking in another deep breath as I watch Yosuke walk over to the low podium, a wet handkerchief held tight between his fingers. He steps in front of the mic, and that’s when I catch a sight of his red eyes. This fool, still trying so hard to cover up how he’s feeling.

“Taki was...” he begins, before his trembling lips stop and he looks up, sniffing. “No, Taki is a...” a quiet sob pauses him, “... great friend. He has been, for the last ten years I’ve known him. Always so straightforward, always so blunt. He was so stuck up, I sometimes thought he had a stick shoved up his ass, you know?”

He laughs, but he fools nobody. His attempt at humor only backfires as his shoulders shake, and he finally lets his tears fall down. He sniffles again, trying to gather himself up, but a part of him gives up, and he just allows the world to see his cheeks, wet with tears, too tired to bother wiping them.

“But, I think that’s what I loved the most about him. His honesty. His strength. In all the years I had the honour to call myself his friend, he never once faltered. He was always so... driven. We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, but I think life, for me at least, became a much better journey with him in it. I felt like I finally made a friend. We never explicitly stated it, but we both knew we had each other to fall back on, should we ever needed. That is... until that day one week ago. I-I’m sorry Taki, I-” he trembles,”I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back when you needed it the most.” 

He takes a moment to dab at his eyes with his kerchief before clearing his throat.

“I never admitted to it, but I loved the man despite all our arguments, our disagreements, our fights, our everything. I know, he loved me too. And I know, he is no longer around for me to pull his leg, or tease him,” Yosuke takes a quick breath, and when he starts speaking again, his voice is nothing above a whisper, “but I know he’ll be right here,” he touches his heart, “no matter what. I couldn’t be more grateful to have made a friend like you, Taki. God knows I’ll miss you and our banter, but... I hope you’re in a better place now. You lived a very, very good life. But I wish you’d stuck around longer, mate.”

Yosuke looks back at my picture near the coffin, and I feel my heart clench at the forlorn look he gives me. 

“I’ll miss you, Tacks,” he whispers again, and I know he means it with everything he’s got. “Love you.”

I feel something wet splash against the back of my hand, and it’s then that I realise that Yosuke isn’t the only one tearing up.

This asshole. Who asked this brat to get all emotional? It wasn’t like him at all. And look what he did to me with his mindless mumbo-jumbo.

‘I’ll miss you too, Yosuke.’

One by one, each of the guys and (Y/N) say their pieces, and to my surprise, they all tear up once they look at the blue coffin inside which I lay. Heh, who knew I’d be so loved, after all?

Forget people crying for me, if ten years ago someone told me I’d even have the fortune of having someone attend my funeral, I’d laugh in their face. It’s funny how things change with time.

Before long, the proceedings are done, and it’s finally time to lay my lifeless body to rest. But just as my coffin is rested on the cool, welcoming earth, I catch (Y/N) leading a depressed Sydney to the pit. She takes the bouquet out of her mouth and places it over the wooden lid of the casket.

I gasp and feel a fresh wave of moisture greet the back of my eyes when I see what they are.

Roses. Nine of them.

‘Eternal love.’ I recall the meaning of this particular set of roses, and once again, I can’t help but be grateful to have such a friend like her. ‘Thank you.’

It’s when my wooden little residence is covered with soil and my tombstone is placed over it that I read the words chosen for me by them. Yosuke. Kiyohito, Shun, (Y/N) and Sydney. My family. A family that I’m leaving behind.

‘His true wealth was in his generous heart. And what an enormous wealth he had.’

And it’s with those lines, I finally feel myself vanish into thin air with a smile on my face. For ever.

[brief-candle]

αℓεα ιαcтα εsт - various kny x reader [1]

reuploaded bc my tumblr is being stinky >:(( update: still being stinky. for some reason this isn’t showing up in any tags no matter what i do and i’m so confused? bc the second chapter’s showing up??? idk :/

also was wondering if y’all would be interested in seeing some art that i do sometimes, bc i’ve kinda been getting back into drawing lately!

THIS IS A YANDERE SERIES. JUST SO YOU KNOW. I WILL WARN OF ANY TRIGGER WARNINGS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS, BUT THIS ONE’S NICE AND TAME!! TY FOR READING AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!! <3

GENERAL OTHER STUFF TO KNOW BEFORE YOU READ: MC (READER) IS FEMALE; THERE IS A BUNCH OF CANON DIVERGENCE; MANGA-ONLY CHARACTERS WILL APPEAR IN LATER CHAPTERS, THOUGH I DON’T PLAN TO DEAL WITH ANY PLOT ELEMENTS THAT DON’T APPEAR IN THE ANIME.

edit: chapter 2 is out!!

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the trio that were treading unfamiliar ground. The scenery looked very much like that which they'd seen countless times before, but that was to be expected to an extent. They were in the same country that they'd always been in, after all, however that didn't alleviate the sense that something was amiss in these parts. These parts that were so close to where they'd always been, yet seemed so completely and utterly different all at once.

"Tanjirou...!" One of them wailed, as usual. He was already a couple of paces behind, but had really began to drag his feet over the last couple of metres. Though this behaviour was very much usual for the wailer, Tanjirou didn't act annoyed in the slightest. Not that such a thing was surprising in any way- Tanjirou was too patient and kind for his own good sometimes.

He turned to face the boy, who was barely making an effort to catch up, while the third begrudgingly stopped also. With eyebrows slightly furrowed in concern, he asked: "what's wrong, Zenitsu?"

Zenitsu- the wailer- was huffing and puffing when he finally made it over to Tanjirou. It appeared difficult to even stand up straight, as he wavered and wobbled with each slight and rare gust of wind.

Still wheezing, he gasped out a desperate question, "are we nearly there yet?"

Tanjirou stared at him for a moment in silence, before sighing deeply.

"Hey- what was that for?!" Although completely out of breath just a moment earlier, it seemed that his energy had been restored enough to begin to screech. It was whiny and hurt the ears, though that was probably its purpose, knowing Zenitsu. It was no wonder why he couldn't get married when he began to speak using such a tone of voice; it truly was grating on the ears. Never mind his whiny begging, clinging, desperate tone and actions mixed with his general perversion. If you happened to be feminine and breathing, chances are Zenitsu was interested.

But I digress.

Their companion snorted before erupting into a fit of mean-spirited cackling at the blond's outburst, having held it back from even his initial whining. This only served to fuel Zenitsu's irritation, leading to his pitch raising and voice increasing in volume as he began to (attempt to) berate the boar-headed male.

"Zenitsu..." oh dear, it seems that Tanjirou is tired of this situation. He even pulled out the 'I'm not mad, just disappointed' tone of voice and expression.

Zenitsu noticed this immediately, quieting down very soon after, only to pipe up with a, "yes?"

"This is the third time that you've asked in five minutes."

"And?!" And suddenly, his enthusiasm that he could have been putting into walking and actually getting somewhere instead of simply complaining returned with a vengeance, arms flailing with fury as he did so, "we've been walking since dawn, and you're telling me that we're not there yet?!"

Tanjirou nodded.

"No way...!" His voice lingered long after he'd collapsed to the ground, lying there like a starfish and staring at the sky with a gaze like that of a dead fish.

"Hey, Zenitsu, are you alright?" Tanjirou- bless his cotton socks- had asked without a moment's hesitation as soon as it had happened. However he did make a very strange noise of confusion soon after, if that counts for anything. Either way, though, he was still staring down at his friend with a very worried face. Their friend, on the other hand, only began to snicker louder at such a display.

"This is the end for me, Tanjirou." Said Zenitsu, not even glancing in Tanjirou's direction as he did so. Each word was monotonous, too even in tone to be from Zenitsu. "You must go on without mE-"

His even-toned speaking evolved into a high-pitched shriek as he was dragged up and slung over the shirtless male's shoulder- him still cackling- before the latter began to sprint away.

"Hey, Inosuke-!"

"INOSUKE, PUT ME DOWN, STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP--"

Tanjirou didn't even have time to sigh again before he had to sprint after them, lest he get left behind. Though even if he did, he supposed it would be easy to find them without even having to sniff them out, with the obnoxious laughter and the terrified screaming. For such a normal, kindhearted boy, he certainly had some strange friends.

They kept running along the path until the sun flew over them, now threatening to disappear beyond even more hills. However the scenery here was rather different, with large fields of grass to the left and crops growing to the right. It was well-organised and looked well-maintained, however Tanjirou didn't even want to know how many people would have to work so rigorously to maintain the land.

"Oh, are you boys demon slayers by any chance?"

It was sudden, abrupt, and caught all three of them off guard. Perhaps if it didn't sound so gentle and feminine then they'd have reacted a bit more quickly and with a bit more force. However they were glad they didn't when they saw the owner of the voice: a young woman, ordinary-looking by all means, but with a certain twinkle in her eyes that looked very amused by what had just happened. And for good reason, too, as one had screamed, one had turned so quickly that it was surprising that their neck didn't snap, and the other grunted. Except it was more of a surprised grunt if anything. Though it was extremely hard to tell the difference between each type of grunt.

"Did I scare you? I'm terribly sorry." She bowed politely as she spoke, each word matching her reserved and respectful demeanour. However she clearly wasn't adept enough at hiding how much enjoyment she'd gotten out of witnessing such strange reactions, as the corners of her mouth struggled to not turn upwards.

"No, no, it's fine; there's certainly no need for a lovely lady like yourself to apologise!" Of course, this was Zenitsu speaking, having recovered rather quickly from his screech that was much more ladylike than any lady that the other two had come across. It was clear that he wanted to move on from that as soon as possible, in some vain hope that this person might be the one that was sympathetic enough to marry him. So far, he'd had no luck. And he was growing more desperate by the minute.

But as he tried to grow closer, he was soon flung a couple of metres away in an instant. Such an event was followed by the woman's scolding voice. However, for once, it wasn't Zenitsu getting scolded. Instead, in an unlikely turn of events, it was something getting scolded for his sake. Every now and again into her scolding session, a whinny attempted to be heard, only to result in even more scolding. Tanjirou and Inosuke only looked on, minds just as blank as their faces. What does one do in such a situation?

Well, upon realising that Zenitsu was bleeding, Tanjirou very quickly decided to try and help him. Inosuke merely watched on for a moment, before making a sound of awe and withdrawing his swords from their sheaths with a rather terrifying cackle,

"What a beast! If I can take it down, then-"

"Please don't try and fight my horse."

"Inosuke!"

-----------

It had taken a while to sort everything out, so much so that nightfall was but minutes away. Thankfully, even after the Inosuke incident, the woman had been willing to let them stay in her house for the night, perhaps more if Zenitsu needed extra rest. His friends already knew that he'd play on the illness card just to continue trying to court the poor girl, but it was something that they simply couldn't hope to change.

"She's really kind, isn't she?" Zenitsu gushed to them in the shared room that had been provided, "giving us all this stuff, even after what Inosuke tried to pull." It was impossible to miss the annoyance lacing his voice as he mentioned Inosuke, who had now taken off the board head and was lying on the best futon available. Not because he deserved it, but because he refused to move off it for Zenitsu who, despite his ulterior motives to his injury, was indeed injured.

