#but ''recognizable'' is subjective so. here we stand

[catboygirljoker]

doing fucked up experiments in my lab in an attempt to develop the Smallest Possible Recongizable Xigbar. the image of the one i think works best is 5x3 pixels and is too small for me to do an image description for it (its the first xigbar in the described images above)

^ is it ok if i leave my fucked up rat bastard dust mote on your dash. ok cool dont let him blow away

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

Yandere Class 1-A X Reader — { PART 2 }: We’ve Got Company~

(Description: Titles are hard, okay? Please don’t shame me for how cheesy it is because I know it's corny LOL. But I make up for it with decent writing! I POPPED OFF with some of these parts.

We all know this by now, but it’s safe to say (Y/N) is too trusting of EVERYONE. The amount of people I keep making them blindly and wholly give their faith to is…concerning. I know you guys probably want them to fight back more, but it’s hard when I haven’t labeled them with a specified Quirk. I wanted to leave it up to you guys to give them the attributes they have in your minds without spoon-feeding you every single choice (Y/N) makes. Sooooo, it suffers a little bit with the repetitiveness of this constant back and forth getting pulled every which way. It’s also difficult when there are so many characters to cover.

I am not complaining about it though! I am extremely proud of this story and am very happy with the outcome. I just hope you guys love it as much as I do. Plusss, it’s kinda nice to imagine being a princess stolen away at every opportunity by handsome/gorgeous suitors teehee!)

Fanfiction Lingo

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

~

“Normal speech.”

‘Inner thoughts.’

~

Original Concept - [Mommabean’s OG Story] → Here

Part I - [My first addition] → Here

Part II → You’re here!

~

Reader Gender: Gender Neutral (They/Them)

Style of Story: Sequel Oneshot // This story is a continuation of Momma’s Yandere Class 1-A Purge short story. I have written a previous part to this, so please check it out to understand what is happening!; Yandere Purge! If you don’t know what that is, go take a look at @yanderemommabean’s original works of it on her page, all is explained there; Many of MHA’s adults are included here, but I don’t want to spoil who exactly is in the story, so that is all you get so far~!

Word Count: 24K

WARNING(s): Swearing; physical fighting and threats (threats aren’t made at (Y/N), nor are they hurt beyond bruising); there is a brief mention of rape and sexual assault—it is not gone into heavily or in detail, but you need to know it is there; mental and emotional manipulation to the reader; bending of MHA’s storyline and the events currently happening (mainly regarding the setting, timeline, and people’s aliveness LMAO) to fit (Y/N) into the story but bear with me; some unrealistic interactions are going to happen in this fic because to get everyone together in a setting like this is near impossible; All of Class 1-A’s students are aged up to third years & everyone is 18 or older // I AM WRITING THEM AS IF THEY ARE IN CLASS 3-A NOW FYI!

[PLEASE NOTE: I DO NOT SUPPORT YANDERE TENDENCIES IN REAL LIFE!!! Do not confuse my writing this subject as encouraging it, there is a difference between reading/writing yandere stories V.S real-life situations. Please, if someone in your life is behaving like a character(s) in this story (i.e. obsessive, possessive, controlling, abusive, psychotic, sociopathic, LIKE A WACKADOO, etc.) get immediate help! That behavior in the real world is not romantic, sweet, or NORMAL! Stay aware, stay safe.]

~

Unable to leave without one final gloat, Shinsou turns back to smirk at the students, “All of you were wrong earlier, by the way. It’s me, dumbasses.”

Suddenly, a cocky voice chuckles from behind the mind-controlling boy, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, kid~...”

As reluctant as Shinsou is to say this, a tiny shiver runs down his back. Coming from the busted-up entrance of the gymnasium, Aizawa’s voice rings out like a bell. Your current threat swivels around to face the intruder. Even though his recognizable voice is a dead giveaway, seeing him actually standing there in the rubble draws a sigh of relief out of you. You don’t know whether to cry, smile, or scream for his help; either way, it’s just a nice change of pace to see his usual disheveled appearance and relaxed stature. At least something has remained consistent on this hellish evening.

Though, something sensible clicks in your mind. Thinking back on all the strong-willed friends you lost in the fight against this disease, you realize there’s a strong chance that even your own teacher has fallen victim to its siren call. As much as you’d like to go running into his comforting embrace and wail about how horribly your classmates have been treating you the past few hours, you bite your tongue and stay complacent in Hitoshi’s arms. Not like you could voice many of your concerns with the makeshift gag still sat across your mouth.

“Damn,” Shinsou mutters to himself before perking up to meet his instructor's eye with a devious glint in his eye, “Mr. Aizawa. Good to see—,” Before the boy could finish his greeting, the stoic hero held up his hand, his palm facing Shinsou.

“Save the pleasantries. You’d think after all these years of one-on-one training you’d realize I can read you like an open book. Your expressions continue to give your intentions away too easily. So cut the crap.” Shinsou's false smile drops quicker than it appeared. Aizawa leisurely waltzes into the room, closing in on the both of you.

Aizawa continues his analysis with a sigh, “And I wouldn’t try that little gimmick with me. I’m not like my students over there,” he vaguely points behind the two of you to the group.

“I’m your mentor. All the tricks you have up your sleeve are hardly even interesting choices to me anymore. I should know, I taught them all to you, after all.” He chuckled to himself.

“Did you come here just to nag my ear off about how you’re so much better than me, or because you have something actually important to say? ‘Cause, if it's the former, I can’t stay and chat. I’ve got some pretty precious cargo in my hands at the moment.” Shinsou brags, hoisting you further up into his arms, forcing a garbled complaint from you.

“Watch your tone, brat.” Aizawa glares at the snarky comeback his student possessed. Hm. So, Hitoshi thinks he’s hot shit because he won against a handful of decently strong opponents? Well, that’s just fine. He’s used to putting cocky bastards in their place.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal of sorts. We can either speak about it rationally, or,” he shines a leering grin, “I can use my quirk on you, and you can say goodbye to the hold you have over your classmates right now. How do you think you’d fare against 19 pissed-off pro heroes?” This time, you can actually feel Shinsou shutter at the sinister tone your teacher leans into. His reaction makes sense. The idea of irrational, infected, superhuman, edgy teens hunting you down fighting isn’t a pleasant one. Not just one of them either, a whole damn fleet of them. You’d be shaking in your boots too.

“Since I’m nice, I’ll let you decide,” Aizawa has a bored look on his face again as he runs a hand through the inky mop of hair atop his head. A few seconds lurch by before Shinsou caves.

“Fine, old-timer. I’ll hear you out.” Shinsou reluctantly agrees. He knows he could take on a few of them at once in combat, but as soon as the heavy hitters join the fight—it’ll be over. He’d much rather join forces with his instructor than be betrayed by the greedy moochers residing in his class. Shinsou knows that if some of them had the chance, they’d steal you with no hesitation or regret. He’ll just have to sit and see what the idea Aizawa wants to propose is.

The two of them walk towards each other. A meeting held face-to-face in the middle of the gymnasium.

“I should honestly reprimand you guys for how shittily you’ve treated (L/N) this evening. It’s absurd how ragged you’ve been running them. Absolutely unacceptable. Maybe I should even expel the lot of you after the Purge ends.” Wait, Aizawa could see you too? What, is your peril being broadcasted on live television for the world to see or something?!

“Hey, don’t lump me with those barbarians,” Shinsou pulled back in a look of grievance, “I waited until everything was calm to strike. They were the ones who made (Y/N) run around like a headless chicken.” He tossed his head back to the hypnotized horde.

“Hm. We’ll discuss it as a class later.” Aizawa coughs into his fist.

“Fine. Now, what’s this deal you’ve thought up?” Shinsou prompts the conversation.

“Right. It’s about—,” Aizawa is interrupted by his cautious student.

“(Y/N). Am I right?” Shinsou jumps to the conclusion rather abruptly.

Aizawa glares, “Don’t interrupt someone while they’re talking, Shinsou. It’s rude.”

“But you did that to me not ev—,”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Aizawa purposefully cuts him off, “And yes. It’s about them.”

“Hmph,” Shinsou narrows his eyes at the mention of you, “what do you want with them?”

“Not quite the right question. Change that to more like what can we do for them,” Aizawa twists the words to better fit his narrative.

Intrigued, Hitoshi takes the bait, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is I don’t want to outright take them from you,” he shifts his weight to the other foot, “I want to make a deal to share them with you.”

Shouta continues, “Aoyama and his group had a good idea teaming up with Izuku’s crew. Working together, especially when the stronger piers can aid the weaker links, is a much more productive way of going about things. There’s safety in numbers.” Your body freezes up at his words. You connect the dots that he heard, or possibly even saw that whole ordeal. How? Where was he viewing from? Did he watch on a security camera? It’s a likely theory, the school is littered with them. You thought Denki killed the power earlier with his quirk. Or, with a more chilling idea, was he actually there? Physically in the vicinity? How was he nearby, could hear and see the whole event, and you didn’t notice him? Why didn’t he help you? Or, at least, intervene? Your mind is muddled with questions, but the two press on with their conversation.

“Sharing, huh? Thought you liked working alone.” Shinsou prodded, skeptical of the plan.

“Some missions call for an extra set of hands.” Aizawa cooly replied.

“I’m not sure. Not too big on the idea of letting go of them.” Shinsou pulled your bundled-up form closer to his chest. It’s like he’s a little kid—red in the face because of frustration, fighting to keep his stuffie all to himself as an adult asks him to share it with the other kids.

“I’m not asking you to fully let go of them, kid. Just enough so I can take care of them too. They’re a bit of a handful, as I’m sure you’ve no doubt figured out by now,” you whip your head to scowl at him and heatedly shout muffled curses at him, “Heh. My bad, kitten, but it’s true. The trouble your presence kicks up is a lot to handle, even for a pro.” You feel your face heat up in embarrassment at his words. Not that it wasn’t obvious before, but it’s safe to say he is infected as well.

“Plus, what will you do when you can’t control the rest of the students? You and I both know that your quirk doesn’t last forever, and your control is slowly dwindling away, even as we speak. I could help you fend them off, if it comes to it.” Shouta observed. He has a natural way of being extremely persuasive, doesn’t he?

Shinsou isn’t exactly thrilled to give you up, he’d much rather stake his claim on you by himself. His company should be more than enough to fill your time! He doesn’t want time with you to be shared with others he doesn’t approve of. Though…Aizawa isn’t exactly untrustworthy. Hitoshi definitely trusts him more than someone as hazardous as Bakugo, or as miserable to be around as Monoma. He’s a great teacher, even though he’s kind of a hardass. Someone he looks up to. Maybe they could give it a shot? After all, if it doesn’t work out, there’s still plenty of Purge time left for him to find somewhere else to hide and drag you off to when Aizawa isn’t looking.

“Okay. We’ll give your idea a go.” Shinsou begrudgingly complied.

“Good choice, kid.” Aizawa’s lips twitch upward into a minuscule grin. Yet again, your own fate is taken away from you as the two of them close in, grasp hands, and shake to signify the agreement.

“Ooohhh~! What a touching truce, cuties~,” a sugary-sweet voice curls around the boys’ conversation like a hazy morning fog.

“Huh—!” Shinsou isn’t fast enough to react to the intruder as he feels all his senses numb. A dreadfully sweet smell, the same kind of sugary tang that was laced throughout the woman’s voice, invades his nose. It should be disgusting, it should make him sick to his stomach, but the candied scent is nothing short of divine. It’s like nothing he's ever smelled before. It honestly makes him want to inhale more. Which is an action he subconsciously commits, sealing his fate. Shinsou’s legs grow wobbly as he starts to lose feeling all over his body. As unpleasant as he wants it to feel, as he begs it to feel, all he can recognize is a cozy warmth clouding his better judgment. Through the mental and physical struggle, he remembers you’re still sitting prettily in his swiftly weakening arms. He panics, afraid he’s going to, or that he has already dropped you. He glances down.

Well…you used to be there. You’re not anymore.

Shinsou groans, crashing to his knees. He scans the surrounding floor, looking for any trace of you, but you’re nowhere to be found. Good news is he didn’t drop you like an idiot. Bad news is someone else has their disgusting hands all over you. That thought makes him want to pick off his own flesh cell by cell, but there’s nothing he can do except lay on the ground and reluctantly drift in and out of consciousness.

“Too bad you’re not as lovely as our sweetheart here. Otherwise, you’d be my plaything too~,” the woman giggles, “But, oh well. Pleasant dream, honey~,” she coos at the purple-haired boy. You’re beyond floored at how quickly Shinsou was subdued, considering the quick work he made of the other students. Curious as ever, you shot your head back and forth to identify who stole the show this time.

The owner of the saccharine voice turned out to be none other than Midnight, your art history and overly-sexual pro hero mentor. She giggles to herself, watching her prey twitch and squirm in retaliation against her quirk on the floor, “While struggling normally is my favorite part of the foreplay, I wouldn’t advise it this time, dear~. Somnambulist isn’t easy to win against. It’s a much more potent sleep agent than your little quirk could ever dream of being.”

“Love that energy, Midnight! Smooth work,” a boisterous voice slices through your eardrums. You cringe at the volume, recognizing that borderline shriek. The person who is now capturing your body is Present Mic! What the hell are all three of your teachers doing here?! Shouldn’t they be like normal people and hide from the Purge?

As if reading your mind, Aizawa coughs to grab his coworkers’ attention, “That was completely unnecessary of you two. A little excessive too. I told you both I could handle the situation on my own. What’re you doing here?”

“Jeez! So cold!” Mic’s voice danced up and down in pitch, “Don’t be so frosty with us, Eraser! We just wanted to help!”

“Yes,” Midnight purred, the click click of her skyscraper-length stilettos stabbing the shellacked ground echoed across the rubble-covered floor, “you think us so shallow! You act as if we thought you couldn’t take care of this, dear. All we believed was it’s nice to have some support on the field, yes~?”

Aizawa, always as sharp as a knife, caught onto their plan effortlessly, “You two just couldn’t wait to get your grubby hands on them, could you?” The two opposing teachers choked on the air in their lungs as he saw through their lies. They fumbled the next few words that streamed out of their mouths, trying desperately through the stutters to justify their cause and deter his wit.

“I see. Hmm…whatever. Either way, you two never fail to overdo it,” Aizawa grumbles to himself, his chin sinking further into the comfort of his scarf, “I guess I’ll need some assistance dealing with the rest of my students over there. They won’t remain hypnotized for much longer now that Shinsou’s down—I’d rather not have to start a physical fight when there’s no need.”

“Oooh~,” Midnight purred, slinking over to the slowly reawakening crowd, “leave this to me, loves~!” The woman proceeded to unleash another plum of her drunkening quirk right as the class snapped out of their haze. You watched as they fell one by one to the floor in sudden exhaustion. Even the strong-willed one couldn’t escape the fate of her noxious gas, dropping limply to the floor in a dreamless slumber.

“Aww, they’re so sweet when they’re not getting in our way.” Mic snickered.

“Mic. Watch it,” Aizawa’s laid-back indifference swiftly shifted into his scary steely gaze as he warned his rambunctious coworker to stop his prattling.

“Whaaaat~??? You gotta admit, your hooligans sure made our night a lot harder!” Hizashi pouted in frustration.

‘When am I gonna catch a break from these…these…wait. What…the…,’ your thoughts slowly lose their path in your head, your mind-numbing and slipping away from coherent ideas. Your limbs feel like the thickest cement in the world when you try to move them. It’s too tough, too much work—and sleeping sounds like a fantastic idea. You’re just so tired. You start to heave for oxygen as if your lungs can never get enough air inside of them. You’re trying so hard to stay awake because you know in the back of your brain as delicious as stopping your fighting to rest sounds, something doesn’t feel right. You can’t remember why. Eventually, it becomes too difficult to keep your head up on your own, so you rest it against Mic’s open shoulder.

Hizashi immediately stops bickering against the stoic man in front of him as he feels your head plop onto his shoulder. Now that his attention is drawn back to you, he realizes you weren’t squirming around as much as he’d expected you to. He knows even past the lingering virus flooding his veins you wouldn’t give in to their advances so easily—as nice as that would have been—so he devotes all his attention to your slumped frame.

“Hey, you alright, doll?” he cranes his head down to catch your unfocused eyes. He jostles the shoulder you were resting on a bit, trying to reel you back from wherever your mind had floated off to, and that seemed to help a little. You tried to talk, but the gag prevented any words from coming out. Catching the barrier, he beckoned his partner in crime over with a quick tilt of his head and a quiet, “Help me get this thing off their mouth, Shouta.”

Without hesitation, your concerned homeroom teacher stepped over and peeled off the tape as gently as he could. Your mouth now freed, you let out an unconscious whine of relief, showing a small bit of happiness at having some bit of freedom back.

“What did you say, sweets?” Mic pressed yet again.

“Mmhn…I…uhm…mmm…nnh,” you mindlessly babbled in a soft voice.

“Come on, (Y/N). How do you feel right now?” Aizawa coaxed, his worry over you hiking higher at your unresponsiveness.

“Hmmm…just…tired…I think…mnnn,” Your eyes couldn’t stay open. They opted to flutter close every time no matter how much Mic shimmed around in an attempt to keep you conscious.

“Tired. Hizashi—Midnight’s quirk.” Aizawa said as he caught Hizashi’s fear-filled gaze. Both of their anxiety floated back down at the deduction. You must’ve breathed in too much of the secondhand smoke of the pro hero’s quirk. After all, it is quite potent against those who haven’t experienced it much before. Mic’s jostling changed into more of a rocking motion, trying to lull you further into that blissful rest.

“Ohhhh. Honeycakes! That’s okay—it’s perfectly fine if you need some rest. It’s been a tough day for our snuggle bunny,” he uttered, affectionately nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

“I heard you say my name, Eraser. What’s…oh!” Midnight stopped her sentence when her eyes fell on you. Then, all she could do was squeal at the sight of your sleepy state. She shoved Aizawa out of the way, bent down to your level, and squeezed herself as close to you as she could. She was giggling and chirping in delight at how “adorable” and “absolutely, irresistibly, undeniably cute” you were.

“Awwwwhn~~~!!!” her voice curled up in pitch, her fingers smoothing your loose hairs behind your ear and stroking down your warm cheek, “You are just the sweetest lil’ thing~!! Mommy’s precious angel~. What’s happened, Zashi?” Midnight tilted her gaze up to the blond for an explanation.

He grinned, “Just breathed too much of your quirk in, s’all.”

Midnight loftily snickered, “I see. Glad we were here to take care of them!” In all honesty, she’s beyond pleased that out of any one of her coworkers, her quirk affected you the most. In a way, she saw that as she had the most influence on you—or, in other words, the most power over you. In her eyes, she saw it as you giving yourself to her. Willingly and unafraid. Midnight’s heart is cartwheeling and running laps because she sees this as you caring about her so much that you’d serve her in such a magnificent way. She could eat you up and still be searching for seconds. You’re just perfect for her in every way, shape, and form. Aizawa’s nagging drags her out of her less than innocent desires over you filling her head.

“You need to be more careful about how much of your quirk you release in the future, Midnight.” Aizawa scolds, but scorn is practically nonexistent in his voice. It’s hard to be angry at the effects you’ve been put under when the outcome makes you look so helplessly cute. He’d never admit it, but he’s envious of her quirk, when it can turn you so easily into this version of yourself. The dilated, doe-eyed look your eyes hold as they drift up to see him makes the words die a little in his throat. Perhaps the lecture he was going to give her can wait a little.

“Ahh, I will, Eraserhead. But first, we should head off for that safe spot we arranged with the others.” Midnight commented towards the men while still keening over your dopey state.

“W…Wait,” you grumbled out in a meek voice, “noo…no. I d-don’t…,” your words fell off into babbling mumbles again. It was torture to try and evade her quirk’s effects like this, but you were steadfast in wanting to fight. To flee their unwanted embrace and be alone. But all they did was coo at your brave efforts. Oh, they knew just the perfect things to say to make you feel like you were a mere baby to them. How inadvertently insulting.

“Ssh shh shh~. Awh, I know, honey~. You just feel so tired~,” Midnight sang in a baby-talk tone of voice, brushing the top of your head with the palm of her hand. It was weird, you couldn’t figure out if she saw you as her child or prey. Maybe both. That scares you. Maybe you don’t want to find out any more.

“Don’t worry, sweetie! We’ve got you,” though less scary than the woman currently pinning you, Mic’s mischievous lilt of tone didn’t skate by your observative nature. His eyes seem…darker than when you’d looked at them during one of his happy-go-lucky lectures. Like he was hiding the truth of his words behind a cobweb-like veil of deceit. In fact, Mic was resembling a conniving spider—which made you the ditzy butterfly falling for his web of a trap.

Lethargic and thoroughly worn out from both her quirk and all the running you’ve done, you finally give up. Your body feels warm and tingly, making sleep all the easier to give in to. As darkness flooded your vision and your consciousness finally dove away, Aizawa’s voice filled your ears, “See you soon, (Y/N).”

~ Timeskip ~

Sick. That’s all you felt as the darkness that consumed your thoughts and vision slowly faded. Sick to your stomach. Aching all over. You felt like you were a flimsy shirt thrown into a clothes dryer and left to spin over and over again for three cycles too long.

You tilted your head a bit and promptly groaned at the wave of nausea that swamped your brain. Such a subtle movement caused your whole world to crash sideways into an abysmal painscape. It was like you were zipping around on the shittiest, most rickety roller coaster you’d ever rode. You wanted nothing more than to get off.

All this to say—ow. What the fuck, brain? Why do you hurt me so? That’s all your mind could conjure up at the moment—insults to your own organs—because it hurts too much to think rationally. That was one hell of a shitty rest. It has to be one of the top five worst naps you’ve ever taken. You’ll have to whine about it to Denki after class today, maybe you’ll get some sympathy candy for your brave efforts. Denki…why does it feel like something important happened that he was a part of? Hmm…you can’t put your finger on it right now. Everything’s too drowsy at the moment for logic to be considered. Your eyes are still begrudgingly shut as you twist your torso around, trying to get comfortable again.

That’s the moment you started to become more aware of the outside world around you. Noises of chatter hung in the air like a nagging mosquito. The more you paid attention to the continuous sounds, the more irritating they became. Who was talking so damn much, and why were they making it your problem? Couldn’t they see you were a sick person in need of some goddamn peace and quiet? But, that’s just Class 3-A life, you suppose. None of them ever know when to shut the fuck up. Well, this time, they’d learn! They’d get a piece of your “hungover” mind.

“Oi…,” you grunted out, a snarl vehemently leaking into your tone, “Can’t you guys pipe down?! I’m sorta in the middle of trying to sleep off a nasty headache.”

Maybe your words stung the culprits a bit too much as you heard the room slow to a deathlike silence. No blistering insults were flung back at you from the resident hellhound of Class 3-A Bakugou, no chortles from the jokesters of the bunch, no profuse apologies from the worrywarts—nothing. Just…silence. I mean, you guess that’s the result you wanted; but the tense atmosphere you created is rapidly making you regret your flippant decision.

The encroaching fear made your mind real back to the very moment you woke up. You began rational plotting out the questions that swarmed your mind like hornets to their nest. Wait, where were you again? What time is it? Why do you feel so ill? Why can’t your brain remember what the date is? Something really important was happening before you passed out related to time…passed out. Hold on—that’s right, you passed out!

What the fuck.

You passed out due to what—no…due to who?

Unease finally getting the better of you, you peeped up again, but presenting a much meeker tone this time, “U-Um…guys? Look, I’m…God, I’m sorry for lashing out. I just—my head hurts like hell, I’m sore all over my everywhere, and I don’t know what’s—haannhh…ow, ow, ouch.” As you spewed out the poorly constructed apology, you steadily sat up from whatever hard surface you’d been resting on. The stiff rest stop made you all that more unnerved; it sort of felt like you were on a metal autopsy table. Cold and jarring. As if you were a poor little frog being dissected for all the insatiably curious students to see. It made you want to be swallowed whole by the floor just to escape the distress of the situation. God damnit, why is it still so hard to open your eyes?! They felt like the heaviest slab of lead welded over your eyelids. You forced them open.

Overlooking the blurriness of your vision, you could immediately tell by the general shape of the people standing in front of you that you weren’t in the presence of your beloved classmates like you thought you were.

There were multiple people in the darkened room, all with varying heights and sizes. There weren’t twenty people like how many there are in your class; their numbers were closer to ten or so. Plus, the colors of their outfits didn’t match with your friends’ hero suits you’d come to be extremely familiar with. However, you did recognize the colors and remembered who they belonged to. The answer chilled you to the bone.

You didn’t speak up again in the presence of most, if not all of, your mentors. Yes, your mentors. The adults you interacted with practically every day; who taught you every tactic you knew, who helped you to become a capable hero in the pro world. In fact, you didn’t just not talk, you slumped into yourself a bit. You were afraid. Scratch that—you were beyond afraid. You’d seen, and fought, firsthand against their wrath before. You’ve watched their fights broadcasted on the television, through shaky personally caught videos on the Internet posted by petrified civilians. You’ve worked alongside a few of them through missions and treacherous situations. Hell, you actually battle against one for the right to earn your hero license! That was a tough day, but you’d made it by the skin of your teeth—more than likely only winning because of the unimaginably heavy weights that shackled them as handicaps. In short, they were barbaric beasts on the field. Now…you’re face-to-face with their rage.

Let’s all send a brief prayer for yourself. Maybe your death will be swift and your afterlife pleasant if you beg hard enough.

“My, my, my~,” a sultry voice sang in your right ear, making you shriek at the intrusion of your personal bubble, “such a naughty-mouthed little pet~! Tell me, what brute taught you to speak to your superiors in such a disrespectful way?” It was Midnight again. She was always one to breach your boundaries, whether you wanted her to or not.

She cupped your jaw with one of her hands, pinching and squeezing your gooey cheeks with the other for her pleasure, “Ooooh, precious! How’s your whittle head~?” she cooed while smushing. She wiped away a small bit of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth, making you feel that much more like a ditzy baby. The way she played with you really did remind you of a child messing around with a delicious treat of springy mochi. Perhaps that was what you were to the ravenous woman, a delicacy to be devoured whole. You shivered in fear again.

Another person from across the room let out a high-pitched whistle, one that indicated astonishment or feeling impressed, “Wow! Brat’s got some spunk to ‘em! Good to know they haven’t switched up since we last spoke.” You weren’t as familiar with that voice as you were with your homeroom teachers, but it did strike a chord in your memory. Their youthful cheer didn’t resemble the dread-filled boredom Aizawa’s held, but they didn’t sound crude enough to be another student. Your vision clearing further was the only thing that gave their mystery identity away. It was Power Loader! It feels like forever since the two of you even acknowledged one another. Either way, he’s here now and fully decked out in his hero gear. The heavy equipment gave you a unique foreboding feeling that his abilities weren’t just all that meets the eye.

“Midnight, step aside, please.” A mellow voice takes control of the conversation. Midnight looks over her shoulder in disdain, as if the very notion of her being politely asked to leave your side is the most disrespectful thing someone could have asked her to do, but it seems that whoever popped the question meant real business. She stepped aside with a huff of frustration, mumbling under her breath curses, and something along the lines of ‘the gall’.

Once she moved, the requester hopped onto the table where you sat. They pushed into your personal space as well. You opted to lean back as much as the encroacher would allow you. From the astronaut-resembling helmet that donned their head and the puffy jacket they wore, you came to the obvious conclusion that this was 13, another member of the faculty here at UA.

She moved your head—left to right, up and down, and in a full circle. She checked all around the front of your body, and basically anywhere that you allowed her to get close to. 13 looked back deeply into your eyes before twisting back to face the bunch, “They don’t appear to be physically hurt on the outside. No scrapes, cuts, sprains, or anything broken. All that I could really deduct was their dilated pupils, meaning the effects of Somnambulist are still present,” 13 whirled forward to you, “Feeling at all hazy, woozy, or tired, (Y/N)?”

You simply stared back at the expressionless black mask 13 wore. You didn’t know what to say—half because you were uncomfortable at how close she was, and half because you were still bracing yourself to get your ass beat by the less merciful of the teachers. Your mind is drawing to blanks as you’re frozen with your jaw left hanging open.

“(Y/N)?” 13 snaps her fingers in front of your face, semi-dragging you out of your tizzy, “Hello? How are you feeling, dear?”

Ignoring the uncalled-for nickname, you wobbled your head about to snap out of whatever stupor you were stuck in, “Aaaah…um…good. I think. Still…vision’s still a bit blurry, head’s kinda fuzzy, but it’s okay. I can’t really feel my legs yet, I guess.” You tried kicking your feet back and forth, and while you could see them sway, you didn’t feel the sensation of your tendons pulling the limbs.

“Alright, that’s okay.” 13 dismounts the desk to face the crowd, “They’ll be fine. Just give their system time to recover from the grogginess. Next time, Midnight, go easier with how much of your toxins you release! They could’ve gotten severely hurt if they inhaled too much.” 13 scolds the tall woman.

Midnight scoffs, “Ugh! Why, I would never intentionally hurt my love bug like that! I swear, you act like I haven’t been controlling my quirk for my whole life!”

“Midnight, we have to set an example for our students, and lying isn’t how we do that. You should acknowledge you do go overboard sometimes,” craggy words tumbled through Midnight’s attempt to save her ass. Off to her side is the stony fortress of a hero, Cementoss, the one who spoke against her. While he is a man (or is he a rock? You’re not too sure even after all these years being a student under him) of few words, he does have the occasional snarky comeback in his vocabulary when he isn’t prattling off haikus and other unheard of analogies for life’s troubles you haven’t heard before. You’re pretty sure that half of what he says is made up on the spot, and you’ve occasionally tested how far you could push his knowledge before by asking him tough questions like “What is the meaning of life?” or “How did the universe come into being?”.

Before Midnight could pulverize the stone man into pebbles, the final guest you could see hanging in the back of the room piped up, “Can we please stop fumbling around like nimrods and get back to the matter at hand?” Inky, sludgy, and methodical in his dialect, it was no shock that its owner was the shadowy hero known to you as Ectoplasm. You’d interacted with him even less than the others, but you weren’t oblivious to his strength. You’d seen the fight between Tsu and Tokoyami against this predator, and you are happy to admit that he wasn’t your enemy on the field that day.

After briefly scanning the room once more, it seemed that everyone who was there had spoken up. Well, except for Aizawa and Present Mic, they seemed to be having a private conversation with themselves. Glances they threw in your direction, no matter how embarrassingly obvious Mic was being or the tenuousness of Aizawa’s, made it hard to ignore their scalding stares. It was borderline disturbing to see Mic so stationary. You wished he’d stop freaking you out and start yelling in your face like he always does. At least that would be one thing that hadn’t changed with the Purge.

“Precisely. Where were we? Please remind us, Ectoplasm.” Cementoss, equally over the distractions going on, encouraged the conversation forward.

“We were talking about our options. What to do for the rest of the Purge. How to proceed with the plan.” he spoke as if it was the most obvious thing that could have been explained. Plan? What plan was he talking about?

