#but alas two chapters without Eris is too many

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Ten

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

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A/N: Chapter contains drug use, violence, canon-typical racism, and absolutely no Eris.

Aisling had been hoping to continue playing the recluse after her night with Eris, but typically, her luck didn’t hold. She had wanted to stew and sulk and sort through her feelings in private, contemplating what it meant to have a mate. On the surface she knew, but she wanted to turn the knowledge over and over in her mind until she understood.

Mates were property, both in Night and in Autumn. Anything but acceptance was unthinkable – and mates were sacred, so rare it was a blessing. But to be mated to the heir of the Autumn Court…. Aisling had a sinking feeling that she hadn’t thought through the full weight of it when she sulked her way out of his chambers.

Eris plagued her thoughts ever since, though. She had felt the ghost of his hands on her, the phantom drag of his lips on her neck; it had felt like he’d branded her with how thoroughly he’d laid claim to every inch of skin. The bite mark he’d left on her neck ached, and she pressed on it absently as she thought of the way his hair shone like molten metal in the firelight.

She wanted him again. That was the worst part - that despite his arrogance, despite him refusing to understand the danger he’d dropped her in, despite his refusal to explain himself at all, she wanted to touch him again so badly her teeth ached.

Aisling groused that she had to show her face at court as Maeve helped her dress. The timing was poor. It was an execution, and watching was enforced on all occupants of the City. She hadn’t known the female – some lower gentry wife – and had been too withdrawn lately to hear the gossip, but the female’s offense was vow-breaking. A grievous insult: vows weren’t magically binding, but the social contract was strict and demanded satisfaction. Aisling didn’t feel much sympathy, too preoccupied with thoughts of Eris.

Eris, and his arrogant, laughing voice. The width of his shoulders as he spread her legs. The glow of his skin, luminous in the firelight.

It was only after the unfortunate female’s head had been branded with the Court crest and mounted on the gates that Niamh sidled up to her, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I missed you,” she whispered, linking her little finger with Aisling’s. “Why have you been hiding? Padraig is away, on the border. Come play house with me.”

She was not so outcast, then. The dizzying swoop of relief, the relief of female friendship and of everything Niamh’s offer meant – Aisling squeezed her little finger, followed obediently. It would be good; to pretend nothing had changed, that her plans for her life hadn’t been wiped clean.

“I heard Eris Vanserra strangled you and killed you,” Niamh said later, once they were sat on her couch. Aisling choked on her tea, tucking her bare feet under her like a little girl. Niamh laughed at her.

“From whom?” Aisling spluttered.

“A guard in the palace tups my maid. She told me,” Niamh said, eyes sparkling. “What could he have heard that made him suspect murder, I wonder?”

Aisling avoided her eye, making Niamh laugh harder.

“Very wicked,” Niamh said teasingly. “But your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that you enjoyed yourself and shall say that you suffered bravely for the sake of our Court.”

“Only so long as I tell you every detail?” Aisling guessed, pouring another cup of tea for both of them.

“Exactly,” Niamh said with a triumphant smile and lifted a small jar from the table beside her. “And only so long as you’re wicked for a little while longer.”

Aisling took it, lifting the lid. Immediately, the smell of mushrooms stuffed itself up her nose – earth, a bit of rot, a lot of magic.

“Niamh…” Aisling winced, replacing the lid.

“Oh, please,” Niamh wheedled. “Padraig is away. It will be fun, just as when we were girls. Did you have any plans, other than sulking and sending Eris filthy dreams?”

Aisling didn’t mention that she hadn’t been planning on even doing that. She knew the nightcap mushrooms very well – it was impossible not to, they grew commonly in the lower, damper levels – but it had been a while since she’d consumed any. The resulting night could be freeing, or haunting; she’d experienced both. The mushrooms were unpredictable, though some explained it as picking up the magic of the Fae nearby, saying you had to be careful where you plucked.

They were ritually taken at the Summer Solstice, and habitually by anyone with a yearning to open a door in their mind and leave the City for a few hours. It wasn’t exactly difficult to get them - Niamh certainly didn’t have to go as far as the floating markets - but the practice wasn’t encouraged among gentry females.

Little was encouraged among gentry females, actually.

Niamh didn’t really have to press her. The idea of escape, even temporarily, was dangerously seductive. Maybe she’d see something other than Eris’ elegant hands sliding up her legs when she closed her eyes. Just once, she thought. A little reprieve.

Niamh smiled in delight as Aisling shook one out, carefully splitting it in half with one of Padraig’s daggers. It took an hour or two to take effect. They spent this giggling and descending slowly into absurdity, somehow ending up sprawled on the floor. A maid stepped over them as she cleared the tea tray, fetching wood when Aisling asked.

“I have a riddle for you,” Aisling said, the room suddenly feeling as pleasant and warm as a bath. Niamh was beside her, blonde hair spilled across the blue carpet. It shone silver-gold, sparkling with Niamh’s magic when she moved. Niamh rolled onto her back to look at Aisling, eyes curious and bright, all pupil. “A male and a female -”

“That’s a jigsaw puzzle, not a riddle,” Niamh giggled stupidly, setting Aisling off.

“Let me finish. A male and a female, but he is as changeable as -”

“A fire?” Niamh said, laughing as Aisling blushed. She could feel the blush, and pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide it but it wriggled under her hands, escaping from her.

“He professes endearment, but leaves the female behind when he goes. He says he’ll return for her,” Aisling said, as Niamh traced some pattern on the rug, eyes half-closing. She was speaking very slowly, or perhaps Aisling was merely listening to every single word very closely.

“No riddle,” Niamh said. She was glowing with life, Aisling noticed suddenly. They were so alive, the two of them. “A tale as old as the mountain, that one.”

“Will he come back?” Aisling asked the moon, which she felt that she could see, staring at her through miles of stone. It loved her, even if they had never seen each other, and she loved it. If she ever saw it, she would tell it that. The moonlight would feel like silk, and Aisling could imagine it now, silken against her cheek.

“Padraig?” Niamh said, stroking the rug over and over, like a cat. “I hope so. I’m with child.”

Aisling couldn’t hear her while she built a fire in the hearth. Niamh was speaking too slowly, anyways. The room was warm but Aisling wanted to be warmer, wanted to be boiling hot. She wanted the smell of woodsmoke, wanted to see nothing but amber and crimson.

You’re my mate, he’d said. You belong to me.

“You belong to me,” Niamh told her womb, eyes fully closed now, one hand stroking her belly. Had she said that aloud?

The act of building the fire felt very important. She imagined Eris doing it, imagined his hands alongside hers, showing her. The texture of the wood felt glorious so she held it for a while, thinking of the life the tree had led and where, the life she would lead and where, how she had ended up holding the wood of the tree that grew elsewhere.

Perhaps it grew in Autumn. Perhaps in Winter. Maybe the pine forests of the Steppes. Aisling held it and felt she was also in these places, because she touched the wood that had touched these places.

Aisling lost time when she was staring into the fire, seeing the patterns in the flames so clearly that it enraptured her. She felt warm and happy, and the memory of Eris over her and in her wasn’t a phantom or a ghost but a warm blanket, surrounding her. She fell asleep on the floor beside Niamh, thinking of that, wondering if Eris felt warm and happy, too.

———————

Azriel awoke from his nightmare abruptly. He was disoriented, the taste of blood in his mouth; it took him sitting up to remember it was the taste of the wine he drank last night. That’s right – he had been drinking at the River House with Cassian, Rhys, and Mor until the early hours of the morning. He had wanted to leave earlier, but Mor had wheedled him into staying.

It will be just like old times she’d said, brown eyes wide as she smiled slyly. How could he refuse?

The nightmare was already slipping away in the blue light of early dawn. He’d dreamt of skin under his hands, giving way like tearing into fabric. It had been dark, as it always was in his dreams. A finger, he remembered. He’d taken a finger off in his dream like parting out a butchered chicken. Azriel frowned, rubbing at his head to clear it. Was that a memory, floating up unbidden? Something made up?

The wine conflated the two, he decided. More likely than not he’d done similar, ripping a finger off the bone, but he couldn’t remember a specific instance. His mind often enjoyed filling in the blanks for him of the things he’d forgotten.

Nearly five hundred years of violence meant that he’d forgotten a lot.

He had a meeting with Cass and Rhys this morning. They had meant to get stuck into it last night, but Mor had arrived, talking about Vallahan and the progress on the treaty there, then about her new adventures, then about their old adventures… it had spiralled out from there.

Azriel opted to fly slowly, stretching his wings, admiring Velaris as dawn broke and chased away the cobwebs of his dream. A beautiful city – more beautiful than anything he’d thought he’d ever see – he’d never get used to it.

What Rhys had built was good. He thought of it as he swooped down to the River House, about the refuge they offered here. They’d had more refugees lately as word spread, fleeing from the instability in Spring and the border violence in Autumn, the aftermath of the war. A great many of them were walking wounded. He thought of the Urisks he’d seen a few weeks ago, missing hands and feet. He’d seen the pain and the hardness in Feyre’s eyes at that, too.

“Come in, come in,” Feyre greeted him as he walked through the front door. Nyx was already in her arms, straining to be free. He’d started walking enthusiastically lately, often toddling into a run only to stumble and end up in a heap of wings and fat little limbs. Nyx was reaching for him, little smile wide.

“Cass and Rhys are just in his office. No, Uncle Az has very important business to attend to, you can’t play with him just yet,” Feyre mock-scolded Nyx, raising him to blow a raspberry on his tummy and sending him into a fit of squealing giggles.

Azriel couldn’t help the smile as he stepped through the door.

Rhys looked tired, but happy.

“Nyx,” he explained, waving away Azriel’s concerned glance. “He didn’t feel like sleeping, again. Up all night.”

“So was Cass,” Az said, deadpan, as Cassian yawned.

“Don’t tell me anything more. I don’t want to know,” Rhys said, rolling his eyes.

“You’d deserve it after all you put us through with Feyre darling,” Cass teased in return, refusing to be embarrassed. Azriel liked seeing his brothers like this, relaxed and happy and mated, even if jealousy also twisted like acid through his gut.

“Eris,” Rhys started, steepling his fingers and smirking as he changed the subject with the subtlety of a brick. He ducked the paper Cassian wadded up and threw at him smoothly. “I don’t like him cosying up too closely with the Court of Nightmares. No good can come of it. Everything they want there comes at a cost to us.”