At that, Tanjirou grew curious, "Inosuke, have you never seen a horse before?"

"Horse? You mean that thing that Zenitsu lost against? 'Course not!"

'Course not?

"Inosuke..." Oh, how Tanjirou wanted to explain everything wrong with what was just said, but that would require too much time and too much energy for the night. A night which had followed a hectic day which was extremely tiring.

He glanced over at the box he'd been carrying all day, lips pursed slightly to accompany a conflicted expression. Was it alright for Nezuko to come out here, when their host could walk in at any second? It would be difficult to explain their situation, especially to someone who may have lost their entire family to a demon. It could also be dangerous to Nezuko to be put in such a position. And so he shuffled over to the box, opting to sit near it rather than to open it.

"Sorry, Nezuko," he murmured, patting the wooden walls of the box carefully, "but you'll have to stay in there for a bit. I'm sure I can let you out for a bit tomorrow, if we're still here."

Inside the box, there was a bit of shuffling to be heard. But soon after was an acknowledging grunt, one which Tanjirou thanked her for, face forming a bright and beaming smile. It was just in time that he'd shuffled back to his futon, as the woman knocked upon the door and entered very soon after. The relief he felt knowing that he had narrowly avoided a sticky situation was immense, though he had to admit that he felt a little bit nervous when thinking of what could have so easily taken place instead.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, a tray in her hands. Immediately after shutting the door behind her, she placed the tray on a nearby table, sitting beside it. "I made some tea, if you'd like some. I figured it'd been a long day for you all, so I decided to make some tea to help soothe the body and mind." Her words were spun like silk, with a quality to her voice like warm honey. The tea merely became one of the many aromas which wafted around the house, mingling and mixing to form one very odd (and quite overpowering) smell.

Zenitsu was (predictably) the first to join her, singing her praises to the heavens. She merely accepted them with the humility and grace that they'd come to expect from her, and so they all began to sip their tea in comfortable silence.

That is, until she was the one to shatter the comfortable atmosphere.

"I'm sorry for how abrupt it may be for me to say this," she started with, glancing briefly into each of their eyes before returning it back downwards to her own cup. It was held between her hands, and she squeezed it ever so slightly before continuing, "but I fear I must ask, lest anything undesirable occurs."

After one more sip, which felt so drawn out that it was as if she had sipped it until it was all gone, she began to elaborate: "Please, no matter what you hear, do not go out after nightfall."

That was certainly not what they were expecting to hear, especially being demon slayers. Their whole occupation was to fight demons, which required them to go out at night. It was safe to say that such a thing was a very odd request. Even if she had phrased it more like a demand.

Indeed, as she began to speak of that which she wished of them, her voice seemed to drop the kindness that they'd grown to associate with it. The honey that she wound into each word was cut loose, leaving that which she said with a bitter taste in their mouths.

Well, not Inosuke's. He, after chugging the rest of his tea (which was still very much piping hot), asked with little to no hesitation: "Why?"

The girl clearly wasn't expecting this, blinking owlishly twice before repeating the question with a slight tilt of the head.

"Yeah- why not? We're demon slayers, after all, so it's not as if the demons pose a threat." As usual, Inosuke was cocky and boisterous in everything that he did. His words were drowned in such an attitude, his movements were made from them, his expressions screaming them. Still, it did little to affect her, who sharply poked a hole in what he'd said without a moment's delay.

"Really? Then does Kibutsuji Muzan not pose a threat? Or the Demon Moons?" This time, even her eyes had dropped the gentle and kind mirth to them. It was difficult to recall the last time that she'd blinked as she sat there, the sharp colours found in her irises standing out much more in the dim candlelight as she bore holes into he who spoke against her.

Before he could speak up again, she rose to her feet, staring down at them all. Perhaps it was the fiery and temperamental glow of the candlelight rather than the calm and natural light from the sun that accentuated the tense atmosphere- so tense that perhaps a knife could not even slice through it. Perhaps it was also the lighting that made her seem much more ominous than she had at any other moment, that made the scowl she wore more menacing than it would be. It would have been a question as to whether she'd been scowling at all, whether her lip had been curled that much and her eyebrows furrowed so deeply that the skin between them crinkled, had she not spoken so coldly and with a tone so clipped.

"There is a difference between confidence and foolishness. Perhaps it would be best that you learn this difference before your next fight."

This humble farmer, who'd chuckled with them just a few hours before and boasted little more than a simple yet productive life, uttered sentences in which wisdom, the kind which could be born only from experience, ran like rivers. Yet when prodded when she let them slip, she merely brushed it off, claiming a relative used to say it. Or something to that extent.

She bowed then, deeper than ever before, and after excusing herself had disappeared into the darkness of the hallways.

No conversation stuck that night, and sleep had a similar pattern when it finally came.

-----------

Despite struggling sleeping, on edge due to events that never ended up occurring, the three awoke a bit after daybreak. It was about five minutes later that a knock on the door echoed through the room. It was rather surprising to find the woman who was so moody and distant the night before, looking so chipper and energetic in the morning. Once again, she brought in a tray, bearing a simple breakfast for them all and accompanied by some more tea. She placed it on that table once more, removing the other tray at the same time. Once again, she excused herself, though this time it was with the same merriment that they'd expected from her before the occurrence of the previous night. It seemed so hazy now, almost like a fever dream.

However they knew it wasn't. They knew it was real, without even having to confront each other about it. Although she never brought it up and cleverly avoided giving them a chance to, they didn't doubt for a moment that what had happened the previous night was equally odd and true.

And so, while she excused herself from the house very soon after taking away the almost untouched tea from the night before, they concocted a plan. It was morally very wrong, but their curiosity overturned their morals in this place. Not only was her behaviour rather odd, but the more that they thought about it, the house was rather odd as well.

"It smells so weird..." Tanjirou had found himself to be the first to complain about the house. The smell was beginning to irritate him with how powerful it was, so much so that he couldn't even begin to separate the different scents and their origins. Such a thing was so simple for him to do usually, yet he was unable to do so here. It was unnerving to think about; a demon could attack at any notice and he wouldn't even be able to know.

Inosuke was next up: "y'know, I was excited and all at first with how soft the floor is- I mean, where else do you get floor that's soft? In a house?!" The more he thought, the more he got distracted by how much he liked the softness of the material under his feet and hands, and how it separated in between his fingers and toes but was still so soft-

"Get on with it, we don't have all day," Zenitsu commented bitterly, quite upset that his most recent crush wasn't honest and trusting of him, someone she'd met literally the day before.

"Ah-" and Inosuke was brought back to present day, clearing his throat, "but yeah, I can't even feel anything else apart from how fuckin' soft this floor is. And the house!" He slammed open the door to the hallways, terribly startling Zenitsu in the process, "Is full of it!"

Zenitsu's heart seemed to be racing too fast for him to be able to participate in their little chat for a bit, but thankfully five minutes with a cup of tea had calmed his nerves. Not before he began to mutter very angrily about Inosuke under his breath for 'trying to kill' him, mind, but with a gentle prod from Tanjirou he began to share as well.

"I've never really come across anything like it..." he mumbled, quite ashamed of it as he dug a finger in his ear, "and it might sound kinda stupid, but I can't hear anything through these walls."

It took a moment for that one to sink in- such a thing seemed impossible. However he soon added on to what he said.

"Well, actually I do hear some stuff. But it's really faint, even though I can't hear stuff that's right outside."

"Like what?" Tanjirou immediately asked. This prompted Zenitsu to think deeply, staring up at the ceiling and humming for a moment.

"Dunno. Footsteps? They sound kinda far, though, so surely that's not it."

That was true. And so the trio began to think a bit more, staring at different places in the room and humming to themselves as they did so. Tanjirou even began to talk to Nezuko about it, even if she couldn't respond. Seeing as their host wasn't in the house currently, he deemed it safe to let her out and wander around a bit to stretch her legs. She had been in that box for over a full day, after all.

Then, as he watched her toddle around, an idea struck him.

"Wait, Zenitsu!" The sudden outburst shocked the aforementioned male, but (thankfully) not bad enough that he needed more tea and a time-out session.

Tanjirou pointed at his younger sister, who stared up at him questioningly, "how loud are Nezuko's footsteps?"

It was a strange question to ask out of the blue, but with how serious Tanjirou looked, Zenitsu replied as soon as he processed it, "pretty loud. Way louder than even Inosuke's."

This prompted an irritated growl from Inosuke, who looked ready to brawl with Zenitsu over the implications of that statement.

At this, Tanjirou lowered a fist onto his open palm, an expression of realisation on his face, "then what if they are footsteps?"

This question seemed even stranger at first glance- how could they be footsteps when footsteps from right outside the room couldn't even be heard? It just didn't seem logical, especially when the one that was navigating the hallways wasn't even very stealthy from what they'd seen of her. But then it clicked, and Zenitsu's face paled at the very notion of it.

"You can't mean-"

"Yes, I do." His face was deadly serious as he stared at Zenistu, ignoring Inosuke's persistent pestering to know what was going on. The latter's questions were answered anyway when he elaborated: "I think there's a demon in this house."

-----------

"Tanjirou..." Zenitsu was barely able to speak through the chattering of his teeth, which was the one thing that didn't falter about him as they headed down the stairs. Even Inosuke was being quieter, not uttering a single thing, nor even laughing at the blond's misery from underneath that boar mask of his. They'd found the staircase from behind a bookshelf, only doing so when Inosuke had felt the drag marks it had left on the carpet that he so loved.

It was dark, and would only get darker the further down that they went. It would be all too easy for the girl to trap them in there if she discovered where they'd gone, but it was a risk that they were willing to take. For there was a chance, no matter how slim, that she may not know of the demon in her house. Or perhaps it is forcing her to provide shelter for it to stay. There were too many possibilities which could mean that she was in danger, and all of them stemmed from the demon being in her house.

"Tanjirou...!" He repeated, a bit louder and whinier this time. Even Nezuko, who had forced them to allow her to tag along, shot him a look of disapproval. And if nothing else shut him up, then that certainly did, for Zenitsu was a creep to the core, and would drop anything that any living girl disliked that he did in a heartbeat. At least it came in handy sometimes, such as now.

There was light further ahead, and Tanjirou could smell it clearly now: it truly was the scent of a demon, and they would have left without knowing such a thing had they not been so insistent before. Sometimes, in rare moments like these and when he was asleep, Zenitsu was truly useful to have around. But then he squealed, and a huge list of reasons as to why not to have him around could easily be thought up.

Either way, there was no point in sneaking around now that Zenitsu had blown their cover so soon. Duct tape would have really come in handy. If only it was invented about half a century earlier. But, alas, this was their fate, and it was one that they had no choice but to live through. They didn't have the upper hand of surprise, but they certainly had the upper hand in numbers.

And if everything went to pot then they could just knock Zenitsu out. Always seems to work a treat.

As they crept into the light of the room, they took note of the figure kneeling in the centre. He faced away from them, though many of his features could be noted of. The first and most bizarre thing to note was the sword laying beside him. At least, it was the most bizarre until they took note of his clothing, which was extremely similar to theirs, though he also adorned a white jacket over the top of it. His hair was a mess of white, tinted with the warm hue of the flickering flames of the torches around him.