“‘Listen, we’ve gone ‘round and ‘round with these ideas for over an hour now,” HUH?!?! EXCUSE YOU, BUT WHAT DID HE SAY?! There was no time to stop their conversation to ask if Power Loader was or wasn’t exaggerating the time that had passed as he pushed on, “Why can’t we just go? I’m starting to get claustrophobic in this room.”

“What, and storm out here with no strategy? Yeah, that’s the best idea we’ve heard tonight.” Aizawa finally tossed his opinion into the ring and—surprise, surprise—it’s another gripe.

“We do have a plan—and a solid one at that! I just said it’s all we’ve been discussing ever since we stepped foot into this bloody room!” Power accused.

“No,” 13 cut in, “the plan you’re talking about is the one we’ve fine-tuned to get out of the school. What Eraser’s referring to is what we’re going to do once we leave the school grounds.” She stepped over to you while giving her speech and wipes your face down with a damp, cool towel. You’re not sure where she dispensed it from, but you supposed that since she specializes in search and rescue missions, she’s bound to have supplies of the like to help in stressful situations built into her hero suit.

“Easy! We run and gun our way out until we find a safe spot! A simply perfect plan. Okay? Let’s go.” Power said with finality.

“For being a seasoned pro, you’re much too antsy. You’re rushing this operation. If you keep sprinting through the important discussions, there will be major consequences.” Cementoss threatened. Power scoffed at the man’s slightly pretentious behavior.

“Think about it,” 13 tried to reason, “There are hundreds of pro heroes out there. Half infected, half not—give or take a handful. For however many pros around out there, there are at least six times as many civilians out there who are either running for their freedom or others who are trying to take that from their darlings. It is too risky to bring them out into a world like that.” Them? Hold on, do they mean you?! No way in hell are you being taken out into the shit storm that the big city has become! You’ve seen how the Purge demolishes the city in years prior. You saw what the news predicted it would be like tonight. Chaos. Pure chaos filled with dangerous, virus-infected people and villains simply trashing the place because they are able. You came into the school to seek shelter in one of the safe rooms to avoid the city, and they want to bring you into it? They can’t do this to you! Have they completely lost it?

Well, you knew that much, but still!

“He’s right, though,” Present Mic finally spoke up from his unusual voicelessness, “We can’t stay here all night waiting for some miracle to spring up. We’ve gotta take some action.” His shoulders buckled inward to show his agitation.

“And no one is saying that we will stay, Mic.” Cement’s sensible attitude never fails to shine through the stress of a tough discussion.

“But you are saying that. You know it…because you’re afraid. We all are afraid.” Mic grabbed everyone's attention because of how softly his words came out.

“I mean, we all know who exactly is out there,” Mic somberly stood and walked over to your side. You wanted to shimmy away from how close he got, but you chose to sit still to hear what else he had to say, “It’s not an if or maybe situation—he is looking for them. Maybe staying in the school has some perks. At least here he can’t get to them without breaking down a few thick walls.” At Mic’s dreadful outlook, everyone’s prepared responses fell into stifling silence. Who is he talking about? Why do you feel a shiver scaling up your spine at the faceless adversary? All this anticipation is going to make you go insane for real this time.

“It’s true. But UA isn’t safe either. We’re not alone and we aren’t the only ones in this building who’re interested in them. Those confounding kids of yours are still around, Aizawa.” Ectoplasm countered. Finally finding the place in the conversation where you can speak, you took your chance.

“Are you talking about the rest of my class?” you breathed out. The teachers spun their heads to give you their full attention. It creeped you out—their devotion to hearing you speak as if it was gospel—but you guess this virus is handy when you need to grab the attention of a bustling room.

“Glad you can still find your voice, sweets.” Mic praised you with a gentle pat on the top of your head. A total switch up from his gloomy personality just prior.

“And, yes, we are.” Ectoplasm sighed, sending one of his clones to your side. The clone didn’t do much except lay their hand on your head and brush your hair back, “They've proven to be quite…driven in their resolve to keep you by their sides.”

“Meaning they’re being a real pain in our—,” Mic’s interrupted by Aizawa’s scarf strangling the bottom half of his face to cease the loud man’s babbling.

“Hmmn, you guys take everything so personally,” Midnight bemoaned, propping her spike-heeled shoes against the side of one of the many desks around, “the children are just playing together, ‘is all! In fact, they’re making this night much more fun for me hehe~.” You cringed, and the only word running through your mind was ‘creepy.’

“Yes. Be kind, Mic. They haven’t been a bother for some time now.” Cementoss spoke with a grateful tone of voice.

“Well, it’s no wonder they haven’t been.” Power Loader huffed while resting his body back onto a nearby table.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You shifted up further to give the conversation your full attention. Once you were up, a slight tightness on your wrists captured your distracted brain. You glanced down and saw binding on your wrists. They were bound with tape. Tape…oh! That’s right! You were taped up by Sero before this shit show happened! You scanned your body up and down and didn’t see any of his tape around anything but your hands. It’s gone from your mouth too since you can speak to the teachers. You guess you’re thankful that they at least gave you the freedom to wiggle your legs around. Nonetheless, you’re still unforgivable-level mad at them for being dicks and holding you hostage.

“He means that ever since Shinsou caught them under his hypnosis, and Midnight leaked her Somnambulist to put them under, they’ve been sound asleep in the gymnasium.” Ectoplasm’s words curl up like a snake wrapping around its helpless prey. You feel less comforted by Ecto’s clone lovingly stroking your head now. That means no one else has been looking for you ever since Aizawa, Mic, and Midnight took you. Goody gumdrops.

“Yea’,” a new, twangy voice plucks into the conversation, “and it seems they ain’t rearin’ up again for some time.” It echoed from the entrance of the room a few feet ahead of your spot by the windows, so you craned your neck to the side to see past the teachers blocking the way.

His foreign accent was a big hint, but if there was any confusion as to who exactly was speaking, his masked appearance confirmed his identity. Snipe was perched against the door frame, slacked back against the wooden frame, and bending his knee to rest one of his spurred cowboy boots on the frame as well. Since when did he get there? You don’t recall seeing him when you scanned the room earlier. What was even more surprising was that on the other side of the doorframe rested Vlad King, Class 3-B’s homeroom teacher. You watched him side-eye his coworkers and, opposite to the rest, he stayed silent. Quiet, analytical. You haven’t interacted with him as much as you have with the others since he’s not one of your main teachers, but you’re certain from the way he and Aizawa have this sort of one-sided rivalry going on between them that he’s not one to be taken lightly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” barked Present Mic, “what are you two doing in here? You’re supposed to be guarding the door!”

“We decided to come in when we heard you lot yappin’. Wanted to see if our blossom was alright.” Okay, these corny nicknames were getting to be a little much—and it was becoming hard to not laugh at them when Snipe’s Western country-ass voice tried to say it so seriously.

“Yeah, right. You just wanted to see them.” Power Loader grumbled on his lonesome. Jealous much?

“Great, the peanut gallery’s all here.” you chuckled to yourself. Honestly, it was a smartass remark that was only meant for your ears to hear, but you should’ve known better than to mutter in the presence of such high-profile, analytical, pro heroes.

“Watch your tone, (L/N). I’ve taught you better than to speak to your superiors like that.” Aizawa’s steely gaze came to life, an intimidating red glow directly pointed your way. His mop of bushy, black hair billowing up to dangle in midair. It drifted about like a bed of kelp swaying with the brush of the ocean’s currents. All the built-up energy you didn’t realize was coursing through your veins came to a staggering halt, The strength permeating your limbs immediately drained. You’ve been under the influence of Aizawa’s quirk before when you were caught in the mix of his frustrations at the pranksters of your class, so this wasn’t an unexplored feeling, but it was still jarring to be stripped of all your powers you so flippantly take for granted.

As you looked around, you realized your statement was wrong—not all of the teachers were there. Not apologizing for telling the truth, you continued your comments as though Aizawa had never threatened you, “Ixnay that—not everyone's here. Where’s the rest of them?” Aizawa sighed and released you from the hold of his power when he realized you were simply ignoring his wrath. Honestly? He tips his hat to you for the response. Avoiding confrontation is sometimes the best course of action.

“Huh? Oh! Ha ha, you’re so clever! We brought it up briefly to the other staff members but—,” Power Loader had begun, but he was soon interrupted.

“They either had no interest or were busy with other plans for the Purge.” Vlad finally spoke up from his dark corner. Right, you remember why you don’t speak to him all that often. He scared the living shit out of you. At least you can have a somewhat decent conversation with Aizawa. With Vlad King, it’s always cold-shoulders and overdramatic frustration to simple questions you ask him. Those brief few words reeked such deadly poison, as if saying that anyone could ignore you was a crime against humanity. His facial expression showed his irritation, a frown stretching down his worn features and a frustrated crinkle cut between his eyebrows.

“Thanks. I was in the middle of getting to that.” Power snarked at the behemoth hero.

“We asked All Might if he wanted to come along with us,” 13 chirped, “but he declined as well. We don’t know exactly where he is, but he’s around.”

“Yeah! Not to mention how he responded! Something like,” Mic made his voice stretch lower into his register with a profound, macho gusto, and a large smile—an All Might smile—grew on his lips, ""HA HA! I appreciate the offer, friends, but I will be alright on my own! Good luck to you! I am off!”, and ran off to who knows where. Weird!”

“You guys never let me say the important parts of the stories.” Power scowled to himself.

“Gotcha,” you acknowledged the length of explanation, “So…what happens now?” you prodded.

“Now,” Midnight coos at a distance that is yet again too close for comfort, “we get to have fun with you~.”

“WHAT?! I’m not some class pet. Find a guinea pig somewhere else!” you wriggled away from the dastardly woman.

“Endearing how much control you think you have over the situation,” Aizawa smirked. You hated his comfort in the idea of a fictional complacency, one that was only caused by your own fear of speaking against them, “Stop playing naive, (L/N).”

In an effort to distract yourself from his stare, you pressed, “What’s the big plan after all this then?”

“After what, dearest?” Midnight mused. She reached a hand to your hair and softly massaged your shoulders. Quite done with the games they played, you shook her lingering touches off.

“After the Purge is over. What do you plan to do with me?” You wanted to add a sassy ‘obviously’ somewhere in that question, but you held your tongue for now. We’ll see how long that lasts.

“Sweetie~, we plan to have you as ours!” Midnight purred, circling around you like a beast going in for the kill. You rolled your eyes—how vexing can this woman be?

“Wow! That’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.” You threw out a half-assed pity laugh for the pro. You looked at the other pros for some kind of confirmation that Midnight was just being her usual lofty self, but when no comforting gaze reached your eyes, you felt your grin crumble.

“Eh…heh. Alright, that’s how we’re playing this. All the unfunny jokes aside—Hell freaking NO am I letting you lot take me anywhere. I’m not going willingly! I kick, I scream, and I do bite. I’m feral, bitc—,” You managed to squirm hard enough that you actually broke away from whoever was holding you the tightest in the ball of limbs. You slid off the glossy table and slunk back a few feet. It was just spacious enough for you to finally get a deep breath in from the overwhelming physical affection but you were nowhere near a safe distance from the psychos of UA.

“Willingly isn’t an issue. Plenty of us have quirks that can make you submit easily. Resistance will only produce failure for you. I don’t want to be forced to hurt your miniscule feelings.” Vlad gruffed out. He truly reminded you of an English bulldog—grumpy and hard-headed to the extreme.

“Oh, be sweeter, Vlad! Don’t scare the poor thing before we’ve had our fun.” 13 tried to reason with the ice-cold man.

“I am being sweet.” Vlad defended.

“No, you’re being a wet blanket,” Mic advised with a casual whistle.

“Shut up.” The white-haired man huffed out a pointed wind of air. With tusks as sharp as nails protruding out of his mouth, harsh huffs of breath that escaped his nose, and rising anger visibly seeping from his form, it made the image of him in your mind morph from cute, grumpy bulldog to a ravenous warthog.

“No, you shut up!” Power Loader lept on the chance to start bickering with Vlad King as he was still irritated at him for stealing his thunder.

“Girls, girls! You’re both pretty. Now, can we please get back to the much more pleasant person of interest?” Midnight tried to get the boys to back off, but her joke only made them that much more infuriated.

“Who’re you calling pretty?!” Vlad whipped his head over to the purple-haired sex fiend.

“Fix your words, Midnight, or I’ll give you something to be sorry for.” Vlad reared in, sneering at the woman something fierce.

“Here we go,” Aizawa muttered while shrinking further into his tall scarf tower.

“Nice one, Nemuri.” Hizashi bumped her with his elbow.

“I apologize…for you being a whiny BITCH!” You could practically see the overexaggerated sweat drop slip down the rest of the teachers’ heads as the beast of a man went off the rails from Midnight’s claim. He started stomping around, bellowing and nearly tossed a table across the room. You stood there and just…watched the man go from a professional, stoic, respectable instructor to a crybaby throwing the most dangerous tantrum known to mankind.

Guess he didn’t appreciate being called pretty.

Would he have preferred gorgeous?

That joke, while absolutely hilarious and should have been told for at least someone to hear its magnificence, you held in your throat so you didn’t get bitch slapped by a heavy office chair and receive a one-way ticket, all-expense-paid trip to God’s doorstep. You used the teacher’s being distracted with trying to calm the raging boarman down as an opportunity to scan for available exits. They were currently blocking the only door in or out, so that way out was an absolute no-go. You looked behind you and saw another door, but it didn’t look like it would provide a fruitful escape. By process of elimination, it would most likely be another closet that had no exit—and you DID NOT want to be stuck in one of those again. It was a miracle that the one earlier tonight had one! You do not want to try your luck again with much more threatening opponents in your way.

Inspecting further, there didn’t appear to be any other doors around to scamper out of. The last option you had was the large pane windows facing the outside, normally providing you with quite a beautiful bird’s eye view of the city. While it was an escape route, the task of escaping after exiting would be less than ideal. You were currently at least six storeys off of the ground, and you couldn’t guarantee that your quirk would save you from that high of a drop. Plus, the roof was still at least a few floors upwards, so you couldn’t hang out of the window and easily grab a railing. Not that you’d be sneaky enough to do that without alerting the bickering party of adults in front of you. You weren’t sure where else you could turn to avoid a serious temper tantrum.

Shatter.

A window to the side of where you were standing abruptly splintered away. A rush of the chilled night air flooded the room with one thorough sweep. The infiltration was not caused by the window simply breaking due to a strong gust of wind or a tree branch breaking the surface. No—it turned out to be a rather unwelcome intruder.

“Heyo~,” a certain bombshell blond’s lilting tone filled the thick tension in the boardroom. Your eyes zeroed in on the hero’s iconic ruby-red wings and instantly knew who it was. Hawks! You’d seen him in the field before from a distance, even captured his attention for long enough to have a brief conversation. A certain twist in your chest wrung out the breath filling your lungs when you thought about his suave nature that day.

You were there with your three main boys the day you’d met Hawks. You had just started working at Endeavor’s agency because of the generous offer provided to you by Todoroki during the Holiday party. It was certainly kind of him to extend his hand to you, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. You tackled him in a hug, and you watched obliviously how he nearly short-circuited at the affection. Though the day you all met up to head off, Bakugou had been acting a little salty around Shoto that afternoon after discovering that he had reached out to you too to join them, but you figured it was just usual Bakugou. Always waking up on the angry side of the bed. Izuku didn’t have the heart to tell you it’s because none of them wanted to make fools of themselves in front of you. Him especially. You are quite oblivious to the “more-than-just-friends” affection they had for you, but Deku was happy keeping it that way. After a bit, the four of you had settled in together and met Shoto’s father.

No thanks to Bakugou’s “stellar” introduction with the pro, Endeavor had put his foot down to deny taking on other interns, other than his own son. Thankfully, hero work is never finished, as a villain attacked then and there. All of you sprung into action despite Endeavor’s denial, and that is when you saw it. Or, rather, him. Red spears descending from the sky like Valkyries swooping in to protect the weak. You saw soon enough that these weren’t spears, they were feathers. The winged hero, Hawks, aided Endeavor in taking down the crazed terrorizer effortlessly. No hesitancy or mercy. Not so much as a bead of sweat lining his forehead either. After recuperating, you and Izuku practically tackled the man in an effort to meet him.

In the staggeringly casual meeting, he was pleased to say he already knew about you from your close friend, Tokoyami. However, he pretty much overlooked the green-haired puffball as he stuck you down with his unnerving amber pools. Hawks suavely shared that he was especially excited to meet you specifically. We’re these most likely only sugar-coated words to get your heart racing for the notorious playboy? Rationally, absolutely. His ego knew no bounds—he’d do anything to get the fans swooning for his flippant affections. Yet, you fell for it nonetheless. You hopelessly played the perfect giddy fan as you devoured all his teasing remarks, his infatuation with your quirk, and his cocky winks. A peck of his lips strategically gifted to the back of your hand was given to no doubt solidify a good relationship, but you nearly passed out. You gushed at the attention before, and you probably would again. You were no different from any faces in his crowd of fans that he interacted with. Or so you thought.

He soon took off after meeting with Bakugou and Shoto briefly. You’d geeked out about the interaction afterwards to the boys. An blatant envy to Hawks’ ease at impressing the masses, you as well now included, made them stumble at their advances. Izuku buried his own jealousy at the hero by directing your attention back to what the rest of the day had planned, and it distracted him from the negative feelings too, thankfully. Shoto had crossed his arms and stood as a silent watcher to walk alongside you. You did catch that he was standing rather close to you. Bakugou only spat insult after insult about the bird brain and the hot-headed waste of a father, hoping that tarnishing the memory of Hawks in your mind would get your mind off of that loser and onto him. He soon cooled off, and became a bodyguard beside you, like Shoto, mumbling to himself about how “pointless” it was to chat with the likes of that douche.

You knew that this meeting was no accident. Hopefully, the hero is here to save you from this awful nightmare. Though, he didn’t show up alone.

“Hawks,” Snipe grumbled a rugged greeting, quite obviously ticked off that the snarky bastard was ruining their sanctuary, “what’re you doin’ here?”

“Oh, not here for any particular reason. Flyin’ around, stopping to smell the roses…,” he lolled his head to look right at you, a devilish smirk lining his strikingly handsome face.

“Inspecting suspicious activity in the area.” A velvety smooth voice strikes up from behind you. You jump and whip your head to the side to see the culprit. Laying a gentle, yet comforting, grip on your shoulder was the famous Rabbit Hero: Mirko. You hadn’t really gotten a chance yet to interact with her in your journey as an aspiring hero. You’d heard about her competitive nature through various interviews you’d seen her in. You’d never felt more like prey than now, underneath her sight. Nonetheless, she was even more stunning than the media could convey. Her white locks draped along your shoulder as she peered down over you, the faint scent of lavender and earthy rubble wafting into your senses. Rumi’s piercing blood-tinged irises looked down upon you with a satisfactory expression. The lingering glint of fire locked within her gaze guided you to understand that whatever was driving her on this mission to confront your captors was far from fizzling out.

You’d heard some about personal interactions with her from Bakugou and Midoriya when they worked with her in the field. Deciphering Bakugou’s turn of phrase you’ve come to be fluent in after all these years, you gauged that she wasn’t too bad of a coworker. He’d said she was strong and that she had a kick that was no joke. When Bakugou remembered something about the people he fought alongside, you knew they left some impression on him—good or bad. He did make a point to reiterate that she only “gets in his way”, but he regards everyone that way, so it’s not a huge concern. Midoriya mostly info-dumped about her quirk and every fighting tactic he’d thought up to either aid her or counter her, but you didn’t mind his ramblings. Animal-based quirks like hers were always intriguing to learn about, and you’d appreciated him taking the time to tell you all the information he’d drug out of the woman. They both agreed (shockingly) they would like to work with her again.

You asked some of the girls of 3-A what they thought of Mirko before, and were surprised when they all nearly trampled you in their freak-out fangirling over the woman. Hagakure gushed over how much she loved what Mirko was doing for the community of women in the pro hero society. She adored how Mirko showed the world that women weren’t just damsels in distress; that the power and strength they hold mentally and physically is one to behold. Mina giddily hugged your arm as she declared the hero gave her confidence to not hide any of her more eccentric or “out-of-the-norm”, as she put it, features. Momo allowed herself to become vulnerable as she shared how Mirko taught her how if others don’t have confidence in your abilities you have to be your own advocate. Perfectionism was rampant in the poor girl, and she had such high expectations for herself. Seeing Momo learning to be more gentle with herself was comforting.

 Jiro and Uraraka explained all the ways she really was a fantastic figure for women, not simply aspiring heroes, to look up to. Strong, snarky, never afraid to throw a quick insult or punch to any ignorant when she needed to. Mirko was not known to be a passive presence; she made sure you know exactly what her opinion on any matter is when she gets in your face to tell you it. Since she wasn’t attached to an agency, most would think she’d be an outcast, but they’d be wrong. The girls told you how she was a lone wolf type, that she’d rather handle everything her own way. You admired her for that. Mirko’s belief of not fitting in with the crowd to instead be at the front lines of encouraging others to break the mold society says you should fit is one to be coveted.

“How’s it going, (Y/N)?” Mirko warmly asked you. You froze when you heard your name fall from her lips. How did she know you? You’d never met face-to-face before in your life! She’s even prettier than the photos snapped by her paparazzi could try to convey.

“Are these guys giving you any trouble~?” Hawks ruffled your hair as he sprouted up next to you like a daisy in a sunny meadow. You felt your face heat up at their actions, not getting used to the unwavering attention of such prestigious members of the Hero Agencies. Also, they’re two of the most gorgeous people in all of Japan. Even a sparse glance in someone’s direction would be enough to make anyone crumple to their knees—nevermind that they’re actually addressing you. You were having a hard time standing up on your own, knees wobbly and jittery, your eyes bouncing back and forth between the two in a fumbling manner. All you could think about was not making a total fool of yourself in front of your heroes. That’s about when you realized you hadn’t responded to them, leaving everyone listening with bated breath at your silence.

You wanted to slap yourself for the silly star-struck reaction, “Oh! I–um…,”

“They’re fine, thank you very much.” Surprisingly, Cementoss’ usual composed tone took a frozen turn. Guess he didn’t appreciate the two of them being here. In fact, it looked to be that most of the teachers in that room didn’t care much for the pros being present, all of them having a crinkled up forehead and scowles dotting their lips. That, or the frustration is from the broken window. Whoops.

“They’d feel more fine if you’d back off.” Vlad King, who had finally calmed down, cautioned the duo. Though he’d cooled off his ramage, you could see the irritated vein popping out underneath his skin, so another outburst was sure to loop back around. Whether it was expressed in a hunched posture, snippy tone, or the expression on their faces; the teachers all agreed on one thing. These two were trouble and had to be escorted away from their darling now.

“Yeesh! What a tough crowd, Mirko!” Hawks overdramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. He leaned his body backwards, grasping his other hand over his chest where his heart lies, and wailed out in a helpless maiden-like tone. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he’s such a drama queen. It’s silly, but also somewhat charming, in a way.

“Ha! Seems so, Hawks. Hey, chill out, we’re only here to play babysitter, old timer.” Mirko snickered to herself. Hawks joined in her light-hearted teasing with a bright chortle of his own. His laugh formed from a cluster of tiny clicks rattling through his teeth.

“...What was that, little lady?” Vlad’s temper was never one to back down as he cracked his knuckles. You felt Mirko’s hand clasp tighter around your shoulder at Vlad’s choice of words. You could tell she wanted to go off on him and rip him to shreds both verbally and physically, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to start a war.

“Eh, don’t take it so personally, King! She was just pointing out the obvious~,” Hawks egged the man on. Seems to be Hawks didn’t agree with the “no war” idea. You were beginning to get a bit nervous with the pros’ language. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the boar man’s tantrum, as previously mentioned, so why were they purposefully lighting his fuse?! At least move you out of the way first before digging their own grave! Though, you might get pushed into it with them when you can’t dodge their crossfire.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” 13 sneered at the shade.

“You’re all…wise from all your experiences,” words posing as carefully chosen by Hawks no doubt fired up the two more.

“But (Y/N) needs protection from a fresher-faced cast. If you catch our drift~,” Mirko finished for her quick-witted partner.

“That is why you’re all gathered, right? For the Purge?” Hawks anything but innocently asked the group. Those who weren’t lost in their own rage showed a glimpse of hesitation in the answer. Hawks, willing to take a mile from the inch they gave him, ran with their slip-up.

“So, it is true. Judging by the switch in your behaviors, and from that out of the ordinary hue in your irises, seems to me like this lot caught the illness. Probably from those students bulldozing through the school. Can you believe it, Mirko?” Hawks swiftly closed the little distance between you two by slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“I can. They’ve been in such close proximity, it’s no wonder they caught it. I’m just disappointed. They’re supposed to protect people like our lovely (Y/N) here from these incidents. Instead, they’re fueling the catastrophe Hmm. You must’ve been so scared running away from these shit excuses for teachers.” Mirko brought her hand to your cheeks and pinched them together to make your lips pout outward.

“Hey! You know that’s bull—,” Power Loader barked as he leaned across a nearby table.

“What were you sickos planning to do with them, huh? Make them your slave after this night,” Hawks unapologetically interrupted the man, a silence washing over the room at the question being sprung, “Force them to be at your beck and call for everything? Splay their body out to satisfy your needs whenever and wherever you wanted? Disgusting.” Hawks veered his body in front of yours to shield it with one of his huge red wings. The more he talked about what your captors would do to you after the Purge, the more fear reeved up to course through your veins. While thinking about the possibilities of what would happen after the Purge if you were caught, Hawks’ accusations had crossed your mind, but you tried to ignore them earlier. They wouldn't…they’d respect your wishes even if you…belonged to them after all this! They—not your friends, nor your teachers—wouldn’t do those horrible things to you.

And yet, based on everything that’s happened thus far…

You’re not sure anymore.

You shrunk into Mirko’s side deeper, wishing to disappear from the conversation of your fate entirely. You felt her wrap an arm around your waist, and you felt safer with the basically strangers than you had all night long with your long-time partners. You wanted to cry from the relief of finally having somewhere safe to turn. You held the tears back to see where their confrontations would lead.

You felt Mirko lead your stiff body with fleeting strides. She was obviously trying to give you an out, so you went willingly. Just let them do as they please. Anything to get out of this suffocating mess. Hawks caught on to her.

“How dare you try to make those foolish claims against us,” Aizawa began, rage climbing high in his heart. He reached for his infamous scarf and pulled the end piece out, preparing for his attack. Screw playing nice. Screw relying on others. Fuck letting these idiots walk all over him. The nerve of this flashy waste of space dictating him to be the kind of monster that would take advantage of you. You’d been in his life for so long now that he hardly even tries to remember the times without you and his other students. So many tough challenges your class has faced, and yet, each hurdle was leapt over with no hesitation. Your entire class had brought him such joy over the years through the sorrow. His kids. However, you and Shinsou undoubtedly claimed the prize to share the number one spot on his favorites list. You’d been so attentive and caring over him when he’d left you to flounder for air. Late nights powering through boring essays, countless assignments completed only an hour before they were due, the weekend study sessions that almost always turned into game nights or gossiping over snacks that he’d seen you participate in with your other friends. You work so tirelessly to be a good student and attentive friend. That effort wasn’t unnoticed by his watchful eye.

There were many more less impactful moments shared that, dare he say, mean even more to him than the death-defying acts you’d survived together. Chats over the positive current life events with him drinking his standard cup of muddy brown coffee and you casually sipping your own beverage. Walks around campus with him, Midoriya, Tokoyami, Ojiro, and you. The sky gleaming a dazzling aqua blue with the sun sparkling overhead, but not in an overwhelming glare. Puffy clouds dancing in the air. A pleasant, flowery breeze twirling past you. One late night in the common room when he was making his last round to make sure everyone was securely in their dorms, he found you sitting on the couch brushing off the aggressive tears slipping down your cheeks.

When he’d made his presence known that night, you’d shot up like a fired bullet off the comfy sofa, scrubbing your puffy eyes in an attempt at covering up the residual cry session. You’d greeted him warmly with a laughing cough to hide your choked up throat, but he shut down your plan of concealment by hinting that he’d already seen your sadness flowing. That night he sat beside you and talked. Talked about what you were upset about, talked through your doubts, fears, and resentment over how you didn’t know what you were going to do now. Gave you a sorrow-filled look when you broke down into a fit of violent sobs again. He even sat with you in a lingering, but reassuring, silence after your sobs faded.

Only then did Aizawa release a sliver of his own castle walls to give you a hug holding as much love as he could spare from his withered and beaten heart. He told you many ways how your class had changed him to be a better man. How you inspired him to keep pushing himself to look ahead to what beauty the future could hold. Aizawa promised you that night that no one was going to abandon you like you’d feared. He promised to always be there for you whenever you needed his support. All he needed was for you to reach out, and he’d claw up any bit of strength he had left to come rescue you like the hero he promised Oboro and Hizashi he would become. Today was no different from back then.

These fakes weren’t going to tarnish his cherished memory of that night with you. That night, when you’d smiled back up at him with a wobbly grin and soggy eyes, now glistening with hope from his words, you should have known he wouldn’t let some nobodies crush your heart. These wretches didn’t stand a chance.

Power Loader cut Aizawa off to continue, “We would never. Stop trying to scare them like that!”

13, back to her reasonable self, even tried coaxing you, “(Y/N), they are lying. We would never betray you. Now, if you’d please come back here—,”

Feeling bolder with allies at your side, you forced your lips to move to stop their rambling lies, “Why should I believe a single word that comes out of any of your mouths?!” The room fell into stillness. It was as if the whole world had shut itself up to give you the stage to speak your mind.

Fed up and running off of pure adrenaline, you continued, “None of you have asked for my opinion on anything that has happened tonight. You don’t care what I have to say; all you give a shit about is doing whatever the fuck you want to me. You didn’t tell me what you were planning. You spied on me, you kidnapped me, and kept me stuck in this hell as your little hostage all night!

“Even if you did care about me, it was only to find out what you could gain from me for your selfish desires.” You downcasted your eyes at their knife-like glares.

Tears welled up and this time you couldn’t stop them from dragging down your tired face. You took a shaky breath to fill your deflated lungs, “I…I understand this virus has…changed you. I understand whatever you’re going through isn’t easy to fight against. But I don’t know. I don’t know what is happening to any of you. I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing. I just…can’t know. I’m too scared to even try to begin searching for the answer. My classmates have become the same as you—completely changed from who they are. They’ve been hunting me down. And now this thing has taken my teachers too?” Your lips wobbled at the realization of your loss.

“Ha…it’s like one sick joke the world is playing against me,” an exasperated laugh bled from your vocal chords, “I don’t know how it’s making you feel, but I know what it is making you do to me. You’re scaring me. I don’t feel safe. Around any of you. It isn’t crazy to consider you’d force me to do…other things too.”

You caught Aizawa’s eyes when you looked up. You turned away to save yourself from the heartbreak of his torn expression.