“He’s plenty cosy,” Cassian snorted, propping a booted foot up on the desk. Rhys looked at it pointedly, which Cassian chose to ignore.

“Meaning?” Rhys said, looking to Azriel.

“They’ve given him a consort there,” Azriel said. “After they killed my spy, I sent a shadow to check myself. He met with a female. Escorted by a soldier.”

“Charming,” Rhys grimaced, but Azriel could tell he was glad that Feyre and Mor weren’t here for the conversation.

Eris knew Azriel’s shadows too well at this point – ever since he’d been caught in Autumn, the heir had taken pains to ward against them. It was notable when he didn’t, though Azriel got the feeling it was Eris directing his attention rather than slipping up. There had been a few instances, most recently a meeting between Beron and his sons about expanding into Spring. It had been difficult to shake the feeling of being manipulated but he had dutifully reported back to Rhys about it, only to have their offer of stationing Illyrian soldiers in Spring for stability rebuffed by Tamlin. They’d then arranged a meeting with Eris, who had looked sly as he offered to send his own loyal soldiers rather than Beron’s.

To ensure we keep control of the situation, he’d said, smirking, knowing he’d positioned himself as their arm in Spring. It was trademark Eris Vanserra – keeping them chasing his tail, letting them watch him when he wanted to be watched. Manipulating the situation to his own ends.

“He’s given them something, then,” Rhys mused. “They’ve been courting him for some advantage, to keep their role as allies. But what can he give them right now that they would want? What’s changed?”

“The female will be the weakest point,” Cassian said. “Keir and Thanatos won’t say anything. Az said the Darkbringers are difficult to break, so the soldier is out. The female makes sense to start with.”

Azriel kept his face blank, but he was balking; his shadows crawled over his shoulders, sensing his reluctance, seeking to hide him.

“Just -” Rhys said, trailed off. “Just a conversation. Keir will never let you speak to a female unsupervised there, so I doubt it will come to anything, anyways. But maybe they told her something, or perhaps Eris did. He likes to plant little surprises for us. She might give something away.”

This was met with an eye roll from Cassian, who had experienced running around after Eris’ little surprises himself. Azriel knew, glumly, that it had to be him – Keir would outright refuse if it was Cassian, and this wasn’t worth Rhys’ or Feyre’s time. Mor also wasn’t a possibility.

“Just a conversation,” Azriel said, quietly.

“Of course,” Rhys agreed, but Azriel couldn’t shake the sense that he didn’t. He was getting impatient with the Hewn City, wanting to focus on the treaty on the Continent instead, on kicking Tamlin back into his former strength to ensure Prythian was a united front. The Court of Nightmares growing mutinous and tricky was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Azriel also knew the second half of Eris’ bargain weighed on Rhys’ mind – Eris had fulfilled his end, leaving Rhys in his debt; something that had caused more than a few long strategy meetings between them.

Azriel went to the Hewn City, late in the day. The morning had felt rare and golden, and he wanted to prolong it, to savour it like wine. He left winnowing as late as possible.

The meeting room Azriel had been shown to after directing Keir to bring him the female was smaller than the council room, with a round stone table that he sat on one side of as he waited. He knew the female’s name, Aisling De Danann, and that she was a shockingly wealthy member of the gentry. There wasn’t much else. Azriel doubted there was much else to know; females in the Hewn City skewed subservient and quiet.

The female had a nearly-faded bruise on the arch of her cheekbone and an angry bite mark not quite hidden by the neckline of her dress, perhaps two or three days old. It was vivid against her pale skin. A fresher bruise was smudged against back of her neck, a shadow told him as it slid through the fall of her dark hair unnoticed. Eris’ handiwork, left stamped for Azriel to see.

She smelled like stone, as most people of the Court of Nightmares did. She also smelled like mushrooms, faintly. And rose and mist and… something else that he couldn’t identify but scratched at him irritably.

“Your presence isn’t needed,” Azriel said to Keir.

It was as Rhys said it would be. “And leave you alone with one of our females? I think not, brute,” Keir sneered in answer. He watched like a hawk, leaning against the wall by the closed door, a cruel indifference twisting his mouth. He was watching the female, though, not Azriel.

“What did Eris Vanserra want with you?” Azriel asked, studying the female closely. He didn’t bother with introducing himself – they knew who he was here.

Aisling had evidently been well trained. Her face was a blank, pleasant mask as she studied him in return. Her dark eyes flicked over his face, the siphons on his shoulders, skimming over the shadows coiling around his wings. Azriel kept his hands carefully beneath the table, away from her scrutiny. The corner of her mouth quirked up at his question, but she didn’t answer for a long moment as she evaluated him, and the silence stretched.

Too long for Keir. He crossed the room in three strides and slammed her head forward into the table. She let out a grunt as she hit the stone with a hard thud, hands bracing against the edge, but she couldn’t lever herself up against the force with which Keir pressed down.

Azriel kept himself blank.

“Don’t waste my time,” he hissed at her, grinding her face against the obsidian slab for a moment longer before releasing her abruptly and returning to his post by the door. The female’s head rose back up, an angry red welt across her brow where it had taken the brunt of the impact.

Keir didn’t even pretend to care about Azriel’s reaction. Azriel was a torturer here. Why would they expect him to give a shit about a little more violence, he thought bitterly, heart cold and hard. He also thought Keir was less concerned about his time and more concerned about what the female might say, judging by the way he kept his glare fixed on the back of her head.

It was a warning, then, and not done for Azriel’s benefit at all.

Azriel fucking hated this place. He hated Keir, too. It was too easy to imagine how many times it had been Mor’s head smashed off the nearest hard object.

“What’s usually sought at Night,” the female said finally, as if they were having a pleasant conversation at a cafe. She dabbed lightly at the blood starting to trickle from her nose with the corner of her long sleeve. The hint of a smile hadn’t fully gone, despite the way Keir just violently concussed her in front of him.

“Elaborate,” Azriel directed her softly. Keir sighed heavily and handed her a black handkerchief from his pocket, which she used to staunch the blood.

“Surely you know?” She answered slyly, smile growing a little unfriendly. Blood was smeared across her face, over the fading bruises. “I did not think Illyrians so different.”

She was playing with her words. Azriel didn’t scowl – he had better control of himself than that – but he thanked the stars Cass wasn’t here because he’d never hear the end of it. He’d forgotten how they spoke here, always saying one thing and meaning another. It was how Rhys’ father had spoken. Every word was a trap, waiting to catch him if he erred.

“Did he ask anything of you?” Azriel said.

“Plenty,” she said coyly, smiling wider now.

“Questions about the Court,” Azriel clarified flatly. “Magical favours. Bargains.”

“Why would he ask me for such?” She demurred, but the glance up from under her eyelashes had weight. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling the truth, either; performing some verbal sleight of hand. Some instinct about her kept pressing on the back of his mind.

“Aisling,” Keir warned darkly. “Enough. Answer his questions.”

Aisling made a graceful gesture with her hand.

“As you say, Lord Steward. Does he have any others for me?”

“No,” Azriel finally decided. He’d obtain nothing of use from her in front of Keir; he was almost certain he could get her to talk without him. No torture needed, he thought, with no small amount of relief. “I do have questions for you, though, Keir.”

“You can ask as we go through the mine,” Keir ordered arrogantly, snapping his fingers at Aisling and gesturing her to the door. “We have business there. You didn’t deign to inform us you’d be gracing us here, so you’ll simply have to work to our schedule.”

Azriel didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the power struggle; far easier to let Keir think he had control of the situation. More was always revealed when someone felt confident. He simply followed Keir, taking the opportunity to let his shadows have a furtive look around; it had been too long since they’d been here last, distracted with tensions boiling on the Continent. The murdered spy hadn’t helped. Azriel mused over how to get another source as he followed them down through the palace and into the mine.

———————

A headache had been grinding into her all day, ever since the servant had woken Aisling up and she’d pried herself out of the bed she’d somehow made it to. Niamh had slept on, merely pulling the blanket over her head. It hadn’t been helped by having her head bounced off the table by Lord Keir, an entirely unnecessary gesture.

She wouldn’t have told the Illyrian anything, anyways. Everyone knew the Lord Steward was stealing from them. In Aisling’s view, it was deserved. Her tax burden was monumental, yet the High Lady only ever dressed in bits of ribbon. It would be less galling if she at least dressed like she was helping herself to a third of Aisling’s income. It did always make her wonder where the money went, though; not all of it could go to Lord Keir’s pocket, and it wasn’t as if the City received any notable investment. Aisling herself gave generously, though to no cause in particular. There was more than enough misery to go around, and always an orphanage or healer or school in need of help.

Besides, she hadn’t lied to the Illyrian. Eris hadn’t told her anything at all and had only asked of her what most males asked. The Illyrian could use his imagination. He was surely more creative than her.

Aisling rubbed at her temple absently, but the ache had shifted behind her eyes as the day had turned to evening. She couldn’t remember much of the prior night – it was all a garbled blur of sensation and emotion save for Niamh’s confession, which she had been sworn to wide-eyed secrecy about. But her eyes had stung from how long she’d stared at the fire like an idiot.

She’d followed Lord Keir and the Illyrian to the mine but stepped away to speak to the overseer about the problems arising in the new shaft they’d opened. As she understood it, the problem was water: the deeper they dug, the more water they found. This water had to go somewhere, and the river that flowed through the heart of the Mountain could not take it all, and would frequently burst its channels if they tried. They had begun flooding the very lowest sections of the levels where the coblynau who worked the mines had once lived. Aisling thought it obvious that this was not a sustainable solution, but knew better than to raise this issue with any other than the troll she stood with in a side chamber where the coblynau refined the raw stones into something beautiful. She preferred these rooms to the main shaft, where she had left Lord Keir and the Illyrian. It opened like a great gullet into the ground, spiralling down into darkness, with stairs and ramps that curled around its sides precariously.

She didn’t know how far down it went – the coblynau had no need of light so there wasn’t much to gauge the depth, only the distorted echoes of them working. The first time she visited as a child, she had nightmares of falling into the shaft endlessly for weeks afterwards.

The air felt like a blanket this far down. It was smothering and dragged in and out of her lungs with effort. The troll, Moglurch, towered over her, half again her height. He was the width of a column and as sturdy as a boulder. His skin was a pale green, like old lichen on stone; his lower fangs jutted out prominently and caught the light as he spoke.

“New shaft is good,” he pronounced to her, voice clattering like rocks that turned in the river. Aisling’s head throbbed painfully, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. “Productive.”