He hadn't noticed Nezuko's growling until now, nor her intense and furious glare. If looks could kill, that guy wouldn't even have ashes left.

"You really haven't learned what respect is at all, have you, you damned brat?"

That voice- how could Tanjirou forget that voice? The voice of the Hashira who had attacked his sister from a couple of years ago with a twisted grin all over his face. He was quick to understand Nezuko's growling, and had to hold her back from rushing in to attack him. The one thing that protected him from her was now gone, and he was one of what they hated.

He turned, a similar expression to the one back then written on his face, with those purple eyes still so wide, smile so wide that it split his face and nonexistent eyebrows furrowed. Though his rise to his feet was slow, obviously taking his time, they still didn't attack. Zenitsu's whole body was clattering with fear, clamming up and making him unable to say anything at all.

"It looks like I'll have to teach you myself, doesn't it? Maybe then it'll finally stick, even with a moron like you!"

As a human, he was already extremely quick. But as a demon he was even quicker as he lunged towards them, blade in hand and all too eager to strike.

[gnarf]

Hi, I was hoping you’d be able to help me find a few 8th year drarry fics bc I love them so much tysm

Dear nonnie, you came to the right place.

I don't know how old you are, so please mind the rating of those works and read the tags. Eighth year can cover hard topics.

8th year:

A Dented Old Street Sign

orphanghost

Mature

27.425

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

My Little Berserker

Aelys_Althea

Explicit

105.540

Eighth year was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right?

At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce some additional members to the student body of the fluffier variety. Hagrid doesn't do moderated - where's the fun in that?

Lumos

birdsofshore

Explicit

41.476

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

The Standard You Walk Past

bafflinghaze

Mature

46.202

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened.

That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

At the End of the Day

sara_holmes

Teen And Up Audiences

7.368

No brooms, a distinct lack of balls, no comprehension of the offside rule and a Malfoy who apparently has magic feet. Harry never knew this stupid game could be so much fun.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain

Faith Wood (faithwood)

Explicit

21.139

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

The Perks of Being Demisexual

UnusuallyZealousBurgette

Not Rated

772

"Its just... I'm going to fall in love with you, you know. It's that whole demisexual thing..." he mutters a quick excuse, curling into himself and Draco's warmth before he's sure the blond will pull away. Instead, though, the blond places a hand underneath his chin, turning his head around to meet him eye to eye.

"What if I don't mind?"

A shiver runs down Harry's spine chilling every part of his body but the patch of skin on the underside of his chin grasped in Draco's calloused fingers.

"Then you're a nutter."

Let Me Be Your Voice

Queenie_Mab

Explicit

47.459

As the hero of the revolution, Harry leads the wizarding world in its efforts to rebuild; but first old wounds must be tended, rifts caused by hate mended, and his history with Draco Malfoy seems like the perfect place to start.

How Draco Malfoy ended up sleeping in the same bed as his former arch enemy

becausebecca

Teen And Up Audiences

2.435

Nightmares were nothing new, neither for Harry nor for Draco. What was new was the comfort they could find in each other.

Sunrise

parkkate

Teen And Up Audiences

2.156

Draco doesn't really know why he returned to Hogwarts. He doesn't belong here. Not anymore. Nothing brings him joy anymore. Not even sitting at the Great Lake and watching the sunset like he used to. A lot has changed. And it's about to change even more.

Once Upon an Eighth Year

ladyroxanne21

Explicit

35.416

When Harry goes back to Hogwarts for a so-called Eighth Year, he's told by McGonagall that he has to share a room with Draco and that they had better both behave or else they'd *both* be expelled. Rather than grumble, both try to make the best of the situation with Draco providing (non-sexual) comfort each night when Harry has nightmares. Slowly, Harry grows ever more confused about the gorgeous Slytherin.

Bonding

donnarafiki

Teen And Up Audiences

2.185

Hey Potter.” Malfoy called out dryly from the other end of the common room.

Harry grumbled at him and didn’t look up from his attempt at drawing hair on his balls. “What is it, Malfoy?”

“Could you please stop drawing pubic hair on those balls.” Harry’s head snapped up faster than lightning, because surely he couldn’t be Malfoy’s… But apparently he could be, because right there on Draco’s pale skin, was the very same dick he’d been drawing on his own arm. “I mean, it wasn’t very pretty to begin with, but now you’re even ruining the little bit of aesthetic it did have.”

Harry couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t function, because fucking hell Draco Malfoy was his soul mate. Draco Malfoy! Draco sodding fucking bloody Malfoy! How the hell had that happened?

Study Practice

JET_Playin

Teen And Up Audiences

2.754

Draco likes to study while the Gryffindors have their Quidditch practice.

Potions Partners

GingerFerret

Teen And Up Audiences

8.056

Harry and Draco are forced to pair up in Potions. Needless to say, neither are happy with this arrangement. But what happens, when their innate need for competing against each other, makes for a whole new way of interacting? Clue: a lot of blushing and awkwardness.

Unsightly staring

deathbyfanfictioning

Not Rated

2.423

The one where Draco gets cursed and temporarily loses his eyesight.

8th year. Roommates.

When Nightmares Lead to Day Dreams

Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn)

Explicit

9.203

Harry Potter didn't want to return to Hogwarts for 8th year, concerned that the castle held too many terrible memories. Lacking any other plan, though, he agreed. He soon discovered how right AND how wrong he was.

Some Lessons Can't Be Taught

Anonymous (part of erised 2019)

General Audiences

23.243

Harry, Ron and Hermione return to Hogwarts for their eighth year. They hadn't thought about Malfoy and his gang returning as well, or what would happen if there was no room in their old houses for them.

[abiik]

4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 28, 29 + a, b, c, h for xingchen / 1-10 & 15-20 + a, b for zhi yin ?

aaaaaaa thank u for this jo!!!!! sorry this took so long!!! anyway this is. also very LENGTHY so im putting it under a cut <333333

xingchen

4. how easy is it to earn their trust?

it is actually very difficult to earn their trust, only because xingchen doesn’t allow people close enough in order to do so. the very few people who do have their hard-earned trust before the gang comes around is their remaining bio family.

5. how easy is it to earn their mistrust?

i wouldn’t say it’s easy for xingchen to suddenly mistrust you after earning their trust. they actually are the type to hold out for you for far longer than they probably should. while there are like, inklings of mistrust here in there, they’ll probably still trust you to watch their back in a fight and defend you against others who are like ‘xingchen maybe that isn’t a good idea :/’ they have a whole lot of hope & love for the world, though, & it's very hard for them to give up just anyone, especially someone who has previously earned their trust.

6. do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

xingchen was raised that laws are immovable, so they’ve grown up knowing & believing this philosophy for most things. however, as they’ve grown older they’ve realized that maybe they aren’t completely sure about this. perhaps, it can be situational.  

7. what triggers nostalgia for them, most often? do they enjoy that feeling?

snow. winter on the mountain triggers nostalgia for them. seeing the jade amulet & sword that belonged to their mother & the calligraphy set that belonged to their father but mostly snow. they do not enjoy the feeling. they will subject themself to it anyway.  

11. how do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

it mostly depends on where it comes from or who they’re around and what they’re confused about. usually they’ll simply ask to clarify; there’s no use in going into a situation pretending like they know something & they all get themselves killed because of negligence and pride. but…. that pride is exactly what gets the better of xingchen sometimes and it’s fucking hilarious.

28. would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

xingchen would absolutely prefer an unpleasant truth to a lie. they would possibly mumble through it or deliver it stiffly/coldly so as to be detached from the unpleasant feeling, but at least you would know the truth.

29. do they usually live up to their own ideals?

hmm. this is... difficult because so much of xingchen’s ideals were crafted by someone else, expectations put on them by someone else. outwardly, it would seem so. for xingchen, i think that they would always feel as though they have not done enough, or that they could have done something differently; that there is always room for them to improve to become the most perfect version of themself. they’re very tough on themself and i think that it begins getting worse around the second youxiong arc & the aftermath of that & the entirety of new boot goofin arc :)

+

a – why are u excited about this character?

i love xingchen’s energy!! their thoughts and their feelings are something i love to explore as well as like, the way that they’d react to things bc their method is so different than zoe’s. im also excited bc, just. like. the outward perception of xingchen is so different when compared to who they are as a person, unfiltered and raw.

b – what inspired u to create them?

xingchen was the order in the chaos; that’s initially why they were created. the body of their character was this philosophy, to balance zoe, to mirror her. xingchen’s name was something that was conceived almost like, directly after this, and once again, it was a mirror to zoe’s birth name - xian, and the implications behind that. xingchen’s name was mainly chosen bc of the amount of stars that surround their planet: 4. so xingchen’s name & this idea of someone who completed zoe’s balancing act, who ordered the chaos, crafted the idea of a character that was, in a way, the juxtaposition of celestial and earthly (like zoe) but only slightly to the left, wherein even to zoe, this character would be someone you were in awe of. they always sort of felt like the human embodiment of a shooting star, moved by duty and the righting of wrong to come down to earth. xingchen & zoe are technically on the same spectrum, but they have different methods, and that’s what i wanted from xingchen. i wanted a character that did elicit this feeling of awe, because of how amazing, talented, attractive etc. they are, EVEN TO ZOE, but was also intensely stubborn and, initially, very stuck on this ‘my way, or the high-way’ sort of mentality. i WANTED xingchen to create conflict with zoe and zoe to create conflict with xingchen, bc i wanted it to be an opportunity for both characters to be taken out of their comfort zones by each other.

of course, other things, small images, inspired me further when creating a silhouette for xingchen: blue & white; white jade; the sunrise; loquats; clouds; snow on mountain tops; spring; music played on a guqin; ballet & figure skating; swan <3

c – did u have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

hmm i did have trouble figuring out how i would involve them, or any of the rest of youxiong, into zoe’s story after the new boot goofin arc. sure she made off world excursions late in that arc after her recovery, but there wasn’t a lot & my mind was blank. i’m still looking to involve xingchen more maybe bc im not 100% sure on the whole roommates thing.

h – what trait do u admire most?

tbh how deeply xingchen feels things. they don’t communicate it often, it’s difficult for them, both verbally and visually, and sometimes even physically, but they feel everything so, so deeply and that’s. i just really love them a l o t.

zhi yin

1. what’s the maximum amount of time ur character can sit still with nothing to do?

yin can sit still for a moderate amount of time with nothing to do. she fiddles, though, with her fingers or with her clothes, even when she isn’t particularly nervous.

2. how easy is it for ur character to laugh?

it’s fairly easy for yin to laugh if she’s on good terms with you - & this is mostly everyone as she believes the best of everyone, that everyone is generally good.

3. how do they put themselves to bed at night? (reading, singing, thinking?)

yin usually starts by making herself - & cheng – something warm to drink & once she’s assured her brother she’s fine & sent him off to bed, she’ll curl up in bed & read about far away places or an interesting new techniques that she knows she’ll never be able to try until she passes out.