You curled into Hawks’ back, shrouding your emotional husk of a body in his fluffy feathers. You allowed the last few dying words left in your quaking heart to wheeze out, “Please. Leave me alone. Please.” Whether your teachers were mad at you for speaking against them, or if they wanted to get on their knees and beg for your forgiveness, you had no clue. All you know is that Hawks whips around, gathers your trembling form in his arms, and takes a couple of steps back from Mirko.

“Hang on tight.” He gently whispers to you. Unconsciously, you obeyed, and securely held onto the fizzy collar of his iconic jacket.

“We’ll be watching over them for the rest of the Purge.” That cold, nonchalant jab to the teachers was the last fleeting acknowledgment Mirko threw at them. Hawks spread his wings.

“Next time, before you go destroying the mental and emotional well-being of your students, get a grip on reality.” The finality of Hawks’ tone was filled with all the venom that he felt you lovingly held back. Your kindness is not what this lot deserves. With that, he flapped his humongous wings a few times to kickstart his ascension and took off with you pressed tightly against him. He soared up and out of the broken window, making sure to cover you properly so you didn’t get sliced or stabbed by any broken glass. You watched Mirko clamber out of the rickety window from over his shoulder, land on the edge of the concrete window sill, and use her legs to jump as high into the air as she could.

You watched in awe as she practically flew up several storeys, confidently grasp the edge of the railing atop the roof, and gently sling herself onto the roof without so much as a hiccup. Judging by the trajectory of where Hawks was flying, he too was aiming for the roof. Not like you cared at this point. As long as you were away from them, you’d be fine to go anywhere they took you.

“We at Air Hawks thank you for flying with us on this gorgeous evening, esteemed passenger. We have now reached our destination, the rooftop of the illustrious UA High. The weather outside is clear skies at a balmy 75°, so you may see a stunning view of the city tonight. Please take care and follow your charming, ever good-looking pilot as he will guide you towards the exit.” Hawks cracked a light joke to try and pull you out of the dark headspace you were currently dwelling inside. You spared him a half-hearted giggle for his attempt, allowing him to release the hold his hands had on the backs of your knees. You plopped your feet down softly to the ground just as Mirko had made it over.

“Here, let me get that for you.” Mirko held out her hands, her gaze trained on Sero’s tape that was still wound snugly around your wrists. Wow. You’d entirely forgotten they were still there. You lifted your wrists to the admirable woman and merely watched as she took your already reddening wrists into hers.

“Honestly. What barbarians. To leave you bound like this? Complete bullshit.” Mirko muttered insult after insult under her breath as she wasted no time in destroying the binding. She took your wrists up to her mouth and carefully chomped down using her steely, rabbit-esque front teeth on the strips to make a sizable cut through them. She gently pulled your wrists apart and the tape effortlessly split. Free, at last.

Using your fingers, you tore away the remaining severed strips with a wince, and threw them to the ground. Battered and bruised, you saw that your wrists were nearing raw from how much struggling against the tape’s adhesive you’d done. You gave a quick massage to stimulate blood flow back into your numbing fingertips.

“There! Feel any better?” Mirko prodded.

“Much. Thank you for getting me out of there. I seriously couldn’t have asked for a cooler getaway than two of the top pro heroes in Japan being my saviors.” you tossed a light joke in along with the gratitude. You yanked the two pros into your chest with a tight hug to further show your thanks, taking a deep breath against their chests. They were rigid at first, but they both allowed themselves. However, while being this close, they couldn’t help but notice the sweet smell drifting off of your clothing. There was little the pros could do to avoid the intoxicating aroma, but before they could delve further into what it was, they heard a tiny sniffle sound from your buried head.

With an alertness to you that he hadn’t felt before, Hawks pulled you away from his chest with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, what’s up, baby bird?” Hawks were much more determined than he had been all night to get you to open up about what was going on in your brain.

Not looking up from the ground to respond, he placed his fingertips underneath your chin and tilted your bent head up. You had a thread of silvery tears lining your lower lash line and a wobbly lip that made both Mirko and Hawks’ aggravation boil their blood.

“Hon, tell us what’s wrong.” Mirko commanded. She could barely contain the loathing that spiderwebbed throughout her heart. When she gets her hands on those measly heroes who mistreated you, she is going to make them wish they’d never bothered you with their worthless existence ever again. Lousy maggots. Just as Mirko’s mind was going to float off the deep end into disturbing plans of vile and ruthless methods of punishment, she caught herself.

Woah. That’s new. That was aggressive.

No, the aggressiveness was not new. She’d always had a bit of spark to her. Her wild thoughts are what made her such a great hero; that’s how Mirko became widely recognized for her prowess. It was who she was having the ruthless feelings against that surprised her. She’s worked with those pros, her coworkers and friends, for years. She barely knows you at all. Yet, she’s planning every possible way she could make the insolent, ignorant gang pay for their mistreatment.

Although, why should that fact matter? Why shouldn’t they pay? Sure, they’re her friends, but they abused an innocent. They forcefully used their quirks and position of power over you to make you suffer! It’s despicable. It’s dishonorable. They should face the punishment of the law. But…that isn’t enough. Her rationality slips, drifting further away the longer she feels you warm her. It fuels a fire within her, and that fire sets the marrow lining her bones a light. She doesn’t want to toss the aggressors off to the police like a spineless coward. You deserve better than that. You deserve more. You deserve justice. She is justice. Technically, she is the law. She will make them pay. Yes, that’s a wonderful idea!

God, she hasn’t felt this warmth in a long time. Too long. You’re wonderful.

Hawks isn’t faring any better. He’s wild-eyed—his mind deep sketching out the framework of delusional fantasies of him taking you on as his trainee, showing you all the tips and tricks he’s learned in the harsh world of hero life, and quite literally taking you under his wing. Maybe you two become more after you get closer. Keigo isn’t unfamiliar with the desire of wanting companionship in his life. He often finds himself daydreaming of a partner by his side, on and off the field of battle. Never a specific person, just a faceless, nameless being, fluttering through his desires. Smiling, laughing, enjoying each other's time together. Cute stuff. Hawks yearns for that small sliver of normalcy. Keigo wants to feel human—to feel whole again after everything he’s been stripped of in his miserable existence.

With you, even though your interactions have been brief and you’ve endured some light flirting of his that is barely considerably mentionable, you’ve brought him nothing but a comforting and loving feeling. He feels indebted to you for simply being you. Not lying to him, or trying to pretend to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly surrounded by deceptive and cruel human nature. He truly couldn’t tell you how many thousands of googly-eyed newbies have introduced themselves to him, praying for even a small flicker of his fame to rub off on them. Hoping to use him to spring them up into the actually noticeable charts. It’s so easy to read them too. They’re open, flimsy magazines. Bright, colorful, eye-catching, and full of back-stabbing and strategically fabricated lies. Spread wide and pleading for him to flip through their pages. They always hiss lies through their teeth, grinning and bearing the once-in-a-lifetime interaction. But no matter how much sucking up they commit to or how well they try to veil the truth of their intentions behind sugared words, he never fails to see through them.

Guess the training he went through as a child was good for something. If you don’t open up to people, you can never get hurt. Sure, that tactic has worked wonders…up until meeting you.

But he’s just so tired. He just wants to lower the railing and find something worth all the fight he puts up.

You might be his outlet.

“It’s…it’s just been a long night. I’m sorry—,” you tried to cover your face with your forearm, desperate to conceal the embarrassing honest showing on your face. Mirko gently removed your shield with a comforting smile.

“Oh no, hon, it’s fine—,”

“Never ever apologize for your feelings—,” both pros stumbled over each other’s words. When they realized they were getting anywhere by interrupting the other, they shared a look. After a small nod shared, they wrapped their arms around you again.

“You’re okay,” they both said at the same time, cradling you against them once again. You snuggled deeper, taking that chance to breathe deep and avoid spiraling into a panic attack.

While your arms were around the two, you accidentally brushed against Hawks’ wings. That is when you noticed his wings had puffed up in size, similar to how any bird does when they want to appear bigger to a threat they face. He had been very tense at the beginning of the hug, so maybe he was only nervous, so you chose to not question it. Plus, you’d just let a room full of deadly pro heroes! Yeah, it’s alright. However, the light thudding taps of Rumi’s foot against the concrete roof was something you couldn’t explain. Is it normal for hybrid rabbits to emulate this characteristic from their bunny counterparts? You’re not too sure.

You tried to pull away, but their tight grips didn’t let you. Oh. Well, maybe they’re both in desperate need of a hug. You’re very familiar with your classmates coming to you for hugs during their rougher days. They always said you had the best hugs, and you take great pride in that fact. Come to think of it, maybe you should ask them all about their mental health more often, just so no one spirals off the deep end and punches another classmate (thank you for that, Bakugo).

OH! Your friends! Maybe Hawks and Mirko can help them! Yes, that’s a great plan.

Peeling further back, you tilted your head up to look them in their eyes. You let out an airy chuckle, “As much as I enjoy the hug, I need some more of your help.”

They instantly lightened their steely grips. Not too much to let you slip away. Mirko held a smug look, as if knowing you’d come crawling back to her for her aid. SHe’s the only one who can provide for you properly, afterall. Don’t worry, let her handle everything for her darling. No task is too big for her. Hawks resembled that of a grinning puppy, excited and warm. Eager to perform any task for praise and treats. Yes! Anything you want, darling, they can provide! What do you need?

They didn’t supply you with a verbal answer, but the looks they carried spoke loud enough, so you continued, “My classmates. I don’t know what happened to my friends, but they’ve got the same thing the teachers do. I think everyone’s infected. I have to help them, but I don’t think I can do it alone.”

As soon as they heard you utter the word “friends”, their bliss was shot and struck the ground like a wounded songbird. Their brains shut off to stop the nonsense you were suggesting. Friends? You need people other than them?! And what’s worse, is you want them to help those idiots?! Last they checked, they were public enemy number one for making you run yourself ragged up and down those endless halls! No, that can’t be right. Those fools don’t deserve their help. Not for what they made you go through.

“No.” Rumi snapped with a frigid simper.

The rest of the sentence you were sputtering falters. You gaze up at the rabbit hero, “...What?”

With a second look-over, Mirko appears a lot scarier than she did only minutes beforehand. Have her eyes always been this clouded? Her unrelenting gaze exudes a darker inkling than when you’d faced her way. Rumi’s eyes stuck on you like gum bonded to the bottom of your shoe.

No. This wouldn’t happen again. They said they’d be better than this—better than them.

Hawks obnoxiously cleared his throat to brush the eerie vibe away from the floundering conversation, “Ehh…haha! What Rumi means is not right now. It’s too dangerous to go searching for your friends now. Finding help for them after the Purge settles down is the safest strategy.” Hawks smoothly saved Mirko’s ass with the perfect excuse, served up on a shining silver platter. You didn’t appreciate how obviously strained Hawks’ tone became at “friends”.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe. Preferably away from this shithole.” She mumbled the last portion, keeping the snark to her own chest, but her contempt for the institution was blatant. Mirko’s eyes were laced with flaming venom as she fleetingly paid attention to the concrete walls. A sneer broke out on her lips, as if just the idea of standing on top of the building was a sin itself.

“Ah… okay.” You tried to leave the hug again. They persisted.

“Mirko—,” Hawks’ voice twisted into a demanding tone. His blown out, puppy-like pupils cinched into vicious slits, staring down the woman.

“Hawks, I don’t want to hear it. Back off.” Mirko gnashed back at the blond. The two began an all out war against each other, both tugging against the other’s advances. A tug to the left, a drag to the right, both parties were unrelenting. Neither wanted to allow the victory of having you in their arms.

“You’re holding them too tightly!” Keigo whined.

“Well, you’re not holding them tight enough.” Mirko argued back. You’ve seen this before. It reminded you of two children fighting over who got to play with which toy, always bickering how the other was “doing it wrong”. It reminded you of Ochaco fighting the guys. It reminded you of Denki and Mina struggling over who got to hold you. Childish squabbles.

Liars, the lot of them. They didn’t want to help you. If they did before, not anymore. They’re infected, there’s no other answer for their behavior.

“Keigo, just stop it! You and I both know that you can’t protect them.” Mirko snarked. That caught the bird’s attention judging by the way his eyes dug into her, all emotion scrapped from his expression. A grim look stole the spot, one that told of violence and mayhem running rampant in behind his eyes. An expression usually reserved for the villains he so often made easy prey of. This is awful.

“And what is that supposed to mean, rabbit?” Hawks’ eyes looked wilder than before.

“I think you and I both know what I meant.” She snarked back, ruffling his feather figuratively and quite literally.

“Be honest with yourself. When was the last time you were able to save something that you actually cared about?” Mirko hatched a devilish plan. She took the chance of his loss of temper to clutch you against her. She took a couple spacious leaps back, creating a sizable distance between her friend turned enemy. Hawks plucked two giant feathers from his wingspan that sharped out into duo blades resembling two scimitars.

“I’m done being—,” just before Hawks could spiral off the deep end into whatever hell he had planned to put Mirko through, a disturbance crashed the party.

“Enough, you two.” A formidable voice shook from the shadows. Those few words are all it takes for the two beside you to back off from tearing out each other’s throats. Whoever it was had the ability to command total control of a room in an instant. You couldn’t see them, but you knew the voice came from the other side of the stairwell exit.

“Great,” Mirko scoffs, tilting her head to look the other way with a cross of her arms. You couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or the shame from being caught. Judging by her scowl, it’s probably the latter.

“Endeavor…how long have—,” Hawks sputtered out. You swivel your head to the gap at the birdman. No fucking way it’s the number one hero. He’s gotta be wrong. The number one pro hero showing up to participate in the Purge is unheard of. Guess you’d be wrong. Though, you suppose that even the number one gets a pass during today. It’s just jarring since All Might had not once in all his years of being the symbol of peace even be seen during the Purge hours. He probably just didn’t want to be caught up in a scandal with the news or social media if he were to ever be discovered converting to be a player of the Purge’s game.

Sure enough though, the one who rounds the corner is in fact Endeavor. He shut Hawks up with a simple raise of his palm and an unforgiving glare. The once cheery hawk tucks into himself and shields his frustration away from the number one.

The first thing that shows you the reality of the situation is his overwhelming stature. You severely underestimated the way this man takes up a room. Seeing him in TV interviews on the news and fighting against villains is one thing, but it is a completely different beast to be face-to-face with him stalking towards you. It made sense why he was deemed the top—with such a suffocating aura, it was hard to believe that any villain even tried to oppose the behemoth. You should know, you’ve met him before.

During your training with him alongside the boys, it had been quite the feat. You’d mostly done in-field training with the boys, but the one time you did have one-on-one training with the pro was unnerving, to say the least. Endeavor had watched your every move, his eyes never straying too far from where you’d displayed the extent of your Quirk’s usefulness. You knew you were as capable, even more so since you could control your emotions, as Bakugou, Midoriya, and Todoroki. Let’s face it, all three of them had a tendency to act out far too irrationally due to their urges and feelings, and they weren’t shy about expressing it. Although, your self control put you in a favorable light with Endeavor, so it wasn’t strange that he gave more of his attention to you.

Instead of bickering and combating everything the pro said with a harsh glower like Katsuki had, you listened intently and gave Endeavor undivided attention. Instead of ignoring the man who actively tried to give pointers and choosing to walk faster ahead of the group like Shoto had, you hung back and asked questions about what Shoto had done wrong in his approach and how to improve his strategy. You became more agile, better aware of your surroundings, and able to predict some of the moves villains would try to throw at you. You understood that the opportunity that Shoto had given to you all with training under his father for the work-study was not something to be taken lightly. Was the man a little too much of a hardass for your taste? Yes. But he was not a pushover. He had valuable lessons to teach you all from experiences he’s faced during his years in the field. If you wanted to actually place in the hero charts one day, you knew you’d have to get past your own opinions on the man and try to cooperate.

If someone asked your opinion of Endeavor, they’d understand he’s not your favorite hero to grace the charts. You’d believed him to be startlingly cold for the fiery nature of his quirk. It was easy to say you’d originally thought him to be nothing but an ass with too hot of a head on his shoulders, and while that was still the truth more often than not, he had his moments of clarity. The media did have a knack for stringing up the moments of his ill temper caught on film and making them the headline of every social media platform. What you had learned during your trainings held at the crack of dawn was that he was extremely precise. There was never a lack of communication or any doubt held within his words whenever he instructed you. Swing a right hook into the dummy’s torso. Sweep your leg to the left to knock the opponent over. He was straight to the point and earnest in the compliments regarding your physical improvements.

He’d even let you spar against him one day. Endeavor had taken the four of you and one of his many sidekicks, Burnin, to the rooftop during one of the few freetimes you’d actually had. He asked you to step across from him and get into your fighting position. He instructed no quirks be used, that it be purely a hand-to-hand combat session that balanced skill and strength together. With Burnin as the referee, you’d begun. He thankfully didn’t go easy on you as he views not giving his all into any task as a “halfass lazy excuse”, so you’d fight with your entire being against Endeavor. He educated the four of you through commentating on all of the things you did wrong; how you’d left yourself open to a couple of jabs from him, turned your back to him often enough that he’d seized an opportunity to lunge and knock you over, and such. Though you were outmatched in a number of categories, you soon understood why he was putting you to this impossible challenge. Enji wanted you to get creative with your tactics to take down your foe. You needed to outwit his strength.

With the newfound spark of inspiration, you struck. You made a move imitating that of one you’d tried against him earlier. A simple left hook. He knew he could easily deflect the punch, so he took the bait. You’d noticed before that he was much more sturdy with his right side, which left room for error on his left, so you took the chance. You sidestepped into his peripheral and closed in behind him. You kicked in the back of his right knee, forcing him to stumble to the ground. You knew you couldn’t tackle the man over from this position, nor could you keep him pinned there due to how much force you had to use to kick his knee alone, so you went with the quickest option. You needed to hit a weak point, but since his body was covered in mostly muscle, you only had a few options. Since kicking him in the groin seemed like too cruel for a simple sparring session, the spots above his neck would have to do. You jumped up onto his back, shimmied up enough to hang onto his shoulder, and threw a hard punch right into his throat.

You left him choking on his air and wheezing. He grasped at his neck, steadying himself on his other arm. Leaving him no hands to defend against your assault. You then shoved your hands into his hair, pulled on the strands tightly, and swung your body forward over the man’s shoulder. You let gravity handle the rest. Your body weight pulled his unstable torso forward and he hit the ground with a hefty SMACK! You bent your knees to land sturdily on the ground with minimal impact to your footing and let his face take the brunt of the fall. You then placed your knee hard on the middle of his shoulder blades to pin him and Burnin deemed the match completed with an impressed grin lilting on her face. Admittedly, for the rest of that day, you gloated the pride you felt at taking down the mountain of a man a little too obviously.

You knew that day he most likely wanted to make an example out of you when he presumed you wouldn’t win the fight, but you’d made sure he understood not to fuck around with you or your generosity again.

Zooming back to the present, you caught his eyes goring a hole right through you. Brilliant aqua blue irises stuck out like a sore thumb against his smoldering flames. No matter how much Shoto tried to deny the fact, he truly was Endeavor’s child. That striking blue color kept locked down within the Endeavor lineage and fiery red hair that draped over half of his head was unmistakable. Features that, however much wasted on the shitty attitude the man possessed, would make many and most fall head-over-heels for their stunning effect. Though, in your opinion, Shoto wore the beauty better.

Enji’s gaze was harsh towards you, but it was kind compared to the one he shot at Mirko’s arm wrapped around you. Perceptive, the woman held you closer, as if trying to defy his silent demand of releasing you. She was dead set on not going down without a fight. Before she could hope for one to begin, Hawks laid a hand on her shoulder as a soft hint to not involve you in Endeavor’s unrivaled wrath. Mirko knew he was right. Dammit it all. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she relented, back off of you. She left you to fend for yourself against the beast, cast you aside to the big bad wolf who wouldn’t spare you. It reminded you of the tale of Odysseus facing off with Polyphemus—only you were unarmed and lacking a foolproof plan of escape and this giant won’t allow arrogance to be his downfall yet again like the monster from the epic had.

Finally, Endeavor was right in front of you. If you had any bravery left from the night, it vanished wholly with him staring you down. Endeavor hardly even spared a tilt of his head to gaze down upon you, opting to stare through a half-lidded examination. The only indication that he was human and not some freaky Terminator cyborg from the future coming to hunt you down was the ever-present scowl he’s so fond of sharing.

Without ever taking his sight off of you, he glowered dryly to an unidentified listener, “Why are they scratched up?” You see now the question is not for you, rather it's dedicated to the duo in charge of you. You peered down to see what he was referring to, only now understanding what he meant from the bruises beginning to bloom along your wrists and the miniscule scratches littering your forearms and neckline. None of them were deep enough to lance more than a couple drops of blood, but they were still oozing fresh from the night’s escapades.

“That wasn’t from us! The students were dragging them back-and-forth between the halls before the teachers got a hold of them. You know how rough kids are with their toys.” Hawks quickly presented to the man. Smooth as ever. He strolled over to Endeavor to lean his elbow against the man’s bulky side, as if casually resting against an alleyway’s grimy brick wall. Although, with how stocky the pro was, you’re sure the feeling was probably akin. You watched Endeavor roll his eyes at the blond.

“I’m sure hurling them through a window had nothing to do with the scratches.” Endeavor’s sarcasm hung heavy in the air like too much icing on a dry piece of cake. It was obvious that his comedic side hadn’t been brushed up on in awhile. He took the chance to use an unexpected gentleness to grasp your forearm and hold up the damaged skin to the duo as all the evidence he needed. You, not taking too kindly to being an item for presentation, pulled your arm away from him and held it close. Endeavor shot you a look of disappointment, but held in the trembling Armageddon he had planned. Hawks gave a weak chuckle, no doubt scrounging for a way to veer the conversation off them scaling the side of a building with you.

Endeavor decided to spare you for now, choosing to cross his arms and acknowledge only Hawks, “What’s their status? Who in the school is infected? How many are after them?”

You were starting to get sick of him completely ignoring the fact that you had your own voice to speak for your own wellbeing. “You know I can speak for myself, right? Or have you forgotten that since we last hung out.” Hawks shot you a look that yelled “shut up” like a parent two seconds away from scolding their child who is screaming in public. You didn’t cower. You pressed on to challenge Endeavor’s authority.

“I’m aware. But I understand if I speak to you, you’ll probably end up whining like a child to me. Wasting my time.” Endeavor threw no more than a half-hearted stern crinkle of his brows, and you pretty much could no longer hold back the bubbling anger swelling up in your chest.

“Excuse me! It’s not ‘whining’, it’s called ‘being a sane person with reasonable concerns’. Also, no shit I would complain! Your little underlings were literally just fighting over who was going to kidnap me! That is a perfect reason to yell.” You waltzed your way in front of him to be a human barrier to get in the way of his sight being fixated on Hawks. You will make yourself heard against this bully. Screw it if he trained you, you don’t just ignore someone you’re actively talking about when they are right in front of you! It’s incredibly rude.

“I don’t have time for this,” Endeavor rubbed temples with one hand. You wanted to rip his head off and shout from the rooftops into his eardrums. Maybe that would get your point through his thick skull.

“Wow. First of all, fuck you,” That certainly caught his attention. His head snapped to look down at your defiance. His eyes bore that same look he’d struck Mirko’s arm with before. Boiling hysteria and bitterness. Even though you physically felt the warmth of his internal temperature rise, and you recognized the panic Hawks held in his gob-smacked expression, you couldn’t stop your big mouth from prattling on. Shoto probably would have laughed his ass off at your opposition to his father. That small support in the back of your mind made your confidence soar.

“Second of all, you can’t seriously think that I am going to be chill with anything you wei—,” you couldn’t finish your sentence before you were all of the sudden no longer touching the roof. The collar of your shirt had been snatched by Endeavor’s strong hand with no warning and hoisted high. You were now dangling limply a few feet off the ground. Keigo was squawking figuratively and literally, yanking on Endeavor’s arm to lower the leverage he held your body at. Rumi took a turn for the worst. Threats cranked out of her mouth as she reared up to kick him as hard as she could square in an area where the sun didn't shine. Maybe give him a taste of his own brutality. With an unyielding and unforgiving hold, he lifted you even higher with no strenuous effort. You yelped, swinging and writhing around to try escaping the brute strength of your foe. He brought you in close to look at you eye-to-eye, making sure your darting gaze has nowhere to turn to other than locking in to meet his own icy pair.

“You will not speak to me like that again. Your attitude might be cute to the rest of these weak links, but I won’t let it go without correction. You show me respect, or we will both have to go through a punishment for you that neither of us will enjoy. This is your first and final warning.” Every word was uttered with nothing but truth. No twist of a joke in his tone, no shift in expression, nothing. Only a foreboding aura and the gravely tone that demanded full cooperation.

Every snappy response died on your tongue. You wanted to fight back, to sass all of them more, to tell him exactly what you thought of him to his stupid, scary face—but nothing came. You felt tears line your waterline, and you couldn’t despise them more. Crying when faced with any kind of opposition…what kind of hero does that make you? You couldn’t explain why your mind drifted to Midoriya in this moment when all hope was lost.

You suppose it’s because you recall a day when the boy had tried to deny his waterworks and his friends carried his tears with grace and love. Deku had been sent off to his work-study with the man he’d called ‘Sir Nighteye’. You didn’t know much about the man, in all honesty, but you did know that one of the strongest students at UA had been training underneath him for some time. The sweet boy named Mirio who had come to meet your class and then single handedly swept you all in a twenty-to-one match. He was quite impressive, so the fact that Midoriya had been taken on to work alongside him was quite the honor!

However, Midoriya came back rather…startled, to say the least. He hardly participated in conversations held around him, didn’t speak up during the lectures, and could barely choke down the food placed in front of him either. His eyes were clouded, a scrunched up twist pulled on his eyebrows like he was stuck in a maze of his own thoughts. He looked far into the distance yet couldn’t process what was in front of him. It was scary. Where did the boy always eager to learn and help everyone drift off to? You wanted him back.

The situation came to a head one day at lunch when you were sitting across from the green-haired boy, Iida, and Shoto. You’d all tucked into your meals when you noticed Midoriya had no intention of even attempting to stomach the spread. Shoto had shockingly tried to crack a very dry joke, and that seemed to wake the distant boy. After brushing off all of your concerns for the nth time, Iida finally challenged Deku’s false reassurance. He’d offered an ear to listen to the boy’s troubles. A simple gesture, most would assume, but it hit the boy hard. Midoriya had tried to keep it in, but the boy just couldn’t hold back his emotions—a fact of which you admired to this day. He tried to claim that heroes don’t cry while he actively swiped away the drips trailing from his evergreen eyes, but you watched as Iida and Shoto shut down that statement quickly. It’s such an easy thing to say but a hard skill to execute. Of course heroes cry! Anyone who doesn’t when facing the nightmarish terrors that they do on a daily basis is lying or too stone cold to be considered human.

You watched as the boys bonded over the spilt emotions and a grin overtook your face the entire rest of the day. No one at that table knew what Deku was going through with poor Eri and the vile Overhaul situation. You hadn’t a clue the true reason Iida had extended his hand to the shaken boy that day. But it didn’t matter. Izuku let his tears and strength glow bright that day. Tears are a symbol of actually giving a shit in this world. Tears you shed are the wordless tale you share with the world. Speaking a thousand words in all different orders. A labyrinth that can be solved or failed, depending on how your own soul understands the riddle. You’re still scouring that maze to comprehend your own salty snivels.

“Understood?” The three heroes stilled, waiting for your response. Wordlessly, you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling, looking away from the man to not give the satisfaction of his actions actually scaring you, and nodded. He gave a satisfied grunt of contempt and lowered you back down to the cement. Hawks flitted over to your side, checking you over. Mirko didn’t exactly come running to you but she did make a point of standing in between Endeavor and you.

“You’ll see why we must do this soon, (Y/N). This life is just too risky for someone like you,” he looked like he wanted to say more to you, but held his tongue. You wished he’d just crawl back to whatever shithole he climbed out of and fester there for the atrocious attempt at playing the “comforting” father role.

He meant it, you know. Enji sees you choose to not look beyond his past. Much like his sons. Not that he can blame any of you. But, for some reason, the abandonment of trust hurt more from you than it did Shoto.

Enji could tell you how many sidekicks he’s experienced come and go throughout his career. Does he remember the plebeians' names? No. Why should he? They left, so that must mean they didn’t meet his standards. No big deal, another will take their place eventually. It’s not his job to care about them or to remember them. However, he does remember you quite well. Truthfully, much to your surprise, before even your work-study together.

The first time he’d even sparred you a passing glance was during the Sports Festival in your first year. Truthfully, he didn’t give a single damn about any students in the arena other than his son. Enji really only went to see if Shoto would finally stop this little rebellion of his by only using that wretched ice his doe-eyed wife blessed their son with. He wanted to see Shoto crack under the pressure and give in—finally admit that the fire portion of his power was the stronger, more reliable half. He managed in his obsession to give some half-assed attention to the other one-on-one duels.

One of the fights he watched over was you against the ditzy girl from the Support Department, Mei something. Initially, he was going to walk away at such an uninteresting sounding fight, but he chose to linger. He saw you willingly agree to Mei flaunting her inventions to prospective buyers by using you as the demonstration device. You’d effortlessly almost danced around her gadgets’ tactics; playing the part of challenging foe, but never let her pin you in a dicey position. You’d ended the fight by running her off the boundary line before time ran out, and both of you shared a hug as you parted ways—both satisfied with you being the victor moving forward in the chain of fights and her having interested eyes witnessing her skill. Normally, a blatant show of mutual benefit would have him running for the hills. That wasn’t a fight, neither of you put any effort into crushing your opponent to a pulp, which is what a real show of power was to his image of winning. Yet, he stayed. Not to watch anything that pink girl offered, only examining you bounce around with both your own strength and the might of your quirk. He wanted you to slip up. He wanted you to make a mistake so he could justify ditching the patetic battle, but you never did. You stayed light on your feet and still struck at your opponent a few times to show examples of the defense her “babies” could provide to heroes.

Intriguing, is all he thought. He then stood and sauntered off until the second round.

The second round he watched Shoto, not as easily as he had hoped, defeat Midoriya. While he was filled with both gratification at Shoto caving into his carnal fire and enragement at that Izuku pest for giving his son the unwavering support to defy his hold over his son, he hardly realized your next battle had begun. It was against the vine girl from the Class B—first losers, rather, to him—Ibara. Unlike Mei’s challenge, you basically wiped the floor with the poor girl. You shot around the court, darting like a bat through an inky full-mooned sky, making sure to not give Ibara a chance to get the one up on you. You hardly let her breathe during the showdown, striking at her again and again from all angles. She was safe nowhere, even when hidden behind the viney defensive walls sprouting from her hair. You’d ended it neat and clean with a swift shot of your quirk, landing her out of the arena. Triumphant, you’d moved up again, but you still remained humble while helping Ibara off of the ground with a bright smile and gifted her a sincere handshake. You’d no doubt made a spectacle of yourself to the crowd and everyone watching at home, the loud cheer of encouragement erupting across the venue said just as much. Enji even hashed out a couple of light claps for your impressive display.