“What happens when you reach the bottom?” She asked, curious in a dull way.

The troll huffed impatiently, like she was being difficult. “We’ll never reach the bottom. Lasts forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” she said, frowning. Shadows crept against the walls where the light was falling, fading into the grey gloom of night.

“At the bottom is the end of the world,” the troll said, as if she were a stupid child. Aisling nodded sanguinely, as if this troll superstition made any sense to her.

Dust fell from the ceiling. She flicked it off her hair, annoyed.

“Could we pump the water seasonally? Perhaps in su-”

A rumble from beneath her feet, somewhere in the bowels of the earth, cut her short. She felt it more than heard it, travelling up through the stone and vibrating through her feet. She shut her mouth and looked at the overseer, who frowned.

“Mine noises,” he rumbled after a moment. “Stay, Sidhe.”

Aisling had no intention of listening to a troll. When he left, she waited a few moments before stepping after him, coming out to the stairs at the edge of the dark abyss. Air was dragging down into the great hole, tugging at her hair and dress. She peered first upwards, towards the mouth; the exit called to her, but she glanced down quickly. On the steps below her Lord Keir was caught in the light, a scowl on his arrogant face as he spoke to the Illyrian.

Azriel’s head snapped around to face her abruptly, but Aisling turned away. She was ready to leave without being dismissed, head banging like a drum. The air was stifling. She felt as if she could hardly breathe, even as the breeze suddenly picked up –

One moment she was there, facing upwards, and the next the world slid sideways with an almighty roar. It spun crazily for a moment, and then all she could see was stone. Her headache pounded worse, and she reached to touch it, disoriented.

Blood was on her fingers when she pulled them away, but it was impossible to say whether it was from her head or the way half her hand had been smashed open. The air was choking, hazy; it was like smoke. Eris, she thought, but it wasn’t smoke at all.

It hurt. She couldn’t breathe. She had to move.

Aisling tried to push herself – what was on her? Her legs were heavy and dull – and would have screamed at the pain that lanced up her arm, but her mouth was filled with rock and dirt and blood.

The Illyrian was there, leaning over her suddenly. He was saying something but Aisling couldn’t hear, all she heard was ringing. He reached out to touch her and she flinched back, suddenly panicked – he was taking her to kill her, he had just been waiting, ever since he asked her questions –

Darkness swept around them like a shawl as he grabbed her shoulder. Fear shredded at her, even as the air cleared. Eris, she thought again, lungs squeezing shut in terror. Why hadn’t he taken her with him? The blind longing for him – a want so strong she could feel it in her chest, with every beat of her heart, as if he could save her. As if he would bother, when he had already left her here once.

Aisling didn’t know when they had winnowed, or how he had brought her through the wards. She only realised time and space had passed when she heard him speak.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice pitched low and soft, like he was speaking to a wounded animal.

“Do not – don’t touch me,” she snarled, panicked despite his words, cracking her eyes open before flinging her hurt arm over her head. He let her go immediately.

Everything hurt. She lay like that, trying to take stock of herself, her head still rung like a bell. She was on a rug on a cool floor, smooth and polished beneath the fibres. Her mouth was gritty, tasting of blood and dirt. She could hear… she could hear…

Aisling’s eyes snapped open, then immediately screwed shut again as she hissed, near blinded. Instinctively she pulled darkness, wrapping herself in it, spilling from her hands. Wherever she was, it was bright; her eyes watered and head squeezed like a vice. But she could hear air moving. She could hear the wind.

“Az, what’s happened? I came as quick as I could. And what did you mean you needed to bring someone?” A voice was asking, footsteps drawing closer.

Aisling knew that voice. Everyone knew that voice. Her eyes sprang open again, mercifully cloaked in darkness this time, and she pushed herself gingerly up to face the violet eyes of the High Lord. The Illyrian – Azriel – stood by him, studying her with an inscrutable face. They loomed over her like giants.

“Eris Vanserra’s mate,” Azriel said, watching her like an animal. “Part of the mine collapsed. She was the female you had me speak to. It took me a while to realise, but she reeks of him once I puzzled it out. I thought it best not to let her get crushed to death.”

Aisling bowed her head, desperate to look away from them, to be anywhere else. Her hand pulsed with every heartbeat, which distracted her nicely from the dazzling pain in her head.

“Eris Vanserra has a mate?” The High Lord asked, voice dripping with amusement as he studied her, bleeding on his rug. His eyes suddenly narrowed and he whipped his head towards Azriel. “The mine collapsed?”

“Part of it,” Azriel confirmed, and the High Lord swore softly. “I’ll go back, try to discover what happened.”

“Not yet,” he directed. “It will take a while to settle. It’s unstable and dangerous until then. Too easy to get trapped. They’ll shore it up and we’ll all go back, together.”

Aisling struggled to her feet while they discussed, bracing her good arm on a plush settee to help her rise. She leaned against it, the room swimming drunkenly as she regained her equilibrium. It was lovely, wherever she was: pale moonstone walls and floors, gauzy white curtains, an elegantly carved hearth. Bookshelves lined the small room, comfortable chairs and chaises inviting her to sink down and sleep for the next ten years. The splitting pain in her head made that idea very appealing.

Her darkness hung heavy in the air, muting the colours, but the air itself was wild and crisp. Fresh and alive in a way Aisling couldn’t describe.

“I’ll send for a healer for you,” the High Lord was saying to her, but it was an effort to listen. “You seem to be bleeding quite a lot, and that rug was very expensive.”

“Did you know?” Azriel asked her, still staring at her unnervingly. “That Eris is your mate.”

“Yes,” Aisling ground out, dislodging a shard of rock that had been embedded in her gums as she moved her tongue.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, voice flat. It was as if he had no emotion at all. Aisling wanted to ask him how he did it, or if he genuinely didn’t feel anything.

“You didn’t ask,” she said, though it was so obvious she didn’t feel she needed to. Even a child in the Hewn City would know that and exploit that loophole.

The High Lord laughed darkly. “She has a point,” he said, as if this were all a dinnertime amusement. The room swam a little as she turned her head.

“Who would have guessed,” he mused, violet eyes flashing in the dark as he studied her. “But why leave you behind? What sort of male could stand to leave his mate in such a place?”

Aisling would have spoken up in his defence if she didn’t think she would be sick when she opened her mouth. When his attempt at baiting her didn’t succeed, the High Lord put his hands in his pockets, watching her carefully.

Something throbbed at her temple, mind squeezing inside her head. Aisling closed her eyes for a moment, letting it pass over her.

“He rarely does behave in a way that’s predictable,” the High Lord finally drawled, smirking now as he watched her. Had that been him, seeking a way in through the fog of pain currently swallowing her mind? “You can remain here, as my guest. As Eris is apparently so cavalier with your safety, it would be my pleasure to ensure it. Since he is evidently unable.”

His mouth said guest but she could read the meaning behind it plainly enough; she was to be a prisoner. Courtly manners alongside rotten treatment. Aisling was used to this, the pandering show of gentility while being handled roughly – Lord Keir, handing her his handkerchief after smashing her head into the table; Eris, calling her beautiful before holding her by the throat; her father, telling her he loved her after striking her neatly across the face.

The memory of Eris made nausea swoop again through her stomach, the realisation slowly dropping. It was as he said it would be – she was to be used as leverage over him, held to ensure his obedience for whatever ends they desired. It was exactly what Eris had sought to avoid. He had warned her, yet it came to pass regardless. Perhaps he would even reject her to avoid being manipulated, and she would be sent back to the City. Or perhaps Azriel would simply kill her, she thought wildly, sparing a glance at him.

“You could thank him for saving your life,” the High Lord suggested, noting the way she glanced, dark amusement in his voice. This was funny to him.

“You only saved me to serve the High Lord’s interests. I do not thank you,” Aisling said, refusing to be cowed by an Illyrian. She feared the High Lord, but she wouldn’t fear a lesser fae dog; he could kill her regardless, acting deferential wouldn’t spare her. More than that, she did not want to thank him and be in his debt. Debt was a form of obligation, in the City. Perhaps the Illyrians were exempt, but she certainly was not.

“She’s as arrogant as Vanserra,” the High Lord laughed as if she weren’t in the room. “You don’t think you owe him a boon?”

There were no right answers. Every word was a trap, but Aisling had played these games since she could talk. She had been born on this knife’s edge.

“I don’t think anything at all, Lord,” she said. There was a lot of blood on the floor, now. The puddle of it swam in front of her, doubling then tripling then sliding back together.

“I doubt that,” Azriel observed from behind her. They moved so she could not face them both at the same time, keeping her turning between them. She did not bare her teeth but every animal instinct screamed for her to lunge for the door, to run. But where? She was out of the City. Where was she?

“Just what we needed,” the High Lord smiled as he turned to depart. A charming grin, but with too many teeth and too little sincerity. “The Court of Nightmares to start thinking.”

After he had gone Aisling promptly vomited on the very expensive rug.

———————

A/N: I feel like faerie magic mushrooms works better in the setting than Crescent City's faerie coke and faerie weed

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 2

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Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

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

"They can't be serious…." Harry muttered in disbelief as he stared down at the very official-looking letter.

"Who's serious about what?" asked Ginny, stepping into their living room.

Harry jumped and quickly tried to hide the letter behind his back. "Nothing!" he squeaked.

He should have known better. Ginny got a mischievous glint in her eye and darted around him, trying to get at the letter. They spent a minute chasing around each other, but eventually Ginny faked him out into tripping over the coffee table, and she quickly snatched the letter out of his hand with a triumphant laugh, making Harry once again wonder if she wouldn't be even better at Seeker.

"Ooooo," Ginny sang dramatically as she saw the emblem at the top of the parchment, "an official statement from the Wizengamot! Have they come up with a new award to bestow on you?"

"No, it's even worse," mumbled Harry.

"Oh, well now I'm very interested," Ginny teased, "am I worthy to take a peek at such official correspondence between such important people?"

"Well, it actually concerns you too, Missy," said Harry, crossing his arms, "so go ahead."

"Hold on, let's see if I can get the right tone." Ginny cleared her throat, pointed her nose in the air, and continued in her haughtiest tone,

"To the esteemed Harry James Potter,

After consideration of your actions to serve and protect the Wizarding World of Great Britain, as well as the recent discovery of your lineage to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, previously thought to be lost, it is with great honor and pleasure that we offer to restore your line to its former status by bestowing upon you one of the vacant Lordships!?"