4. how easy is it to earn their trust?

it’s hard for me to gauge how easy it is bc yin DOESN’T trust most ppl. she’s the type of person who looks like she would be easy to win over, & she would be likable & sweet to u, but the only ppl yin is loyal to & trusts at the beginning are cheng, her uncle, and oddly enough, zoe. so like, while she does believe ppl are generally good, this doesn’t mean that she has every intention of falling victim to someone’s wrongdoings or intentions to harm people she cares about bc she trusted blindly on account of this philosophy. she’s cautious, but she doesn’t have this all-around anxiety like cheng, and she isn’t gullible like everyone intends her to be. for yin, i think it is like this: if cheng or zoe trusts you, she will trust you, but she will be cautious, and mostly look to them.

5. how easy is it to earn their mistrust?

i think in order to lose yin’s trust, you would have to lie to her. like, big time. or hurt her family.

6. do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

yin is on the fence with this. with her uncle zhi as one of her mentors & cheng always looking out for her, laws/rules were immovable in order to keep her in a box & (in cheng’s situation) to keep her safe. however, their clan never actually taught them that rules had to be followed so rigidly (they follow a philosophy that one should achieve the impossible) that they were flexible, so i do think yin leans more towards flexible, but has anxiety about acting it out.

7. what triggers nostalgia for them, most often? do they enjoy that feeling?

making soup, walking on the docks, boating out on the river, practicing forms with cheng. yin does enjoy it, even if it is sometimes bittersweet.

8. what were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

stop daydreaming so much. (she wasn’t daydreaming) :)

9. do they swear? do they remember their first swear word?

yin doesn’t swear! not really

10. what lie do they most frequently remember telling? does it haunt them?

‘i’m fine.’/ ‘i feel fine!’ yes.

15. how do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

yin has a soft, pleasant voice. it’s almost like a whisper but its warm & sweet. she has the type of voice that if u were in a crowd, because of the tone of it, u might not be able to hear her even if she was standing next to u & speaking. her tone is always very sincere, or slightly teasing. she can stutter a lot when she’s excited or nervous. yin thinks about what she says usually, but sometimes she does pipe up & blurt what she’s just thought of on the spot. rarely does she raise her voice, but when she does, u know she means business.

16. what makes their stomach turn?

when she goes under. it’s an awful feeling of being disconnected from herself & not knowing what she did while she was out, & seeing everyone’s faces after, looking them in the eye after what she could have possibly done & them seeing what happens to her when she get ‘sick.’

17. are they easily embarrassed?

yes. yin is easily flustered, if that’s the same thing. she fumbles over her words in this case & will fiddle with her hands. crying is sometimes the result of being embarrassed too :) but i would rather not think about yin crying…

18. what embarrasses them?

usually anyone acting particularly brash, or flirty. when she, herself, makes a grand gesture on her own end, and it’s rejected. sometimes being reminded that she can’t cultivate while others can, that she’s a lacking heir.

19. what is their favorite number?

hmm three.

20. if they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do it?

yin might explain familial love as brushing her a-cheng’s hair out of his face & patting his head despite him being taller than her just to piss him off a little, nagging him until he rolls his eyes & does as she says, or finding a blanket tucked over her that clearly wasn’t there before after a late night of reading at her desk. she might explain platonic love as sitting with zoe on the docks with their toes in the water, zoe’s head on her shoulder & both of them spilling their hearts out, or sharing tea & poetry with xingchen for the first time, seeing them blush around the tips of their ears & having to stifle her giggles until they finally broke the tension with a laugh of their own. yin doesn’t know how to explain the difference of romantic love yet.

+

a – why are u excited about this character?

yin has so many different, like, facets & she’s really fun to think about. i really love thinking about her dynamic with zoe, but i especially love to think about her dynamic with others in the group & how she might get along with them & how their relationships will progress. she’s really sweet & is willing to help people out of the good will of her heart but still holds them at a distance & is like…disconcerting in a way, and that’s a character i’m pretty sure i’ve never had before, so she’s pretty new to me.

b – what inspired u to create them?

yin remained a mystery to me for so long, hence why her name is yin. she was like a little shadow. she remains a little shadow. a secret still. something i, and everyone, has yet to figure out. a dark spot with a gentle smile that stayed at zoe’s side. she’s the shadow in the pond that you arent too sure is a stick or a snake or not, but you keep creeping closer to anyway bc you think if it were a snake it would have made some move to get closer to you by now. and yin’s not a snake. she’s the turtle in this story. or a shell, perhaps. a lucky dark little tortoise shell. she can be a little scary at times, as the person creating her, and for the other characters interacting with her, but also she comes off as completely harmless. like a lake or a river wide and deep enough to swim in. yin has really just been fragments and pieces, little ideas here and there, that have come together to create a very healing, loving character that just has an overwhelming flood of love pouring out from her at all times.

there was also the idea, story-wise, of wanting to create a character that doesn’t become friends with zoe specifically bc of a shared interest/goal – yin doesn’t want to kill her uncle; she genuinely wants to be zoe’s friend. they do share traits & like. actual interests – they’re both family oriented, hence why yin wouldn’t want to kill her family – but yin isn’t zoe’s loyal-ass friend bc they have a similar moral code or bc they had similar goals & became close over the course of the mission etc. like jason, for example. the lotus is a big symbol for yin as well, which connects her directly to zoe, who is representative of the center.

ask me some q’s about my ocs!!

[angrylizardjacket]

a kind of loneliness {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: I would totally love a Roger fic where the reader is secretly in love with him, but hides it because she constantly has to see him with other girls. I also imagine that when she tells him, he doesn’t feel that way initially…but gets jealous when she tries to move on with other guys. And then BAM! He has a revelation that he is in love with the reader, shows up in her doorstep in the pouring rain still wondering if she feels the same (which she does) and they have passionate and loving ending!

Anon asked: How about y/n is a photographer for Queen and Roger takes quite the liking to her! And you know bc it’s the 70’s it’s all film and Polaroid photography! 😍 And I vibe like y/n giving him a lesson on how to develop photos and him teaching her drums. OMGG.

A/N: 4027 words. Cha-chas real smooth in with a fic that’s a day late. Despite the prompts it’s a gender neutral reader. Anyways the alternate title for this is ‘it hurts not to love him, it hurts when love fades’ from Falsettos but that was a bit long. Not exactly what either of you wanted but like........ its here now. Hope you like it. it’s been a while since my last roger imagine, this is a bit of angst and pining i don’t know what to technically classify this as tho. also @siriuslymooned 😘

His hair is dark when you first fall in love with him, not especially dark, just darker than the world like to remember, but you’ll recall this detail about him clearly because the sun turns it gold when he’s smiling down at you where you’d made a valiant attempt at a picnic. You’re leaning back on the grass, and you can’t help but grin at him, so unbelievably enamoured by him that it almost hurts. You can’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about when you reach up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, and his eyes - god, you’d never forget the way he looked at you - drifted to your lips.

There’s a moment, a pause, you both know what’s about to happen. You’re breath’s caught in your throat, heart beating hard enough against you’re ribs that you’re afraid it shows. He’s haloed by the light, propped up on his side beside you, asks you why you’re the one taking photos when you’re the beautiful one-

A duck honks hungrily a few feet away, and you burst out laughing. It’s like you can breath again as he looks away from you, turning his attention instead to the intrusive bird. Hand pressed to your mouth, you turn to hide your grin against Roger’s chest as he reaches over you to yell at the creature and begrudgingly toss it the sandwich it had been eyeing.

“Fuckin’ vulture.” He snaps, obviously put out, until he comes back from his annoyance to hear the sound of your laughter. The duck quacks in what you both interpret as some sort of thanks, and that just sets you off again.

“What’d you give him?” You asked, and your eyes shine with amusement when you leaned back to grin at him, and Roger’s wearing that smile that makes your heart melt a little. 

In that one moment you wonder how you got here, how your few stints as Queen’s photographer had lead to very possibly, at the very least, hooking up with Roger Taylor. You’d just suggested a picnic to the band because it was a nice day and you could get some nice shots of them outside, but one by one the others had drifted back to the hotel they’d been staying in, and you’d taken a few nice photos of Roger pelting pieces of bread in the general direction of some ducks. But then you’re laying back and looking up at the sky, he’s laying beside you, the two of you talking about whatever shallow fascination passed through your minds at any given moment. So you’re not exactly sure how you’d gotten here, with his hand on your hip to steady himself as he’s propped up on his side beside you, but it gives you cause for hesitation.

You’ve seen him look at girls like that before, have heard him call them beautiful, and he might mean it at the time, but they mean nothing to him. If he has even half a chance at a pretty girl he’ll take it, and you’re no exception, even if you are working with the band on a semi-regular basis.

“You- that was my sandwich!” It’s easier to chase after the bird with half your lunch in it’s mouth than to make the mistake of kissing Roger, no matter how much you wanted to. As you scramble away from him, he seems to read the change in the situation easily, laughing loud and bright, even picking up your camera to catch a shot of you with your arms outstretched to the frantic duck. He doesn’t seem the least bit phased by your implicit rejection, and you can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed; on the list of Roger’s potential conquest, you weren’t special by virtue of seeing him often, or at all, and despite how foolish you think it is, you’re hurt by this fact.

But you still know you’re in far too deep, and can’t forget the way he smiled at you that afternoon.

The first photo you ever took of Queen was blurry as all hell, since the “official” photographer, who you were assistant to at the time, insisted that you were doing it all wrong and tried to grab the camera back from you mid-shot. It would have been nice too, you’d told them to be candid when you’d been given a chance during the photoshoot, told them to just pretend like they were having a nice, normal chat, asked them about what they had planned for the weekend, and right as you snapped the photo, Roger had made an incredibly crude joke and was beaming as the others reacted; John was hiding a grin behind his hand, Freddie had practically fallen out of his chair from laughing, and Brian looked like he’d been winded from surprise.

“You live and learn, maybe next time you’ll do better.” The photographer tells you back in the studio after the photos have developed, with only the barest hint of fake apology before he tosses it into the garbage. You fish it out and manage to finally get a good look at it; it’s out of focus; Freddie’s the worst, just a dark blur where you’ve caught him mid-fall, but you’re pretty sure you can make out both Roger and Brian’s expressions, and you know without even looking that they’re not nearly so happy in any photos the photographer has taken.

You pin the photo to the cork board above your desk at home, along with your other favourite photos, and you don’t think much about the band other than how you regret not getting a clear shot.

His hair is blonde when you finally admit how you feel about him. He’s bleached it since you’d last seen him, though it hasn’t been that long, and you think he’s so beautiful it aches a little.

“What’s got you all hot and bothered?” He plops himself down next to you when the band is taking a lunch break during a rehearsal that you’ve been invited to attend, and you’re the only two in the lobby. “I haven’t seen you like this since-”

“You’ve never seen me hot and bothered,” you inform him, tone clipped looking anywhere but at him because he looks like a fucking angel and it’s not doing your irritating crush any favours. He shrugs, grinning and rolling his eyes, slinging an arm over the back of the sofa behind you.

“Not for a lack of trying,” he smirks, but you’re so fucking tired of this charade and he can’t keep flirting with you like this without knowing the stakes.