Your last battle was the nail in the coffin for Endeavor. You were finally fighting against his son. Of course, he was obviously rooting for Shoto to crush you, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to a nail-biting fight. He got just that. You two dove for each other—ice flung around the court in jagged peaks with you racing around the boy and firing off precisely aimed jabs of your own quirk. Blustering rushes of glacial wind flushed across the landscape. You two waltzed around in a deadly dance of effort and skill. You’d make sure Shoto knew that you weren’t to be cast aside like overlooked trash. You had grit, a will to make a name for yourself in the competitive world of heroes. You managed to last around two minutes in the ring together, which is phenomenal, considering his other battles didn’t last more than a handful of seconds. In the end, Shoto had been the victor when he caught you off guard by using his ice on the floor. He swiftly created a haphazard ice rink and slid you out of bounds. You were too exhausted from abusing your quirk so much that afternoon against your other opponents that you couldn’t stop your body from spinning out. Enji didn’t miss the way Shoto practically dashed over to your side, helped you stand up, and offered his arm for you to hold as you shakily shuffled off the slick floor to a safer spot.

Though you lost, he hadn’t forgotten how you gave his son a run for his money. You were very capable. Which is why he didn’t hesitate allowing you to become a work-study of his under the guise of helping you and your other friends out. This plan he has is not only for the benefit of his own gains, but for Shoto’s as well. He knows his son cares for you, but he has to help you see that after all of the Purge nonsense. You two would be perfect together—the perfect marriage of quirks. Of course, he tells himself that he’s not in this for the sole reason of having another powerful quirk added to his ranks. But it certainly helps him like you more.

You kept your eyes lowered, the lingering sting of defeat simmering behind your eyes and in your heart. You wanted to have an unwavering confidence like some of your classmates. You would never say this to Bakugou, but you truly did admire his “never back down” style. You had seen countless times how he barked in the faces of higher-ups, challenging their morals, their reasons for becoming heroes, and plans. It was as if he never agreed with anything they presented. The blond always had to shove his opinion into every decision made. You wanted to stare Endeavor straight in the eye as you stomped on his foot and make him see what you really thought of all their bullshit. But you couldn’t. You didn’t have it in you to ignore his authority. Guess that’s why you’re still stuck up here on this stupid roof with people you don’t want to be around, huh?

Hawks brushed back your hair, trying to examine your face for distress or injury, but all he could see was you not meeting his gaze. He wants to tell you he knows firsthand how hard this decision is—hell, even he has doubts relying on Endeavor and Mirko. He wants to say he’d be able to make this escape on his own with you. Hide you away alone so no one else has any clue where you are. That sounds like paradise to him. Alas, with so many high profiles after you now, there isn’t a chance of him making it out with his head. If he broke the agreement he resentfully made with the two, then others would certainly turn against him.

Later. He’ll strike later. Don’t you see? That’s why he’s playing the perfect little stepping stool. No one deserves you but him—not even his idol. His hero. He’ll make sure you know that too by the end of this night. Only a little longer of bearing the pretending and game of dress up, then he’ll slip away with you in tow.

“Hawks.” You heard Endeavor call out for the winged man. Daddy’s calling.

Hawks tilted your chin up so you were forced to look into his amber glow, and offered a caring smile. He hoped you could see the promise behind his eyes. The disgust masked behind a beaming smile was perfected for meeting delusional strangers and other worthless heroes. He gave Endeavor that smile, but not to you. You hoped the scowl you shot ripped his lungs out and left them rotting in a pile of maggot-riddled filth. How dare he give you such a carefree look after telling you he was going to steal away your entire life.

After Hawks walked over to converse with Endeavor, Mirko closed in. Not much was said between you two, but she did bump her hip against yours to knock you out of your own head. You turned to give her an offensive side eye, but she only fronted an unbothered look. You went to ignore her again, turning to face towards the men. However, you didn’t get far as she decided to make her personal mission to annoy you. You felt a gentle poke into your side, ticklish and fleeting. You jumped, falling for the trap and glaring at her again. This time, she had a mild grin on her face. It was obvious your displeasure fueled her joy.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to look mad,” she snorted, leaning back on her heels. She couldn’t stop looking at you, and you saw her stare through your peripheral.

You scoffed, “Trying?” You faced forward to deny her yearning for your gaze.

“Of course. I’ve seen mad before, and you’re not at that level. You’re just…peeved. Disgruntled. Ew, no, that word is too ugly to describe you.” Mirko shook her head and stuck her tongue out at the mention of the synonym. You took a deep breath and settled in to focus on the men discussing back and forth.

She circled you like a shark lunging on for her prey, but you simply turned your head the opposite direction of where she was to avoid the confrontation.

“Where you going, grumpy~?” Mirko easily caught on to your aversion. You noticed how her grin truly did resemble something shark-like. The thought crossed your mind if she was really half-bunny, or actually some predator in disguise masking the innocence of a rabbit. A wolf in sheep’s clothing

“I’m actually very interested in that bird over there. Would you look at that, it’s pretty far away.” You apathetically mused at the distant dot in the sky. You brushed her prodding away to daze off into the horizon, Mirko’s words slowly being tossed into the heaping bin of memories you wouldn’t document in your brain. Gazing across the landscape of the dark treeline surrounding UA and the few standing buildings nearby, your eyes scanning the moonlit metal of the nearby rooftops. But something else glistening on the roof caught your eye too. Something moving.

You watched it shift and reflect the moon’s rays from across the neighboring rooftop. You squinted, trying to catch exactly what was skulking around in the dark, but it strayed just beyond your sight. Whatever it was, it wanted to stay hidden.

“Absolutely not.” Endeavor’s thunderous voice startled you from your scouting. Hawks turned his head to see if you had noticed the man’s tantrum—no shit you’d notice that barbaric yell from the brute—and, in seeing your alarm, sighed. He scooted closer to the mammoth of a man, turning his back to you. You strained your ears to hear the mumbling.

“You don’t have to tell me it’s not ideal—I know that—but what other choice do you think we have?” Was all you could hear before Hawks’ voice became too faint to make out comprehensible words.

You then remembered your little “friend” in the shadows. You shot your head back to its previous position to confront the adversary. Nothing. You searched and searched the silent building, but nothing. You wanted to tell yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks in the dark, but on tonight of all nights, you knew better than to downplay your concern.

Finally acknowledging Mirko, you questioned her, “Do you see anything on that roof over there?”

She gave you an unimpressed deadpan, “Seriously? You're trying the ‘oh my gosh, what’s that over there!’ trick?”

“Wha—no!” You looked offended, but you felt a cold sweat on the side of your forehead. Inside, you knew you’d probably have tried that trick sooner rather than later, and you've got to hand it to her. She knows you well.

Before you could try to explain your reasoning, a raging flame shot to strike Hawks and Endeavor.

Miraculously, Hawks’ reflexes were quick enough to shove Endeavor and himself out of the way of the surprise attack before someone was set ablaze. The smell of burning hair permeated the area although, and you looked over to catch a glimpse of a portion of Hawks’ right wing being singed into charred black wisps. Mirko reacted nearly faster than Hawks did, grabbing your waist and maneuvering you back from the fire. It was you and Mirko parted from Hawks and Endeavor far on the opposite side of the roof.

“What the hell?” Mirko grit her teeth at the attack. Psychos getting in the way of her time with you, what a joke. Such a waste of time. She just wants to run off and find somewhere to keep you for the rest of the Purge, yet these shitty obstacles just can’t seem to get enough of you. She was going to rip them limb from limb for taking her attention off of you.

You stood with no complaint in her arms, not minding her taking the lead of your protection. You still couldn’t see who caused the disruption, but you would soon wonder no longer.

“You’re slow today, Endeavor. What? Off your game or something?” A seedy voice echoed across the way. Male, deep, commanding. You watched as the foe came to stand at the edge of the railing. Your eyes dilated at the sight. Your breath caught in your throat. You’d only cared to remember this man as the one who, with the rest of his party, ruined your training camp over the summer and kidnapped your classmate, Bakugou.

You’re shot into the past as you recount that horrible night. It had been such a great start to the day. You’d been working hard with all of your friends, aiming to better improve the longevity and resilience of all your quirks. You’d nearly tuckered yourselves out when the hero Pixie-Bob said you all had one more challenge to face before bed. The Test of Courage. It began as traditionally as any silly game teenagers played in the dark did. Then it all came crashing down at the faint, then quickly overwhelming, scent of smoke. You remember being there in that midnight-black forest, you remembered how excited you’d been at the started of that stupid game you’d agreed to play, you remember the fire that infested the trees and burnt the pretty flowers and bushes to wisps of charcoal ash, you remembered the terror and fear of being lost in said woods before Deku found you wandering alone. You remember locking eyes with the man who stoked the fires. A spearing turquoise. You’d seen a blue so vibrant like that only once before. You’d found that hypnotic color in Shoto’s left eye. Though, Shoto was a much kinder soul than the monster these captivating eyes were attached to.

In the present, you’re wrung back into that same terror as you watched his black leather trench coat gently sway in the breeze, a glinting bicep catching your eye. The metal cuffs shone from the full light of the moon along with the many staples running up and down the sleeves. He was too far away to discern an exact facial expression, but you could blatantly see the large patch of marred, burned flesh dominating the lower half of his face. The leathery substance was roughly connected to what remained of his skin untouched by flame, stitched up with bloody staples. The way it was sutured made his face forever appear as if strung upwards to mimic a sickening Cheshire grin. You wanted to say he was only generally looking around the roof, but you knew better. The villain was practically drilling daggers into you with how much he was staring. No, you couldn’t just say he was any old random villain; you knew his name. Dabi.

More bodies moved out from behind him to occupy the opposing roof. All you heard from them was laughter and unflattering comments nagged at the pro heroes.

“Wow, they’re even cuter this close~! Much better than in the crappy photos you guys took, Shiggy~,” A much higher pitched voice exhaled in an almost loving sigh. Their blonde hair was cinched up in two tangled space buns, but the mess was an intentional look. The loose strands were slicked into spikes. Cutesy and feminine, a happy aura surrounded her, but you knew better. She draped herself over the railing as if in her own ditzy world. You would have believed it was a fainting couch with how dramatically she had laid over the scenery. Much like Dabi, the girl couldn’t take her gaze off of you, but she made her presence known.

“Hiiii, (N/N)~~! Are the big, scary pro heroes getting in the way again? Don’t worry, cutie! I’ll take care of ‘em, hehe~!” Himiko Toga, you believe that’s what Aizawa said her name was, called out to you like she was the Romeo to your Juilet. You’re sure she believed that too. You’d heard Ochaco talk about her to you guys after the training camp. She told you about how the girl tackled Tsuyu and used these specialized needles to draw out blood from her victims. Uraraka experienced the threat head on as the girl had jammed one of her needles straight into her thigh with little apprehension.

Uraraka told you how obsessed the girl was with blood, a crazed look in her eye when the red substance came about. She said she loved her, loved her so much that she wanted to turn into her! Deku even chimed in and said the girl shouted to him delusional fantasies of wanting him to be her boyfriend. At the time, all you could do was shiver and brush off the fear the conversation brought by claiming she was “just another crazed lunatic”. Well, now that the girl is staring you down with her own redden irises, you felt your tongue shrivel up in your throat.

“Bloodied and carved up is the only way any of these nobody pro heroes could ever look cute. Though, the one daring to hold onto my darling definitely won’t be leaving here alive.” She sneered, completely flipping her personality into one of seething hate and disgust when she gazed upon Mirko. Toga’s rage could be felt from a mile away, and you felt Mirko hold onto you tighter.

“Toga, knock it off,” the green lizard man with the draping red scarf hollered at her, “we’ve got a job to do.” Though it was hard to see, you noticed the way his eyes would drift to you and quickly look away. Like he was nervous. Shy? The large clump of weapons taped and glued together as his arsenal seemed deadly but ineffective all in one. However, he moved rather quickly on his feet despite the added weight.

“Wow, such a beauty! Ugh, what an attention-seeker!” The same voice shouted two opposing sentences from across the way. You looked over and saw a man wearing a black and gray spandex suit, clutching the railing while waving his arm around. After yelling, it looked like one of his arms had a mind of its own as it grabbed his neck. It appeared to be he was trying to strangle himself with one hand, while the other hand sprung into action to stop the strangling. It was an odd battle of each arm trying to wrestle each other, as his head kept whipping back and forth shouting insults at…himself? You’re not entirely sure what’s going on there, but you hope he won’t start to try injuring himself with weapons next.

“Hmm, I agree with your first sentence, Twice. Do try to not scare our guest away so soon.” A regal tone stood out through the other members’ silliness. You wonder how much backup did these guys bring as a tall figure in a creamsicle colored jacket walked to the edge of the railing. His height was enhanced with a dark brown top hat he donned and the fancy cane held at his side. The most notable feature of his was the mask he hid behind. Marble man. You couldn’t remember his name, but you certainly remembered the way he trapped Tokoyami and Bakugou when he tried to run away with them in his grasp. You felt bubbling heat rise in your chest. Betrayal and resentment all wrapped into one swirl of hurt leaving a suffocating dead weight on your chest.

“Dabi, keep your shit under control or go back to the base. Get your asses moving. We’re here to take and leave, so don’t fuck this up for me.” An unseen voice was heard from further back on the roof. However, whoever it was got the lot of them hurrying off. Groaned complaints and witty remarks were heard, mostly from the black-haired male, but they soon fizzled out. You kept looking for where they were going, but soon you couldn’t see anyone anymore. It was silent yet again.

“Sorry, darling, but we don’t have time to stay and find out what happens next.” That is all Mirko said to you before she bent down to pull you up into her arms. Though, she didn’t move that far.

“MIRKO, BEHIND!” You heard Endeavor yell out to the woman in concern. You heard it before you saw it. A goopy, unnatural, burbling sound came from behind your form. You didn’t have a chance to turn around before a platform leather boot kicked Mirko’s crouched body away with little effort. She skidded across the cement, nearly all the way back to where Hawks and Endeavor were standing. You wanted to call out for her, ask if she was okay. As much as you’d felt unapologetic rage for how they’d decided to take your life away from you, you still cared about them. You probably gave them too much of your heart, but they’re still your mentors. The people you've looked up to for years in your training to become a hero. Right now, you didn’t want to be alone, as much as you’d begged for it in your mind tonight. Not with the threat of the League of Villains being what you’d have to face on your own.

You heard a sinister giggle from over your shoulder, and felt a calloused hand grasp your shoulder. Without warning, the memories you’d vaulted away with lock and key of the horrible training camp incident came flooding back with greater force than before.

That night, Izuku had found you. Tears dripped down your face as you hacked up a lung from the smoke in the air. If he’d found you any later, you’d probably have been passed out from the lack of oxygen. You ran alongside him, trying to find your way back to the rest of the class, toward any sign of a familiar face. After fleeing, you’d soon found the little boy who originally came with the Wild Wild Pussycats, Kota, with a villain in tow. Deku fought against the mammoth of a man who went by Muscular while you protected Kota from the falling rubble and terrain. After nearly getting thrown a million miles away, Izuku finally got the upperhand on the man, and knocked out the behemoth villain. You fled into the forest again, and after dropping Kota off with Mr. Aizawa and fending off Spinner to save Mandalay, you soon find Shoji and Tokoyami. However, Tokoyami could have been in better shape, as he was now overtaken by Dark Shadow’s power. Shoji explained that he and Tokoyami were attacked by a villain named Moonfish, which resulted in Tokoyami trying to use Dark Shadow to protect them, but Dark Shadow’s desire to take the reins was too great. Dark Shadow was destroying the forest in their rage, but Izuku was quick on his feet to think of using Dark Shadow to your advantage to help protect Bakugou from the villains as well.

You three lead Dark Shadow through the woods, and end up running into Bakugou and Todoroki who are facing off against the villain who tried to attack Shoji and Tokoyami before. Dark Shadow descended and made easy work of clobbering Moonfish, and the boys used their fiery quirks to release Tokoyami from Dark Shadow’s control. All of you hurried off in the direction of the facility, running into Tsuyu and Ochaco who’d been fighting off Himiko before she fled, and your large group prepared to get back safely as “Bakugou Protection Squad”. You didn’t get far as you finally noticed that Bakugou and Tokoyami were missing. The marble guy revealed himself and the League’s plan to take the boys hostage. He flew off, but the girls helped you, Shoto, Shoji, and Izuku fly to catch up to the villain.

You tackled Compress out of the sky, and fended off Twice alongside Shoto when the League fought against you. As you tried to run off as Shoji had yelled for you and Shoto to do, the warp user, Kurogiri, had stopped your escape. When Compress had shown the marbles of your friends being trapped, you saw red. You couldn’t let them be taken, you just couldn’t. It was the miracle that Aoyama’s precise shot of his Naval Laser to Compress’ face that gave you the chance you needed to save the boys.

Shoji had successfully nabbed Tokoyami’s marble, and now it was up to Shoto and you grab Bakugou’s. You were so close, just inches away, before he was ripped from you again. It was the scarred hands of the fire user that flooded your vision. You fell to the ground, empty-handed and desperately looking up at the man searching for any weakness in his grasp to steal the tiny blue-tinted glass ball from him. But it was too late.

It was an extra bit of torture—one that Dabi made sure you guys knew was on purpose—to release Bakugou from the marble so he could watch your failure. You saw the fear swimming in his red irises as he looked at you, the stiffness in his stance, the slight shake of his hands. He looked so…helpless. You’d never seen the boy in such a state of despair before. It was haunting. You stood on shaky fawn-like legs, ready to tear that villain apart with your bare hands, no Quirk needed. You wanted to make him pay for the suffering he put not only your class, but what he put everyone at the camp through tonight. But you were stopped with a gentle embrace.

Shoto had looped his arms around your midsection in a cage. You twisted back to yell at him to let you go, to let you save your friend, but his gaze gave his answer to your plea. He knew you couldn’t win. One eye filled with a harsh, cold steel of an unforgiving bind and the other swimming with a depth that rivaled even the ocean’s own fullness, you knew he wouldn’t let you go. You thrashed and screamed against Shoto, not believing you wouldn’t come out victorious in this suicide mission. You unconsciously looked at Bakugou for aid, and it was a cruel reminder that he could save you no more. Both of you being held against your will, both of you screaming for help—one screaming bloody murder, one silent as a moonless night. The savior trying to go where the victim was being taken, but the victim commanding them to stay behind.

You’ll never forget the emptiness after Bakugou was fully snatched through the portal. You’ll never forget collapsing to the dirt beside Deku, Shoto’s arm still chained tightly around your middle, and wailing your heart out.

You’ll never forgive the satisfied gleam in that evil man’s eye. Never.

Except it wasn’t Dabi’s hand this time. You looked at the pale flesh, graying and roughed from years of neglect and self hate. The fingernails were chipped and appeared to be chewed with anxiety-ridden coping. Beneath the nails looked like they’d been clawing at a cement wall, dried blood caked underneath the unmanicured bits. The twitching pinky finger dangling frivolously above the target of your shoulder made your blood run cold.

“Miss me?” Tomura Shigaraki mumbled into your ear with a snarl. You’re sure you were shaking, but you couldn’t feel anything other than the stuttery breaths you took in and out. You could only focus on the lone finger judging the worth of your entire life. One movement too erratic and you’re nothing more than a pile of ash sitting in his rotten hands. You saw Endeavor’s mouth moving, he was definitely addressing the villain, but neither of you were paying attention to the fuming man.

“Staying to chat would be fun, but I think I’ll let them do the talking for me. I would rather spend my breath talking to (Y/N) than you losers.” Shigaraki rolled his eyes. He guided you to step aside, and you reluctantly shifted. A sloshing sounded as Kurogiri’s portal grew to be much larger. Once the portal stretched high enough, a figure swished through. They shouldn’t be here. How can they get onto UA’s premises? Doesn’t this place have some kind of security measure to protect the kids, damnit?!

As if he could read your mind, he chuckled to himself, “So nice that UA’s defenses are down for the Purge. So much easier to ransack this place when I can toss a couple of these guys onto the front lawn. Makes this boss fight a clean sweep.” Out from the portal stepped a massive monster you’d come to know as one of Shigaraki’s playthings, a Nomu.

You’d seen a couple before, namely at the USJ when All Might defeated the beast nearly single-handedly and during the time you saved Bakugou from the League and All for One, but you had never been so close that you could reach out and touch it. As it lumbered past you, you could almost taste the horrifying aura it carried. The violence just itching to break out of its skin. Its body was barely keeping the violence it desires at bay. It was easy to tell how badly the creature wanted to claw the heroes to shreds, the short gasp-like breaths it took, and the stomach-turning visual of its exposed brain and nerve endings. Its unblinking eyes held no emotion. No malice, no joy. Nothing. You’d think it was an impressively realistic Halloween animatronic if it hadn’t just shambled past you.

Then, as if this situation couldn’t get any better, a second one appeared from beyond the portal. A carbon-copy of the first, just as horrifying, just as deadly. Then a third. Three of those monstrosities stood in front of you like an impenetrable wall. The barrier of such an evil force left you feeling light headed. This can’t be happening.

“Have fun, heroes! Don’t come looking for them, unless you’re looking to free up some space on the Hero Billboard Chart. Would be a shame if some of Japan’s finest didn’t make it through the Purge, huh?” Shigaraki called out to them with a scratchy cackle. You watched the three pros prep their Quirks and bodies for the fight to come, you then heard banging from the doors of the rooftop. The doors must have been locked as you heard a hell of a ruckus behind it. Though it was a multitude of voices, deep and high pitched, and lots of them. You wondered who it could be. Your teachers? Had they chased after the pros and were intent on winning you back? Or could it be…

Oh no.

Wait. They shouldn't come up here. Please. Not with these things here, not now. The Nomus had no remorse, no moral compass. They’d kill your classmates right where they stood.

“No…wait, my friends are still here. Please—,” this was the only sliver of argument that you posed against Shigaraki, with a shaking lip and a strip of silver tears lining your lower lash line. He revealed in your fear to oppose him.

“Really? Hmm. Perfect.” Shigaraki smiled a repulsive grin at you, his wrinkled red and slightly pink eyes filled with more bloodlust than you’ve known before. He began pulling you back by the shoulder, but you chose to fight. Yanking yourself forward before a different set of hands gripped your arms, your other shoulder, and your waist. You wrung your body left and right, and you felt closer to Bakugou than you ever have before. Trapped and alone, with no foreseeable aid.

Doors banged and the yelling grew louder.

Slimy drool dripped from the blood-thirst Nomus’ mouths onto the cement floor. Frothed mouths itching to latch onto body parts and tear them off.

Hawks, Mirko, and Endeavor had looks of pure panic as they could only watch you getting dragged away. Not because of the threat of the Nomus, but because they were losing you yet again.

Your screams for mercy were only acknowledged by a calloused grasp, minus the pinky, clamping over your mouth.

And just like that, you were gone.

~ To Be Continued… ~

Far away from the light of the outside world, a dark figure resided in the shadows. A large television took up nearly the entire landscape of their wall, illuminating their body with its harsh glow. A smirk lined their lips, entertained with the events unfolding on that fateful rooftop. Multiple cameras showed all angles of the fight, of their disobedience, of their foolishness.

Not you! Heavens no, not you! Never you. You were perfect, always. Always the perfect little damsel in distress. Always the most entertaining morsel. Delicate and bold at the same time. A real palette cleanser from all the other despicable acts they’ve seen before. They’ve had a lifetime and then some to experience the tiresome, dreadfully boring reality they’ve come to unwilling terms with. However, you certainly add a wonderful zing of sweetness and spice to the otherwise flavorless mush they’ve known life to taste like. They want more.

They watched the despair fill your mind, how distraught you became over the mess they’d created. They saw your beautiful eyes, so teary and wide. So much innocence and hope for this crumbling world held inside them.

They stood, brushing off the dust from their clothes, and walked towards the door that caged them inside. Oh, how wonderful it will be to meet you again. Properly, this time.

<3 — Tag List — <3

@humanoid606 • @repostingmyfavs • @bubblymusiclover13 • @sannpei • @caniseethefourthsword • @notleecassisy • @purplemochicat • @screaminginvoids • @livyyz • @lotionlamp • @slaymbo • @ladybug2235 • @serxinns • @lady-ashfade • @todobakudeku2021 • @sky-angel101 • @justastrobruh • @spoiledgordita • @wolfy1984 • @genderfluid-bastard • @puthypirate42069 • @bubblymusiclover13 • @shiftinglover • @skinseeker77 • @des-deswain5621 • @fr3dsw0rld123 • @mary-jinx • @justafishh • @the-rouge-robin • @cassycas0

[bakugosworld]

Bitter not sweet

Endeavor x f! reader

platonic shoto x reader

Enji Todoroki and Y/N used to be a power couple. They used to be the most applauded couple at UA. Key words, used to be. Something disturbing happened to destroy their relationship, and now years later Y/N (a pro hero) is now helping teach and support her ex’s son in the same school she met his father.

Warnings: slight angst? Endeavor being Endeavor, trauma dumping, personal grudges

Endeavor could hear nothing but his own boots walking through the halls of his own agency. The place is empty due to the major villain attack that had happened earlier that day, and many of his sidekicks stayed to clean up the fight while Endeavor went to file some important paperwork due that day.

He shuffled inside his office and slowly shuts the door. As he makes his way to his desk his cell phone begins to ring. He quickly fishes it out of his pocket, recognizing the tune to be Fyumi calling. Thinking that there was an emergency he tenses up as he answers it. “Fyumi, what’s going on?” His voice alert. He hears her laugh from the other end of the line, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Hey dad, I just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner? Shoto just finished his first day of UA and I want us all to eat together to celebrate tonight!” She seems excited as per usual.

Endeavor wraps up the conversation and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. Sighing as he sits down.

*earlier that day, Y/Ns perspective*

I had been hired as a new Heroics and Law teacher at UA high this year. I walked into the building for the first day of school and had passed a few familiar pros along the way. Once I reach my classroom I set down my bag and log into my computer. I had gotten the class environment set up during my orientation with Nezu who had provided me all the safety protocols and instructions. Once my computer is loaded I pull up my seating chart that EraserHead had provided and projected it to the wall, not even bothering to look at it.

I didn’t have a class untill an hour or two later considering I’m not a homeroom teacher, so I had decided to sit in the Faculty Room while I waited and caught up with a few long term friends. Once the bell went off I started walking to my classroom with Present Mic whose class is right next to mine. We stand outside the door chatting while watching the students trickle in one by one.

Eventually I had walked in to begin class. “Hello class my name is (pro hero name) but you can all me miss (last name)” I greet as I stand at the podium in the front of their seats. The class greets me back and I hear a few students talking amongst themselves quietly. “I going to call attendance so when I call your name just say a simple ‘here’. And if I mispronounce your name, please inform me right away. Understood?”

The students mutter words of acknowledgment. Going through the list, I seen a few surnames that are recognizable. “Next is shoto todo…roki…?” My jaw slightly agape as the last name rings in my head like a steel drum. The name Todoroki repeating itself over and over again. “Here” a monotone voice rings from the back of the classroom. I slowly turn my head up to look at the boy with split dyed hair. There’s no way. He looks exactly like him. Like her too. My heart squeezes in my chest. I thought I was over it.

I break myself out of the thought. I’ll just look into it after class. “Katsuki Bakugou?” I continue with roll call despite being shaken. I hear an angry grumble “here” from the opposing side of the classroom. I sigh and continue with class as normal despite me screaming internally.

A few students came to talk to me after class, some of them wanted to know more about my pro hero life *cough midoria cough* while others wanted to know more about the subject I would be teaching them this year. One student in particular left the class without a word to anyone. Yep. That’s his kid alright.

*back to the todoroki household*

“So shoto.. how was your first day?” Endeavor asks before shoving food into his mouth. Shoto sighs “it was fine..” Endeavor looks up to his youngest son. “What about your teachers? What teachers do you have, I want to make sure you have the best of the best so you can reach your goal” endeavor shoves more food into his mouth while waiting for his son’s response.

“My homeroom teacher is Mr. Aizawa. Then I have Miss (L/N) for Heroics and Law. Then I have Present Mic for English.” Shoto muttered quietly but it was loud enough for Endeavor to hear. Endeavor choked on his rice and slammed one hand on the table to stabilize himself while the other beat at his chest to dislodge the food from his throat.

Fyumi panicked and started to pat her father on the back, while asking him if he’s okay. Natsuo held back a very slight smile and kept eating. Endeavor finally cleared his throat and started down at the table in disbelief. ‘…y/n??’

After that incident he had finished his food and left to his room muttering a small ‘thank you’ to Fyumi for the dinner. Endeavor sat on the edge of his bed, looking towards the ground and his hands cupped around his mouth to help calm him down. He sat there for hours, thinking back on memories of you two in your high school days. It had been a long time since he had thought of you, he tried to suppress the memories due to the guilt that ate him alive.

—flashback—

“Enji!” Your voice rang through the halls of UA, he can hear your footsteps grow increasingly louder. He glanced over his shoulder to see you running his way. He smirked slightly and faced away from you, unsurprisingly, you jumped onto his back, like you always did, and wrapped your arms around his neck, and legs around his waist. He chuckled a bit “Hey hun, have a good day?” He asked while pushing you up his back by your thighs and holding you there. You nod into his neck. “It was good, Toshinori helped me push even harder with my quirk today during training” you say smiling. Enji slightly frowned at the name but was still happy for you. The truth is Enji never cared for Toshinori but didn’t absolutely hate him either. “That’s great darling, I’m happy for you” Enji bounced you on his back jokingly. You laugh as he spins you both around. “Thank you beef cake” you tease, and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek.

—End of flashback—

Enji sighed and sat up a bit more. He looked around his room, seeing pictures of his kids and a few with Rei. He walks to his closet and grabs out a small box. He sits down on his bed again and opens the box that contains photos. Sifting through a few, he finally found what he was searching for. It was a picture of you and him together outside of UA on the first day of your third year. You were wrapped in his arms standing infront of him, both of you smiling widely.

He set the photo on his bedside table and threw the box under his bed. Finally deciding to go to bed since he had to leave early for work tomorrow morning. He lays down and stares at his ceiling. Little did he know, his dreams will be filled with memories of you that night.

A week later

You were sitting in your empty classroom, it was half hour before first period started when you heard a knock on your door. You looked up from your computer, wondering why anyone would be here so early to talk to you. “Come in” you project your voice so they can hear you. Slowly the door opened to reveal Shoto Todoroki himself. “Sorry to bother you so early Miss (L/N)” he gave a small bow to you. “You’re not bothering me at all Todoroki. Is there something I can do for you?” I say turning towards him to give him my undivided attention.

He looks sort of puzzled. “Yeah actually, I wanted to talk to you about something” he says still standing at the door. You pull up a chair next to you and pat it, signaling for him to sit down. “What’s on your mind kid?” You say as he sits down.

“I guess I’m just confused.” He says tilting his head slightly. “How so?” You asked him, slightly mirroring his actions. “I found this in my dad’s room.” He says lifting up the photo of you and Enji together. You sucked in a breath and felt your heart drop, now understanding what this is about.