Ginny dropped her character and her mouth gaped open in disbelief. "Along with the accompanying seat on the Wizengamot!" she finished quickly.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and her face split into a wicked grin and Harry knew he would never hear the end of this.

Harry snatched the parchment back.

"Yeah, so in other words," he began before she could start getting her jokes in, "they're embarrassed by how many of their seats are still empty after half their members were thrown in prison or fled the country for being Death Eater collaborators, so they're once again trying to use me as their poster boy so they can look like they've turned over a new leaf. Except they clearly haven't, since they only deemed me 'worthy' after they found out which dead pure-bloods I'm descended from, so they're still the same navel-gazing, inbred aristocrats they've always been!"

By the time he was finished, he was shouting and he panted to catch his breath.

Ginny, however, still found the whole thing hilarious.

"Oh, it breaks my heart to see Lord Potter so displeased," she bowed low to him with a flourish of her hand. "Let me know if there's anything a lowly peasant like me can do to serve you."

"Yeah, yuck it up, Weasley," said Harry dryly, "Like I said, this affects you too."

She looked back up at him with a sardonic look. "How does your having to sit through long parliamentary bullshit have to do with me?"

"Well," said Harry, stepping toward her, "if I'm a Lord, that means that, if I ever get married one day—"

"Hypothetically speaking," said Ginny.

"Yes, then that hypothetical girl — whoever she might be — would become a Lady."

"Hmmm," hummed Ginny thoughtfully. She wrapped her hands around his neck and he snaked his arms around her waist. "So you think this is relevant to me because you're hoping to make me your Lady? That's mighty presumptive of you, Lord Potter."

"Well, I wouldn't say hoping," lied Harry. "It's just a logical possibility to consider, strictly because you're pure-blood, of course. But I'm still keeping my options open. After all, you know how much of a ladies man I am."

"Yes, of course. But you know…" said Ginny thoughtfully, tracing circles over Harry's chest with her finger, "'Lady Ginevra Potter….does have kind of a nice ring to it."

"Oh, but things would be expected of you, m'Lady," said Harry, "and you would definitely have to stop all that Quidditch nonsense. Such a vulgar and violent activity is beneath a woman of your standing."

"Oh, well, I guess that's settled, we have to break up," Ginny sighed, "We're just a part of two different worlds."

"I'll always remember you," said Harry romantically, "but alas, I must kiss you goodbye."

He bent down and gave her a kiss, then they broke apart as they cracked up into laughter.

"Come on, I'm not going to let anyone call me a Lord," said Harry, rolling his eyes, "and obviously I'm not actually going to sit on the bloody Wizengamot. Those seats are transferable, so I can give it to someone who will actually know what they're doing. My first instinct is your dad, but he probably won't want it either, and they'll do anything to get him off again. Andromeda would probably feel at home there, but could do some good. Or maybe McGonagall."

Ginny groaned. "You can be so boring sometimes, you know that? You have a chance to put Luna in a position of power, that would drive them insane! Oh, or how about Aberforth, that would be hilarious!"

Harry laughed. "We're not all agents of chaos like you, Gin. I swear, sometimes I think you're Eris in disguise."

"Oh, you think I'm a goddess?" Ginny flirted, "then I guess you better worship me."

"Hmmm," Harry kissed her again, but then sighed and pulled back. "Sadly, there's no time for that, we're already running late for dinner at the Burrow."

"Alright, should we go together or do you want to keep up the pretense that we're actually living in different flats?" she asked him pointedly.

He gave a weak, embarrassed smile. "I know it's ridiculous, and I might be a coward, I've just managed to escape your mother's disapproving stare so far in my life, I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

Ginny rolled her eyes but led him by the hand out the door of their flat, past the wards they had put up. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, and turned on the spot, feeling the squeeze of Disapparition.

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

"Come on!" urged Ron, "I'm hungry!"

"What else is new?" laughed Hermione, as she finished a letter she needed to send and tied it to Pig. After she sent the little owl on his way, she turned around to see her fiance standing by the fireplace, bouncing on his feet like a child on Christmas morning.

"Honestly Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head, "one would think you haven't eaten in a week, and there's no way that your mother even has dinner ready yet."

"Yes, but her pre-dinner scones should be coming out of the oven right now!" said Ron cleverly, "And I might as well have not eaten in a week, don't pretend like I'm the only one who's sick of our sad attempts at cooking."

"Alright, alright!" said Hermione. She joined him by the fireplace, threw some floo powder into the grate, and together they stepped into the green flames.

"THE BURROW!" Ron shouted clearly, and after the spinning sensation and flashes of various fireplaces, they stumbled into the sitting room of Ron's childhood home.

Ron's excited smile faltered when they saw the sitting room completely empty, with no one there to greet them. He recognized the overlapping voices of his family instead coming from the kitchen, and with a rush of horror he feared that his precious scones were already being eaten by an army of Weasleys. He led Hermione by the hand across the room towards the kitchen, and he started to make out individual voices.

"I just don't understand why they haven't told us!" said his mother.

"He probably knows what we're likely to do to him," grumbled Charlie.

"You've been away too long, brother mine," chuckled George, "I guarantee you she's the one keeping it under wraps."

"In any case, we know that pushing the issue will do nothing but make things worse," said Ron's dad gently, "We just have to—"

"Scones ready?" asked Ron loudly as he and Hermione entered the kitchen, and Hermione had to resist the urge to swat him. The conversation he had interrupted seemed interesting, and her suspicions were confirmed (and her curiosity inflamed) when all talk instantly ceased the moment they walked into the room. Six heads snapped towards the arriving couple as Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George widened their eyes in surprise and fear, like they were caught discussing something covert. Hermione also noticed how a few of them (mainly Ron's two oldest brothers) then narrowed their eyes venomously at her and her boyfriend.

While the kitchen of the Burrow was usually one of the warmest, most welcoming rooms in the world to Hermione, she noticed a distinctly cool, tense atmosphere this time. She looked sideways and saw that even Ron had clearly noticed, his eager smile slipping from his face.

There were several seconds of silence as the older family members' eyes all flittered between each other, holding a silent conversation that Ron and Hermione didn't know how to join. Then the loud ding of the kitchen timer made them all jerk suddenly.

"Wow, do I have great timing or what?" said Ron proudly, trying to ease some of the tension in the room, but some of his laughter died in his throat. His stomach didn't let him dwell on it, however, as Molly bent down to take the scones out of the oven, and the sweet, fresh smell filled the kitchen.

After she put the plate of scones on the table, Ron casually flicked a cooling charm over them before grabbing one greedily. The other Weasley men took their own, but they looked more like it was just something to do with their hands. While Ron hummed as he took a big bite, they chewed theirs thoughtfully.

"I should check on the washing," said Molly quietly, without looking at anyone. She grabbed a laundry basket and headed outside towards the clothesline.

"I'll help!" said Hermione cheerfully. She was always happy to help with the chores at the Burrow, but she also wanted to get one of the Weasleys alone to figure out what they had been talking about.

Molly didn't answer and continued outside with Hermione behind her.

"How have you and Arthur been?" asked Hermione pleasantly.

"Well, my days are still dreary, with no children left in the house," Molly sighed. "I knew that children don't stay children forever, but I certainly wasn't expecting my younger ones to hit so many milestones so quickly….and in the wrong order." She finished more quietly

Hermione frowned. Did Molly think she and Ron were getting married too soon? She had never expressed that before, she was overjoyed when they had announced their engagement.

"Er….well, Ron recently got promoted from Junior Auror," said Hermione uncertainly as she began helping Molly take garments off the clothesline and put them in the basket. "He'll be taking more serious cases now." So his career is well on track, if that's what you're worried about.

"I'm touched that you and Ron are willing to indulge that to me!" said Molly sharply

Hermione pursed her lips. Her patience was running out.

She stepped towards her soon-to-be mother-in-law and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Molly…"

For the first time, Molly turned to look at Hermione and the younger woman flinched back at the cold distrust and disapproval she saw in her eyes. Hermione felt a rush of deja vu, and after a short moment she realized where she had seen that look before: it was the same look she had received from Molly her fourth year, when the older witch had believed Rita Skeeter and was under the impression that Hermione was Harry's manipulative girlfriend, breaking his heart by messing around with Viktor.

"Mrs. Weasley...have I done something wrong?" asked Hermione weakly.

Seeing the hurt on Hermione's face, Molly's own harsh expression softened and was replaced with a wave of guilt. Her eyes got watery and her lip trembled, and before Hermione could say anything else she suddenly found herself being hugged tightly.

"No dear, you haven't done anything wrong," said Molly in a choked voice, as Hermione awkwardly patted her back, thoroughly confused. "I'm just being silly. I understand you're not choosing sides, you're just being a good friend."

Molly pulled back, and was smiling weakly at Hermione.

"Er...thank you," said Hermione, more bewildered than ever. "I don't mean to be rude, Molly, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh no, of course not," Molly winked dramatically, "There's nothing to tell, I'll drop it. Come on, dinner is just about ready."

Before Hermione could insist more strongly that Molly explain what the hell was going on, Molly picked up the now-full laundry basket and returned to the house, leaving Hermione blinking dumbly behind her.

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

As Hermione followed his mother outside, Ron continued to chew into the warm, buttery scone, barely looking at his surrounding family members, the earlier tension all but forgotten to him.

"So….little Ronnie doesn't come around for dinner as much as he used to," Bill pointed out.

"He and Harry have been burning the candle at both ends at the Ministry," said Percy.

"Hmm-hmm," Ron nodded, engrossed in his scone, not looking up to see the stern looks on his brothers' faces. "More than we need to be, honestly. But because of Harry's saving-people-thing, he's always sure that the next case will end in disaster if the dark wizard isn't caught right now, and of course he would be lost without me, so whenever he's working overtime I am too." He shrugged.

"Oh yes, I think we're all well aware how loyal you are to Harry," Charlie said darkly, "Even over other, older loyalties, as a matter of fact."

"Charlie…." began their dad warningly.

Ron looked back up, and grew uncomfortable again when he saw that all of his family members were looking directly at him. Earlier, he had assumed that the awkward tension in the room was because he and Hermione had interrupted an important conversation, but it seemed to go beyond that, like they were pissed directly at him for something he had done.

"What's going—"

He was interrupted by his mother re-entering the house, holding the laundry with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other. Hermione followed in shortly behind her, and Ron looked pointedly at his mother and gave his fiance a quizzical look, but Hermione just returned a confused, helpless shrug.