“I have feelings for you,” you blurt out, speaking without even considering what his reaction would be, “like probably serious feelings, which I know is stupid, okay, I just-”

“Darling, it’s not stupid,” he pulls you into a side hug and just for the moment, despite knowing what’s coming, you let yourself lean into it. His voice is gentle, as if he’s had a lot of practice giving this sort of speech, “I’m flattered, but,” and at this he did hesitate, looking away for a moment as he considered his words for a moment - perhaps for the first time in his life, you considered, “first, you know I think you’re an absolute stunner, but serious just isn’t where I’m at right now, dear, I’m sorry.”

And you smile, say it’s alright, because it is, it has to be, but then he’s off again when the others are back, and it’s like nothing had ever happened. Nothing changes, and that’s the worst part. 

When he sees you admiring Queen’s opening act from side of stage, he wraps you in a hug, same as all the others, but he still has that indescribable effect on you that the others simply don’t.

“It’s so good to see you!” And he sounds like he means it, and like he’s already a bit drunk, and he kisses both your cheeks before the band on stage finishes their song and he’s whirled away to applaud with everyone else, as if he’s already forgotten you.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, not like it once did; you’re a professional, you do your job, you ignore the thousands of screaming fans who just want to get into his pants.

What does hurt is how much he apparently likes you being around him, despite the girls at the after party seeking his attention. He buys you drinks with a smirk - “Make sure you get my good side, love.” - despite the fact that you’ve told him you don’t drink, and sometimes, not often, but once or twice when you’ve gone off to roam the room and take photos of the gathered fans, roadies, and crew members, someone will find you and tell you that he’s looking for you.

“He’s so needy.” you’re tired when the words slip out, to Brian of all people, who just gives a thin smile that is equal parts sympathetic and knowing. 

“Isn’t that a cruel irony,” he snorted, taking a seat beside you at the bar instead of head back to whatever it was he’d been doing before he’d been sent to fetch you, “if only all the girls who liked him could realise that.” He snorted, watching as a defensive fluster overcame you; you hadn't exactly wanted your feelings to become public knowledge, especially since they clearly weren't returned.

“I do not- that’s- dude, that’s so unprofessional, I would never-” 

“Has he made a move on you yet?” Brian cuts you off and you press your lips into a thin line, taking a moment to snap a few photos of the dancers spinning themselves out on the dancefloor.

“Why are you asking?” After a beat, your frown deepens. “Why are you here?” You snap another photo, but he doesn’t seem bothered, he just hums for a moment before answering.

“Because you’re my friend, and because-” 

“Don’t give me a spiel, don’t give me all that crap,” you sighed, and turned your camera on him, the photo you take, which will turn out a little blurry but mostly in focus, catches Brian’s amused smile and raised eyebrows better than most any other photo, “what do you want?”

“Okay, no spiel; I want you, tonight I want to make you smile, and I want what Roger is missing out on.”  Despite the situation, the setting, he’s surprisingly sincere, though you appreciate his honest pettiness. After a moment he adds, “and I mean it, you’re my friend and I don’t want that to change.” 

In terms of safe ways of coping with your crush on Roger Taylor, sleeping with his bandmate in some ill-guided attempt to maybe make him jealous in a way that you’re almost positive that he won’t care about, is pretty low on the list. Brian, despite this, is warm and secure and he genuinely cares about you having a good time, and it’s easy to breeze past it and remain friends like nothing had happened. But still, it’s painful in ways you hadn’t quite expected.

It’s been a while since you’d woken up in someone’s arms and it hurts when you leave the security they provided. When you’re in the shower, all you can think about is that you feel bad for feeling like you’re leading Brian on, even though you were both clear about the night being a one-time, strings-free deal, and it hurts that some times, without meaning to, all you could think about what Roger despite being with Brian. You leave shoes in hand, sneaking like a teenager and preparing for a walk of shame back to your own hotel room, and what hurts the most is that Roger’s on the other side of Brian’s door, fist raised like he’s about to knock, expression shocked at coming face-to-face with you.

“Oh.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. You’re not sure what to read into it.

He goes on acting like he’d never seen anything, like you and he are still good friends. That, in retrospect, is infinitely harder than any interaction you would ever have with Brian after this moment.

He likes you because you like him, it’s as simple as that. Part of him knows he’s leading you on the way he keeps you around, smiling a little too mischievously, standing a little too close, even pinching your ass when he’s feeling especially cheeky. In turn, you know you shouldn’t let him get away with it, should tell him to back off, should stop getting yourself into these situations to begin with, but… you can’t. Freddie’s pity stings.

To be unwanted, and yet somehow still needed, is a cruel and unusual punishment for existing in the same space as Roger Meddows Taylor.

He’s still blonde, but his hair is short when you finally stop playing along, when he realises you’re trying to get over him. You remember this moment because you fucking love his short hair, and the first time you see it you just want to run your fingers through it.

“How,” He’s in your studio picking up some photos for the band’s publicist, “do you do this?” He definitely could have sent a lackey to do this, but instead he’s made himself comfortable on the sofa, looking through your portfolio.

“How do I take pictures?” You ask, raising your eyebrow as you double check all the photos from the last promotional shoot the band had done.

“No, I get the point and click aspect; it’s the film part, developing them, it’s always fascinated me.” He says, flipping through the pages, eyes grazing over some of your best work with mild interest. Wasn’t that unfortunately all too familiar, it felt like in the past few years that’s all he regarded you with; the moment you’d stopped paying him complete attention he’d lost interest. Sometimes, like now for instance, he made a point to keep inserting himself into your life, but it was an empty gesture; you don’t talk like you once did. To call yourselves good friends was generous at this point, at least from your perspective. 

“It’s taken you this long to ask?” You snorted. When he looks up, his smirk sharp and eyes amused, and there’s a moment when you feel yourself slipping, but you look away quickly, hiding your own amused smile.

“I’ve been a bit busy, dear.” And as if to prove a point, he flips the folio around to show off a photo of himself. Both he and the photo are wearing the same smile, and your own expression is momentarily fond. There's something a little indescribable in his eyes when his gaze meets yours.

“You do look lovely there.” You concede.

Oh God, there it is, that irritating feeling in your chest that just won’t leave, the way his smile always makes your heart warm. Maybe, just maybe he feels something too, you think, because he closes the portfolio and gives you an evaluative stare. He wasn’t one to be quiet for long, it’s a little unnerving.

“You look all nice now, what’s the occasion?” And the compliment alone would have sent your heart racing some years ago, but for now you’re so used to hearing his shallow niceties that it barely phases you. But he’s right, you’re a little dressed up, only having come into the studio for this errand, not expecting Roger himself to show up.

“I’ve got a date,” you admit, and it comes as a surprise when he actually looks a little shocked, “don’t look so surprised.” Your face scrunches reflexively, a little hurt that the idea of you dating would be so shocking to him.

“I- no, good on you, love.” He tries to save himself, but the damage is done, and even so, his heart’s not in it. “Who’s the lucky fella?” He asked, shooting for casual. Unlike with the rest of his friends, at least with interactions like this that you’ve witnessed, his smile, his interest seems forced, and part of you tries to take victory in that, but you realise all you want is to see him smile genuinely. It’s been a while since you’d felt like that. Part of you thinks you should spend more time with him again. Part of you knows that’s a terrible idea.

Your date goes well, but the spark’s not there. 

Being lonely is exhausting, which especially when surrounded with people, because you’ve just been trying to feel something for someone else that even holds a candle to the way you feel about him, but it’s not working.

You realise you need to stop timestamping the big moments in your relationship with Roger by the way he wears his hair, because it’s shallow, and you’re trying really hard to not care about what he chooses to do with himself.

But he’s making it very difficult.

Because he’s chosen to show up at your doorstep at like three in the morning, unsurprisingly drunk.

“Don’t exile me to the lounge,” his voice is a whine as he clutches the pillow you throw at him, “please, can I just say what I came here to say?” He asks, and you’re rolling your eyes, heart calcified against years of weathering his somewhat besotted looks with no follow through.

“Absolutely not; sober up and stop being dramatic, you wanker.” You respond, and Roger groans loudly but concedes easily, stomping through your house to his bed for the night in your living room.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” He ambushes you with the question when you come to check if he’s found the blankets okay, and you actually pause.

“What?” It takes a moment for you to recall the moment from your long history with the drummer, but you pick it eventually, and he’s just watching quietly as your face scrunches reflexively. “That was like four years ago, why does it matter now?" Pinching the bridge of your nose you give yourself a long moment to breathe.

"Because I think I made a mistake." That was the last thing you had ever thought you'd hear Roger utter.

"What does that mean? You didn't like me like that back then, you can't chan-"

"Don’t be daft, of course I liked you-”

“Don’t call me daft when you outright rejected me, Roger.” You snap, and that shuts him up fast. “I liked you, and that’s not your fault, okay, I get that-”

“What does that have to do with-”

“I’m trying to say that you don’t have to have feelings for me out of pity or some fucking social obligation;” you cried, hands balling into fists by your side trying and failing to keep your own feelings in check, “you’re drunk, and it’s sweet that I was on your mind or whatever, but this will pass tomorrow; don’t do something you regret.”

“Is that why you never...” Roger actually took the moment to consider his words, looking up at the ceiling with a frown, “is that why we never- because you’d regret it?” There was genuine hurt written across his face; you looked away. “Do you still love me?”

“Love is a very strong word.” You hummed, crossing your arm, still refusing to look anywhere but at him.

“So that’s a no?” His voice is frank, almost artificially so, a tone you knew all too well.

A long silence stretched between the two of you.

You broke with a sigh, “of course I love you, how could I not?” Finally, you make your way to him, moving from the doorframe to sit on the arm of the sofa by his feet.

“You’ve known me for years, Y/N, that’s an easy question to answer.” It’s a surprisingly raw answer, his self awareness catching you off guard. “I love you, I think.” To have him admit that right after a moment of startling self awareness is almost a little disorientating.

“You think?” Voice full of skepticism, you rest a hand on his ankle and he finally meets your gaze.

“No, I know.” And his words are once again met with silence, and yet another deep sigh.

“You’re drunk.” You pull the blanket down to cover his feet and stand, but he’s not going to take that as an answer.

“I love you.”

“Go to sleep.” You can’t handle this right now, can’t handle this. Your heart fucking hurts. His drunken confessions aren’t nearly as endearing as he probably thinks they are.

“Will you listen to me?” He huffs, and the squeak of the sofa is enough to let you know he’s sitting up now, probably looking long suffering or indignant, as if he had any right.

“Not when you’re drunk.” You dimiss quickly.

“I’ve loved you for years, I just-”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?!” You turned on him, expression fierce, and his own face fell, stepping back in the face of your fury. “You didn’t love me, you loved having someone who loved you without having to be actually emotionally invested, and now, when you think I might be leaving is when you spontaneously decide to catch feelings? Fuck off Roger, I’m sick of being ointment for your fucking ego.” Turning on your heel, you’re about ready to march back to your own room when he calls out to you.

“I think you’re talented,” he speaks clearly, his gaze unwavering, though he looks a little wounded, you make a noise of confusion but he continues, “I think you’re a hard worker, and love, not a lot of people make me laugh like you do. I like that you love me, of course I do, but it’s not why I love you, why I want to always be around you.”