“What is this about? Clearly you and my father know each other. Very well. So what exactly happened?” He says looking up to you. noticing your shocked face he immediately felt bad. “I apologize if I had made you uncomfortable Miss (L/N).”

Finally, you shake out of your shocked state. “No, no. Don’t worry about it Todoroki. And to answer your question, your father and I.. well.. we used to be together.. but that was a long time ago.” You say quietly. Todoroki nodded.

Todoroki had asked a few more questions to which you were happy to answer them. He then left to go to his first class, leaving you completely alone to think about Enji.

Aizawas class had a field trip today, so the only classes you had to teacher were 1-B and 1-C. Which was relatively easy considering they are both calm classes. For the most part. That was untill you were getting ready for your next class when Mrs. Midnight burst into your room. “(Hero name)!! we need you to help immediately!! Class 1-A has been attacked by villains at one of our training centers! Your class is getting covered by nezu, please hurry!!”

Chills ran cold down your spine. You immediately bolted out the door and ran as fast as you could to your car. Breaking the speeding limit as a hero looked bad, but your students were in danger. You were doing 80 in a 30. The only thing you can think of was how scared your students must be, but you know they can handle themselves.

You were, unsurprisingly, the first hero on scene. Bursting through the doors, you took in the battle before you. Immediately jumping into action, you protect your students with your life. You hold off the villains untill the rest of the pros show up.

—a sort few days later—

(I’m not good at writing fighting scenes sorry)

You thought it was a horrible idea. Anything can go wrong. It was absurd. Hosting the sports festival directly after a villain attack?? That’s just disrespectful to the students who fought hard to stay alive during the attack.

You angrily grumbled to yourself. You were walking around the stadium to ease your mind. The first task just finished, Midoria taking first place which shocked everyone. You huffed and leaned your back against a wall. “Enjoying the festival so far?” You heard a voice ask.

You peak up to see nezu approaching you. “Yeah I guess so” you mumble. “What seems to be on your mind (y/n)?” Nezu asked while sitting on the ledge next to you. “Is this the right thing nezu? Having the festival right after the attack? Won’t it put everyone on edge? What about the villains? Wouldn’t they show up here if they really wanted to?”

Nezus face never changed. “I see why you’re concerned (Y/N), but this festival is supposed to take the students minds off of what happened. And for the safety, we have plenty of pros here incase anything does go wrong. It would be the villains downfall to prey on the kids now”

You relaxed a bit more with that statement. “Yeah you’re right” Nezu nods. “I am, well I do have to go now. If you need anything else you know where to find me” nezu says as he wanders away.

You once again are alone. You stand up and start walking down the hall. “So. You’re a teacher now?” You shiver at the deep voice and you stop in your tracks. “Yeah. What about it?” You snap back. You turn around to see endeavor who had just turned the corner. “You’re teaching my son.” He replied with his casual RBF.

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. “Really? I had no idea.” Your voice dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to appreciate that but he stayed quiet for a moment. “Is that all you wanted? If so, I’ll be on my way.” You turn around to leave once again.

“It wasn’t my choice”

—flashback—

“What the hell enji?!” You screamed at him. His eyes dropping from your face down to the floor. “Did you have this planned the whole time??” You you yelled a bit louder once more, tears brimming your eyes. He, too, teared up. Feeling ashamed of himself.

It was the day before your graduation from UA, and Enji was here before you telling you, after three years, that things won’t work out. “Was I a joke to you?” He didn’t respond..

What was worse. Is he had proposed to Rei, your best friend of thirteen years. “How long were you together for?” Your voice filled with venom and tears. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know the truth. Was this even real? Who would propose to your girlfriend’s best friend and not the girlfriend?

Even after all the talks of ‘I can’t wait to marry you’ ‘we should have kids’ ‘I’m gonna grow old with you’. You had foolishly believed it all.

He wanted to say something to soothe you, he wanted to hug you, to kiss you, to tell you everything is gonna be okay. He wanted to make the whole situation go away. He felt a deep hatred for himself, and for his father.

—flashback ends—

“The hell do you mean ‘it wasn’t your choice’” you mock, growing more irritated. He sighs. “I didn’t want to marry her” you scoff “yeah right. Now you’re just wasting my time.”

Enji grows agitated now, but still hurt. “It was my father. He forced me into the marriage. For benefits of the quirks. He threatened to ‘get rid’ of you if I didn’t cooperate. I knew you’d be safer staying away from me, so I left. I did as he said. Because I loved you. And truth is, I believe I still do.” He mumbled the last part. Sure, you’ve seen him several times throughout the years. You kinda had to considering he’s the number two pro hero. He’s at your meetings, on the same patrol route sometimes, on the scene of a crime. He’s everywhere. But this is the first time he’s addressed you since the break up.

Hearing his words though… you wanted to believe him. You had found the piece of yourself that still loved him too. It that didn’t change the fact that he was married with several kids. And you couldn’t do that to them. Especially shoto as you’ve grown fond of the boy.

“I’d love to believe you. Truly. I still care for you Enji, dare I say I love you. If I could, I’d be with you right now. But we can’t be together. Never again. As much as I do love you, you must think of your family first.” You say as you turn away and walk down the hall, heading towards the stands to watch the rest of the festival. Enji watched her walk away for what felt like the hundredth time, and his heart shattered.

But little did either of them know, shoto was standing just around the corner, listening to the conversation. He too, had grown fond of you. He had even started looking up to you as if you were the mother that he never really had. Needless to say, he was just as disappointed in his dad as his dad was with himself.

[damagedintellect]

ADA Dazai x Reader

💌Obligatory sex pollen fic I guess??💌

Summary: Certain abilities Dazai can dispel outright without touching the user. This has always confused the brunette greatly where the technical line was drawn. During Q's apocalypse, he couldn't bring individuals back to their senses but with Shiwabusa's fog he could prevent Chuuya’s ability from manifesting. Apparently this “Sex pollen” ability was more like the former example. Which left Dazai the only one conscious of their actions as everyone fucked like rabbits.

Notes: Based on a dream I had a few nights ago. At least what I can remember of it. It's got some plot holes & semi ooc but it was hilarious, I had to share it with the class.

Contains: sex pollen, dubcon, pregnancy, mpreg, pregnant Fyodor, Fyodor being painfully religious, 🍋

💌 Wordcount 5,160 💌 Chapter 1 of ?? [I might actually continue this bc I want to see where it goes but not a priority unless ppl like it]

Next chapter =>

After the Shiwabusa incident you thought most ability users left Yokohama but it turns out someone is hunting down the surviving few. It's the reason why the special divisions unit Ango is a part of reached out to the ADA. There had been missing people cases flooding his desk, all with one thing in common. Every last one of them had been ability users. This didn't seem like the work of the Decay of Angles or any other known organization on record. It didn't line up with their past methods and ideologies. Plus Dazai added that Fyodor would never be this sloppy. Most were taken in broad daylight with no concerns about witnesses.

Between Ranpo and Dazai, they were able to sniff out the new threat with ease but they still didn't have enough information to assume the motive behind the kidnappings. Ango could only give so much details to go on because the member of his team that was investigating this case also disappeared. The first priority would be to find the hostages. With that in mind Ranpo insisted on working alongside the remaining guild members and, for some reason Akutagawa. Your guess was that Mori sent him to reclaim some mafia members who vanished as well. Apparently Chuuya was also supposed to join the investigation but ended up being stuck overseas. Instead you were to partner with Dazai.

You and Dazai, Kunikida and Yosano, and Ranpo and Poe were on recognizance while Lucy, Kenji, Kyouka, and Junichiro were on rescue, leaving Atsushi and Akutagawa as a diversion first and foremost but if they can capture the culprits that's an added bonus. Despite splitting up, you, Dazai, Kunikida and Yosano ended up trapped in the same room. Not exactly trapped, you could use your ability to get out but you still needed info.

“This isn't looking good.” Kunikida said flipping through the radio frequencies. “The signals jammed.” He looked up at Dazai as he nodded. “They know we're here.”

“We walked into a trap” Dazai gritted his teeth. There was no way to warn the others. He pushed you out of the way frantically typing at the computer that you finally hacked into. You look back at the scattered files on the desk. You were kicking up dirt. So far you've found a comprehensive guide to all the missing people. Which you already had from Ango. The only difference is that this seemed like a test subject profile. The more you read through them the more you realized they really focused on the compatibility of certain abilities. That's when you smelled something alluring and you dropped everything. 

Dazai heard the clattering and ignored it. He was pissed off. It felt like he was missing something glaringly obvious. He slammed his hand on the desk muttering under his breath.

“Anyone else find-” Dazai stopped mid sentence as he took in the sight infront of him. Kunikida and Yosano were looking at each other lovingly as they hastily stripped, and pulled the other close. That's when Dazai finally noticed the faint pink dust in the air. An ability?

“I know what they're trying to do.” You said standing in front of the distracted brunette. He snapped out of his stupor when you gripped his shirt. Your pupils were dilated and your breathing was ragged. Biting your lip, it took your last bit of sanity to not jump Dazai. You took a deep breath. “P-please touch me, before I can't think straight.” Your eyes were narrowing on his lips. The desire to kiss him while you fuck like rabbits was swirling in the pit of your stomach.

He reached out to touch your forearm but it didn't do anything to help clear your head. “Shit, you gotta be kidding me” You are trying to fight your impulses . Internally you moaned at the touch. Your head lulled forward pressing into his chest. You couldn’t describe it but something about his scent was luring you in. This is really bad. Dazai looked over to Yosano and Kunikida. They were being really lovey dovey and handsy. He gulped as he felt you unbuttoning his vest. He grabbed your hands to prevent you from undressing him further. “Stay with me (Y/N). What's their goal?”

“They,” you inhaled heavily “no I, want you to fuck a baby into me!”

Dazai blinked back at you dumbfounded. He took a step backwards, that's what he was afraid of. They were up against a sex pollen ability user and he was the only one not affected. He tried to push you away but he was conflicted, you had him pushed against the wall with your body. Dazai has had a soft spot for you that he never intended on tapping into. A crush? A sexual fantasy? He didn't want to explore it but here he was letting you paw at him while you stripped away your clothes. He's had dreams about this and now it's actually happening but it couldn't have been at a more inopportune time and place. Just staring into your horny hungry eyes already left him half hard and he cursed his body for reacting this way.

“Dazai don't you love me?” You cooed.

Love was a strong word, he would rather not think about but he was left at your mercy as you crashed your lips on his. He groaned into your mouth. This was the best and worst case scenario. Best because you are forcing yourself onto him and not someone else. He could only imagine the jealousy he would have felt if you ended up with any of his coworkers. Although this was the worst because he knows he’s not going to stop your advances. Slowly he slid down the wall and let you crawl into his lap. He couldn't say no to you. Dazai has always made sure to keep everyone at a distance but not you. His head and his heart couldn't be bothered to make decisions right now. He found his hands caressing you just as feverishly as you were feeling him. He should stop. Dazai was in his right mind you were not but your touch was intoxicating. He let you unzip his pants and set his member free. Dazai threw his head back as you fully engulfed him. You were so warm and wet with no prep needed, ready to take him in. This was wrong but it felt so right. Dazai has always found it easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

You were kissing his jawline and bouncing on him with such vigor he wasn't going to last much longer. You were both a mess and as he felt your walls shake around him he held you in place and finished you off with a thrust of his own. You both were spasming in bliss as he hit his climax. He had been too enthralled with his own pleasure; he forgot to think about why you all were here in the first place. He was about to ask you what it was you found when he felt you roll your hips again. 

A jolt of pleasure washed over him as he gently held your hips from doing that again. He just came, he needed a minute. Dazai was easily overstimulated and he feared that he might not have a choice in a moment but while he still had the strength he needed to do something. 

“But Dazai~” You whined into his ear “You need to fuck a baby into me! Once isn't going to cut it.” You struggled to move as he pinned you to the floor. He hoped with this new position you wouldn't be able to do that much damage before he was capable of another round. On the other side of the room he could hear Yosano and Kunikida still going at it. Sounds he really never wanted to hear from either of his colleagues. Dazai weighed out his options, grabbing for the files you dropped earlier. He dug out his phone. The signal was back, probably because they knew everyone would be incapacitated. He tried calling Ango to update him that the plan failed and everyone needs extracting now before the rest of you get captured.

—

When you finally came too you were exhausted and sticky with Dazai’s arms wrapped around you. You tried to push him away but his grip only tightened as he cried out “Aaahng~ Stop moving! I can't take anymore! Nghh~” He was trembling and breathing heavily like he was going to pass out.

“D-Dazai?” You don't remember anything past when you dropped the papers. You tried retracing your steps. It finally occurred to you that you were sitting flesh against Dazai’s lap, feeling the fullness of multiple rounds with his dick pulsing inside of you. You choked on a moan as you involuntarily clenched around him. The events of the evening were catching up with you. You had been begging Dazai to fuck you which is something you had always wanted to do but never had the guts to say. You've had a crush on him since you joined the agency but never tried to pursue a relationship with Dazai. Mostly because he was a massive flirt to most women. You would reciprocate his flirty jokes and he always gave you a look like no one's ever done that before. Playful banter aside you don't think it meant anything on Dazai’s end.

 He whimpered in your ear again “hmmmng P-please don't move I swear I’ll explain. I just need a minute. You've been riding me for an hour I-” He was panting desperately trying to catch his breath. His fingers were digging into your skin to keep you as still as possible. “sex pollen user, couldn't stop it. Fuck” 

You felt Dazai lift you up to pull out, gasping as his body slumped against the wall. You tried to move out of his lap but your legs were numb. Although the slight movement made you feel the cum dripping out of you. Your head was a mess. The words “you had sex with Dazai” were repeating like a mantra. 

 “I'm so sorry-” you had started to say but he grabbed your shoulders “It's not your fault. I could have stopped you at any point but I didn't know if we were being watched.” Which was true but definitely not the reason he didn't stop but you didn’t need to know that. “As soon as everyone was affected they stopped jamming the signal so I managed to have Ango send reinforcements. I should be the one apologizing for taking advantage of you.”

You were both at fault but not at fault. Net neutral you guess? You didn't dwell on it because you don't remember. Still you were embarrassed by everything. You know you weren't in control of your behavior but still. Dazai was being too dismissive about it. You wanted him to look at you disrespectfully. You understand that the mission comes first but you're still a woman. You have assets he should be ogling at. Like right now as your clothes were long forgotten about besides you. 

As soon as you opened your mouth Ango and his men busted down the door. Apparently the rescue team managed to move all the hostages to Anne's room before the sex pollen hit the air and they were just waiting for it to dissipate. So the mission was not a complete failure like you thought. If anything you'd have to wait to see what Ranpo and Poe had discovered. All you were able to report was that they were trying to match make compatible ability users.

Ango tried helping you to your feet but your legs were unstable and you were back on the ground in a matter of seconds. It made getting redressed a challenge but Yosano was able to help. The doctor wasn't nearly as fucked out as you were but considering Dazai let you have your way with him it makes sense. Since your legs were still wobbly Dazai ended up carrying you out. This flustered you way more than the realization of having sex with your crush. His cum was currently inside you and somehow being princess carried was what made your head explode. You buried your face in his neck as you met up with the others. No one batted an eye except Ranpo who smirked and gave you a thumbs up. 

On the bright side everyone seemed just as disheveled and out of it. You don't blame them either. Ranpo and Poe were probably just fine, you've always suspected that they were that close already but Poe was extremely skittish more so than usual. Both Atsushi and Akutagawa looked traumatized. Kunikida was in a similar state but Yosano didn't mind one bit. If anything, her being unfazed was unnerving everyone. Well everyone but Ranpo, Dazai and Akutagawa but you doubt Akutagawa would care even if he wasn’t so distraught at the moment. Whatever the case it was interesting watching everyone's reactions to whatever happened tonight. You were just glad that Lucy, Kyouka, Kenji and Junichiro didn't have to go through it.

By the looks of it the sex pollen user got away but Atsushi and Akutagawa did manage to tie up some goons for further questioning. After a quick debrief Yosano came up to you and pulled out a sealed tablet, instructing you to take it as soon as possible. A morning after pill, you assume. It suddenly clicked why she was so casual. Every time you've gone out drinking with Yosano she's always managed to go home with some attractive stranger. This was similar to one of her drunken escapes except this time Kunikida was the victim of her flirty advances. Poor Kunikida looks like he's about to kill himself for stepping outside of his ideals.

With everything seemingly done and dusted you all went home. Ango drove you all back to the dorms and you managed to walk to your room just fine. You were still haunted by the events you don't remember and you want to ask Dazai but then again maybe you don't. If you don't remember you could almost gaslight yourself into believing that it never happened. That way you could still preserve the idea that your first time with him will be special. Although based on the fact he dismissed it so easily, you don't think he finds you attractive in a sexual sense. Again you'll never know unless you talk to him but it's still embarrassing for you, but hey it could have been worse. Originally you were supposed to be on a different team had Chuuya not been overseas. Or maybe it was because Chuuya wasn't here that the ability user was able to incapacitate all of you. None of you were captured so it's fine. 

Within the next few days everything went back to normal. Well close to normal, you still couldn't look Dazai in the eyes but you haven't partnered with him since that night. Currently you were with Kunikida and Atsushi for a mission. The boys have done most of the work but as you were finishing up one of the bastards tried to take you from behind. You dodged the initial attack but as you went to retaliate you froze. Your ability wasn't working. You ended up getting shot twice before Atsushi was able to get to you.

“My ability is gone, I can't feel it at all.” You coughed up blood holding your wounds. It wasn't fatal but you were losing blood and fast. Your vision was starting to sway as you were rushed to Yosano.

When you woke up you were in the infirmary at the agency. Atsushi was still getting checked out even though the tiger would ultimately heal any major injuries. As you sat up you felt the pain of the two bullet wounds. Normally Yosano would use her ability to fix it instead of letting you heal naturally. They both looked at you with a wary expression.

“Atsushi, can you check if Dazai’s done and send him in?”

He only nodded before scampering off. You tilted your head at why Dazai needed to be called in. Yosano sat next to you “How are you feeling? Are you able to use your ability now?”

You tried really hard but no dice. “I feel like I've definitely been shot twice but more unnerving I can't feel my ability at all. What's wrong with me?”

She nodded, handing you a cup. “I'll try to explain it if I can, but I need you to get me a urine sample. How long has it been since you ate?”

You looked at the clock you had breakfast at 9 and it was currently 4, whoops that means you skipped lunch. “About Seven hours?” 

“I can give you painkillers after you get blood drawn. Not being able to feel your ability is throwing me a curveball so I want to make sure I check all my bases.”

“Okay.” You grabbed the cup and made your way to the bathroom. As you stepped out into the hallway you nearly bumped into Dazai, whose look of concern didn't go unnoticed but you only bowed slightly before you hurried off.

By the time you came back Dazai was already in the room. Yosano took the urine sample and walked into her office for a second before folding her arms across her chest. “There’s no eloquent way to put this and honestly as a doctor this is the grossest thing I've had to do but the reason why you can't use your ability is because Dazai’s sperm is probably still swimming around in your uterus.”

Your face started heating up as you stuttered “I-It's almost been a week how is that possible!”

Dazai hummed “Oh, so that's what the sample was for.” 

Yosano rolled her eyes “Unfortunately” she frowned before she continued her explanation. “Technically it's only been five days and that's about the cut off for irregular sperm lifespans.” She walked back to her office and came back with two negative pregnancy tests. “I wasn’t too worried about the results since you took the contraceptive but it's my job to be thorough. You should be able to use your ability by tomorrow unless Dazai’s sperm is just as hard to kill as Dazai is.”

Dazai shrugged, “I'm just surprised this hasn't come up before. Back when I was-”

Yosano put her hand up “I don't need to hear the rest of that. It's bad enough we had sex ten feet away from each other.” Yosano looked back at you, “Until you get your ability back I won't be able to use my ability on you either.  For now you'll have to heal your injuries the normal way.” You nodded.

Unfortunately as tomorrow came you still couldn't use your ability. You glared at Dazai who laughed at the situation. He was having a field day with how powerful his seed was. You haven't told the others what was going on but you're sure all the adults understood why you were out of commission. Kenji was the only one who kept asking questions you genuinely didn't know how to respond to. He was so innocent and Dazai was playing into it. This was killing you. How are you supposed to forget that night if it's all anyone is talking about. Not to mention that you were basically tied to your desk for the time being taking painkillers like candy.

A few more days later and to mostly Dazai’s surprise, since Yosano was out on a mission, you still couldn't manifest your ability. This was getting ridiculous. At first Dazai joked about it almost having a sense of pride but today he had been awfully quiet and no one likes a quiet Dazai. 

You had been more tired than usual. The injuries were taking their toll so you got up to make some tea in the office kitchen to help you relax. Today was a fairly busy day for everyone, but you. The others were all coming and going but you were still confined to the office. It was a jarring situation,  typically Dazai was the only one who had to heal like a normal human being. You sighed, pouring your tea. 

“Still nothing?”

You turn around to see Dazai holding a small paper bag, leaning against the doorframe. You shook your head. “Still nothing.” You didn’t want to think about it but you set your tea down motioning to the bag he was holding “Is that what I think it is?” You took a pregnancy test the other day, Yosano gave you a pill, this really shouldn’t be happening. Actually, did you even take the pill? Thinking back you were exhausted and out of it and you remember drinking water and going to sleep but did you not actually take the pill? Your head was hurting just thinking about it.

“Only if you want it to be. I can throw it away if you'd prefer.” Dazai put the bag in his coat pocket as he approached you. “To be honest I'm not sure if I want you to find out either. Logically I doubt you are, because if you were, then your ability should have come back by now. My DNA would have turned into our child's DNA and the nullification should have stopped.” He stood next to you leaning back on the counter. “However if you somehow are, I fear it wasn’t just a sex pollen ability at play.” He grit his teeth yet another ability he wasn't able to negate the effects of.

You looked at him eyes wide. That was their true goal. “They were trying to breed ability users.” He nodded as he looked down.

“That's why they waited for us to show up. I have a feeling they were after one of our abilities. Which is probably why Ranpo paired you with me. A copycat ability is already strong as it is but in the wrong hands it would be astronomical.”

You swallowed hard “I don't know how I feel about this. I kinda don't want to know because if you're right then what? If I'm pregnant then somehow everyone is pregnant? How would that work for the guys? Would you want to keep the child, or wait if it's an ability, is it even possible to keep the child?” You looked at Dazai, he was clearly uncomfortable with your questioning. “I guess I should probably take it before I work myself up over nothing.” You held your hand out lowering your head, waiting for him to give you the test. He raised an eyebrow “Do you want moral support or?”

“Depends if it's positive are you going to go buy milk and never return?”

“No promises, I never planned on having kids.” He shrugged.

“No really? I'm surprised” you said sarcastically “I've always wanted kids but I don't think this is the right time.”

Dazai stood outside the bathroom while you paced back and forth. The wait was killing you. You still had a minute left. Grabbing the test you opened the door. “Dazai we're friends right?”

“I would say so. Why?” He gave you a quizzical look. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you don't hate me? I don't know, that might change in a second.” You bite your lip as you flip the test over. Sure enough it was positive. Dazai leaned over your shoulder causing you to nearly drop it. “Well, I still don't hate you in case you were wondering. If anything I hate that what I speculated may be right to some degree. Which is more annoying than anything else.” Dazai's eyes narrowed thinking about, for lack of a better moniker, the anti-Fyodor. What were they trying to gain out of making more ability users?

Dazai didn't move and being in his proximity after finding out he did in fact fuck a child in to you, was making you dizzy. “I need to lay down”

You moved sluggishly as Dazai reached out and touched your shoulder “If you need anything just let me know. I'm the one who's responsible for all of this. I'm not going to make you do this alone.”

You both made your way to the couches in the waiting area as Ranpo came back from his mission. Dazai pulled him into the other room presumably to update him on the situation. That this “threat” isn't over and indeed was just the beginning.

You carefully laid on the couch your thoughts were scattered. On one hand you were glad it was Dazai but at the same time this just makes your relationship more complicated. As your eyes slowly close you realize you never actually drank your tea either. There was a good chance you forgot to take the pill too, it's probably still in the pocket of what you wore that night. Yawning you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. It had been hard sleeping the past few days but the pain has decreased significantly today. You were so lost in thought that you didn't even notice that Dazai draped his trench coat on your sleeping form. He stood there for a moment thinking about how cute you looked while you were sleeping. 

He wondered if his kid would look as cute. Speaking of kid, he should probably check on Ranpo. Dazai only took a guess at who the other possible pregnant people were but knowing that Ranpo is often lazy and chooses to forego physical activity if he could help it, he wouldn't doubt for a second that he had Poe do all the work. As he walked into the bathroom Ranpo was already using his glasses to stare down at the pink piece of plastic. The detective frowned, discarding the spectacles. 

“I blame you for this.” Ranpo showed the other the result. “This probably means Atsushi is also pregnant?” He took a deep sigh before adding “Things are about to get a lot more complicated.”

Dazai frowns. “No kidding.”

Ranpo smirks, opening his eyes to look at you on the couch before addressing Dazai again as he walks away. “Congratulations by the way.”

—

 It had been about a month and morning sickness was no joke. You would rush to the bathroom midsentece if you even felt remotely queasy which was a stark difference to how the other two handled it. Ranpo had placed waste receptacles around the whole office but still ended up puking out the window once or twice because he couldn’t be bothered to move the three feet to use a bin. Atsushi on the other hand would grab a waste bin but would end up swallowing it half the time off of pure reflex because he didn't want to waste food. The first time you watched him do it you and Ranpo immediately grabbed for a bin. Today hadn't been too bad for the nausea but you might have spoken too soon. You watched Atsushi perk up standing up from his desk.

“Knock knock!” out of thin air a familiar yellow portal appeared at the entrance. Your favorite jester took a bow before he opened his cape to release who knows what into the office.

“Nikolai!” Atsushi was the first one to jump into action as the rest took a defensive stance waiting for a fight. Dazai pulled you behind him as Fyodor casually stepped through the overcoat. “Long time no see, Dazai.”

“Fyodor, why are you here?” It was more of a statement than a question. 

The air was tense as Ranpo crossed his arms “Don’t tell me you're also pregnant!” Everyone looked shocked and waited for confirmation.

“I am and the child is an affront to god. That is why I've come to inquire your services. I require assistance with the abomination.” He motioned over to Kunikida “I made an appointment under a different name.”

Kunikida raised an eyebrow as he looked through the client meeting list and sure enough there was one scheduled for an ambiguous medical inquiry. “You came to get rid of the child?”

Gasping Fyodor looked taken aback. “Absolutely not, for a man to be pregnant is a miracle. Although most doctors are ill equipped to accommodate for the male anatomy.” He placed his hand over his stomach for emphasis.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “I thought you said it was an affront to god?” He crossed his arm clearly trying to upset the other.

Fyodor glared at Dazai. “It is but having an abortion is a worse sin than the child being born of wedlock. Nikolai will simply kill the child after they are baptized. I am here to take advantage of your doctor, as they are already overseeing male pregnancies.”

Atsushi was confused how Fyodor was even in the same situation to begin with but even more so now after hearing his reasoning for coming to the ADA. “Why don't you guys just get married? I don't know, it just sounds like a lot of work if you plan on killing the kid anyways.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult immigration can be? It is disgustingly time consuming to get married overseas.” Fyodor groaned “Not to mention the child will be a Japanese citizen while Nikolai is Ukrainian and they do not allow dual citizenship, it's all so messy.”

Ranpo walked up, putting a hand on Atsushi’s shoulder. “He's right you know, it's a massive pain in the ass.”

“Of course it's a pain in the ass we're here on work visas. I'm not dealing with immigration, I'm a terrorist not a psychopath.” Fyodor seemed to slump into Nikolai’s side as the white haired man held him upright “Dos-kun you should probably sit down.” the russian nodded and let Nikolai lead him into the waiting area.

Yosano looked over Kunikida's shoulder. “If they have an appointment I guess we should at least hear them out. Especially if what he says is true and he is with child.” This was all incredibly bizarre for everyone.

Dazai nodded “Fyodor wouldn’t make his presence known if he didn't have something up his sleeve. Any insight Ranpo?”

Ranpo had his glasses on and shrugged “It all checks out. He's not lying about genuinely coming here for medical attention but I suspect they were accidentally caught by the sex pollen. They probably had planned to wipe out as many ability users as possible but underestimated our opponents just as we did.”

You turned to go make tea but Dazai immediately grabbed your arm “I'll handle the tea. I don't want him getting too close to anyone just in case he tries to pull something.” His serious expression softened as he patted your head. “You should go rest for a bit too. You're still healing.” You nodded with a light blush on your cheeks.

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Matt Damon's interview w/ The Advocate (18 January 2000)

[During promotion for The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon gives an interview to LGBT magazine The Advocate. He discusses his approach to playing Tom Ripley, same-sex relationships, and the scrutiny around his friendship with Ben Affleck. I first came across excerpts from this fascinating interview when browsing the Damon Affleck Slash Archive using the Internet Archive's WayBack Machine, but my gratitude goes to @kampedupkinks-blog for pointing me toward the full issue. Full transcription under the cut.]

Going to the Matt

Gay people, characters, and subjects are nothing new to Oscar winner Matt Damon. Here's his whole unexpected attitude on it all.

By Brendan Lemon

As the title character in the luxurious, homoerotic new movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon is obsessed with trying on a rich friend's clothing, looking for the right well-tailored suit to reflect his evolving view of himself. Ever since the Boston buddy picture Good Will Hunting won him a screen-writing Oscar and established him as a movie star two years ago, the actor has been redefining his own identity too.

Measuring this metamorphosis is a challenge, partly because the 29-year-old actor is still pondering just how to use the public voice that his fame has provided and partly because his celebrity's outward clues can be a little misleading. For example, he may have just bought a gargantuan—7,000 square feet—apartment in downtown Manhattan, but you sense he wants to make it a home rather than a showplace. And he may go out with another movie star (Winona Ryder), but, refreshingly, the two so rarely make the scene that they seem the furthest thing from a young Hollywood power couple.

The performer talked about both his life and gay-related issues raised by his new movie during a conversation one recent afternoon not far from his New York City home, a discussion in which he displayed his Harvard-caliber intelligence (he dropped out of that university to act, not because his grades weren't good), an attractive blend of sensitivity and seriousness, and the kind of genuine politeness that makes you want to meet, and thank, his mother.

While Damon upbringing has made him highly skeptical of celebrity, he is not about to turn the spotlight away from himself. "Matt is not the sort of actor who refuses to talk about his movies because he doesn't want to talk about his life," said Anthony Minghella, the director and screenwriter of The Talented Mr. Ripley. "In fact, one of the things that distinguishes him as both an actor and a person is that he doesn't duck the moment." Case in point: In the new movie's hottest scene, Damon's Tom Ripley looks lustfully at his friend Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) as he emerges from the bath. "Matt didn't ever try to wink at the audience while we were filming that, to distinguish himself from the character," Minghella said. To which Damon replies: "That would have been ridiculous. Ripley at that point was so bubbling over with desire."