"The roast should be almost done now," said Molly happily, and waved her want to send a flurry of plates and cutlery flying to settle in front of where each of the Weasley men were sitting.

"And I'm such a terrible mother, I neglected something," chuckled Molly, and bent down to kiss the crown of Ron's head. "We all missed you, dear."

"Mum…" Ron grumbled awkwardly, but he saw his brothers look at each other with slightly guilty expressions, and as they followed their mother's lead, the atmosphere of the room became friendlier.

Charlie drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I need a drink."

"Excellent idea!" pipped George. He waved his wand and summoned a large bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet along with several glasses, which zoomed right past Molly's face, causing her to jump and shriek.

"For the last time, only the cook can summon in the kitchen!" Molly scolded him, "I won't have this room devolve in complete chaos of flying objects until someone gets a concussion!"

"And I know you don't always act like it, but you are all of age," said Arthur, raising his eyebrows at George pouring several glasses of whiskey, "so I see no reason why you can't bring your own drinking supplies instead of raiding mine."

Molly huffed. "Well maybe it will be best if we stopped keeping that poison in the house—"

She stopped abruptly as they heard a faint pop from outside, coming from down the pathway, and Ron knew that Harry and Ginny must have arrived. Instead of beaming and rushing out into the garden to greet her two favorite children, however, Ron saw his mother gasp and a bit of the color drain from her face. His family members all looked at each other with that same expression he first saw when he came into the room.

Charlie gave a low growl and picked up a glass. "Yup. Definitely need a drink."

[makeste]

top 20 favorite quirks

okay, but listen, though! it’s exactly what it says in the title. not best quirks, or most useful quirks, or most creative quirks. not even coolest quirks! I did try to take all of these things into consideration when choosing, but honestly? by far the most important factor was, “I JUST THINK THEY’RE NEAT.”

anyway but let me backtrack and post the actual ask.

you’ll note that at no point was I asked to pick twenty of them. I did that all on my own. so here is my list!

20. Solid Air (Tsuburaba)

Tsubaraba Kousei. all-time undefeated grand champion of The Floor Is Lava. or at least he was until Ochako came along. anyway, so this is an extremely nifty quirk with all sorts of utility ranging from defense to helping him get around. it’s super useful for catching bad guys, and apparently the only real limit is his lung capacity. this quirk has so much potential and I love it.

19. Copy (Monoma)

the fact that he can copy his opponents’ powers and use them against them is badass enough, but add in the fact that he can hold up to 3 (or 4??) of them at once -- for as long as ten minutes -- and this quirk starts getting seriously powerful. anyway so one thing you might note as you read on is that although Copy is on my favorite quirks list, AFO is not! and that’s because Monoma’s limits actually make the quirk much more interesting to me, because they force him (and Horikoshi) to get creative. this is a really fun quirk and I would love to see more of Monoma in action. about time we saw him fight some actual villains and not just class 1-A, honestly.

18. Brainwashing (Shinsou)

as with Monoma’s quirk, what really sets this apart from other mind-control superpowers (to me, anyway) is the fact that it has limitations. he can’t just control anyone at random; in order to take them over he has to get them to respond to him somehow. which leads to innovations like the voice-changer, and which as a result has made his battles so genuinely interesting and fun to watch. anyway so I really want Shinsou to hurry up and join 2-A, and for them to just give him his provisional license all “here you go, son” with no testing whatsoever, because we’re past the point of pretending the HPSC is actually responsible these days, and because I really want to see if he can help turn the tides the next time the heroes battle the League.

17. Zero Gravity (Ochako)

I feel like it’s worth noting that I don’t really have any kind of fear of heights or falling or anything like that. and so I can’t really explain why Toga using this quirk on Ms. Curious and her lackeys was hands down one of the most singularly disturbing scenes in the entire manga for me! but it was!! even now I’m wincing just thinking about it. she just lifted them all up and DROPPED THEM and they just FELL and DIED. just like that. holy fucking shit. anyway, so we should all be very grateful that Ochako is super kind and sweet and more inclined towards helping people rather than murdering them. because holy shit. anyways though this quirk is dope.

16. Erasure (Aizawa)

I once said that this quirk was “not very cinematic”, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong about anything in my life. oh, past me. you truly underestimated the dramatic impact of someone with a terrifyingly powerful quirk going in for the kill, only to be all “NANI?!” as they suddenly realize that their powers are no longer working, and the camera pans over to a man with gorgeous floating hair and intense red anime eyes. I owe you an apology, Erasure. you are cinematic AF.

15. Black Hole (Thirteen)

I really wish we got to see Thirteen fight more often. they suffer from the same “too powerful” curse as so many of the other characters and it’s a shame. anyway so Black Hole is cool af and gives me a ton of Miroku/kazaana vibes, which I freaking love. this quirk is lowkey on a Tomura-level of destructive potential, honestly, and yet no one ever talks about it?? Thirteen could literally destroy anything they touched if they wanted to?? imagine if they ever Awakened, you guys. holy shit.

14. Tape (Sero)

this power is so fucking stupid and ridiculous and completely absurd and I LOVE IT. Horikoshi really drew a skinny guy with tape elbows and was all, “so this kid is basically Spider-Man but with tape. I have not put the least bit of logical thought or creative effort into this power beyond that, and I’m not going to, either.” and somehow we all just accepted it. anyway, dubious origins aside, it’s such a versatile ability and Sero has such amazing control over it. it’s offense; it’s defense; he can use it to set traps; he can use it for maneuverability. TAPE ELBOWS CAN DO IT ALL.

13. Outburst (Ms. Joke)

when will it finally be her time. Outburst is one of those powers that sounds super dumb at first, until you really stop and think what the ability to make someone laugh at will could actually DO to people. true uncontrollable belly laughter is a totally incapacitating thing. she’d have people collapsing to the ground and practically seizing up. and good luck using your own quirk to fight back when you’re doubled over struggling to breathe and can’t even see straight because of the tears in your eyes. that’s assuming any of her opponents are even capable of thinking straight long enough to try it. like, this is such a straight up brutal ability and the fact that we have still NEVER SEEN IT is honestly infuriating.

12. Glamour (Camie)

it’s an illusion quirk. of course I have to put it on my list. illusion powers make every battle approximately 100x more entertaining. and what makes this particular power even better is that in any other series, this quirk would have been given to some Tokoyami-esque super serious emo kid. but BnHA went and gave it to Karen from Mean Girls instead. what a fucking power move. goddamn.

11. Black (Kuroiro)

according to BnHA Ultra Analysis, Kuroiro’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are rated a 4 out of 6. I still haven’t figured out if this is meant to be a burn on him or not. this kid can ninja in and out of literally any dark object in existence. if it’s nighttime, that means he can basically move wherever he wants to at will. of course he’s skilled at Appearing Out of Nowhere. so tell me then, why is it ONLY a four out of six?? how could he possibly fuck this up?? who was grading him?? DOES HE JUST SUCK. I don’t know, but anyway it’s really funny to me and also I really love this quirk.

10. Transform (Toga)

Toga went and Awakened herself right into the top ten with the reveal that not only can she mimic other people’s appearances, but that while she is transformed, she can actually use their quirks. like excuse me, what?? holy shit??? it is honestly driving me crazy that we’ve only seen this in action once. Transform is basically Plot Twist: The Quirk. I really want to see Toga use it to its full potential and infiltrate U.A. and/or spy on the HPSC and/or murder someone with their loved one’s own quirk. I WANT HER TO GIVE SOMEONE THE MAES HUGHES TREATMENT. I want her to do something so shocking that people ragequit the fucking manga lol. I know I’m always saying the manga isn’t that dark, but this is honestly the one exception where I would freaking love for it to get dark as shit. anyway so yeah. if you want to fuck with people you really couldn’t ask for a better quirk.

9. Creation (Momo)

MACGUYVER: THE QUIRK. an unlimited inventory in the hands of someone brilliant enough to actually utilize it to its full extent. what’s not to love? honestly if it were me with this quirk it would be completely useless. not only would I get hopelessly bored two seconds into trying to memorize an object’s molecular structure or whatever, but even if I DID manage to figure out how to make stuff, I would never know what to do with the stuff, or when to use it. every time a new situation cropped up I would just create a bunch of random objects in a panic. but Momo is so elegant in her problem-solving that she often needs to create only one or two things to come up with the perfect solution for something. basically this is a good quirk that becomes a truly great quirk when placed in the hands of the best possible person in the world to wield it. the quirk is awesome because Momo is awesome, and I fucking adore quirks like that (see: next entry).

8. Permeation (Mirio)

ah, Mirio. the original victim of the “too powerful to be allowed” curse. remember that time he BEAT HALF OF CLASS 1-A IN UNDER SIX SECONDS, you guys.  small wonder Horikoshi couldn’t even make it through one complete villain fight with him before he had to de-quirk the poor kid. anyway, so Mirio makes this quirk look so mind-blowingly awesome that it’s easy to forget what a terrifying and fucked-up power it is in reality. “yeah it makes me blind and deaf and if I’m not careful I’ll fall into the center of the earth or splice myself in two or some shit.” what the actual fuck Mirio. but because he’s worked so hard and because Nighteye trained him so well, he’s mastered the timing to such an insane degree that he could kick Overhaul in the face without harming a single hair on Eri’s body. and honestly, there’s no way I could not love a quirk that gave us a moment like that.

7. Warp Gate (Kurogiri)

unlike SOME OTHER PEOPLE whose names start with Kuro, I would bet you that Kurogiri’s Appearing Out of Nowhere skills are a full six out of six! alas, the top ten of this list is chock full of people whose quirks are so badass that they had to be written out of the story one way or another. with Kuro at large there was technically nothing stopping the villains from just dropping in on U.A. one night to kill All Might, or rekidnap Bakugou, or whatever else they might want to do. and that’s actually a really scary thought though lol so it’s no wonder that Horikoshi was all, “yeah I’ll just have them capture him now.” anyways do you guys remember that one time in chapter 18 when Kuro used Warp Gate to create an endless loop of All Might suplexing Noumu suplexing All Might?? fucking quirks, though. wild.