“Shut up-” You mutter through your teeth, heart not in your words, voice weak.

“No, listen to me, damn it I’m being honest and vulnerable here,” he groaned, “listen, I was a dickhead kid who liked living the rockstar life, hell, I still do, but you’re right, okay? You’ve been drifting away for a while, you’re leaving and it gave me a kick in the ass because I- I can’t see my life without you,” he admitted, and you could feel tears welling in your eyes. There was the sound of movement behind you but you didn’t turn around, couldn’t bare to look at him right now, to let him see how much this was effecting you, “and it was easier to pretend like that wasn’t serious and fucking terrifying when you were always around, but I do, I love you, and if I don’t get my shit together, one day you’ll just be gone and I-” he swallowed thickly, “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t actually have a lot of regrets, and I’m not going to let not telling you I love you be one.”

There’s a light touch on your shoulder, and when you turn, he’s there, eyes wide and bright, surprised to see you crying, and honestly still a little shocked that he’d managed to articulate his feelings so well. He reaches out, his hand cupping your face as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek.

“If you wake up tomorrow and take it all back-” you sniffle, but he laughs gently, stepping forward, his other hand coming up to frame your face.

“Not going to happen, I told you I mean it.” He said, and finally - finally - you feel years of pining being validated, hope bleeding through your words when you speak them.

“You love me?” You ask gently, and when he smiles, it’s bright and genuine. There’s going to be a serious conversation the following morning, but for now, when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, everything you’d been feeling since you’d practically met him, feels like it’s all been leading to this moment. It feels right. When he pulls back, you’re smiling, soft and bashful, still a little teary but you’re letting yourself enjoy this one moment. He looks so fucking endeared.

“Of course I love you, how could I not?”

[solohux]

Prompt: so I’ve mentioned before that you’re ficlet about Hux becoming Snoke’s apprentice after Kylo returns to the light is my all time favorite fic of any fandom. I also love your KOR characters, so what if while Hux was training Snoke made him a Knight? The Knights are all furious/hurt about Kylo abandoning them so they understand Hux’s pain and grief. After training him they make him the new master of the KOR, both bc they recognize his leadership abilities and to spite Kylo (1/2)

(2/2) it could be in the same verse you made with the fic I mentioned or an entirely different Force Sensitive!Hux scenario, bc you can never have too much angsty force sensitive Hux!    

Thank you so much for your kind words!! I’ve kept it based on the last Force Sensitive Hux fic that you’re talking about but it doesn’t need to be read to read this one. Just know that Hux’s latent Force sensitivity has been awakened as a result of Kylo turning back to the light!

The Knights tell him over and over again that failure is important when trainingwith the Force, it’s vital in building integrity and essential in learning about one’s weaknesses and strengths to become as powerful as one can be. It’s testing one’s limits, going beyond what can be seen, knowing one’s shortcomings before an enemy does.

But with each failed attempt at lifting blocks or meditating or having control over his newfound powers, Hux wants to scream to the highheavens that this isn’t what he’s meant to be doing. Every day is a constant battle between his logic and his feelings, knowing that he can’t have these powers but feeling electricity at his fingertips. Even now, as he paces back and forth in thelarge empty room—save for the remaining six Knights of Ren, all helmeted, and a wooden table in the middle. Barren walls and a cold, vinyl floor mean every sound is echoed throughout, though Hux feels as though every noise is reverberating through his bones.

“Try again,” one of the Knights says, pushing the empty whiskey bottle back into the centre of the table. “Move the bottle.”

Hux laughs, continuing his pacing in front of the large viewport whilst the other six beings watch his nervousness.

“I can’t,” Hux says, shaking his head, refusing to look at any of them. “I can’t do it. I don’t have it.”

“You do,” a different Knight says—Eon, the Knight most attune to other’s emotions. She stands with her arms folded against the far wall; Hux can feel her gaze even from beneath her helmet, finding little comfort in that he knows that she’s a young human woman underneath it. “We can feel it inside of you. You can feel it, General. We know you can. You’re just not trying.”

“I am trying! I just don’t know how to make it move!”

“Just use your power,” Milah Ren says, Zygerrian, her soft voice amplified through the vocoder in her helmet.

“If one of you idiotic bucket-heads tells me to ‘just use it’ one more time, I’ll be shoving that bottle in places where you’d rather not have a bottle shoved,” Hux huffs, turning away from them all to face the starry blackness of space, closing his eyes to allow his mind to clear for just a moment.

From behind him, Hux hears the familiar and annoying scoff of Atlan Ren, the oldest and grumpiest of the group. The Zabrakian male is sat against the wall, he jeers, muttering something in his native language before standing up.

“This is a clear waste of our time,” Atlan says, adjusting his robes before heading towards the door. “The runt hasn’t the power or the intelligence to be one of us. He’s just another snivelling Imperial, spreading his legs for our former master, the traitor, to gain the upper hand—”

“How dare you!” Hux spits, turning around, seething with such pure rage that he feels as though his head may explode from the pressure. “Don’t you ever assume to know anything of my relationship with Kylo. He—”

“He was a brat, just like you are,” Atlan says, shrugging Eon’s hand from his shoulder when she tries to settle him. “Fools! Both of you! To think that a rat as cold as you, General, could ever love something as broken as pathetic, little Kylo Ren!”

Hux’s field of vision turns red, he feels his chest swell and swell until he feels it needing to burst with his anger, so raw and untamed that Eon sways on her feet, dizzy. Overcome, Hux lets out a yell, snarling likea starving and feral predator who’s staring down a rival for the last scrap of meat on the planet.

“I didlove him!” Hux yells, tears on his cheeks. He’s clenching his fists so hard that the leather of his gloves squeaks in his hold. “I loved him with everything I am. I gave him everything and he left me for them. I have to live every day without him and know that he’s with the enemy as though I was nothing to him when he was my galaxy. So don’t you even think that I don’t know what love is. I have been in its highest hold and now it’s smothering me with Kylo’s memory and I don’t want to love him anymore. I want to hate him.”

Hux is hyperventilating when he finishes speaking, panting like an exhausted animal in front of the silent Knights, feeling his rage simmer out into the familiar pain of his broken heart trying to beat on in his chest. His gaze clears of his tears and the scene before him brings shock to Hux’ss ystem. Atlan is no longer standing in front of him but is lying dazed across the room on the floor, rubbing the back of his head. Not only has the empty bottle moved but it’s been completely destroyed, shattered into hundreds of shards as it lies in a mess amongst the ruins of the wooden table, broken into pieces on the floor.

“Well done, General,” Atlan says as he stands from the floor, the remaining Knights all gathering round in a semi-circle as they approach Hux.

Despite their helmets still being on, Hux feels different now, as though able to see underneath their masks and to their faces, their thoughts and their feelings, attuned to each of them as though they’re an extension of his own consciousness.

“For what?” Hux says, looking down at his own trembling hands, finding that the electricity is no longer at his fingertips but everywhere, running and up and down his veins as though a live current encircles him, and one that threatens to electrocute anyone who comes too close to his raw power.

“For becoming what we knew you would become,” Eon says and, one by one, the Knights drop to their knees around him, bowing their heads before him. “Every Dark Side user draws on a different aspect for their power. Jealousy, greed, fear. But you, Armitage Hux, you are in pain. Your broken heart is what will give you strength to lead us into a glorious victory.”

In unison, Hux hears the Knights speak, both aloud and into their new bond with him, “We shall serve thee, guide us into the Dark, Master Ren. We shall serve thee.”

Hux has had officers salute to him and bow to him for years in both formal and informal situations but now, as he stands before the Knights of Ren as their new Master, he feels elated, not dissimilar to how he felt on stage in front of Starkiller; like a conqueror, only this time, he has more than the harnessed power of the sun at his disposal. He has the power of his shattered heart, of his broken soul, of his most treasured memories of Kylo, all of which he’s going to use to surpass the previous leader of the Knights in every manner possible and burn the Resistance down with nothing but his own rage as the fuel.

[frywen-babbles]

Sounds of Silence pt6

"They shouldn't send you messages like that. You've done nothing wrong."

"It's okay. It'll die out soon enough when they realise I won't make any of this public. I just want to move on with my life." She shoved some cake into her mouth before she continued. "Enough about me. How have you been?"

"Studying," he replied before he thought of something. "I'll visit mother tomorrow... I thought... maybe you'd..."

"I'd love to come. Just tell me when and where and I'll be there."

He nodded in response and took a sip of his tea. Why was the situation suddenly so... awkward. What did people talk about in dates... non-dates anyway?

"Um... What's the new job you got?"

"The same old. Shelving in a grocery store, just in a different one than before."

"That must be... interesting."

"Please, it's boring as fuck. But it's a job."

Mitsunari regarded her carefully. Once she had talked about wanting to become a teacher and he couldn't but wonder what had become of those dreams. Now she seemed content at working in a grocery store, her dreams seemingly forgotten. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he remembered how fondly she had talked about her dream. Had she given up on it completely? She wouldn't, would she? He worked so hard to achieve his dream and proving himself it seemed almost unthinkable someone would just give up.

"Earth to Manju-boy, are you even paying attention to me?" Mitsunari was woken from his thoughts when she tapped his arm gently.

"Just thinking about my studies."

"How are they going anyways?"

*****

Miraculously, their non-date had ended well and way less awkwardly than he had feared. They had ended up talking about his studies for way longer than he had planned, but she hadn't seemed to mind.

He was just about to go to sleep when his phone blinged with a message.

<i wntd 2 apologise> <i hd no rght 2 b that mean 2 u>    <What do you mean?> <thse mssgs i swd u> <i thgt ud say th same> <thnk u> <it rly mns a lot ur on my side>    <Of course I am.>

She didn't reply so he put his phone down and closed his eyes ready to sleep. But just as he had drifted off his phone blinged with a new message waking him up.

<it tk me 2 long 2 admit wht ws gng on. nd aftr thn i wnted 2 stay bc i lved him. i blievd it ws nly once. twice. i thght if id jst chnge myslf he didnt hve any rson 2 gt angry at me. i trd so hrd 2 be the prfct wife i feel like i lost myself. Ths isnt how I thght my life wld be.> <im scred> <i have no1 I cn rely on> <im sorry im blathering u must be thinking abt ur mom> <i shldnt cmplain evrythng is fine im sry>    <No, it's okay. It's understandable to be scared.> <sry> <im jst so lost> <nd scard> <all of ths is nw 2 me> <we gt mrried whn i finishd hgh school. i rlied 2 hm on evrthng> <nd nw its jst all gne> <sry 2 nght evrthng jist cmes rshing dwn> <ill go 2 bed now night>    <Don't apologise. Being scared of the unknown is part of human nature.>    <Good night.>

***

The next day he waited for her in front of the hospital. He had come way too early so his thoughts turned into the previous day and to his... non-date. She had looked very pretty. Beautiful. He looked at his watch when he felt a light tap on his arm and turned around to find her standing next to him.

"Are you sure you want to come?" he asked.

"Of course! I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't want to."

Mitsunari sneaked into the first bathroom in the ward and a moment later when he emerged he expected her to laugh or... something. Instead, she looked at him earnestly, her expression serious.