Damon sees the homoeroticism of his latest character as an acting assignment, but his matter-of-fact approach to it has roots in his own life. "I grew up in a community house in Cambridge, Mass.," Damon said, "and a number of people who lived there were gay." Respect for difference wasn't the house's only core value; so was hard work a quality for which Damon is still known. "Matt won't always admit the rigor with which he approaches his roles," Minghella said, mentioning that for Ripley the actor learned to play the piano. "I sort of learned," Damon clarified, "just like I sort of learned to sing." The modesty is misplaced: In the movie the actor's wonderful rendition of "My Funny Valentine," aimed at an oblivious, sax-playing Greenleaf, stands as a clear, lonely lament recognizable to anyone—straight or gay—who's known the pain of unrequited love.

Don't expect Damon, however, to star any time soon in a revival of Babes in Arms, and certainly not with lifelong buddy Ben Affleck. The two remain call-each-other-at-all-hours close and make periodic noises about finishing that next screenplay, but any discussion about their friendship strikes Affleck, according to Damon, as "weak." Their bond, of course, still causes some people to regard them as more than pals. In this interview Damon addresses the subject head-on, while admitting that "the speculation isn't quite as much fun as it used to be."

But Damon, whose habit of answering virtually any question directly is reminiscent of Tom Hanks, with whom he had a memorable battle-jitters scene in Saving Private Ryan, mostly wanted to talk about sexuality because of his participation in The Talented Mr. Ripley. The movie which Minghella adapted from a 1955 novel by Patricia Highsmith (the first in a series), tells the story of the aforementioned Ripley and Greenleaf, two young Americans at play in late-1950s Italy. The secretive, hollowed-out Ripley is a consummate social strive. Unlike the wealthy, golden-haired Greenleaf, Ripley is to the manner—but not to the manor—born. In his quest for class he aspires to absorb everything about his friend: not just his clothing and his possessions but his pampered way of life.

But Greenleaf, involved with another young American, Marge Sherwood, treats Ripley disposably. Amused by Ripley's conversational talents and touched by his love of music, Greenleaf takes him along on high-spirited jaunts up and down the Italian peninsula, a series of sunlit, mostly seaside locations that the film caught sumptuously on location. But when Greenleaf tires of his visitor and attempts to toss him off, Ripley reacts tragically. "Maybe no one who sees the movie will agree with me," Damon said, "but as the one who played the character, I thought, This is so unfair. This person deserved better. He was so close to knowing happiness with another man."

In the hands of Highsmith, a lesbian expatriate who like many American writers—Vidal, Baldwin, Williams—came to Europe partly to escape the stifling sexual orthodoxy of postwar America, Ripley is a figure of great fascination but little empathy. Following him as he assumes Greenleaf's personality and attempts to elude his pursuers after the murder is a riveting yet slightly chilly exercise. "We wanted to make Ripley more human than Highsmith did," Damon said. To that end, Minghella pointed out, the character does not, as in the novel, plan to kill Greenleaf but, rather, lashes out at him when he confesses his love and is rejected. In another adjustment, Minghella transformed Peter Smith-Kingsley, one of the book's minor figures, into a gay man offering Ripley love and acceptance.

By fleshing out the book's homoerotic subtext, Minghella has made the story more resonant for a contemporary audience. He has also opened himself to the charge that he has made a movie about a "gay serial killer." "I think that that is a very reductive characterization," Damon said, "but I would urge people to see the movie and make up their own minds about its sex and psychology." To which one might add: Whether you like the film or not and whether or not you find it upsetting, Ripley stands as a sophisticated essay about an identity in formation—economically, psychologically, sexually.

For the movie's Forsterian world of prim Anglo-Saxons smitten with Italian sensuality, Damon's Ripley and Law's Greenleaf were joined by Gwyneth Paltrow as Sherwood and Cate Blanchett as a new character named Meredith Logue. All of them except Damon play roles in keeping with their images. After all, Damon has built his career playing mostly recognizably good guys. "Is my list of credits that heroic?" the actor asks a little disingenuously. To which one answers: Look at your resumé, Matt. Damon's gallery of Hollywood classic male archetypes includes the soldier (Courage Under Fire, Saving Private Ryan), the cowboy (Geronimo, the upcoming All the Pretty Horses), the athlete (School Ties, the upcoming golf fable The Legend of Bagger Vance), and the lawyer on the side of Southern right (The Rainmaker).

As part of his search for new suits, however, Damon has been willing to try some unexpected material. He is the frisky fallen angel Loki in the controversial movie Dogma, and he and Affleck are producing a TV version of The People's History of the United States, an iconoclast work by the scholar Howard Zinn. But it is as Ripley that Damon has most fully revealed in the unexpected.

Some people think it was brave of you, after just having won an Oscar for Good Will Hunting and becoming Hollywood's newly minted leading man, to play a role as upsetting and vulnerable as Tom Ripley.

I don't think playing Ripley was brave of me. I'm an actor who read a great script and who was extremely lucky to have been asked to do the part.

Ripley, however, is a very sad soul, and you appear to be anything but. What personal experiences did you draw on to convey that part of him?

Like everybody, I'm lonely to some extent. Like everybody, I live in fear of not being loved and not having love returned. And I think everybody has a Dickie Greenleaf in his life: someone who is extraordinarily charismatic but who can go away.

Ripley covets everything about Dickie's identity—his way of life, the issue of class, in both the sense of one's social stratum and of one's taste, is, along with sexuality, perhaps the driving issue of the movie. Did you relate to Ripley's cravings for class?

Only to a certain extent. When I was growing up in Cambridge, Mass., people took a certain amount of pride in not being Harvard people. We always thought we were cooler than they were. In terms of relating to Ripley's outsider quality, I have the standard stories that you probably have—of not being invited to the dance and picked for the team. The challenge of Ripley was making the longing to be chosen consistent in my character, despite the horrible things he's doing. Because if you don't stay in sympathy with Ripley—if you go into the theater thinking he's a "gay serial killer" and not a tormented, sensitive human being—then you may as well stay home. You're only going to have your preconceptions confirmed.

What were the key scenes for you to convey Ripley's sexuality?

The chess scene, where Dickie is naked and in the bathtub and Ripley is clothed and out of it. Also the scene where Ripley says he'd take a bullet for Dickie and the scene in the jazz club where, under the cover of music, I shout to him, "It's one big love affair." That's sort of my coming-out in the movie.

The bathtub scene is homoerotic yet slightly enigmatic. Ripley wants to get in the bath, but when he asks and Dickie says no, Ripley has to damp down his desires. Even though, moments later, when Dickie is toweling off, Ripley looks at his ass with a longing that suggests he's just seen the face of God.

When Ripley first got to Italy, if Dickie had taken off his clothes and said, "OK, strip down," Ripley would have just recoiled. Our idea was that he was a virgin. I say that because he's probably never been naked in front of somebody. Remember the first time you were naked in front of somebody? It's terrifying, but you get over it because, hopefully, you have somebody who says, "You're beautiful." But Ripley's never had that. He hasn't crossed the hurdle of deep self-loathing.

But when, at the movie's end, Peter Smith-Kingsley, a sweet, sensitive musician whom Ripley meets...

The ultimate man!

...asks Ripley to take his clothes off and become intimate, he's still struggling with his physical self-image. He is still deeply ashamed of himself, both because of his demonstrated capacity for violence and because of his inability to be intimate—with anyone, male or female. It is this abiding moral sense that makes him human rather than, to be reductive about it, a serial killer. He takes no pleasure in his transgressions.

Right, which is why the ending is so devastating. Ripley still believes that if he showed his authentic nature, he'd be cast aside.

Which is a version of what everyone fears and what some gay people, sadly, fear their whole lives: that as soon as people see our true, hidden natures they will reject us.

So rather than expose himself further to the man who truly loves him, Ripley "rejects" Peter in the most extreme way possible.

Ripley's relationship with Peter is potentially an adult, homosexual one, whereas the one with Dickie is more adolescent and amicable. The movie reminds us that there is a vulnerability involved in same-sex friendships that is just as acute as those in full-fledged gay love affairs.

Same-sex relationships with anyone when you are young entail extreme vulnerability. The first experience most of us have of devastating personal rejection is not with someone we want to date but with someone we want to befriend.

When you were that tender age, was your desire to be an actor looked down upon by your buddies?

No.

You were extremely lucky in that, you know.

I know. A number of people have come up to me and said that because of their interest in theater they were referred to as "drama fags." That wasn't the case in our school. I was supported by my parents and friends in the desire to be creative.

Who were some of the early gay influences on you?

I grew up in a community house, inhabited by my mother and brother and many other adults and children, and a number of people who lived there were gay. My theater teacher was not gay, but I probably had more gay than straight teachers in high school. So being gay, luckily, was not something that I was "introduced" to at some age. It was more that I was introduced to the prejudice against it. I had the reverse of a typical growing-up in that regard.

Your lifelong friendship with Ben Affleck had been endlessly scrutinized since your success with Good Will Hunting. Given how you grew up, was it odd to be tagged as lovers and have that speculation be viewed by some people as a negative thing?

The gay assumption seemed silly to me, a real waste of attention. But I understand that the idea of something hidden fascinates people.

At first, your friendship with Ben was a good marketing ploy. But now that your careers are established, has that strategy gotten tired?

Absolutely. You reach a point where it's your friendship and no one else's.

But you're smart enough to know that the media isn't likely to leave your relationships alone—whether it's you and Ben or you and Winona Ryder, your current girlfriend. You're also smart enough to know that the public has been burned enough times by the media dissembling about homosexuality to be more skeptical than they used to be about the subject. And thus a few people are going to read this interview and still want—still need—to believe that the couple is not you and Winona but you and Ben.

But that's because sex sells magazines and because people are now conditioned to believe that anyone they see on the cover is having sex with everyone in their lives. Given the shallow nature of the packaging and the salesmanship in our culture, it's no surprise that people are lulled into these assumptions.

The unvaryingly sexy packaging is a distraction from ever having to think about the real issues.

Of course.

To go back to you and Ben, would it be so terrible if you were a couple?

The question of whether Ben and I are gay is so awkward in a lot of ways. There is no real right way to answer it without offending somebody. It's offensive to just deny it fiercely, as if there would be anything wrong with it if we were a couple. That would be offensive to the people I grew up with. I don't want to be that person. At the same time, I can't say it's true because it's not. Ben once made light of this type of tabloid speculation by telling an interviewer something like, "I'm sure there are gay people who are in the closet in Hollywood, but also I'm sure that they didn't sleep with Henry's friend." [Laughs]

Yeah, it's interesting how the source for so many tabloid outings always seem to be some Henry guy's pal or some friend of somebody's hairdresser.

That's so true.

One of the strangest things about the media's attempt to disparage your relationship with Ben is that male friendship used to be considered a noble thing. It was not powerful men but powerful women who were divided through the use of the gay rumor. Now same-sex closeness of both genders is targeted.

I guess it's not enough for me to say that I love Ben so much that I'd take a bullet for him.

You also have to say—pardon my bluntness—that you'd take his dick up your ass.

Yeah. It's completely bizarre.

If you were, in fact, in a relationship with another man, would you be in the same position career-wise?

I would like to say that if I were gay, I'd be out. But I think that's not fair because I'm not gay, and I don't know personally what pressure is brought to bear on you if you are. My short answer, without a lot of reflection, is that if you were out, your career would suffer. Would Rock Hudson have had the career he had if he'd been out? No way.

But, of course, we'll never know until someone with your level of leading-man visibility comes out and until Hollywood allows the box office rather than its own internalized prejudices to decide if the public is ready for such a move. With a few test cases, maybe we could move away from this type of discussion. Saying that may be naive, though, given our culture's obsession with celebrities.

And with celebrity bedrooms.

It feels weird to think of the Ripley movie in light of this prurient culture of ours. Because it takes place at a time, the late 50's, when it was taboo for an American guy to confess any kind of affection. That type of unstated longing, of course, is what gives the film so much of its power.

If this were a contemporary movie, the relationships would probably be handled differently. All the people I talked to who are of Ripley's generation—who were young in the '50s—said that you didn't talk that much about your sexuality in any regard. Today, on the other hand, you meet someone, and 15 minutes later he's saying, "You know, my boyfriend and I have this problem with trust." If this were a movie set in 1999, for a tasteful young man like Ripley to admit to a wordly Princeton graduate like Dickie that he has a homosexual side would seem really tame. Especially in our age, when you go home and there, on Jerry Springer, is some guy with two penises.

But in some ways the culture remains alarmingly the same. Highsmith's novel, for example, is infused with homosexual panic. This is part of Ripley's fear of being found out in all aspects of his life—that he's a fake somebody instead of a real nobody. And the fear of thought gay remains a huge fear for some guys still today.

Sure. This makes me think of American Beauty with its theme of the fear of the person next door. Middle America knows that its next-door neighbors could, in fact, be gay. They can't pretend any longer that it's not possible. And that, unfortunately, is very upsetting to some of them. People should recognize that homosexuality just is. Personally, I think it's genetic. That's always been my theory because I have friends who are gay and who really don't want to be and who say they don't have lives that are conducive to it.

What do you mean, "not conducive to it"?

Because being gay makes their lives more difficult professionally.

I'm not going to take the time here to comment on that kind of self-concealment, even though I know from experience how necessary it can seem at a certain time in your life. Are some of these friends actors?

Not just actors. Though it's true that show business is a lot more closed-minded than it may appear. Which is ironic, considering that there are more gay people in the movie industry and in arts in general than in other walks of life.

I think that's a fair and accurate statement. Or at least one that won't frighten the horses.

[Laughs] Right.

Since, in a sense, we've been talking about maintaining appearances, let me raise the matter of appearances regarding the Ripley movie. Specifically clothing. Tom enjoys wearing Dickie's clothes, even though Dickie doesn't always enjoy the fact that Tom is borrowing them. This reflects, of course, how Tom is struggling to assume Dickie's identity in all forms, not just the sexual or psychological ones. The clothing interchange reminded me of one of the real pleasures of being a gay couple: wearing your partner's wardrobe.

But that's not necessarily a gay thing. My group of closest friends and I lived, until recently, in these loose communal situations—in New York, L.A., Boston. And there was a constant raid on somebody's closet. You'd see one of your roommates in a restaurant, and he'd say, "Hey, that's my shirt. You asshole! I just washed that shirt!"

What did the question of clothes mean to you in the making of Ripley?

It relates to body image. Ann Roth, the movie's costume designer, said to Jude Law, "These clothes hang better if you don't wear underwear." So Jude said, "Right, I won't wear underwear." And she looks at me, and I said, "Of course, Tom wears underwear. It would be too exposing of himself not to."

How were clothes key to the formation of your own personal identity?

I remember for my graduation from high school my older brother gave me his leather jacket, which was my favorite thing in the world. He gave it to me in June. I went into my room, put it on, and basically waited for fall. My brother was so cool, and because I was wearing his jacket, I was cool too.

That was a moment not so much of vanity as of validation.

Absolutely.

It's interesting how validation becomes vanity as you grow older. Speaking of which, at what point growing up did you start receiving validation for your looks?

When I got to Harvard. When I got there I thought I was James Dean, wearing my leather jacket. A friend of mine from England, who lived on my dorm floor, and I thought we were very cool. And we weren't afraid to say it to each other.

Some actors consider it a little unmanly to have to obsess so much about their appearance. Do you?

I worry about appearance less than I used to. I look at Brad Pitt. I will never, and could never, look like that. He is just incredible to look at. Period. If I were gay, he would be one of the posters on my wall. Ben and I both have more realistic ideas about what we look like. Not that we're insecure about it. But I know what drop-dead gorgeous looks like, and I know that I'm not it. I also know that I don't want to think, ever, about how I look when I'm in front of the camera. Because then I'm thinking about the wrong thing.

You know, however, that a certain amount of your stock as a movie actor has to do with your appearance.

But if they want handsome, they're not coming after me; they're going to Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise—one of those guys.

I wonder. I can think of a few producers who might think that you would fill the handsome slot just fine.

Well, thank you. Now I feel validated. [Laughs]

You've said that Ripley is a once-in-a-lifetime situation for you. Is that because you wouldn't play a character with Ripley's attributes—repressed rage, class envy, murderousness, homoeroticism, extraordinary sensitivity, aching beauty—ever again?

Anything as original as Ripley I'd love to do again. Unfortunately, people aren't willing to put up the money to make movies like this very often. They were with Anthony Manghella, in part, because he'd just won an Oscar for The English Patient.

Even though you signed on for the movie before Good Will Hunting made you a star, I don't think you should forget the role you and Gwyneth Paltrow played in getting the movie made.

I'm not sure about that. I just hope the movie gets received the way it should. Because, realistically, its box-office chances aren't clear-cut. It needs a strong critical reception to be successful. It's still amazing to me that the studio was so supportive of Anthony's vision. In the wake of The English Patient, he could have directed a lot of movies, but he chose to make this one. He's the one who's brave, not me.

[desceros]

Hey, if this is too personal totally feel free to disregard this! But I've seen you mention having adhd more than once, and I know a super common symptom is executive dysfunction. The professionals I see aren't sure if I have adhd specifically, but they agree that I definitely have major executive dysfunction issues. Like... it feels like an actual, physical wall between me and the things I need to do, and even want to do. This wall feels... impossible to scale. I think that's just executive dysfunction in general, though, and isn't really unique to me. I just wanted to know if you have any tips that help you do the things you want to do or need to do even when it feels impossible? I've tried so many of the tips I see online, I've done quite a bit of research into the mental illnesses I do have and even the ones I likely have, and... I don't know. I still just feel stuck. Sorry if my thoughts are disorganized or hard to follow, I'm sorta really going through it right now. I'm fine, just... stressing myself out. Any tips you feel comfortable giving would be so, so appreciated. And thank you for taking the time to read this!

yes indeed, i am hashtag officially diagnosed with what i like to affectionately call my dumb bitch disease (not that anyone else is allowed to use that term for it.... well. maybe my very close friends. but yeah. gotta laugh at the awful things so you don't cry, right?)

so the thing with adhd (well. any kind of mental health issue) is that it's all a spectrum. every human person on this planet is somewhere on the euclidean axis of how many neurodivergencies they have. some people have no recognizable symptoms in any of the recognized areas we have. some people may have mild issues with things, and it's a bit fuzzy if they "have adhd or not." when you talk to a professional, there's a particular line of demarcation that happens when someone is looking to diagnose you with something.

do these symptoms interfere with your day to day life? are they severe enough to rise to the level of DISORDER?

it's completely possible for you to struggle with executive function and not have adhd. you may have something else, as executive function disorder is not exclusively in the domain of adhd, or it might just be that those particular neurons are cranky in your brain. what you're doing here—recognizing symptoms and looking for ways to address them—is really good, and basically what adhd therapy does, anyway.

all that being said, honk shoo honk shoo, let's get into a What The Fuck Are You Talking About for people who want more information on the subject, and some advice i have for you. i'll start generally, then talk a little bit about the writing thing specifically since it's a bit of a special beast for me.

what you are describing does indeed sound like issues with executive function to me.

first, for those new to the idea, executive function is the fancy term for the "executive" of your brain. the guy in a fancy suit who makes shit happen. when you walk by a dirty plate, you have the thought "oh i should put that in the dishwasher." executive function is the gap between the thought "oh i should x" and doing x.

a lot of the problems that neurodivergent people have, especially those with adhd, is that this function is impaired. some days, it's just fucking impossible to move that plate.

and it's not consistently, or predictably. some days, you will be perfectly able to do the thing. yesterday you put the plate in the dishwasher. today you put the plate in the dishwasher. tomorrow you will put the plate in the dishwasher. but tuesday comes, and you walk by the dirty plate, think "oh i should put that in the dishwasher," and then you stand there and stare at it without moving it. and you're like, c'mon. it's easy. you did it yesterday. all it takes is moving your hand. picking up the plate. walking into the kitchen. putting it inside the dishwasher. isn't that so easy? why can't you do it? why isn't your hand moving? are you lazy? are you stupid? this is infuriating! you literally just did this yesterday! you've done it a hundred times! what the fuck is wrong with you?! and then wednesday comes. now you have two dirty plates. now the task is twice as hard. maybe you can do it. maybe you can't. it's a harder task now. now you have three plates. now you're guilty because you have all these dirty plates, and it's a mountainous task now, and your roommate is giving you stink eyes for leaving dirty plates out, and you're a fucking adult who should be able to take care of some dirty plates, and you want to, you WANT to take care of the plates, but every time you THINK about them you flop into a cold sweat—

this is executive dysfunction. it's one of the more insidious side effects of adhd in my experience. that said, there are a lot of little tricks i've gotten from therapy specific to addressing this problem, so i'll give you a list here.

DO I HAVE TIME? this is best used for small, quick tasks like our plate example. you walk by the dirty plate and think "i should put this in the dishwasher." do you have time, right now, to do it? will it interfere with the thing you were doing? for example, if you're on the way out the door because your ride is honking, the answer is no. if you're on the way to get another glass of water while kicking back and watching some youtube, the answer is yes. if you have the time, do it now. now let's say you bring the plate into the kitchen and open the dishwasher. it's clean. you haven't emptied it yet. now the task has changed. but that's okay; do you have the time to empty the dishwasher right now? maybe you only get an hour a week to kick back and watch the youtube, and it's a special time that you need in order to recharge. the answer becomes no. well the plate is in the kitchen now instead of your room. victory.

COIN FLIP GAME. this one i actually got from the anti-planner by dani donovan, which i can Not recommend highly enough. there is a task you have to do, and you want to do it, but you're having a problem getting started. or maybe you have to do it but it feels icky, but you do really need to do it. the important thing for this trick is that it is not time sensitive; if you don't do it right now, it's okay. so you flip a coin. heads, you do it. tails, you get to wait until you have the thought that you need to do it again. if you get tails, then you are allowed, guilt-free, not to do the thing. if you get heads, sorry champ but you're doing the thing. gamifying it in this manner kind of... cheats your brain into approaching things differently, which can help you get around that brick wall.

TASK INITIATION. sometimes, it's not that the task itself is the problem; it's because you're having problem with what's called "task initiation." getting Started doing the thing is really fucking hard. if this is your issue, you can try and approach it a different way, usually by going "backwards" down the order of operations. so say for example, laundry. i have a lot of trouble with laundry. if i think to myself "i need to do my laundry," i have difficulty with the task initiation there. so what i do instead of "starting" at the shoving clothes into the washing machine part, i'll go into my room and make sure i've picked up all the dirty clothes and sorted them out. check my bathroom for towels and washcloths. sort them away. now i'm standing in front of my dirty laundry, and i'm "doing laundry," so it's easier to pick up one of the organizer bags and take it into the laundry room. i went backwards down the line and found a place in the task list where i could begin without the hassle, then i basically tricked myself into continuing past the point where i was having trouble.

BREAK UP THE TASK. this one is good if you feel like you're looking at a mountain and it's so overwhelming you just. don't do the thing. you'll hear it a lot: "just break it up into smaller tasks!" but. what the fuck does that actually mean? what does it look like? it's going to depend on You, but let's look at our plate example. so we just walked by the plate and we know we need to put it into the dishwasher. well. let me start by looking at the plate. can i do that? can i pick it up? let's say the answer is no. well, why? maybe i'm so stressed from work that this is just one too many things on my, haha, plate right now. okay. maybe don't worry about this right now, then. or maybe i'm having trouble because i know that the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, so it's not really as simple as "put the plate in the dishwasher." so, bring the plate into the kitchen. put it on the counter. maybe that's enough for now. or maybe i can open the dishwasher. look inside. it's full, and i don't really have the energy to unload it right now. ...or maybe i do, but i'm just looking at this huge thing that feels too big. maybe i can put away one plate. okay. that wasn't so bad. maybe i can put away all the plates. plates are easy. my trick is i take all the clean dishes OUT of the dishwasher and put them on my kitchen island without worrying about putting them away yet. then i load the dirty things into the dishwasher. well now i turn around and i have all the clean dishes pilled up nicely here. momentum really is everything. one task leads to two leads to five leads to done.

TASK BUNDLING. this is useful if you're trying to be more consistent about something and you already have something else you do consistently. for example, i have dogs. every night around six pm, i feed them supper. now, historically, i've had problems with remembering to eat/feeling like cooking when i wasn't hungry/being hungry but having trouble cooking. i don't need to tell you how unhealthy that is, hahaha. so what i did is i bundled my supper together with their supper. they will eat every night. they will Not forget to remind me that they want to eat. i make their supper every day. so i make their supper, feed it to them, and bam! i'm in the kitchen. preparing food already. so it's really easy for me to keep going and prepare My food. let's say you want to drink more water. every time you open tumblr, bundle together the task of checking to make sure you have a glass of water with you, and take a sip. let's say you want to take a vitamin. keep the bottle by your toothbrush. and get weird with it! don't let social norms hold you back. i have a toothbrush in my shower. i have medicine on the bookshelf next to where i play video games. these aren't the "usual" places for things, but they Work for ME. find the places that work for you, and bundle things together. you'll be a lot more likely to do them if they're tied to something else.

BODY DOUBLING. this one is HUGE. i've actually infected my neurotypical friends in discord with this one, it's so powerful, hehehe. basically, you externalize the executive function. there are a couple of ways to do this. if you want to do something, ask someone to be in the room with you. they don't have to be doing the same thing, or anything, really. but having another Person there (another BODY, if you will) will make it so you can do the thing. you can also do this over discord. for example, my friends and i will open up a voice chat, and we'll be doing things. i'll be writing, khaya will be drawing, yorsh will be writing or drawing, keisha will be writing or drawing... and because we're all there together, we're super productive! it smashes through that brick wall a bit. there is a whole genre of youtube videos i LOVE that target this thing. find "study with me" type videos where you have someone doing homework or something, maybe they have rain, or lofi music, or just the ambient noises of a coffee shop; whatever you find most helpful. i actually body double with a little fox timer i have on my desk. i turn him on for an hour, and since he's "working," it's really easy for me to be like "ok i gotta work too." silly? yes. does it work? yes!

BULLET JOURNAL/APPS. i don't mean the pinterest pretty things where you end up spending way too much time on making a pretty spread. i mean the actual basic bullet journal that the original creator developed because he has adhd and needed something to keep his shit straight. i did this for a while, and i found it somewhat useful? eventually i found more success with the app TickTick, which is so good for me keeping my tasks straight and accounted for, i pay for the premium bc fuck yeah. if you're the kind of person motivated by streaks (think, like, doing something because you don't want to break a streak. i am very much this person.) then i've gotten a lot of good mileage out of the Today app. i don't use it much anymore, but it's very good if that's a motivating thing for you.

WEAPONIZE ANNOYANCE. i do this one a lot. i have certain things that annoy me a lot. like, being wasteful with water really annoys me. so that means i don't like to wash laundry more than once. which means, if i put something in the washing machine, i WILL move it into the dryer. so if i can put my laundry into the washing machine and get it started, i have defeated the demon of moving it into the dryer by weaponizing my own irritation against myself. same thing with gritty bathroom floors. my cat's litterbox is in my bathroom. i Really hate stepping out of the shower and feeling litter under my feet. so i'm pretty meticulous about keeping the bathroom floor clean, even though sometimes i have a moment of executive dysfunction about vacuuming every day, because whenever i hit that brick wall i think. ok. well. we can look at this brick wall that's here. now think about the sensation of stepping out onto cat litter out of the shower. aofjalsfjadlskfjslakfjsalkfj. and that's enough for me to reach for the vacuum. so you can use your preferences against your weaknesses, especially if they're things that you're Very particular about.

RECONTEXTUALIZE. my therapist will sometimes stop me and say "you are should-ing all over yourself." and this is when i'm saying things like "i should x" or "i should y." i should be able to put away this plate in the dishwasher. i did it yesterday! i should be able to do it today! the moment you catch yourself thinking these things, stop. think about it differently. instead of "i should be able to put this plate away," think "i want to be able to put this plate away." now you can say. well. why do i want to put the plate away? because it's dirty, and dirty dishes will attract bugs. i don't want bugs. i want my room to be clean and smell nice. i want to enjoy being in here. now, instead of a chore that needs to be done, you can think about it as a positive thing you're doing. sometimes this is enough to get around that wall.

now. you've asked me about writing specifically, which is. kind of a special beast for me. you said it seems like i have a compulsion to do it—and it really does kind of feel that way. if i go too long without writing, i feel uncomfortable. antsy. like i'm not doing what i need to be doing in order to be Me. as such, it's usually not that difficult for me to convince myself to write. if i start seeing a brick wall about it, i can go "...but... think about the COOL SHIT that's about to happen in symphony!!" and i'll go "OH YEAH" and break right the fuck through that brick wall kool-aid style.

that said. i do experience executive dysfunction with my writing. there are days when i want to write, i have the scene in my head, i have the time, i'm in my special writing place, and i sit down and—and i can't do it. i can't write. i keep clicking into tumblr. i close tumblr on my computer then pick up my phone. i watch youtube videos. it's like no matter what i do, i can Not focus on writing. even though i am screaming and rattling at the cages because i want to!!! i want to write!!! i want to do nothing MORE than write!!!!

often, one of the tricks above will work for me since i've learned how to use them over the years, and i have practice tricking myself. i find particular success with the body doubling in particular for writing. but some days, it just. Doesn't Happen. and here is the ultimate truth that i will bestow upon you:

it's okay if you don't do the thing.

so you don't pick up that plate today, and tomorrow you have two. so you don't do your laundry, so you have to do it tomorrow. so you miss a meal. you go a day without writing. it's okay. as long as you're safe and healthy, it's okay. tomorrow is another day for you to try and do the thing.

stressing out about how much you want to do the thing is counterproductive. you're just going to make yourself ill doing that, and then you'll be less capable of doing things. just... chill. relax. breathe. do what you can. try the tips i gave, look for some more and see if those work, and if they don't... all right. it just isn't meant to happen today. no big deal. do something else today. maybe you don't pick up that plate... but you do fold that laundry that was giving you a brick wall a few days ago. maybe you don't write that fic today... but you do read that book you've been putting off, and now you have a new favorite author you want to pick apart and study. life is short, and precious. don't should on yourself.

[flowerpotmage]

Reunion

Summary: Steve, Natasha, and yourself take a trip to visit Bucky Barnes after his treatment in Wakanda.

Pair: Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Notes: Post CA:CW, pre Black Panther, aaall fluff, implied pre-established relationship.

Word Count: 964

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

You fidget anxiously in your seat on the quinjet, worrying your nail between your teeth while trying not to actually bite or tear it. It had taken a lot of effort to quit the habit of biting the whites of your nails off, and despite the roiling tight ball of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the nail between your teeth, you don’t intend to fully break your streak now.

“You should really take your finger out of your mouth,” Natasha says from her pilot seat next to you. “You’re worse than Rogers.”

Immediately you pull your hand away from your face and tuck it into the crook of your arm, crossing both across your ribs. “I am not.”