6. Fiber Master (Best Jeanist)

another badass quirk, another badass quirk-user incapacitated and taken out of the story before their time. Best Jeanist is honestly terrifying. if he wanted to he could immobilize and even strangle and kill pretty much anyone in the world, whenever he fucking felt like it. that alone would be crazy enough, but then add to that that this quirk for all intents and purposes is basically telekinesis. as long as someone is wearing clothing he can move them around however he wants, as we saw in Kamino. basically, everything Hawks can do with Fierce Wings, Jeanist can probably do with his own quirk. AND THAT INCLUDES FLYING, YOU GUYS. the more I think about it the more I think we truly were robbed. I need Jeanist to come back already and fly everyone at Jakku to safety and tie Tomura to a chair with his own cape before proceeding to style his hair.

5. Rewind (Eri)

IT’S MY LIST!! I CAN PUT WHATEVER I WANT, AND IF YOU SAY I CAN’T, I’M TELLING MOM. okay but listen. everyone always rags on this quirk and how stupidly powerful it is, and look, I get it. but isn’t it kind of interesting that everyone is also always speculating over who Eri is eventually going to heal with her quirk? like, fandom is always complaining about how broken it is but at the same time they’re out here hatching all of these wild theories that center around it. and to me that indicates that in truth, this is actually an awesome quirk -- just so long as it’s used right. obviously there have to be some major limitations or else this is just “Fix Everything: The Quirk.” thankfully, Horikoshi did limit it! it’s super dangerous, she has trouble controlling it, and most importantly, it’s ridiculously slow to recharge and so she can only use it once every few months. it’s basically Recovery Girl’s quirk with a bonus slow-replenishing stamina bar that, once charged, allows her to release one ultra-powerful SUPER HEAL special move. and that’s pretty awesome. basically I think this quirk gets too much hate and not enough credit for the additional menu options it adds to the story. it’s interesting and compelling and I can’t wait to see what Horikoshi does with it.

4. Dark Shadow (Tokoyami)

TOKOYAMI WHY IS YOUR QUIRK SENTIENT. Existential Crisis: The Quirk. do quirks have souls?? if you shot Tokoyami with a quirk-be-gone bullet would Dark Shadow fucking die??? if Tomura absorbed Tokoyami’s quirk would Dark Shadow grow out of his back and be all “hey um, who the fuck are you”?? and would Toko’s head turn back into a normal human boy head?? would Dark Shadow look like Tomura instead of a bird shadow?? what even IS Dark Shadow, actually?? obviously it is not just a shadow because shadows can’t punch people or shield people from attacks or pick people up and fly them around. but yet he’s afraid of fire and grows weaker in daylight?? is Tokoyami secretly the strongest character in the entire series?? is there any way I can possibly justify putting this quirk all the way down at #4 instead of #1 where it clearly belongs?? let me answer that question by not answering it and moving on.

3. Explosion (Bakugou)

is the fix in?? is “exploding hands” really a better quirk than a fucking sentient monster man who lives in your belly button and reads your mind and is made of ~darkness energy~ and is your best friend? apparently the answer is yes! to both of those questions. yes the fix is in. I love Kacchan and his quirk is fucking awesome okay. it just never ceases to amaze me how this one single quirk, which really only does one thing, is nonetheless so spectacularly powerful that it allows Bakugou to compete on the same level as the fucking protagonist with all of his godlike super-strength and Main Character Powers and wacky SIXQUIRKS!! shenanigans. in my opinion the coolest thing about Explosion isn’t even its firepower; it’s the way Bakugou’s adapted it to fly around and to boost his speed. I think he legit may be the fastest character in the series right now, or close to it. he’s faster than Iida and Gran Torino and Endeavor. he can keep up with Deku without breaking a sweat. and he knows how to use that speed, thanks to his insane reflexes. add in the fact that this is also without a doubt the most cinematic quirk in the entire series, and I think I’m justified in putting it this high up. and anyway I still put two others up above it so shh.

2. Search (Ragdoll/Tomura)

Hey, What’s That Guy’s Deal: The Quirk. I just really love this one you guys. it’s so fucking useful. Video Game HUD: The Quirk. one hundred people at a time?? locations and weak points?? works even when you’re not looking at the person anymore and have blinked your eyes, unlike CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE’S weak-ass quirks?? check, check, and check. is it any wonder AFO wanted this? plus it just looks so damn cool. the visual representation of everyone as little stars on a map. Turn On Location: The Quirk. okay look I feel like I’m doing a bad job of explaining why I have this quirk all the way up at number two. it just has this subtle badassness to it, and its introduction after almost two hundred chapters of buildup was just so fucking cool. maybe it’s recency bias?? I don’t even know; all I know is that I love this quirk and want to see more of it in action.

1. Blackwhip (Lariat/Deku)

listen, I was obsessed with this quirk back when it was called “Venom” and was by far the absolute coolest part of the 1990s Spider-Man cartoon series. I’m not just going to suddenly not be obsessed with it just because fandom is mad that Horikoshi gave Deku an additional power beyond just Smashing Stuff. Blackwhip is hands down the coolest quirk, guys. I’m sorry, it just is. it has the coolest name. it had the coolest entrance. it does basically anything you could ever want a quirk to do in battle. it grabs stuff. it Bloops. what more do you want. you’re all just jealous because you wish that you could Bloop too. I know I am. I wish I had a Bloop. anyway so yeah, Blackwhip is the upgrade to Deku’s fighting style that we desperately needed after 200+ chapters of Delaware Smashes and Broken Bones. all his fights are cooler now. he can save more people! he can fight without instantly dying! plus you just gotta love powers that occasionally explode out of control if their user gets all emotional and pissed off about the fact that you insulted his boyfriend. so yeah. Blackwhip at number one! on this list of favorite quirks. not best quirks!! jesus christ. please don’t kill me I have a family.

 so that’s my list! all 3000 words of it. how does this keep happening.

[letsperaltiago]

we’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning |CHAPTER 7|

Even in the middle of New York's freezing month of February, a scandalous familiar fire is ignited within Jake and Amy when they run into each other after years apart. Luckily there's nothing wrong with being caught up in a fire that has to die out soon, right?

Read chapter here or on AO3 

CHAPTER MASTERLIST HERE

Being a cop, experiencing so much harm, hopelessness, chaos and everything in-between, was the hardest thing he’d ever have to handle.

Or that’s what he thought right up until the moment Jake stood on the doorstep to Sophia and, weirdly, his apartment in an attempt to get himself to come forward and confess to what he’d done - or just knock on the door would be a good start. For the last minutes, he didn’t even remember how many at that point, he’d been restlessly pacing back and forth outside the front door to their, his and Sophia’s, so-called “home”. But it being Brooklyn it was probably just a matter of time before someone would call the cops on him since he did look kind of disturbed and creepy: he couldn’t keep pacing forever.

His heart was beating so fast; so fast he was absolutely persuaded of having never experienced any similar feeling before. Another thing he noticed, he could’ve sworn, was that he could hear every pumping movement his heart uttered, which made no sense considering he simultaneously felt lightheaded and like no oxygen was getting to his brain. Man, he had messed up so hard. Not only with Amy, but with Sophia too.

Nevertheless he didn’t get much more time to consider, suffer and make up his mind, in reality none at all, because a loud repetitive knock from inside the apartment beat him to it and completely threw him off guard.

“Who’s there!?” he could hear a woman’s voice yell from inside the apartment: Sophia, of course. Her sounding upset was an understatement. “I’ve been hearing pacing and mumbling for the past 5 minutes so don’t act like no one’s there! I can and will call the police!”

Oh, shit - no more time to think. He had to just jump, head in first and… do whatever he could. Either that or cops, probably from his own precinct, would be there to arrest him within 5 minutes.

“No no no, please don’t! It’s me Jake!”

The yelling and warning bangs from her side of the door seized but probably not because, if he knew her well enough, she was relieved. Not that he’d expected her to be though; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling, abandoned by the person whom she thought she would spend the rest of her days with, and now, without her knowledge, he was back to make it even worse.

“Can we talk?” He called out.

Silence. 5… 10… 15… seconds.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Jake. I think where you stand has been made very clear.”

Venom coursed through her voice, every syllable, word and sound, which Jake couldn’t even blame her for: he deserved it. All she’d done was love him, saying yes to loving him forever when he had asked her to marry him, and all it’d gotten her was being left on her wedding day; being cheated on though she wasn’t even aware of this. Yet.

“You don’t have to say anything; you don’t even have to look at me… I just need to-“ he cut himself off trying to think of the right words to say though he knew nothing would ever be perfectly right. “I need to come clean: lay it all out on the table. I’m a the world’s biggest dick, and I’m not here to try to convince you of the opposite… Let me just explain a few things, okay? Please, Sophia…”

A sigh full of regret put a period to what he had to say; what he could say as he stood outside the gates to confession waiting to learn if his admission of guilt would be welcomed. On top of this he also felt deep regret knowing he’d hurt an incredible woman, knowing he could’ve acted so much more wisely, but also at the same time not regretting every moment he’d gotten with Amy.

Then, to his surprise, the door swung open revealing an exhausted-looking Sophia clad in sweatpants and being the exact opposite of what he knew her for: put together, cool, always on the move, determined. He’d done this to her and, if possible, he now hated himself even more.

“Hey,” to say smiling felt inappropriate was some understatement as he put on a weak one, but he didn’t know what else to do. Scream? Cry? He sure did feel like it. The smile ended up being the less weird option although it didn’t earn him one in return and that was okay.

Another tense silence, one more than before now that the door was no longer present as a buffer between them, crept up the stairs to where they were by the front door. It immediately let Jake know that no, he probably shouldn’t expect to be let in.

“I don’t have time for small talk, Jacob. Get to the point.”

Jacob. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

“Eh- okay,” his hands shifted uncomfortably in his jean’s front pocket, he took a deep breath and then jumped into the freezing ocean of truth: eyes closed, head first, can’t lose.

“So, first of all, I know this must mean nothing to you which is far beyond understandable, but just wanna say, again, how so very sorry I am for what I did to you - to us…” he paused to see if he should expect some kind of answer, reaction, the bare minimum but alas no. The only moving she did was crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest as if she was gearing up for war. His most qualified guess was that this was his cue to continue.

“…and I’m not here to rub salt in the wound and this might be selfish, I’m not really sure anymore, but I need to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”

This to some extent seemed to catch Sophia’s attention, a sudden curiosity lighting up her darker than usual eyes as if she was a kid who’s just been told they’re going to be let in on a secret. Only this secret surely wouldn’t make her feel any good.