"Are you ready?" she asked before she reached to straighten out a hair on his wig. He gave a firm nod before he headed out towards his mother's room.

"Mitsunari!" He stopped when he heard his name and sighed before he turned around to greet one of the nurses. "I see you brought your girlfriend today, how nice of you. Why haven't you told us before you have a girlfriend?" the nurse winked at him and he resisted the urge to either roll his eyes or facepalm.

"We're friends," he said at the same time she bowed.

"Thank you for taking care of Mitsunari," she said aloud. It was the first time Mitsunari had heard her speak. He missed completely when she introduced herself, his mind focused only on the sound of her voice, on the way she slowly pronounced each word, on the melody of her voice and he couldn't help but want to hear her voice again and again. He wanted to hear what she sounded like when she was happy, when she was excited, when she was sad. He felt selfish in his want, but still, he wanted her to show all sides of herself to him.

Mitsunari tugged on her arm and bowed to the nurse, repeating his earlier words of them being just friends, but it didn't wipe the knowing smile from the nurse's lips.

Just when he was about to knock on the door of his mother's room, he felt her take a hold of his hand and give it a firm squeeze. He held her hand a bit tighter too and knocked on the door.

"Mother? It's me, Saki."

"Saki! My beautiful, darling Saki!" He heard her voice before he saw her.

"Mother, I brought a friend with me." He stepped inside and gently pulled her in with him and introduced her.

"It is nice to meet you, Mrs Ishida." She bowed and his mother beamed at them. He didn't even remember when he had seen her looking so happy.

"I'm so happy Saki brought a friend with her! Come here, sit." His mother patted the bed beside her. She glanced at him and when he nodded she sat beside her.

"Thank you."

She paid close attention to his mother, turning every now and then to him for clarification. He felt like his mother recited every embarrassing thing he had ever done, his face burning hot with embarrassment under the makeup. A small (well, a big) consolation was hearing her laugh aloud, something he hadn't heard since the day after he had rescued her from her ex.

When his mother started to look tired he got up and nudged her arm.

"I think we should go now, mother. I'll come back soon."

"Please bring your lovely friend again too! It warms my heart to know you have such a good friend."

"I'll have to ask her..." he mumbled giving his mother a hug.

When he took her hand to lead her outside he could feel her hand tremble. He glanced at her, but her expression was a calm, calculated mask. As soon as they were outside of the door he let go of her hand.

"Your hands are trembling."

"You're imagining things," she replied with a smile which didn't quite reach her eyes.

"But-" he started, but was cut off when she turned away from him.

"Excuse me..." she hurried to the nearest bathroom leaving him to stare after her. He was still staring at the door when she emerged a moment later her eyes red and puffy.

“Sorry...” she forced a smile and as much as he wanted to ask, he decided not to pry was probably the best option.

“I’ll go change. We could... You could come for tea... if you want.” How did people ask others to hang out? It was apparent he was terrible at it.

“I’d love to.” This time the smile she gave him was genuine.

Their trip at his place was mostly filled with comfortable silence. She leaned against his shoulder on the train, dozing off every now and then. He concluded she must be tired but didn’t want to pry the reason why. She would tell him if she wanted to.

When they reached his apartment, Hideyoshi was already there, half asleep watching YouTube videos in the living room.

“Oh, heeey... I didn’t think you’d be back yet, you okay?” he mumbled waving his hand at his general direction without turning around.

“We came to make some food.”

“We? I thought you went to- oh hi!” Hideyoshi turned around to look at them and as soon as he saw her he waved at them awkwardly.

He laid over the handrest of the sofa looking at them while they unloaded the groceries and prepared the food.

Mitsunari sighed and turned to look at Hideyoshi, who had a bright smile on his lips as soon as he looked at him. “Do you want something? If you don’t, stop staring like a starved puppy. The mutt next door does a good enough job on that already without your help.”

"I thought you'd never ask me to join! It smells so good."

Hideyoshi made the table and they sat down to eat.

"So, what were you up today?" Hideyoshi asked filling his bowl with food.

"None of your business."

"So it was a secret date!"

Mitsunari was just about to reply when she coughed and reached for a glass of water her face starting to turn an adorable shade of red.

"Are you okay?" he asked her when she managed to gulp down some water her face still bright red.

"Why does Monkey think we went on a secret date?"

Mitsunari felt his cheeks start to burn out of embarrassment too, her embarrassment only increasing his own.

"I don't know! Stop inventing stupid nicknames to my friends."

"Shut it Manju-boy! You better tell Monkey-boy he has it all wrong. We are friends, nothing else."

Mitsunari translated her words to Hideyoshi who had been grinning knowingly at their mutual blushing, but he couldn't help the pang in his heart at her flat out refusal of them being on a date.

It must be so terrible to her to even think him as a man after what she had seen of him today. After all, she knew of him.

She would never see him in any other way than as a friend and realising that hurt way more than he thought it would. It hurt so much for a while he couldn't even think straight, yet alone be a part of the conversation.

"Mitsunari, did you hear what I said?" Hideyoshi's words brought him back to himself and when he glanced at her, even she was staring at him with a small frown between her (very beautiful) brows.

"No, my mind was elsewhere."

"In the gutter, I imagine?" Hideyoshi winked at him but all he could do was roll his eyes.

"You had *something* to say, so spit it out."

"Um, yeah, Nobu wants us to go play Wii next Sunday, why don't you two come too?"

"And he expects us just happily spend a Sunday dealing with utter torture?"

"There will be free food! Nothing beats free food."

"Fine..." he grumbled and turned to her, but her eyes were already sparkling. "A friend of ours wants us to go play Wii at his place on Sunday. Do you want to come?"

"Only if I get the promised free food you were talking about!"

***

The next Sunday they found themselves in front of a grand downtown building where Nobunaga's personal apartment was. She was staring at it her mouth agape.

"Your friend lives here?"

"Yeah."

"Wow..."

She held onto his sleeve when they entered the building, her eyes wide at the sight of the doorman and the security.

When the doors opened at the top floor she was stunned. He had to nearly drag her forward to meet their host.

Not that that went any better. As soon as she saw Nobunaga, she yanked at his sleeve until he was sure it would rip off.

"That's- that's O-da No-bu-na-ga!"

"I know. Now stop pulling my sleeve!"

"But... how?"

"Blame Hi-de-yo-shi, he always wants to drag me along..."

"Wait how does Monkey know him?"

He was about to reply when Nobunaga seemed to get bored of not being a part of the conversation.

"The least you could do was to introduce her."

As soon has he had managed to introduce her, Hideyoshi, who had come at the same time with them leant towards Nobunaga with a conspirational grin.

"You know, she's Mitsunari's 'special friend'"

"Oh, is she now?" Nobunaga had an amused smile on his lips when he eyed her.

"Stop making it sound so dirty," he huffed at them and took her hand to lead her away from the two men determined to misunderstand their relationship.

They found Hanbei huddled at a corner already, his nose deep in a book. He didn't pay any attention to them so they sat on the sofa next to him. She was tense, eying her surroundings like a caged animal before she turned to him.

"Just... how? You do know he's very famous, right?"

"Yes. But Hi-de-yo-shi keeps dragging me along every time..."

"You're playing Wii with the famous O-da No-bu-na-ga..." she repeated it to herself as if to make sure she understood correctly. Suddenly, she lifted her head and grasped his arm. "How did he know who I was?"

"It was him who offered to let you stay in the guestroom in the house. It's only used when someone in the Oda family has important guests over."

"Wait what? I thought that was where miss Oichi lives?"

"No, she was just staying over so you wouldn't have to be alone."

She buried her head in her hands for a while before she looked at him again, a hints of despair in her expression.

"How can I ever repay them?"

"You don't have to. Everyone wanted to help."

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Even though it ate him alive he’d had to ask for their help there was no way he would tell her that. He would repay them as soon as possible.

The atmosphere relaxed as more people showed up. She didn’t leave his side until her gaze shifted to all of the snacks Nobunaga had brought out.

"What a nasty little piggy you have found for yourself."

There were people he’d be glad if he never had to see ever again. Tokugawa Ieyasu was one of them. Even the existence of him made Mitsunari’s skin crawl with disgust, let alone hearing whatever hideous thing he had to say. Why Nobunaga kept inviting the man was beyond him.

"Shut your mouth, filthy tanuki!" he spat back at Ieyasu, his eyes on her. She kept happily showing a snack after snack into her mouth until she glanced at him.

She froze, her eyes travelling from him to Hideyoshi and back at him.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Why won't you tell me?" She looked around the room, at everyone staring at them and she shrank back, averting her eyes to the floor. She made a quick bow and fled the room.

He followed her to the entrance hall, where she was desperately hitting the button to call the elevator, her face turned away from him so he couldn't see her expression. She cast a quick glance at him before she averted her eyes again and dug out her phone.

<i dnt blong hre ill jst go> <tll evry1 im sry>

The doors slid open and she took a step towards the elevator, but he took a hold of her arm to stop her. He needed... wanted to know what was wrong with her. Why did she suddenly decide to run away from him.

She froze, standing completely still. He slowly let go of her arm and she quickly hugged herself. He was at loss at what to do. He followed her to the elevator, but she kept her eyes on the door, completely ignoring his presence.

Had he done something wrong? If he had, he had no idea what it might be or why had she reacted the way she had.

When they reached the ground floor he followed her out of the elevator but reached for her arm again, this time just to gently touch her. She turned to look at him, tears glistening on her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away, her lips pursed to stop the quiver of her lower lip.

"What happened?" he asked. She took her phone and fiddled with it for a moment and soon he heard his phone alert him of a new message.

<i dnt blng>

She turned around to walk out of the door, but he reached for her again.

"What do you mean? Explain." She was just about to look at her phone again when he tapped on her arm again. "Talk to me."

She turned her head away from him and he was just about to reach for her arm again when the security guard interrupted them.

"Is everything alrigh, miss?" he asked. She jumped a bit and looked at his face, a small frown between her brows.

"...sorry...?" she whispered.

"Is everything alright, miss? Is this man bothering you? Do you need a taxi to get you home?"

"Thank you, we're fine," Mitsunari interrupted.

"I was talking to the young lady, sir." The security guard gave him a stern look. She looked from him to the security guard, her expression guarded.

"...fine... no... taxi..." she mumbled.

"Could we talk somewhere a bit more private?" Mitsunari asked the security guard, who pointed them at a bench at the side of the entrance hall, hidden from the view by a large plant. He guided her to sit down and sat next to her touching her hand gently to get her to look at him.

"Talk to me, please?"

"This... everything was a bad idea. I should have listened to Yoshi, I’ll never fit in..."

@masamunesmistress @han-pan @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age @honeybeelily @dreamfar628

[aro-aizawa]

Tell us about your AUs!! I’m curious!!