She smiles wryly, pink lips pursed closed despite the crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Uh-huh.” She rolls her head to look over her shoulder behind the two of you, to where Steve paces the few steps in the body of the quinjet.

You turn in your seat to look back at him as well, to find him looking quite similar to how you feel. His brow is slightly creased in a nervous frown, an arm crossed over his torso while the elbow of the other rests on it, fingers fidgeting with his bottom lip and his chin. You turn and look at Natasha, who’s watching you with a quirk of one of her perfect eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up.” You glare with no real venom behind it, and when she raises her hands in mock surrender you both chuckle.

“I’d be nervous too,” she broaches the subject again after some time of silence, Steve no longer pacing behind you having finally decided to reoccupy his seat.

You look at her, your silence encouraging her to continue.

“Whatever you two had going on before we found him… He’ll be a little different.” She looks at you. “Steve’s freaking out for the same reason. He’ll be different from either Barnes you knew,” she pauses, nodding her head to the side in the approximation of a shrug, “ But, probably more recognizable to you than to him.”

Natasha lets the silence sit now, the only sound while you approach Wakanda is the near silent hum of the engine.

Members of the Dora Milaje greet the three of you when you touch down, escorting you along with Princess Shuri into the Citadel building.

“Sergeant Barnes is waiting for us inside,” Shuri says. “It’ll be good to have visitors from home.” She meets your eyes with a playfully pointed look and raised brow after giving the same to Steve and Natasha.

Your heart pounds in your chest as your little group moves through the halls, coming at last to a smaller private social room. There are couches with colorful patterned pillows, large canvases painted with traditional patterns and vivid colors hang on the walls. There is a glass coffee table with a bowl of fruits, and what looks like a potential drink cart with more food off to the side.

You see none of this though, your eyes focused solely on the man that stands up from an exceptionally modern, round-edged couch. His hair is still long - maybe even longer than last time you saw him, and it's half tied up, which you’ve never seen before. It leaves his face open, blue eyes bright under boyish brows.

Bucky’s half-smiling mouth starts to open, but he doesn't manage to get anything out before your body is moving of its own accord across the room and you've practically thrown yourself at him, arms wrapping around him so hard that you hear the soft puff of air as it leaves his lungs. He stumbles back, arm lifting to wrap around your shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, a nervous smile in his voice.

You pull your head back, clearing your throat as you step back and start to release him from your arms. “Sorry. Hi.”

He starts to open his mouth to say something else when he sees Steve and Natasha standing by the door, smiling at the two of you. Your face warms when you remember their presence, glad you’d only hugged the man next to you as you step aside so he can properly greet the others.

Shuri stays for a while to talk with the four of you about Bucky’s deprogramming - it's a heavy topic for a reunion, but unavoidable - and then leaves you in the care of two of the Dora Milaje who wait outside the room to grant you privacy.

“It’s been good here,” Bucky says, single arm resting on the back of the couch. “They made a new arm for me, but I don’t really need it right now, since I’m just by myself with goats most of the time.”

“Bucky Barnes tending goats,” Steve chuckles. “If only the dames back in the day could see that.”

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Bucky grins. “They’re better company, and only half as stubborn as you’ve ever been.”

When you laugh and look at Natasha you find her eyes on you, her own laugh fading into a knowing smile as her eyes flick from you to Bucky and back.

It isn't until later when you're all leaving the room to go to bed that you get a quiet moment with Bucky alone, lingering behind with him as Steve and Natasha step out to talk to the two Dora Milaje outside.

“It's really great to see you,” you say quietly to him.

He smiles. “I’m glad you came.” The way he says it makes it sound like it was unsure if you would.

“Of course I did,” you say, stepping closer.

He swallows, eyes flicking between your own. “Still?”

You nod, taking his hand and kissing it. His breath hitches. “Still.”

[beesmygod]

JJBA PART 5, VENTO AUREO IS THE UNDERBAKED MESS I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT FIXING...PART 2

FIX 1: MORE KOICHI FOR THE MASSES

koichi! we love koichi, don't we folks? i know i do.

who's koichi? oh shit, that might be hard to explain.

pictured: koichi, in his dormant, yet most powerful, form.

if you DON'T recognize this little gremlin above, his appeal might be totally lost on you, and his appeal is necessary to understand if i'm going to convince you of what a fucking missed opportunity his narrative purpose could have been.

that's koichi hirose, the short king of morioh. i didnt think i would like him at all after realizing he was being set up as the deuteragonist and companion to the titular jojo of part 4, josuke. like, who the fuck was this little dork? get outta here! im here to see the joestars kidnap children and have homoerotic adventures. i am not here to be subjected to the trials and tribulations of a friendless, spineless, standless dipshit. i assumed he was going to be the designated joestar hypeman for the chapter, a role usually carved out for precocious children.

wrong! koichi gets hit with the stand arrow (the arrow the gives you stands, remember this) early on and gets dragged into a frightening battle of good versus evil right in his own backyard. the arrow and the responsibility that comes with it acts as the main catalyst for his transformation from nottie to hottie. in contrast to the bastardly joestars and their ilk, koichi is a genuinely kind, empathetic, and honest person; he's intended as a foil to the mischievous josuke. he brings to the table the platonic ideal of an every-man who rises gallantly to the challenges thrown at him because its the right thing to do. the series folds koichi as a main cast member to the point where he is one of the very few people on planet earth to draw a smile and praise out of jotaro kujo.

who's jotaro kujo? uhhh.

hmm. i'm getting to my point. but it might require a chart:

POINT: jotaro kujo, the man who probably has with the strongest stand in universe, who appears in 4 chapters out of a total of 9, and who is probably one of the most recognizable and beloved characters in manga history, trusts literally one person on the entire planet: koichi hirose.

SO:

when koichi shows up in part 5 right from the jump to act as the part 4 connective tissue, there is absolutely no reason why he can't stick around for longer than he does canonically so that he can satisfyingly fulfill his role as official vibe checker. let him be important!

---

oh my god, i can hear jojo fans groaning as they scroll through all that shit. so what?! did you make me read all that just to say "there should have been more koichi?!"

look, i need to make sure "we're" all on the same page and understand the perspective i'm coming from. "we", in this case, being the audience of both jojo fans this is primarily aimed at and fandom rubberneckers (greetings friends) who shouldn't have to comb a wiki exhaustively to decode my unhinged ramblings. it's essential background info that koichi is a fan favorite both in canon and in fandom. we gotta understand the role he wound up playing in the overarching struggle of good versus evil in his hometown to understand his narrative role in part 5.

YES. there SHOULD have been more koichi! but not just because we like to see him! he provides an established, trusted moral backbone for the audience. his reputation as a reliable guy is such that jotaro sends him on his own to investigate a young man who may be related to the dreaded bisexual nemesis of the joestar bloodline, dio brando. this is a big fucking deal. if dio has a kid that's really bad. how many backup plans did this guy have (answer: dude you have no idea).

---

ugh! part 5 koichi! if you really want to scream look up how he looks in the rohan spin off series.

in ep 1 of the "golden wind", koichi arrives in italy looking for our new jojo, giorno giovanna (who sucks, but that's a whole kettle of fish we can only barely touch on now). koichi, who has the street sense of one of those dogs that gets carried around in a luxury purse, instantly gets robbed by petty street criminal giorno in a rare burst of personality never seen again after this initial story-line.

okay whatever. after skipping a few eps, giorno and koichi team up to defeat the first stand together after drawing its ire during giorno's weird mafia test. the stand, black sabbath, stabs its victims with a stand arrow (the arrow that gives stands), causing them to either die or gain powers. this might be controversial, but its my personal opinion that its probably not good for a mafia to have a factory that creates jerks with super powers and its right to try to shut that down. after the fight, giorno reveals his dream to koichi of joining the mafia with the explicit purpose of reforming it from within. koichi promises not to report to jotaro about the fact that there's ANOTHER STAND ARROW until after giorno is initiated into the gang. god. jesus christ.

first of all, this GANG-STAR thing is the silliest shit anyone has ever heard. this is literally his for real goal throughout the entire story-line. which could have been great! but people within the fiction should react to this like hes telling them he's going to invent the first bicycle for fish instead of looking at him with the kind of wonder and glory you reserve for jesus christ himself. this train of thought leads to too many thoughts about giorno's lack of personality, so let's set it aside for now. i think giorno should maintain this insane goal, but he should actively have to convince people that he is capable of doing something that fucking nuts.

second, no way would koichi agrees to this absolutely braindead truce lol. koichi doesn't know giorno from adam; the sense we're supposed to get is that koichi innately senses that he's a good guy from his little speech and we, the audience, are supposed to take his word for it. but there is nothing convincing or authentic in how the situation plays out. there's a level of naivety/stupidity applied to the characters involved for this situation to work at all: i dont know why telling jotaro in florida that there's a stand arrow in italy would impact giorno's mafia standing at all. especially considering the arrow breaks and no longer functions shortly after giorno's initiation. koichi should find giorno's dreams and desires spurious and continue his investigation for jotaro, both to impress him and because its the right thing to do. he should also be like "heh, i took care of a stand arrow for you mister kujo". let him have another win. fuck it. why not.

third, koichi doesn't know that the stand arrow is destroyed and i have a hard time believing that he, a victim of said arrow, would do anything other than raise serious alarms over the proliferation of objectively evil stand users in italy where dio's son coincidentally happens to live. the following arc in which giorno and his new team mates go on a hunt for a hidden treasure should have been a series of demonstrations to koichi that italy was being cleaned up by a joestar (as opposed to the danger of being exploited by a brando) and was ultimately in good hands. this would require giorno to get some wins in during this time so he would actually have to do something for a change.

keeping koichi around long past where he does in canon could and should have given giorno a chance to demonstrate a different form of heroism to contrast the pure-hearted pursuit of justice championed by koichi. in eventually winning over a familiar and trustworthy character, giorno would have proved himself to be more than just "dio's son", a fact which should have hung over this part like a dark cloud.

but that's. that's next time.

[beedreamscape]

Scenes of Iomene and Oscar in the time after.

I have no excuses for why I wrote this except [screams]. PURE SELF-INDULGENT HEADCANON. It takes place over a long, undefined length of time.

Iomene wraps her arms around Oscar's shoulders by the back and at her firm embrace, he leans into her.

His shoulders are broad so she's not able to envelop him completely. They stand at roughly the same height -either by design or some trick of the eye, he's got the impression she ought to be taller- and she's strong enough that he leans without worry of pushing her back.

She rests her chin on his shoulder and looks at the subject of his attention, the storm going outside the tall windows. Behind the curtain of rain, the thinner trees bend under the force of the wind, branches lashing against themselves and on the studier trunks, leaves sway like clothes on a line.

Their eyes cross on the faint reflection on the glass. In contrast to all that is fair in him, his eyes are like two dark marbles, a brown so deep and dark it's almost black; hers resemble her skin, an inhuman ambar like brandy on fire. Whenever she holds his stare to hers, he has the unsettling thought that she can or might be reading his thoughts.

Taking a break? He asks.

Thought I come see you.

He breathes out a laugh. You didn't have to.

The first time it happened he asked if it was her doing, the rain. It wasn't without reason, she had told him this place wasn't entirely real, the mansion -or palace if you lived in the places Oscar had- was almost a personal limbo, between veils, not outside of the Fairelands but not in it either.

Close enough it influences what happens here, she had told him.

If it rains there, it rains here?

She had shaken her head. No, fluctuations in Bleed cause this. I lived in flood and pain when war was at its highest, then in waist-deep snow as it died down.

He had also told her it reminded him of the accident and she held him steadily for what must've been hours if those had any meaning there.

Her breath has a complex rich scent, never bad but never something recognizable; a new, intriguing smell.

I don't have to do anything.

I know. He rubs the back of her hand in a resemblance of reassurance. I'm alright, I promise.

I miss having someone to care for.

He takes her upper arm, his large hand almost wrapping around it, and brings her to his side so he can look at her --- she's beautiful in a way he's not used to, though he's not quite sure what was he ever used to anymore. Her skin is bronze like copper and her hair darker than any black his eyes could register, she only looked human when she stood very close.

You already care for the whole of the Fairelands. Besides, I'm literally the last person that needs caring for.

It's different. And yes, you do. Dying is not the worst thing that can happen to a person and we both know it.

He smiles, not with teeth but broadly. Darling, I'm painfully familiar with oblivion. Though I've only skirted the edges of madness.

I've dabbled in madness a fair share over millennia.

He points lazily towards the window.

Could we walk out on it? Not in permission but in safety. Every now and then I heard of toxic rain back in Newfair, especially right after the war.

It's bleed-induced, but I don't believe it's toxic. I think we could.

And without another word, she takes his hand and leads him out.

He had asked her how far the land around them stretched on the first night he had woken up in the house --- she had kept him sleeping for about a week or maybe a month, a while to dream of death, a while to adapt her world for his presence, to be shared after hundreds of years of solitude.

For as far my legs will carry me, she told him.

Are there other buildings? Other houses?

I never felt the need for them.

You build them?

With enough will and vision, I could.

So you built this? She nods. A bit big for just one person.

One needs a variety of spaces even when living alone. I thought of rebuilding the whole of Oldfaire in the beginning, I went halfway through with it, but seeing my city with none of its people really hurt me. I did replicate the shore of Seasway, not the whole ocean, but enough that it might trick the eye into thinking it's endless.

Wow... I might need a map one day.

Yes, yes, I never thought to do so, it can be a fun project if you'd willing to tackle it. But that's for later. I reshaped some quarters and cleared space so you may shape them to your liking.

I wouldn't know where to start.

I would suggest you start with your bedroom and then the library, browse through my catalogue and pick out the ones you need to assemble your own.

Why can't I use yours?

She smiles that mischievous smile of someone who knows more, who'll always know more. You'll understand when you walk in there.

He went days without moving much further than the clearing surrounding the house, went on not exploring the library and its secrets, went on trying to ignore the grief over Cosmo, and on one of those days, returned with bloodied and torn fists.

I thought I'd hurt less in here, he told her. She gestures to the water-filled bowl in front of him and he dips his hands in, and sighs at the soothing cool of it.

That'd be easier if it was like that. I'm constantly in pain, I just learned to live with it.

I assume because of the Bleed.

Yes. They both go silent and watch the blood colouring the water red. She waits for him with a towel after five minutes. I'll put ointments and bandage it, but it'll heal regardless. It'll heal as if you had never broken your skin.

Can I even die here?

You'll have to try really hard for it and even then you'd return. The magick here... This place is electrified with both life and Bleed, its own reality and limbo combined.

Oscar went around three days without seeing Iomene before daring to enter her private quarters and look for her.

She lied pale yellow on the floor of her study, cold at the extremities, not breathing. For a second he wondered if she had succeded, but just for a second --- if she had died three days ago, her body would've begun to rot and he knew they don't have that luxury.

The bleed permeated the very air he breathed but at that moment, it flooded out of her like a broken fire hydrant, it made his skin break in goosebumps upon touch and something within him to stir.

He took her in his arms and layed her inside the gold bathtub of her bathroom, clothes and all, and ran a hot bath.

Then he sat on the floor and waited for her to return.

After a quiet period of days of studying, on her part, and reading, on his --- inside the library, he understood, rows of books that the biggest library in Newfaire would never be able to comport, knowledge so old it no longer had surviving records in the world of the living, no place traversable in search of a casual read at least not in short notice ---, she invites him for a walk.

The weather was nice, not too hot like in days of excessive magick nor cold like in days of Bleed, and Iomene wore clothes shorter than any he'd ever seen her in, considering he'd only ever seen her in long pants and gowns.

She walked with a purpose for about five minutes before reaching another clearing, not a random grass field, but a perfect cone with grass cut to perfection and familiar lines.

She walked forward towards the perfectly cut circle at the head of the field while he stood stunned.

I know this means very little without peers to play with but I thought we could think of something for two or at the very least it could bring forth fond memories.

He held back tears. Yeah, we can think of something. But we'll need-

The bats and balls are right over there, she says pointing to one of the trees where beneath is an open crate with the equipment. Needless to say, I'll need some training, I'm afraid just watching didn't make me a partner up to par.

He laughed out loud, the first time she heard it. Well, if it'll be just the two of us... He studied the contents of the crate and he picked up a ball. First of all, I think I'll need you to perfect your throws.

And shooted the baseball her way.

The rain feels both exactly like it always did, but also more real, much colder even through his dress shirt, especially through it, the intensity of the rain soaking the fabric until the clothes cling to his skin.

Yet he stands under it, proper vision of his surroundings impeded by the water except that of her, standing near, long dark hair dripping and a face that could only belong to an empress.

I haven't stood in the rain in decades, I think, she shouts. There's something jovial to her in this very moment, to her smile and the way she faces the rain as it pours over her face.

With her, there is always a dichotomy --- real or fantastic, a mother or a partner, a goddess or a woman.

He ignores every restraint and every assumption, and gives in to the feelings he's still allowed in this moment: the cold making his skin prickle, the fear brought by the intense sound of the storm hitting the trees and the house's roof, but especially the searing hot draw towards the woman who doesn't flinch as she looks at the abomination of his existence --- his only equal.

Oscar closes the distance, holds her face with the scraps of gentleness he still recalls and kisses her with the ferocity of a creature fearless of death. Iomene responds with the hunger of a prisoner fed comfort and warmth, holding onto him with nails dug deep as a captive holds onto freedom.

He pulls away with blood seeping through the cracks of his lips, blinking through wet lashes.

You taste like mints, he shouts through the rain.

She's serious when she responds, I considered your preferences.

This takes him by surprise. You knew I'd kiss you?

She smiles with her eyes.

No. But I've been hoping one day you would.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT 43

✨GT Stands for Garish Travesty✨

✨”Good” “Ideas”, Poorly Executed✨

So the “idea” here was to have Goku fight Frieza and Cell in Hell.  We already saw this in DBZ 195, and it didn’t even go down, because Pikkon swooped in and took out both of these guys and King Cold before Goku could get to them.

But still, this could be a good time.  The plot here is that all the classic villains have returned to invade Earth, and Goku’s trapped in Hell with Frieza and Cell, so this seems like a decent set up for some great action.  You’ve got plenty of star power, and even if Goku has these two outmatched, it’s a two-on-one deal, so maybe it can still work out. 

Except for one thing.  This is Dragon Ball GT, and for some reason they decided that this episode should look like absolute dogshit. 

Frieza kind of looks all right... I guess?  He looks pretty crappy, but he seems more or less recognizable.

But Cell looks like some shitty new character wearing a Cell costume.  His eyes are too big, and he just looks wrong in every shot. 

This is just a really unpleasant episode to watch.  I knew this was coming, and I thought I was prepared for it, but man, it’s just ugly.  There are some off-model characters in episodes of DB and DBZ, but somehow this one just sinks to a completely different level. 

It’s something about the eyes, I think.  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but everyone looks really wrong.  And unfortunately, there’s a lot of close up shots of the characters, all looking like misshapen bootleg action figures.

This is so bad.  I’m not even kidding a little.  If the episode had a better plot or script, I could forgive the bad animation, but no.  It sucks in every possible way. 

This was my introduction to Dragon Ball GT, by the way.  In 2004, I bought a strategy guide for one of the games, Budokai 2, and it came with a DVD of this episode.  The idea was to promote GT, which would be airing on Cartoon Network later that year.  I assume they picked Episode 43 because of all the star power.  In addition to the main cast, you also have Cell, Frieza, Nappa, 17, and Dr. Gero.  It’s like a damn reunion.  Except the episode sucks ass.  Everyone looks terrible, and even thought there’s a lot of fighting going on, all of it is pathetic. 

All right, let’s dive in to this turkey.

In brief: Goku’s fight with Cell and Frieza sucks because none of them take the fight seriously.  All I wanted was for Goku to blow the bad guys mind with some Super Saiyan 4 action, but instead he refuses to transform at all.  He still does an overblown power-up any way, but he doesn’t transform.  Goku still styles all over these two, and they can’t even touch him.  When Frieza tries a ki disc, Goku rides it like a surfboard.  Then he grabs a needle spike from the scenery and weilds it like his nyo’ibo.  So he’s just recreating his classic look from the old days.  That’s how seriously Goku is taking this.  Cell fires a Kamehameha at Goku, and he just knocks it back at him with his stick.  Cell gets blown up by his own attack, and the ki disc slices Frieza in half. 

But that doesn’t matter, because Cell and Frieza are already dead, so they just come back and keep fighting.  We don’t see them regenerate or anything, because the animators are lazy, as well as bad.  Cell manages to sucker Goku in and... catches him with his tail? 

Yeah, so he tries to absorb Goku and assimilate his power, the way he absorbed 17 and 18 to achieve his perfect form.  But... that’s not how Cell works.  For a moment, it seems like Cell has actually increased his power this way, but then Goku just forces himself back out of his tail, and escapes.  This is stupid.

So Frieza and Cell use a new technique to turn the tables on Goku, the Hell Buster.  This traps Goku in a ki structure, which they then launch down into the lower depths of hell.  So they’re not really defeating Goku so much as relocating him to some place else where the environment will finish him off.

Then this old lady subjects Goku to four different torments on the “Hell Pilgrimage”: She cooks Goku in a giant stew pot, then subjects him to tickle torture, then a sauna, then she freezes him with a big machine.

Frieza promises that they’ll come down there to finish him off.  So if they could do that Hell Buster move from the start, why did they even bother attacking him with anything else?

Meanwhile, the Earth is being besieged by all the other villains, like... uh... the Saibamen!  Remember them?  Well they’re back!  Yeah, who else have we got?

More Saibamen!  Wow, look at them go.  This is pretty bad news for the Earth.  It’s too bad Goku isn’t here to put a stop to this.  But it’s not just Saibamen plaguing the world.  No, there’s also...

... Saibamen.  I don’t remember there being this many of them before.  Did they have an orgy or something to make more? 

Goten and Trunks just sort of watch all this with a mixture of disgust and fear.  Uub literally flies over and asks them to step in and help.  I have no idea why this is happening.  The Saibamen aren’t even that tough.  Uub just flies through the streets, taking them out with one hit apiece, but Goten and Trunks seem reluctant to pitch in.  

Meanwhile, Pan and Mr. Satan are being chased by... General Rildo.  Can we go back to the Saibamen, please?  Gohan shows up to save them, and now we’ve got Rildo vs. Gohan, a dream match if there ever (yawn!) was one.

Okay, so this appearance by Rildo is the only confirmation we have that he died in Episode 23.  This episode makes zero effort to reintroduce the character.  He doesn’t even get any lines!   Shouldn’t Rildo be using his final form in this thing?  Is he helping the bad guys because of his loyalty to Dr. Mu?  Or is he actually loyal to Baby?  Shouldn’t he be asking where Baby is during all of this?  I mean, either he wants to keep working for Baby, or he should want to kick Baby’s ass because Baby killed Dr. Mu. 

Or, you would think he’d want to stay in Hell to fight Goku, since he’s supposed to be stronger than anyone else on the bad guy team, remember? Goku said his ki was “even greater than Buu’s”. 

Oh, and Nappa’s also here.  He blows up an entire city, which is the most any of these guys seem to have done since they invaded, but then Vegeta confronts him.  Strange that Vegeta waited until after the city got destroyed before stepping in, but whatever.  At least this promises to be an interesting scene.  Nappa’s no match for Vegeta, but they know each other well, and you could get some drama out of this encounter if....

Yeah, Vegeta one-shots him.  Never mind.

Then Gero and Mu show up and introduce Vegeta to their latest creation, “Hell Fighter 17.”  He bursts out of the rubble and there’s flames and everything, and Vegeta doesn’t seem too impressed.  Then they fight, and Vegeta doesn’t bother turning Super Saiyan.  He can’t hit Hell Fighter 17, but since he won’t transform, it makes it seem like he’s not even trying. 

As they fight, Hell Fighter 17 telepathically contacts his counterpart, the original 17, and asks him what’s taking him so long.  Remember, the plan was for both 17′s to link up and fuse into a single, invincible warrior.  Apparently Hell Fighter 17 is having some trouble with Vegeta, so he’s anxious to get that boost in power.  Well why did they go picking a fight with Vegeta, then?  They could have waited for both 17′s to combine, and then gone after him.

Instead, Original 17 tracks down his sister, Android 18, and invites her to join them.  We’ve yet to establish how Gero and Mu are controlling the original 17, but presumably they’re using Hell Fighter 17 to do it, and now Original 17 is using the same trick to influence 18.  Except Gero’s team never told him to do this, so I have to assume this wasn’t part of the plan.

Let me add some context here.  Nobody has seen 17 in years.  It was assumed that he got resurrected at the end of the Cell Games, but they never actually showed 17-- dead or alive-- until the very end of the Kid Buu fight, when he makes a cameo appearance to send energy to Goku’s Spirit Bomb.  This episode is set sixteen years after that battle, and no one ever says anything about keeping in touch with the guy. 

In fact, in the previous episode, it’s strongly implied that Trunks had never met 17 before the ambush.  He sensed 17′s ki, noticed it was similar to 18′s, and figured it out that way.  Which is bullshit, by the way.  17 and 18 don’t have ki signatures for Trunks to sense. 

So when 17 confronts 18 (and Krillin and Marron), it’s the first time they’ve been on screen together since 17 got  absorbed by Cell.  That was 23 years ago.  It’s never established whether they’ve been in contact during that time, or if this is their first meeting since 17 was wished back to life.   This is a stupid way to reintroduce a character.

I think the idea with this arc was to focus on 17, because he was the one villain who never got killed or rehabilitated.  We never found out what happened to him, and this arc would finally address his final fate.  But it turned out to be a colossal shitshow, in part because 17 is mind-controlled the entire time, so we never find out what he wants, or what he’s been up to all these years.  Instead, we just get two versions of him, and one of them hypnotizes 18 for no obvious reason, and the other one fights Vegeta in a weak, watered-down brawl.   If anyone liked 17 enough to be excited about this arc, Episode 43 has made sure to punish them for their enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, Goten, Trunks, and Uub are still zapping Saibamen, literally repeating shots of them zapping Saibamen earlier in the episode.   And Gohan is still fighting General Rildo, and not much is happening there.

And Goku’s frozen.  Good times.

✨Positivity Page✨

Perhaps the one decent shot in this episode is this one where Vegeta watches Hell Fighter 17 surrounded by flames.  He doesn’t look much like Vegeta, but at least he looks very handsome and cool.  It’s like he bribed the animation director to make him look good for one shot. 

✨Is this episode worse than “The Roaming Lake”?✨

Hell damn yes it’s worse than “The Roaming Lake”.  That episode was really pleasant to look at.  Not like this garbage dump. 

The only real question is whether Episode 43 is the worst episode of GT.  That’s a tough call, because it has to compete with the Para Bros. and Doltaki.  But Episode 43 definitely has a safe spot in the Bottom Five. 

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Hells Pilgrimage stop

Number 5: Hell of watching

GT 43.

[celebritieswithemmab]

Shaq can't stop endorsing (seemingly) random things

So what's the pattern?

Like many people, I saw this picture on my social media feed a few years back. The haunting image has stuck with me ever since.

The first time I saw the viral X (formerly known as Twitter) image, I thought it was fake. I assumed it to be the product of Photoshop and nothing more. After all, why would Shaq, a retired professional basketball player, be endorsing a pregnancy test? It has been a long time since I speculated on Shaq's bizarre endorsement but with the birth of this blog, I've been eager to talk about this subject. Shaq's bizarre endorsements range from, yes, pregnancy tests, to executive office seating. None of them seem to make any more sense than the others. So what exactly has Shaq endorsed (it's a lot) and why does it make sense to endorse these brands?

The majority of the time, if a celebrity is going to endorse something, there is a good chance it will have to do with clothing, beauty, or wellness. As celebrities are seen as rare, exclusive, and special, very rarely do you see celebrities endorsing everyday items for the common parts of our lives. If a celebrity endorses an alcohol brand we may buy it for our parties, or wear their makeup when we go out, but the gap between the lives of celebrities and our own is vast. We both may wear shoes and work out, but that's where a lot of the similarities end. Celebrities make for excellent brand endorsers because they have spent their lives specializing in a certain career many people never have the chance to access. This allows them to be perceived to hold a very certain skill set (like how Kim Kardashian, an influencer and reality TV star known for her curvy figure, owns a shape wear brand now valued at over $4 billion). Brands can use the image of celebrities to ad a layer of credibility to their product or service. Shaq first earned his fame on the court, and is no stranger to endorsements for sneakers or basketballs. Yet since his retirement, he has branched out to other unrelated topics.

To start off, Shaq owns more than 150 car washes, 17 Auntie Annie franchises, nine Papa John's franchises (also appearing in their advertising), and has bought and sold enough Five Guy locations to amount to 10% of the entire company.

And those are just some of the franchises he has owned. When it comes to what Shaq has endorsed, the brands are even more plentiful.

Heres a few of my favorite Shaq brand endorsements:

Pregnancy test

Sleep apnea mask

Epson printer cartridges

Executive office chair

Shaq also owns the celebrity likeness of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Muhammad Ali, David Beckham, and Julius Erving.

So how did Shaq become the celebrity that can seemingly endorse anything?

To understand that, you must first understand Shaq's personal brand. He appeals to men who are sports fans (specifically basketball). His audience is 75% male, and nearly half of these are aged 25-34. Shaq is brand-safe, and has faced little to no controversy throughout his career. He is incredibly recognizable. Standing at 7'1, it makes his likeness hard to miss (like in the above photo). His energy positions him as lively, youthful, and relatable. Despite his impressive investment portfolio valued at over $100 million, he still appears down-to-earth, and some of his band endorsements fuels this image (more on this later). These all appeal to his main demographic. Some things that stand out to male consumers are a good value proposition, logic, simplicity, and humor.

Imagine this: you are a male, 26 years old, and regularly keep up with sports. You're just beginning your corporate career in accounting and have big plans for your future. Your girlfriend just called you concerned that she missed her latest period. You work through your anxiety and head to the nearest corner store. Standing amongst pads, tampons, and pregnancy tests, you have no idea what to look for. You feel out of place, out of your element, and you can't stop spiraling about how your whole life could change. That's when you see the kind, familiar face of Shaquille O'Neal staring up at you from the box of a pregnancy test. You rejoyce in the presence of something known! Suddenly, the overwhelming array of products with their overwhelming array of promises doesn't seem innavigable anymore. The surprising and out-of-place endorsement is humorous and allows you, finally, to laugh. All of a sudden your serious situation turns silly and ironic. You quickly choose the Shaq pregnancy test, comforted by the knowledge that you get the gift of two free Shaq stickers with purchase.

The strange endorsements Shaq takes on allows the more mundane or scary parts of our lives to be turned into something of a comedy. We recognize the surprise of seeing Shaq, the 7'1 basketball star, endorsing an office chair, but when you're an office executive and your days are filled with excel files, something a bit unusual may be exactly what you need. Especially if your colleagues are sports fans, it would make an excellent conversation starter: I have Shaq's chair. A sleep apnea mask can become Shaq's sleep apnea mask. Your ice pack can become Shaq's ice pack. This means that these products are now seen as truthworthy, strong, long-lasting, valuable, and, most importantly, a bit funny.