“A few months back, in February, something happened and I already should’ve told you back then but I didn’t because I was a confused and a huge stupid coward and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

From the look on her face Jake could tell that Sophia was slowly starting to put the pieces together. It was only a matter of words, no matter how carefully picked they were on his part, before she would crack the code and know. The secret would be out with taking it back being no option.

“Remember that night I said I was going to Shaw’s with a friend from work?” he tried, not expecting an answer but hoping she’d recall which would allow him to spare her from the details.

Then a look of realisation, the last puzzle piece falling into its designated spot consumed the look on his almost-wife’s face. He could physically see the microsecond it all came together in her mind and it felt like witnessing someone pulling the safety pin of a grenade, and now he had to stay, stand his ground, and handle the explosion.

“Y-you…” she stammered before closing her eyes as to compose herself after the shock of the truth bomb. “You… cheated on me?” he could tell the word was laced with venom, tasting horridly in her mouth as she couldn’t believe she had to say it. “And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me!?” within seconds her voice transitioned from disbelief to loud, ringing anger.

What else could he do but comply? He knew he was the traitor; the culpable; the one in the wrong.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t give a shit about your apologies! I was here, by your side, working my ass off for this wedding and us, meanwhile you were out and about screwing some chick?”

The flinch Jake’s face upon hearing Amy be put on a par with ‘some random girl he’d just screwed’ was in no way discreet, and Sophia of course noticed. It was indeed inevitable that their relationship was over Jake knew that Sophia knew him well - they’d been together for long and about to get married after all. Also, she was a lawyer so there was really no where for him to hide. Her entire demeanour quieted down upon internally analysing the facts.

Jake Peralta, a good guy with no scandalous past, goes out to get drinks with “someone from work” and cheats on her, flinches when she belittles this other woman…

“I know her, don’t I?”

Perhaps yes he was coming clean about everything but still he didn’t exactly feel like exclaiming the mystery woman’s identity. Alas the silence he met Sophia with was enough of an answer. The wheels continuously turned inside her mind, so loud that Jake could’ve sworn that he could actually hear it.

Jake Peralta. Good guy. No scandalous past or track record. Drinks. “Someone from work”. Flinch.

There must be feeling involved. She knows her.

“Someone from work,” Sophia repeated out loud as to speed up the answer coming to her. It was all one big mess in her head but somehow comes together forming a perfectly clear answer.

“Amy… “ she tasted the name on her tongue trying to find the second half of it. “… Amy Santiago. The girl you used to work with back at the Nine-Nine.”

Another silence; another answer; another soundless yes. Suddenly Jake wished he’d never told Sophia about Amy. The two women had never met, but of course Jake couldn’t enter a relationship without bringing home a lot of shop talk, which involved anecdotes and pictures about his squad: ex-partner Santiago who’d by then moved on to work with Major Crimes included

“I can’t believe you went out and screwed an old colleague while I sat at home like the good, naive wife-to-be!” She cursed loudly after having gotten over the big blow of the mistress’ reveal. Jake flinched having no defence as he knew very well that he deserved the rough treatment. What he’d done to her was inconsolable and unforgivable.

“Fuck you, Jake,” her eyes and words were equally life-draining as they dug into him like daggers. “Fuck you for being with me, fuck you for telling me you loved me, for you for building a life with me, fuck you for proposing and the biggest of all fuck yous for almost leading me into a what was already a dead-end marriage.”

By then, having already threatened moments ago but had only actually fallen in the midst of her last outburst, tears were falling on her cheeks.

“I deserve every single ‘fuck you’ you have to offer and I’m so sorry, Sophia. Really, I truly deeply am and, not that it matters now, but I did love you and still do… It’s just-“

“I’m not her,” she finished his sentence for her making it much simpler than whatever long, intricate explanation he would end up forming. And she suddenly looked very calm; upsettingly calm and settled even.

Jake froze. He knew he was thinking it but didn’t exactly expect Sophia to catch up on it so fast.

“You might be the world’s worst person to me right now, and I’m not about to forgive it…” Her eyes for the first time tonight, through the tears, showed a sign of sadness, regret even, rather than anger like she’d come to realise something. “… But I also know that you’re a man who does love and probably did love me, even though it doesn’t feel like it right now, which is also why I know you would never do this to me if there wasn’t someone you…” she halted as if the words didn’t want to come out of her. “… if there wasn’t someone you loved even more, and I don’t want to be with you if there’s someone out there you love more than me. I don’t want to waste my life being someone’s number two: I jut wish you’d told me earlier… Or simply in a way that didn’t include screwing around.”

Jake had never considered the fact that perhaps he had what resembled love for Amy, but hearing Sophia somehow explain his mess to him though she was the victim, it suddenly seemed more clear and obvious than ever before.

“You’re worth much more than I can offer you, Sophia… And I’m sorry I didn’t communicate that properly.”

“Well…” his almost-wife had seemed to calm down although the clenching feeling in his gut, guilt, would surely stick around for some time. “Just make sure to at least offer that Amy something equal her worth. Don’t be an idiot twice.”

Jake nodded trying to change it all in; the switch in tone and mood, all the new facts hitting him harder than a storm.

“Did she know?” Sophia quizzed again after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“That you had me?  That you were engaged?”

“Oh, uh…” Jake frowned hating that he knew the answer. Even though it didn’t matter he didn’t want what she did that night to represent Amy. But he couldn’t lie. Not anymore. “Yeah, I think… I believe I mentioned it.”

“Well,” Sophia took a moment to compose herself, grabbing the door as to get ready to close it. “Then perhaps you’re already offering her something equal to her worth.”

-

Between the confessing to Sophia and trying to win Amy back (is it ‘back’ if he never really had her?) Jake’s having a week from hell, and it very quickly turns out that talking to Sophia very surprisingly comes down to being the easiest task of the two.

It was a dark evening with clouds assembling threatening to spill rain and thunder covering the sky. Perhaps the weather knew how he felt; hopeless, somber, alone. After obviously not being able to stay in his and Sophia’s apartment anymore he’d offered to take the high road and move out - or at least move himself out along with a bag of clothes and bare necessities. The rest of his stuff would come around once he’d found a new place to call his own.

Until then he crashed at Charles’ which both he, Genevieve and especially nephew Nikolaj immensely enjoyed. Although he seemed not as happy and joking as usual, Nikolaj noticed, there was nothing better than spending evenings playing with his priceless collection of trucks and uncle Jake who always impressed him with conniving truck-sounds.

But as soon as the darkness and the moon reigned over New York, when Niko and his parents were fast asleep and the apartment was dead silent, Jake was left to himself in the guest room to ponder endlessly and hating himself so much more. At least during the day he could repress and distract himself from these thoughts and feelings.

The end of him and Amy, though he barely even knew what that meant anymore, suddenly seemed inevitable. Turned out that getting back in contact with a person whose trust you’d lost was harder than one would think - especially when you were obsessed, dying to be with said person, and she wouldn’t answer any calls, texts or voicemails which would allow you to explain.

Jake experienced this first hand as he dialled her number only to be met with her by now all too familiar voicemail.

“Ames, it’s me for the…” he took a brief glance at his phone immediately feeling slightly embarrassed by the sight of call list. “… 4th time today (20th time this week). Please, I’m begging you, pick up. I talked to Sophia and I’m-“ he searched his mind for the perfect words to say but they seemed so far gone, used up and meaningless by now. It already felt like he’d tried every way of wording possible to explain his renewed, honest intentions.

A deep sigh filled the pause before he preceded, slowly feeling himself slipping and giving up. “I miss you. I never meant to hurt you, and I know nothing will undo that I in fact did but please let me explain. I’m at Charles’. I’m staying here until I can find a new place to live and, yeah, Sophia is no longer in the picture. It’s just you, Amy. I just want you. Please call me back - or even just a text would be good too.”

He hung up before putting down his phone and turning over to lie sleeplessly, one more night to add to the list, in his lonely borrowed bed.

To no one’s surprise, least of all Jake’s, this declaration and plead number 20 wasn’t the one to convince Amy of giving him the time of day either. There was no way over, under or around the fact that she simply didn’t want to hear from him, and even less let him hear anything back. Though he was dying to explain himself, wanting nothing more than run to her apartment and kick down her door, tell her he wanted her,  he also knew that wasn’t the way things worked. Maybe in movies but not in real life with real people, real feelings and real consequences.

No matter how badly he needed and missed her he respected her wishes, which seemingly was not seeing him. Giving up on her felt wrong, unreal and excruciating when just five days ago he’d been lying in bed with her in his arms in the warm morning sunlight. And though he wasn’t officially about to back down and give in to the screwed up circumstances that had gotten them here, there sure wasn’t much motivation left in him but one thing: Amy.

Seeing Amy. Talking to Amy. Apologising to Amy. Admiring Amy. Touching Amy. Loving Amy, someday when that word seemed rational. Anything with Amy, he wanted it and would go to great lengths to earn it.

That, all that, he hoped, would be enough to mend them again someday hopefully soon.

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Nine

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Woah, we’re at like, the pseudo halfway mark! well actual half if you count that theres gonna be 18 chapters + an epilogue lol Anyway, apologies if it seems like nothing really happens in this chapter. I’m buzzing for what’s to come, but alas, gotta make those bridging chapters first 😖

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

Izuku felt weightless as he walked through the front door, casting his gaze quickly around his surroundings in search of Eri and Bakugou. It was a strange feeling, almost like he was floating as he kicked his work boots off at the front door and tugged at the zipper on his vest.

Cool air finds his torso where his shirt sticks to his stomach from the humid summer afternoon as he flaps the edges of the vest. Sighing at the blessed coolness, Izuku steps further into the hall and tilts his head into the kitchen.

Empty of either Bakugou or Eri, it’s filled with the fading twilight of the evening that casts long shadows across the floor.

Turning away from the kitchen, he continues forward as he takes off his hat and sweeps a hand through his slightly damp curls in an attempt to breathe some life into them.

“Hello?” He says, almost timid, as he looks into the entry of the living room only to be met by the quiet hum of the TV that’s still on. A brief passing moment of dread shocks through Izuku at the stillness that fills the home before it’s beat back by a sudden loud exclamation.

“C’mon, shrimp, show some mercy!” Bakugou’s voice carries down the stairs, quickly chased by Eri’s trademark laugh that’s reserved specifically when she’s beating someone ruthlessly at a board game.

A smile, wide a bright, tugs his lips upwards as he takes the stairs two steps at a time, all the while clutching his sweaty hat in his hand. Quietly crossing the space between the staircase and Eri’s wide open door, Izuku leans his shoulder against the doorframe.