!!!!! an interested person???? hi anon i love you know that i would die for you without hesitation. bless you for letting me gush over my aus. this might be a lil messy (and long holy shit) considering im answering from my phone but from memory here are my aus (which i aint gonna lie are mostly either angst, hurt/comfort or canon divergent, or a mix of the three) in no particular order:

edit: now that im on computer it’s all under the cut but here’s a quick table of contents:

the one where hisashi is a pro hero

the one where hisashi is a villain

underground gladiator arena kidnap fic

the one where aizawa is inko’s brother

MUTE TODOROKI

izuku is related to all for one

gamer au

the one where uraraka is the protag instead

hp au

disney aus galore

the Spite™️ fic

the one where hisashi is a pro hero

heads up in literally none of my aus is midoriya hisashi a good parent. i mean in canon we know exactly three details about him being his name, his quirk and that he works abroad. that’s it. so, i don’t really like “good parent hisashi”. this au is basically ‘hey what if izuku got a fire quirk from his dad’ combined with my own personal views on fire, and then also deciding ‘wait what if hisashi and endevor did the same shit’. so it’s basically an au where izuku is in the same situation as todoroki.

it’s….kind of complicated now that it’s written down. in my head its p straight forwards?? anyways, basically my view on fire is that it absolutely shouldn’t be demonized as much as it is. because without fire, life couldn’t exist. it’s warmth and life and beauty. i just…think that view of it is perfect for izuku, and i always wanted to try my hand at fire quirk izuku.

also one of my few aus that’s actually gonna have a ship focus?? in that it’s tododeku but honestly knowing me i might end up accidentally dropping that aspect of it like i tend to do a LOT bc of my inability to write crushes (im an aro who’s never had a crush so me writing romance is…awkward at best lol)

the one where hisashi is a villain

i have……admittedly a lot of versions of this au. it’s by far one of my favourites to think about, for several reasons actually, mostly bc of angst but also because the hurt/comfort potential there is incredible.

my most current version of this au though plays with the idea that in the mha society those with ‘villainous’ quirks get discrimated against and pushed so the only chance they do have to survive is to turn to villainy. in this au i play with hisashi and inko’s quirks a little to make them more villainous and easier to discriminate against, for example hisashi can cremate anything he touches into ashes at will, and inko can minorly manipulate the limbs of other people although she’s mainly limited to pulling them towards her or pushing them back.

in this version, izuku is quirkless and still goes through ua determined to change the way that society works and right the wrongs in how it’s set up while also proving that quirkless people aren’t useless. a lot of dadzawa in this one because it is my w e a k n e s s. there’s a few other elements thrown in there, but overall that’s the basic jist of it.

underground gladiator arena kidnap fic

one of my darker aus where a group of villains kidnap kids who took the ua exam to create an “everything goes” fight club that customers can watch and occasionally participate in.

my general idea for this was “the sports festival is pretty brutal when you think about it. it’s almost like everything but killing goes” and then i thought that in a superpowered society there is no way there isn’t any kind of underground fight club where people can go full out w their quirks.

hence this au was born! the kids who’re kidnapped w izuku have been constantly changing over the ladt year or so that i’ve had this idea but rn i decided on having shinsou, kaminari, mina, tokoyami and yaoyorozu w him. the rest would be filled w ocs bc the villains weren’t dumb enough to kidnap all of the heroics students, just a handful.

bearing in mind the kids are all taken a couple days after the entrance exam so they’re not familiar with each other and izuku is the only one familiar w a pro hero and that’s a secret. not to mention he’s only used his quirk once at this point, and he has no access to recovery girl’s quirk so he has to figure smth out IMMEDIATELY or he’s completely fucked.

the one where aizawa is inko’s brother

look if you inspect my aus carefully you’ll see a theme and that theme is i fucking love aizawa. anyways, in this one izuku has a pretty powerful nullification quirk and is trained by aizawa. aizawa and inko have like an eight or ten year age difference, so they weren’t all that close until inko reached out when izuku was eight.

i’ll admit this is one of my lesser developed aus but it’s canon divergent with a focus on izuku hoping to be an underground hero. and due to his quirk and that aspect of his personality, it kind of changes a lot of things??? potentially a short(ish) au if i ever got round to writing it out. maybs about 20k-30k words idk.

(this is mostly born bc i feel like people forget that there’s only a fifteen year age difference between aizawa and izuku for a number of reasons. also bc inko/aizawa….is kind of weird in my mind. definitely not a fan :///)

MUTE TODOROKI

look i fucking love mute aus okay, but when i was trying to apply it to the mha universe i started thinking “holy shit todoroki could definitely be mute” or smth and ever since this au is close to my heart.

basically when poor rei burned lil shouto, she mentally scarred him into mutism. ever since the kettle incident, shouto can’t speak a word. endeavor is told by the doctor that although nothing physically is wrong, shouto is mute. endeavor is a DICK and p much decides he’ll just wait it out for shouto to finally talk bc he’s just being childish (basically he’s ablist and doesn’t let todoroki learn sign. which is bullshit but doesn’t majorly effect him bc he’s homeschooled until high school anyway).

it’s sort of canon divergent but also maybe a complete au??? in that there’s no league of villains. when all might fought afo the first time he succeeded in putting a stop to the villain and killing him. izuku still gets ofa, but he’s not the protag of the story, this time it’s todoroki.

anyways, ua sees that todoroki is mute (which isn’t registered and completely unknown to the general public) and doesn’t know sign language (resorting to notes and/or charades if he needs to communicate something), and decides to investigate that shit.

endeavor eventually gets what he deserves bc the trash bag can go rot in hell, and that’s p much all i got aside from the class realising FAST they need to adopt and love todoroki so there’s a lot of wholesome bonding there.

izuku is related to all for one

admittedly this one is one of my most underdeveloped aus but i still love it all the same. basically my take on it bc the whole ‘afo is hisashi’ thing kinda weirds me out considering afo is at least 200 years old. in this au he’s izuku’s grandfather and inko is his daugther who escaped him and lives in hiding.

i haven’t decided whether i want this au to be my take on izuku having afo or if it’s another quirkless izuku au. i haven’t gotten very far into it, all i know is that afo has no emotions and he’s a heartless bastard (me hating the dad for one trope w a passion) so there’s sort of MAJOR angst potential if i decide to go down that route.

gamer au

izuku’s quirk is that his life is a game. that’s….that’s it. if you’re familiar with sword art online, it has a lot of influence from that w/o the characters or plot or pervertedness or incest because what the fuck sao was so bad with all those. still pissed bc outside that it had potential and i think abt that a lot.

anyways, so y’know how in a lot of rpgs there’s the hud w stats and an inventory system and abilities?? well apply that to izuku and he’s p much that. the world “autosaves” whenever he sleeps, but he can’t manually load a save. if he dies he starts over from his last autosave.

bc of his access to abilities and stuff, he has the potential to be powerful bc hey he can basically do magic, but at the same time he just healed his body completely by drinking this drink he made w herbs and shit last night. also he can carry a ludicrous amount of shit that couldn’t possible fit in his backpack but apparently he’s got seventeen cheese wheels in there and room for half the classroom furniture too.

izuku sees the world w a hud which would be annoying but it’s normal for izuku. in fact, he sort of hates watching tv because the hud doesn’t appear on the screen and it’s so weird and bizarre he doesn’t really like it.

i haven’t planned anything but details of the quirk bc it can get waaaay too overpowered too quickly and hhhh i sort of burnt out of different ways this would effect canon, so i didn’t think abt it. but i did figure out that izuku would have so many gaming analogies for his friends and be into like a thousand different games.

the one where uraraka is the protag instead

born when i was complaining about how shitty horikoshi is at writing his female characters i brainstormed this au in a discord server where i overhauled canon w a more badass uraraka. (and she doesn’t even get ofa!!! she’s just badass on her own!!!)

basically bc she’s a lot more confident and determined in this au she influences a lot of her classmates. the other girls are a lot more active in their actions and are more than just the background characters. uraraka’s full strength is explored and i think i planned for her to win the sports festival bc she deserved it.

also inspired by the idea i had of pro hero uraraka kicking a lamp post down on her own strength and using it to put a comet home run on a villain like she did in the battle trial. bc holy shit that’s a fantastic mental image.

basically my “mha girls fucking rule and fuck horikoshi’s shitty writing” au

hp au

ah yes, finally we get to my take on the most generic of aus. basically i just wanted todoroki in hufflepuff to piss off endeavor and basically loving it bc he befriends izuku in it. i definitely haven’t developed this au outside of worldbuilding in how i’d combine the two universes whilst fixing both jkr and horikoshi’s bad writing.

i actually wrote a snippet that’s somewhere on my blog that i can’t link to now but you could probs for search it. but this was basically born from me getting angry at people putting the kids in the wrong houses. im a firm believer that izuku fits in nearly every house but hufflepuff and slytherin suits him the most while todoroki is ABSOLUTELY a hufflepuff. i wanted some platonic tododeku bonding so i put izuku in hufflepuff. uraraka is slytherin, iida is gryffindor, and it’d be too messy to list all the kids so i won’t.

but!! what im most happy w in this au is how i incoporate mha stuff into it. like how hagakure isn’t actually invisible she just got permanently hexed by her brother to always be unnoticed so you can never know what she looks like or where she is. tokoyami has a bird head due to a failed attempt at becoming an animagi. its permanent and although he could get it fixed, theres actually a number of wizards w the same thing do there’s a lot of animal like wizards. shinhou comes from a pureblood family thats been known for their dark magic, even though the last four generations haven’t been dark wizards the wizardinv world is convinced he’ll be a dark wizard too but shinsou wants to prove them wrong. amajiki being a metamorphmagus who shifts his limbs into animals when he’s nervous. etc etc. i have too much worldbuilding and no plot lmao.

disney aus galore

one day i thought up abt three different disney aus for the mha universe but my first idea was a little mermaid au for momojirou w momo being the princess and jirou being the mermaid.

except besides the basic premise i p much scrapped the whole movie in that jirou learns sign language to talk to momo and the two play music together. jirou plays piano or w/e whilst momo sings. it’s v gay. theres a ball and they dance and then kiss. i never wrote it out bc i didn’t wanna add conflict in it but never got round to actually writing it lmao.

but i thought up a tododeku tangled au, kiribaku cinderella au, tsuocha princess and the frog au, and a couple others that i didn’t plan out fully. still close to my heart if i ever manage to get round to writing them out. each would probs either be a long shot at 7k-15k words or a short multichapter fic at 25k-30k words.

the Spite™️ fic

the fic where i get pissed at every shitty thing about horikoshi’s writing. izuku gets mad at all might for his views on quirkless people and gets into ua on his first try. izuku rightfully does not take bakugou’s shit and calls him out at every opportunity. bakugou’s actions have repercussions. all might gets punished for almost letting bakugou kill izuku in an exercise.

izuku gets pissed over a lot of shit basically. also at one point he either punts mineta into the sun or loudly and publicly makes the argument that mineta should be expelled from ua including evidence and testimonies from the girls. and he encourages nearly all of them to get better costumes.

i haven’t actually written much abt it but if there’s smth i got pissed @ horikoshi for smth in canon it’d be address in this fic bc oh boy am i never spiteful so it’s kind of theraputic to write even tho i haven’t done it in a while.

uh….i have a lot more but man i think i’ve been writing this for like an hour or two idk im gonna finish this before the app crashes or smth. thank you for letting me ramble this got long oops sorry.