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: Blade Runner Starring Donald Duck Chapter 4 - Voight-Kampff (DuckTales x Blade Runner)

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | chapter 4 | CHAPTER 5 | MORE COMING SOON...

READ NOW ON AO3!

The McDuck Corporation was easily recognizable from the air. It was the only place around that had any fire left, figuratively and literally. Columns of fire shot out from the pillars below, as much a part of 5Y manufacturing as the countless number of hapless souls working their lives away underneath. At the center of it all was a great dark pyramid, standing tall and true with a dollar sign etched into it bordered by orange light. If the fire stacks and winding pathways below were the veins of McDuck Corp, here was the heart. I set the spinner down on a platform near the pyramid’s summit, watching the breeze kick up stray particles on the pad.

McDuck’s office was a short elevator ride away. It was a huge place with hardly enough furniture to fill it properly. Columns with geometric ridges dotted the space all around.  It looked as if it was split into four separate rooms based on the layouts in each of its corners. Overlooking it all was a massive window letting the golden light cast everything in a rich hue.

 I saw a barn owl preening itself on a perch on the opposite side of the office, which intrigued me. They were supposed to be extinct. It jumped up and flew over to another perch across the span of a conference table under the window.

“Magnificent creature…” said Feth.

“Do you like our owl?” said a female voice, the owl’s head turning toward its source.

Me and Feth followed its gaze and shadowed in dim orange...she approached, dressed in black faux leather, walking to me with all the air of a dame who knew what her purpose was in life. A luxury that McDuck could no doubt afford.

“It’s artificial?” I asked. Of course, it was, but basic human decency dictated you ask anyway.

“Of course it is.”

“Must be expensive,” said Feth.

“Very. I’m Daisy.” She held out her hand.

I shook it. “Duckard. This is Feth.”

She nodded to him and Feth waved. She looked back at me. “It seems you feel our work is not a benefit to the public.”

“Replicants are like any ol’ machine,” I said, “they’re either a benefit or a hazard. If they’re a benefit, it’s not my problem.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and leaned against the table. “Sure.”

“Have you ever retired a human by mistake?”

I had to pause to recollect all the dusty memories. “No,” I answered.

“But in your position, that’s a risk?”

It was, but the Voight-Kampff had been so highly tested that the older model replicants could be picked out like a cherry on a white tablecloth. 5Ys, on the other hand…

Before I could answer, another voice came upon us. “Is this ta be an empathy test? Capillary dilation of th’ so-called blush response? Fluctuation of the pupil? Involuntary dilation of the iris?”

Someone had clearly done their homework. “We call it Voight-Kampff for short,” I said to the older Scottish drake walking toward us, his intricately carved cane clunking on the floor every other step.

“Mr. Duckard?” said Daisy, “Dr. Eldon McDuck.”

The head honcho himself, dressed in a finely tailored black suit. Almost nobody could get an audience with the richest duck in our world, but here we were. 

I held my hand out, and got that cane pointed at me instead. “Demonstrate it. I want tae see it work,” said McDuck.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s the subject?”

“I want tae see it work on a duck. I want tae see a negative before I provide you with a positive.”

“What’s that going to prove?” I asked.

He sniffed. “Indulge me, lad.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, test it on you?”

“Try her,” he said, turning his head to Daisy.

I gave her a glance. She was pretty, unassuming. I shrugged. “It’s too bright in here.”

McDuck pressed a button on his cane. Nearly all the light was wiped from the window as a shade lowered dramatically over the opening. You know you’re rich when you can turn the searing sun on and off at your will.

Daisy sat down across from me, while McDuck retreated to the other side of the space. I unpacked the box and set it on the table. It was just like riding a bicycle, getting this old puppy running again. Her pupil shrunk in the frame, green iris piercing and mysterious.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Daisy asked, already reaching into her bust.

“It won’t affect the test,” I replied. Satisfied, I sat down as she was lighting up a Lucky Strike. “All right, I’m gonna ask a series of questions. Just relax and answer them as simply as you can.” I turned to Feth, who had plopped himself in a chair next to me. “Watch and learn.”

I retrieved a sheet of paper and began. “It’s your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet.”

“I wouldn’t accept it,” she said. “I’d also report the person who gave it to me to the police.”

The gauge moved halfway to one end, the dial moving just as powerfully. The lowest intensity questions were always a revealing point to start on. I continued, “You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar.”

“I’d take him to the doctor.”

Again, the gauges swung to one side but not as enthusiastically. “You're watching TV. Suddenly, you realize there's a wasp crawling on your arm.”

“I’d kill it.”

Same thing. Quick response too. “You're reading a magazine. You come across a full-page nude photo of a girl.”

“Is this testing whether I’m a replicant, or a lesbian, Mr. Duckard?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was offended or just genuinely curious.

“Just answer the question, toots. You show it to your husband. He likes it enough to hang it on his bedroom wall. The girl’s on a bearskin rug.”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“I should be enough for him.”

Fascinating. They don’t usually answer that way.

This continued on through hundreds of questions, hundreds of varied responses, each more telling than the last. At last, I had run out of questions to ask, except for one, at the bottom of the last page. “You're watching a stage play.  It shows a banquet in progress. The guests are enjoying raw oysters.”

Daisy grimaced slightly. The needles moved accordingly. I continued. “The entree is boiled dog stuffed with rice.” The needles moved again, but less so. She didn’t say a word.

I was exhausted, both of questions and with this charade. I switched off the box and leaned back.

Eldon McDuck was walking over again. I didn’t know what to tell him. As if he read my mind, he turned to Daisy and said, “Would ye step out for a few moments, lass?”

She nodded, putting out her cigarette, and rose from her seat. We waited for her to make the journey well out of earshot.

McDuck was looking at me knowingly. What was going on? I met his eyes. “You wanna tell him, Feth?”

Feth gulped. “Um...she’s a replicant, isn’t she?”

McDuck cracked a slight smile. “I’m impressed, lad. How many questions does it usually take to spot ‘em?”

“I-I don’t get it, McDuck,” I said.

He rested his chin on his fist. “How many?”

“20 or 30, cross-referenced.”

His hands fell authoritatively to his sides. “It took more than a hundred for Daisy, didn’t it?” His eyes gleamed behind his Pince-Nez glasses.

“She doesn’t know?” I hissed.

McDuck looked toward the window. “She’s beginning to suspect, I think.”

“Suspect?” I balked. “How can it not know what it is?”

“Commerce, Duckard. That’s our goal here at McDuck Corporation. ‘More human than human’ is our motto. Daisy’s an experiment, nothing more.” He shuffled closer to me as I looked off past him, faint rays streaming in past the shade to illuminate the scientific mind of a generation. “We began to recognize in them some strange obsessions. After all, they are emotionally inexperienced, with only a few years tae store up the experiences which you and I take for granted. If we gift them the past, we create a cushion or pillow for their emotions, and consequently, we can control them better.”

“Memories,” I said, looking up to him. “You're talking about memories.” 

McDuck tipped his hat to me.

I looked back to where Daisy had gone. Implanting memories...heaven only knew where they obtained memories from, and how they were extracted. It was an experiment, all right, one that had me thinking of an old movie with a guy with bolts in his head. 

My stomach knotted up and my shoulders became heavy. This was the 5Y in action, and the fact that I was gonna have to retire four of ‘em had fully sunk in.

[dirtfly]

⭐️COLOR THEORY TUTORIAL⭐️

bare in mind this is how i use colors. you can use colors however you please to and there is NO WRONG WAY of doing art. but i remember when i started doing art that little tricks and tutorials got me experimenting and helped me develop a skillset so i could create the pictures i wanted. so here you go:

A) THINK IN PALETTES!

A color never ever exists on its own! The way we percieve a color is very dependent on its environment (blame your brain for that).

You might have a totally epic looking green in one picture. But when you move it into a different environment it doesnt look like itself anymore?:

To figure out how colors appear in relation to each other, it is useful to think of contrast (the good ol contrasts, i bet most people had this in school, skip this part if it bores you)

hue:

Hue describes which frequency of the light-spectrum you are dealing with. in digital art this is easy to regulate through the outer ring of your color wheel ( i like to use the square one bc paint tool sai was my mom).

The further away two colors on the wheel are, the more they contrast: The blue background color and the bright green are a good chunk apart. The yellow background color does not differ greatly in its hue to the green. This makes the green look more dull.

you can also see in the bottom right corner of every color wheel: denoted are the hue, saturation and value. in numbers, like the computer would store them.

light & dark aka value:

Looking at the color picker again: wee see that the blue background is darker than the green. The yellow background is roughly the same, the numbers tell us its even a teeny tiny bit lighter.

Light colors pop out more. In real life corners and objects petruding out are hit by light. Now the green is the same in both pictures but through the darker blue background it pops more. While it looks more flat on the yellow background.

saturation aka quality:

A saturated color is pure pigment. If you take a pigment and dilute it down it looses saturation. Saturated colors are bright, draw attention to them. This very much depends on the environment though. If all your colors are bright and colorful then one of them will not stand particularly out before the others. If you have a very desaturated picture though, and you put a blob of a very bright color in there: than this blob will definetly catch the eye.

You see how the blue background is wayyyy more desaturated then the yellow one? How does that influence the appearance of the green?

warm vs cold:

Now the three contrasts above were already subjective and dependant on the background. But this one goes one step further. Generally speaking there are colors considered warm and others considred cold BUT even a "cold" color could look warm on an even colder background. (Id say the blue background is the coldest color, then the green, and the yellow background is the warmest). What i find more important though is differentiating between warmer and coler areas of the same color:

Thera are even more contrasts but honestly these 4 are the only ones i conscioulsy think about.

B) WEB-DESIGN LIFEHACK!

Back when i mused about going into web design i did a bunch of research. And one thing that stuck with me is the basic web design color palette:

one dark color, one mid tone, one light, and one contrary color

This is the basis and you can build up form there. Now, this is very useful if you want to paint/design anything thats easily recognizable. A poster maybe. I like this kind of palette bc i like kinda graphic, restricted color palettes. Here are some examples (generated here):

C) PEEL YOUR EYES 👁👁

I think the MOST IMPORTANT ❗️❗️ thing to do is to look around, look at art, at photos at design at the things cluttering your desk. And analyze these colors. See which kind of contrasts and similarities you can find among them. Walk around in life and consciously look at colors, at scenes. You will not only get more comfortable with color theory but also learn to appreciate your surroundings in a new way.

Heres a picture i took of the tram:

Here is a stone form uni and the hand friend from reanimator :)

D) REUSE COLORS!!

Use the color picker, its your friend! I also reuse color palettes i like. i have a folder just dedicated to them. (here have some resident evil shots)

E) e stands for extra: SCULPT WITH YOUR COLORS

After getting used to recognizing colors, and how they work in relation to each other, you can use them to sculpt out your paintings!

Use contrasts to establish regions and objects in your painting, etc etc.

hope youre having fun with these tips :)

[37q]

11 spending a lot of time on r/AmITheAngel for like a month straight late this winter rly helped me flesh out this tension in my cranium about mass public "socialization" in the post-modern internet. a little too much detachment on there for me but its honed my skeptic eye for that mediums social propriety and writing. they could stand to identify fetish stuff a little better but theyre pretty keen compared to, like, the rest of the internet.

12 oh for some context the premise of the sub is that, like, most of the content on r/AmITheAsshole is manufactured, self-serving BS, and so they pass their time on /AITAngel by taking potshots at OP's embarrassingly obvious agenda and psychological issues. "16 year old trying to find non-scholarly quotes for their creative writing prompt", "boyfriend provoking argument material for his weird obsession over getting babytrapped" etc etc. anyways

21 so like ok weve long-tempered the observable materiality and truth of these online social domains. like weve screened for all bullshit and loopholes, people are only engaging here in formal avenues of real feeling and good faith, moderation is swift, vastly codified and arbitrarily enforced. but oh wait 99.5% of members are viewers... and commenters are encouraged to speak outwards to hypothetical audiences...

31 hm gotta admit too the reality of it makes great, free, and "natural" educational material. or cringecam footage. or fetish fuel. or argument enders. or just mundane attachment to things we think we know and things we use to fortify those assumptions!

212 nothing gets you more engaged than totally immersing yourself in the totality of a "truth", however theres a conflict in that kind of detachment, the subject-object utility. either we genuinely give a shit about all these mf's miserable lives and get offended by some commenter's moral code, or we detach, confirm, reproduce, and make it a theater.

213 and the theater isn't a fun one, either, the cynicism and objectification will rot your brain. we can slap together some semblance of critical meta-engagement -- yknow like consumption as a consumer, collecting this to use it later, self-aware bordering on parasocial viewership (my god when a lurker mentions a "well-known" commenter by name... EW!) -- but in the end our consumption of the material will mediated by the fact that, like, we can only find use of it by suspending (and IMO fundamentally sundering) the scrutability of what we hold to be true. the authenticity gets all garbled up in the process, like this is hilarious bullshit for their sense of reality but also i kind of dont think deception or gullibility is very funny for weird stuff...

2141 see right there! "weird stuff", i have a threshold based on propriety of what i consider recognizable, authentic, "real" or socially legible expressions or behavior

22 so anyways!!! somewhere down the line after weve cleared out all the riffraff and its all respectable legit service usage and socialization, and funny enough the people suddenly have no place to put their neurotic internalization of unstable social systems and mundane life, the only solace is in a simulation of reifying and legitimizing their feelings. radical expression is demoralized, and emotional authenticity is quite literally socially determined. what the hell is an outlaw

23 heres where we get into the meat of it. remember AITAngel's premise? yeah, so, writing exercise, self-confirming or -serving, 99.5% viewership, most OP's post from a throwaway account (although when they dont its INSANE), people are commenting on the OOP like "what's up with the spike in vegan child-free weddings lately"... at soooome pooooint viewers have trouble suspending their disbelief. just a lil artificial, make it a one-liner karma game with algorithmically generated prompts cuz why not. a circus! lets dress up as elephants

32 now were starting to see how we can make use of this charade. want all the dads terrified of sexism to come out of the woordworks and give you the soundbites they wish they couldve used in their custody battles? need to farm some philosophical talking points for class? do you feel alone, scared, on your last leg, and are in need of others to console you over how you allegorically represent and sterilize your series of misfortunes and poor decisions? you want validation that you didnt sit next to your mom during your friday family outing? do you need disgust, horror, shame, or really any genuinely visceral reaction to your fantasies from strangers to make it real enough to get you off? easy reification machine

[christophercant]

How to compete against AI: Future-Proofing your Art Career Part 2

This article was originally published on ChristopherCant.com

This is part 2 of my series about AI art, and future-proofing your art career.

Part 1 was an overall look at what the potential threat of AI art might be to the working artist, and an overview of the different solutions an artist might use in order to continue a sustainable income in an uncertain future.  If you haven't read it, it's over here.

After writing that article, I wanted to look a bit deeper into alternative solutions, and figure out a list of ways to make myself a more competitive artist in a world that can generate cheap, high-quality imagery in seconds.  This is as much a letter to myself as it is to anybody else.

We've all heard the comments that AI is a tool, and that artists should just adapt and use our artistic skills to paint over AI outputs - but I don’t think many of us would be happy with that.

We became artists because we have a personal vision, and enjoy creating - I expect few of us would find joy in handing over our creativity and vision to something else, and relegate ourselves to cleaning up what it makes.  In that situation, it seems more to me like we are the tool, and the AI is the artist.

So let's dive into the many ways to remain competitive, without resorting to giving up the most enjoyable part of an art career to a robot!

Compete against AI by being yourself

AI is only your competition if you try to match it and beat it at its own game.  Instead, concentrate on doing your own thing, and become something that AI will never be able to imitate.

Become yourself

Stop chasing the big freelance gigs in the hopes of getting hired.  Stop trying to make your art look like the Blizzard art style, a Magic the Gathering card, or League of Legends splash art.  These styles are sought solely by companies looking for art to help sell their products, and they are the things that the AI art is learning to make.  In all honesty, I think these companies will bite at the chance to replace 90% of their artists with AI and reduce their expenses drastically; I just think they are going to try to transition to that as quietly as they can, so they don’t get a mob after them.

Now is the time to chase YOU, to dive into your own vision. When AI is churning out masses of the same stuff, you should be creating the things you love.  Of course, still learn your fundamentals - good art is still good art, and a good idea can still be undermined by bad execution.

Developing a distinct, recognizable style is key to standing out as an artist, and will become even more important.

My work - more over on my Artstation

Developing a style isn’t so much about finding some obscure trick that clicks with your tastes, or about learning from the right sources, or purposefully doing something a little bit unorthodox in your work to make it stand out.  It’s more about removing all of the expectations about what your work ‘should’ be, and unburying what it really, truly is that you like to make.  Underneath all of the expectations that your work should have dynamic perspectives, that it shouldn’t be just black and white, or should have painterly yet controlled brushstrokes, or that you should be a master at male, female, and all other forms of anatomy.

Beneath all of that is what you actually like to make.  Don’t try to do things with your art to make yourself purposefully stand out - just figure out if there are things like colour palettes, compositions, or subject matters that appeal to you more than others.  Embrace the things that appeal to you most and reject that which doesn’t appeal to you; you’ll make the art that really matters to you, and standing out will just be a byproduct of this process.

Experiment and explore

AI is able to generate a large number of variations of a piece, but it can be challenging for AI to come up with truly original, creative ideas. An artist can set themselves apart by focusing on creating new, unique pieces of art that push the boundaries and introduce new ideas.

Try out different mediums and techniques, explore completely unrelated disciplines and incorporate what you learn into your art, integrate your own personal history into your work, try out telling personal stories with your pieces.  These are things that AI will struggle to imitate. 

Use randomness, chance and improvisation to your advantage - so called ‘happy accidents’. These don’t exist in the same fashion in AI art; though you can certainly find mistakes and random noise, there is a distinct and recognisable pattern to it.  It’s not truly chance, like the happy accidents you or I might find in our works.

Taking that further, art that is heavily abstract or non-objective in nature can be challenging for AI to recreate because it lacks the ability to understand the emotional or conceptual elements of the work.  If you enjoy abstraction to any degree, try out leaning into it and see how it affects your art and its reception.

A landscape by Victoria Rose Park, a successful abstract artist

In a similar vein, humor, satire, and irony is also a struggle for AI; it’ll never be on the cutting edge of comedy, because it lacks the ability to understand the nuances of human humor and irony.  If it suits you to include comedic aspects into your work, that's one way AI will really struggle to compete.

Build a strong personal brand

Building your personal brand is important for any artist in this day and age, as it helps to establish an artist's reputation and reach potential buyers and collectors.  In the AI age, it’ll be more important than ever.

Use social media platforms, a personal website, and other online platforms to showcase your work, connect with your audience and build a community around your art.

Include a bio on your website that lets people get to know you, and highlights your personal background, influences, and the themes and concepts in your work.

Create a strong and publicly broadcasted narrative around your art, such as a backstory, or the process behind the work.

Create blog posts and youtube videos that share your thoughts about your work - about anything at all.  Just by saying what you think about things, you’ll be building rapport with people.  Hell, you’re getting to know me better just by reading this very blog post!

Importantly, be as authentic and true to yourself as you can be.  People can tell when someone is being honest and sharing with them, and most will appreciate it, and want to support your openness.

Compete against AI by showing your humanity

I mentioned this in part 1 of this series, that one of the key advantages of human-made art is the unique, personal touch that it has, by virtue of being made by an unique individual with their own experiences and perspective.  AI will struggle to imitate this authentically, and people will often be able to feel the difference.

So let’s play into that.

Incorporate evidence that your art was made by hand.  

This can be done in many ways, such as fingerprints, brushstrokes, or other marks that indicate ‘humanity’.  This is obviously already present in most traditional mediums like oil painting and watercolor, but can also be purposefully included in digital art as well.  If your digital painting style is very smooth and clean, you might want to roughen it up slightly, to let more evidence of your hand show through in the finished result.

To go even further, things like mixed media, collage and paper cutouts are currently impossible to replicate with artificial intelligence.

Personalise all of your products.

If you sell merchandise and products, find a way to make them more personable.  Sign everything, hand embellish your prints with some gold leaf or a personal stamp, include a thank you note with each purchase, that sort of thing.

AI Art is focused on creating quantity, and lacks soul; focus instead on creating a high quality human-experience. Create the very best work you can, present it the most human way you can, and sell it in the most personal way you can.

Record and share your creative process.

When you sit down to create, record it on video.  It doesn't have to be particularly high-quality or professional, just good enough to demonstrate that you handcraft the things you make.  If you are a traditional artist, set up your smartphone or a camera to record; if you are a digital artist, use a screen recorder while you paint.  Clip Studio Paint, Procreate and Krita all have recording built-in.

Turn those recordings into videos, put them on social media, display them in your gallery alongside your artwork, think of the finished piece and the process footage as one and the same product.  If you can, narrate the footage and talk about why you made the decisions you did, where your inspirations come from, if you are happy or disappointed with the end result - anything you can talk about at all will help the audience connect to your work, when most of the art they see has no voice behind it at all.

Not only is this one way to help audience connect with your artwork, it’s also proof of your process, which might matter to some art consumers.  This might become especially important to digital artists, as there are very few ways to differentiate a finished digital painting from one generated by AI, except for a proof of process.

Compete against AI through diversifying

AI art is fairly one-dimensional, and still requires people to actually facilitate it and turn it into a product or make it part of something bigger.  It certainly can’t compete with a multi-talented person.

Diversify within your Art 

AI can’t yet integrate different art disciplines together, such as music, performing arts, theater etc into a single experience.  This requires a human, so it’s the perfect way to set your work apart. 

Incorporate multiple mediums such as painting, sculpture, printmaking, photography, and digital media into your work, creating a unique and layered approach to your art that is difficult for AI to replicate.

Take it further and create multisensory, interactive and performance-based art that incorporates movement, sound, and audience participation. 

This would create a unique and unreproducible experience that AI wouldn't be able to match.

Diversify outside of your art

Combine your art skills with other complementary skills, you may be able to create projects that make you stand out from the pack, without even having to utilise AI at all, and without having to compete with those that do.

Digital tools are becoming much easier to use year-on-year, and allow a single person to achieve much more by themselves than ever before. 

Web design, programming, social media, video editing, music production, writing; the list goes on.

Find a way to combine your art with other skills to produce something new, something that even other people aren’t doing, let alone AI.  

I’m diversifying by learning to write, learning web design and SEO and then combining those skills into educational and entertaining websites that as far as I can tell, no one else has built yet.  See if you can combine skills in interesting ways and create something new.

My current website-in-progress, FallofCamelot.com, a site about the Arthurian legends

Diversify your income sources

This isn’t exactly competing with AI art so much as it is sidestepping it, but still deserves to be mentioned.

There are many ways to earn an income as an artist, outside of freelancing and commissions, and many will be completely unaffected by AI.

Teaching is one such method.  Even if AI art somehow took over 100% of art sales (don’t worry, it won’t) people would still want to learn how to paint for fun, and these people will want someone to teach them.

In fact, as more people get their hands on things like iPads and more people from third-world countries connect to the global art community through the internet, the number of people looking to learn art seems to go up and up each year.

Teaching is something that many working artists should be doing anyway; we have some responsibility to pass on what we know to the next generation of upcoming artists, so that they can create even more amazing things than our generation did.  Where would we be without the previous generation of artists inspiring us to live as creatives?

You should also consider selling your own merchandise.  As automation comes along and threatens our very jobs, it also presents opportunities, as it makes it easier for each of us to create and sell prints, books, games and other merchandise.  These are things I want to go further into, but I’ll do it in the next part of my AI series.

Compete against AI through engaging directly with people

People don’t want to buy art, they want to buy a small piece of the artist, so to speak. Most people definitely don’t want to buy soulless art that has no artist behind it at all.  

So let people get to know you.  Selling your art is as much about selling yourself as it is your creations.  

Your motivations, what it is you are trying to accomplish and why it’s important, how your work represents the things you believe in; communicate these things to people and it will endear them to you.  When a person hears something they resonate with, they want to support it, and to help it grow.

Engage with your audience through livestreaming and video

Whatever social media platform you prefer using to share your work and talk to the people that like it, you should be able to find a way to livestream.  This is the best way to build a relationship with people online; to let them see you, to hear you, live.  They can ask you questions, and see you respond in real-time.  It’s human, and it will help you build a relationship with people.

Livestreaming on Twitch was the activity that brought me my core audience. My art was probably what got their attention initially, but it was the stream that kept them around.  I try to let my personality out as much as I can on stream, and it’s rewarded me with a small band of loyal supporters and close friends.

My Twitch channel

Whether it’s Instagram, YouTube, Twitch, or any other social media platform you use to communicate with your followers, you’ll be able to find a way to livestream.  

Recorded video can also be used to achieve the same thing, as long as it is not too scripted and impersonal; you want to let yourself shine through, and show people who you really are.

Sell your art face-to-face

Conventions and galleries attract people that like art, but who want much more than that.  They could just buy art online, but instead they want to go to it in-person, to be there themselves. They want to see the art with their own eyes, to meet the artist, to talk with them about the art.  AI art simply doesn’t satisfy any of these criteria at all - but you can.

So make prints and other merchandise of your art, and be prepared to dive into the world of face-to-face sales.  There are artists today who make six-figures annually from these sorts of events, and this won't be impacted by AI art much, if at all.

Create art for specific people and locations

Your local businesses, bars and cafes, social venues and public spaces; AI art can’t connect authentically with the spirit of any of these places.  Even if AI could somehow paint art straight onto walls, it still lacks the ability to understand the context of the location.  It isn’t able to understand why certain ideas, phrases, imagery or memes are important to a certain place, and the people who go there.

Murals and graffiti immediately fall into this category, but it also goes much further: each local business has its own culture, each district, each town, city and country.  My birthplace of the Falkland Islands has immediate connection with penguins, sheep, the words ‘kelper’ and ‘benny’, Margaret Thatcher, Argentina, looking beautiful in photos yet windy beyond belief in person, etc; a massive list that only people who are really familiar with the place will fully appreciate, and only artists who understand the Falklands will fully be able to cater to them as an audience.

The Falkland Islands - if I ever need it, I have a market here

Wherever you are, there is bound to be some distinct culture nearby that you’ll be able to appeal to as an artist, and people that will support you for it.

And that’s everything I can offer you today!

If you’re here at the end of the article, you probably realise that there are many things you’re going to have to try in order to figure out what will suit you, what will actually work for you, and ultimately what you are willing to do to create a stable art career in an increasingly uncertain era.

I wish you luck figuring out your journey.  If you want to talk about it, drop me a comment. I’ll see you next time (which, by the way, will be about why AI doesn’t have to be the enemy.)

This article was originally published on ChristopherCant.com

[cypanache]

B, D, and S for the ask meme!

For the fandom ask game

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

Already answered here

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t (again: be nice)

Anidala. I have gained an honest appreciation for them just through my own journey of getting to know Padme as a writer. Much as Obi-Wan's relationship with Anakin is intrinsic to my understanding of him as a character, so is Padme's love for Anakin. If I'm going to write obidala in any universe, the first question I ask myself is how do I address the 'Anakin of it all'. So in wanting to handle them as respectfully as possible in my own writing, in a way that feels authentic to the character I really, really wish I enjoyed Anidala as a standalone ship more. I have gained a lot of insight into both Obi-Wan and Anakin and added layers to my versions of both characters through my capacity enjoy Obikin. There are some truly great writers out there for them who constantly challenge me to think about their dynamic from new angles. I am dead certain there are equally talented writers for Anidala and I could learn a lot about both characters if I enjoyed standalone fic for them more.

Unfortunately, I think the problem is I'm not sure that the things I love about Padme are the things Anakin loves about Padme and vis versa. As a result I must content myself with the great fic out there in the OT3 realm and the discourse I see on tumblr to help challenge, inform and layer my own understanding of them as couple.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

May I direct your attention to the 30k+ of headcanon I am subjecting all of you to in the form of fic?

Honest to god, that's all 'A Trap of Your Own Making' is. Just me and my little personal headcanon attempting to bob and weave through the minefield of the SW universe.

On a more general note a few head canons that commonly show up as I shape story ideas anytime I'm working with these two:

Padme had some type of crush on Obi-Wan pre-Anakin. I play with the intensity and the duration depending on the story, and context.

Obi-Wan and Padme had/have a friendship/relationship that existed separate from Anakin. Again the timing of this relationship, context, and intensity moves a little. But I take it as canon, that both of them hold each other in a regard that stands separate an apart from simply being Anakin's Master/Brother/Best Friend; and Anakin's Crush/Lover/Not So Secret Wife

As a result of that relationship, Obi-Wan developed feelings for Padme that at the very least walked right up to the line of platonic. Whether and when he acknowledged those feelings (if ever). What he did or would have done as a result. And whether they were ever reciprocated entirely flexible. But really, let's be honest he would have done nothing. He would have lied to himself forever.

But since I'm guessing with 'prompts optional' piece, what you were really asking for was a fic excerpt, right? Okay, since Trap is just all my obidala headcanons shoved in one fic. Here we go, very rough cut of the opening section of Chapter 6 of Trap. Under the cut for "spoilers"

trap excerpt - ch 6

It take three days for the panel hearing the case against Gunray to return a verdict of guilty, and less than two hours for his advocates to file notice appeal. Padme struggles to maintain her composure as she listens to the Republic prosecutors explain that given circumstances Gunray will likely be released on his own recognizance while the appeal progresses through the courts.

Finally, her anger gets the better of her and she stands, cutting off the senior prosecutor mid-sentence.

"Well it seems this exercise has proved entirely pointless. Tell me gentlemen, what precisely is the point of having a law of the Republic if one may by virtue of having a sufficient number of credits, continue to avoid the exercise of those laws indefinitely?"

Doesn't bother staying to hear their answer. There's nothing they could say anyhow.

On their way out, she instructs Corde to see to their departure within the day. Anakin returned planet-side the day after the defense rested. Obi-Wan's been unavailable ever since, and she finds Coruscant has lost much of its luster in his absence.

There's nothing for her here anymore.

--

She forces herself to wait until they have at least left the surface before finally giving into the impulse to comm him. Holds her breath waiting for the signal to connect, and tries not to read to much into it when the link is declined.

He warned her she would never be the priority. She can hardly fault him for the fact this proves true.

--

There's a message waiting for her when she returns from reviewing the recommendations from her advisors regarding what Gunray's appeal means for Naboo's ongoing dealings with the Trade Federation going forward.

I heard. I'm so sorry.

She cries when she reads it. Locks herself in her cabin, puts her back against the door and sobs. Screams. Rages. Let's herself feel it all for the first time in years. Let's herself be weak with it, irrational about it, because for the first time in forever she feels like she can.

And it's so stupid. Because it's nothing really. Just words. Just five simple words. Probably dashed off with barely thought. Five, simple, stupid, wonderful words that mean there's someone out there who cares about nothing more complicated or consequential than how she's doing. Not the intricacies or the implications. Not the fallout or response. Not Naboo, or even Amidala, really. Just her. Just Padme.

Which makes it everything.