Just within the room, Bakugou sits on the floor with his back to the door, legs crossed, elbow pushed into his thigh, and forehead pressed into the palm of his hand in utter defeat. Across from him, Eri’s face is lit with pure glee as she proudly looks down at the Monopoly board between them.

It’s a scene that Izuku is all too familiar with, and something about it traps his greeting in his throat as lightning seems to strike at the center of his chest.

“How is a four year old so good with money?” Bakugou grumbles with the same world weary sigh of someone who has been defeated many, many times.

Eri’s high giggle seems to confirm this as she starts to reset the board without any regard to her opponents pain. Izuku watches as Bakugou turns his head in his hand just enough to fix Eri with a look.

“You sure you aren’t cheating?” The blonde asks, voice full of teasing question. Eri laughs again as she shakes her head quickly, eyes still stuck on the board as she moves dog and battleship back to GO.

“No, it’s just her super power,” Izuku answers, finally pushing his words through the crackling pop at his sternum. His words force a rigid line across Bakugou’s shoulders as Eri’s head snaps up.

“Daddy Izuku!” She cries as she pushes herself up off the ground and runs toward him. Catching her as she launched forward, Izuku pulls her up into his arms and gives her a squeeze that makes her giggle. Bakugou turns over his shoulder to look up at them, eyes slightly wide before he pushes himself up mechanically.

“Were you good for Mr. Bakugou?” He asks, eyes fixated on the blonde as he blanches at the name before fixing Izuku with a glare that makes his heart stutter.

“Me and Kacchan were playing games!” Eri replies happily, as if that’s an answer. It forces a scoff between Bakugou’s teeth.

“If her kicking my ass really counts as playing,” he mutters, rolling his eyes in a way that makes Izuku laugh. The strange, light feeling zipping through his chest rolls lower, finding a home in his stomach as Bakugou offers Eri a small secretive smile.

It captures him then, snatching his breath from his lungs as he traces the exact curve of Bakugou’s mouth. He notes that there’s a small scar at the corner of his bottom lip.

“You get that wreck cleared up?” Bakugou asks, the words shaking Izuku as his vision clears, gaze snapping up to find himself the focus of the blonde’s attention.

Swallowing thickly, he nods.

“Thank you for watching her,” Izuku rasps, throat suddenly dry as Bakugou moves ever so slightly closer. Dragging his stare away from Izuku’s, Bakugou paints him in ruby as he drags his gaze downward, pausing briefly at his mouth before moving down to his chest. A mischievous smirk quirks his mouth into a crooked slant.

“And thank you for your service, Officer Deku,” he says, tone filling with a challenging tease that makes Izuku go lightheaded.

“What?” He hears himself ask, vision helplessly filled with the blonde. Thrusting a finger forward, Bakugou points at the space above Izuku’s heart.

“Your name tag,” is all he says, matter-of-fact.

Looking down slowly, Izuku tracks the back of Bakugou’s hand before following the line of his finger to where it points at the plastic bar proclaiming his name.

“What?” He asks again as he stares at the white characters that stand against the black backdrop.

Bakugou laughs, moving quickly to flick him in the nose. Gasping with surprise, Izuku snaps his head up.

“Made ya look,” Bakugou says, mouth wrapped around a shit eating grin.

Heat collects at the high points of Izuku’s cheekbones as he stares with open wander at the man before him, mouth opening and closing around things he doesn’t know how to say.

“Kacchan!” Eri admonishes, fixing Bakugou with her stern look as she crosses her arms across her chest. His laugh pitches higher as he shakes his head slightly.

“Alright, squirt, I’ll leave your dad alone,” he says, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. It raises the edge of his shirt just enough to reveal a strip of tan skin and golden hair before he drops his arms back down as Izuku swallows again.

“I should get going anyway.”

Fixing his stare on Izuku once more, he quirks his brow up, the edge of his mouth lifting as if in knowing before he moves closer. Bright, tart panic fills his mouth as he steps aside, just barely too slow as their shoulders brush.

“Goodnight, Deku,” Bakugou chuckles, hitting Izuku with the full brunt of his smile. It’s all sharp edges and challenge, and Izuku wonders silently what it tastes like.

“Night, Kacchan,” he replies, breathless and quiet. So much so that he briefly questions if he’s been heard until he sees the pink shade that paints across Bakugou’s face. Warmth dances through Izuku, tracing his bones and tracking his veins as he watches his mouth twist into a look of surprise. It only lasts for a breath before Bakugou tsks loudly and turns over his shoulder to stomp down the stairs. Seconds later, he hears the sound of the front door as it pulls shut loudly behind him.

Turning his attention from the hall and to Eri, he watches as she opens her mouth, releasing the loud blare of a horn.

Startling awake with his heart pounding wildly in his throat, Izuku stares up at the stripe of golden sunlight that cuts across his ceiling as his mind reels against the sudden change from the memory.

It had been a couple of weeks since that day, and since, Bakugou had wormed his way into their lives almost seamlessly. There when Izuku needed, the three of them had fallen into a routine so well maintained, he almost couldn’t remember how they’d managed before him.

If he were a pious man, Izuku might think Bakugou was sent by some higher power as a bit of a guardian angel.

That being said, he wasn’t, and Bakugou was far from angelic, but the sentiment still stood.

After a minute of introspection set to the tune of his alarm, Izuku finally rolls over, giving it a hearty smack and silencing it. Letting his hand lazily fall from the plastic clock, his eyes widen as he sees the bright numbers before him as they proudly proclaim that it was 9:01am.

It’s the latest he’s slept since entering the academy.

The loud creak of his door swinging open shatters his questioning thoughts as to how his alarm was changed as he turns quickly to face the doorway.

Standing at the entrance, Eri holds a tray as a look of concentration twists across her features.

“Eri?” Izuku says, making a move to get up and help her only to be stopped by her disapproving look.

Settling back against his pillows, he watches as Eri moves ever so slowly, waddling toward his bedside with her eyebrows furrowed.

Izuku watches, noting that her hair is pulled back in a low braid, and she’s wearing her favorite yellow dress.

Finally making it to his nightstand, Eri sets the tray on his nightstand with a smile.

“There!” She says cheerfully, fixing her toothy grin on him as she folds her hands behind her back. Looking at the tray, Izuku sees a small stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, two thick slices of bacon, and a steaming cup of black coffee. The loud gargle of his stomach rocks through the room at the sight.

“This looks amazing, Eri!” Izuku says, watching as her grin grows impossibly wide.  “Did you do this all by yourself?”

“Nope, you always say no cooking without help!” She says proudly.

“I did,” he replies with a nod, reaching toward the coffee mug, curiosity burning through him. “So who helped you out? Grandma?”

Shaking her head, Eri’s eyes brighten as she rocks back on her heels.

“Kacchan helped!” She exclaims loudly before reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. Izuku can practically see her excitement thrumming through her as she holds it out to him. Taking it carefully, he sips at his coffee. The burn of it on his tongue and down his throat masks the sudden flip in his chest as he reads the childish handwriting.

Daddy Izuku,

Please be ready by 10 for surprises!

Love, Eri

“Surprises, huh?” He asks, mouth tilting with a grin as Eri nods and claps.

“Yep! So be there or be square!” She giggles before turning on her heel and running out of the room, leaving Izuku alone with his breakfast, the note, and his heart in his throat. It beats a steady rhythm as his eye traces over the light bleed of color at the corner of the page. Using his thumb to flip the folded paper open, he turns it over to the back.  

Marker colors the back of the page, turning it bright. Gaze following the bold lines, he takes in the figures that were him and Eri, drawn in a far steadier hand than Eri’s own. Beside them, added in by Eri herself, is a blonde stick figure with pointed hair and Bakugou’s trademark scowl.

Stomach going light, Izuku puts down his coffee and note, careful to make sure the paper avoids any of the food on the tray as he eyes the clock. With just under an hour to finish and get ready, Izuku makes quick work of the meal, barely registering the delicious taste over his wandering thoughts that kept meandering down the stairs.

Finishing up, Izuku pushes himself out of bed and quickly covers the space between his bed and his dresser. Grabbing clothes and moving to the bathroom, Izuku makes quick work of brushing his teeth and shaving.

After pulling on a pair of dark jeans and a light blue henley, Izuku fluffs his hair in a small attempt to tame it.

Finally allowing himself to look in the mirror for a final look over, he’s met by someone who looks like a near stranger. If it wasn’t for the all too familiar twist of his wild green curls, he wouldn’t have believed that the person in the reflection with the too bright eyes was him.

Admonishing himself silently for the pink that stretches across his cheeks and makes his freckles stand starker against his skin, Izuku leaves the bathroom and heads downstairs.

The soft hush of voices greets him about halfway down, causing him to move slower, more quietly, as he makes it to the bottom and turns into the kitchen’s entryway.

Bakugou is knelt in front of Eri, dressed in his usual style of dark fitted shirt, jeans, and black and orange sneakers. It doesn’t quite coordinate with what she’s wearing, but they still look like a matching pair as Eri stares up at him in awe.

Izuku watches, swallowing down his laugh as she nod along with a very serious look on her face.

“Got it, shortstack?” Izuku hears Bakugou say.

“Aye, aye, Kacchan!” Eri replies with a small salute. Bakugou’s mouth twists, almost as if he’s biting at the corner of his mouth to stop his smile from going too wide as he drops a hand on her head.

“Good,” he says, giving her head a small pat as to not disturb her hair. Izuku feels his heart flip unceremoniously in his chest at the gesture. The mid morning sun gilds the kitchen, touching the duo with gold. It seems to catch in Bakugou’s hair, turning it lighter, and making his eyes glow.

Golden and ruby, he looks near indescribable.

His heart stutters again as Bakugou looks up.

“As expected of a nerd, 10am, right on the dot,” he says, pushing upward to stand and fixing him with that wicked smile that seems to cut straight through his chest.

Heat rolls around inside his ribcage, razing his insides as he unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Izuku replies lamely, kicking himself for the way his voice croaks. Clearing it loudly and trying his best to ignore the way Bakugou’s eyebrow twitches upward, he continues, “so, what’s my surprise?”

Smile going sharper, Bakugou turns to Eri, giving her a small nod. Returning the gesture, she steps closer to Izuku, holding her hand out to him.

“C’mon, Daddy Izuku!” She says happily. “We’ll show you!”

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