#but damn if an idea struck and I could expand on it... I probably would xD

[inventors-fair]

Hybrid Legend Commentary: From Across the Multiverse

I'm glad to see that a lot of people were excited for this contest, and I think that swinging for the fences in terms of what we know people will like pays off. There's no specific balance that needs to be struck, no lessons to be learned as if we're taking a test. Knowing what's fun is its own test, really, when you compare it against base desires. Is this getting a little too philosophical? Fine, let's get personal.

Sometimes I have contest ideas that are cerebral and weird and make sense only to me. Frankly, I have a lot of those, and those ideas are also based off of the notion that I know more about MTG than I actually do. Shocker: I'm just a dude playing cards. And I'm also someone who sees cool things happen and forms emotional attachments to them. Wort really was just a card that I fell in love with when I was looking at ways to make my very first precon deck happen back in the day. I played random Spirit cards, random creatures—and it worked, and it was fun. Now that we're in the present and I can think critically about card design, I still love those memories. Applying them here and watching everyone else apply them is what makes this all worthwhile.

As we get into commentary, don't forget that JUDGE PICKS are cards that either had an awesome idea I wanted to point out, challenged me in a cool way, or were just plain good and limited by the fact that we can only have so many slots in the top six. Carrying on:

@corporalotherbear — Glissa, Flame of Evolution (JUDGE PICK)

Giving haste in mono-green is super aggressive, but not entirely unheard of; without looking it up, green is either secondary or tertiary in it, right? On a legend, it's a bit of a push but WAR Samut did it, right? I think with the combat trigger, expanding the combat damage trigger from Glissa herself to other creatures is a nice twist on tradition. A curious thing to contend with is the integration of red... Who is the tyrant to which she is referring? Elesh Norn, Vorinclex? The red feels like it's coming from a non-Phyrexian philosophy, ish. Urabrask is a complicated character. Still, her role in the Hunter Maze feels fairly freeing to me. 

For the record, the abilities here are pretty great as it stands. Green and red could both use the growth ability, and it makes T5 plays (and small creatures, too) into Sliths, which is really damn neat. There's a chance that this could be a 5-drop just because of the benefit it brings to your board presence, but that's also assuming they can connect, so who knows? As an aggressive legend, she's pretty hard to deal with, and even if she attacks and dies the turn she comes down, it'll beef up your board and make for a wild time. I think GU would be the wildest combination, honestly—hasty blue creatures in the shell are nasty if they have the right evasion.

Unrelated to the card, back to the color philosophy questions: evolution is a strange beast when it comes to red philosophy. Is there inherent self-drive with how individuals are affected by their environments, or would a red-aligned character resist evolution and its involuntary chain of relationships? There's a wild conflict there that's really cool to think about.

~

@cthulhusaurusrex — Teysa, Envoy of Law

As far as non-interactive cards go, this one is certainly one that fits the bill. I think that first strike is one I'd have to hear an argument for in terms of blue's slice, but if there's enough relevance with the return, well... I get what the argument might be, but I don't think I'm swayed, especially since this card isn't the most fun for a board state. Only having one is probably best since it muddies up the board and is essentially a good taxing defender. Without the ability to utilize the stall on this particular card, I've got the current impression that this card wouldn't do much beyond being a big brick in the middle of combat. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out. Can't say that it's a fun incentive.

But the flavor is something I suppose I can roll with. Once more, we have a maze runner running with a different crew, and I'll admit that the Dragon's Maze version of Teysa was pretty great and had some power going for it. I can imagine that that's where you got your inspiration, since this card doesn't seem to have anything to do with either of Teysa's other cards. Fine by me! I just wish there was something more that she did besides gum the battlefield here. Still, the combat orientation is a nice touch.

~

@curiooftheheart — Gaddock Teeg, Paranoid Cenn

I want to defend this card because it feels remarkably fun and hateful; I used to play hardcore Azorius control back in the day, and having something like this on the battlefield is sometimes even better than Grand Abolisher. I mean, Grand Abolisher is incredible, but this also stops triggered abilities from triggering, it looks at abilities of lands... Oh, wait, it looks at the abilities of lands. Might want to clarify that your opponents can do mana abilities, because otherwise things will get real litigious. IIRC mana abilities can't be countered, right? I'll need to read up on that a bit more.

All the same, I think you were the only person who shifted a Lorwyn character, which makes sense because there actually weren't too many. Brion, Nath, and Wydwen were the only others, right? Maybe so. No matter! In another world, on a shadowy moor, the paranoia increases. Honestly even though it's already established as something that's been tried and true I like the approach you took to this prompt in a way that's actually canon-adjacent. Unless Gaddock died. In which case, shame on you. But yeah, I'm personally a fan of hatebears. I am also of the mindset that cards like this might be too complex for some players. They can just keep a Gaddock count or something, though. Not my problem.

~

@damndroid — Adrix, Unparalleled Genius

Ambitious, granular, and weird! Let's talk about it and start with the flavor. This is a dark turn for sure, and I have the feeling that we'd have to really dig deep to find what happened in the past. Nothing wrong with that, though! From childhood friends to adulthood fiends, you've got an evil genius who uses their friend's body for unethical experimentation. Or something. See, I get the gist, but I'm a little muddled in how the mechanics are supposed to convey the flavor.

Speaking of mechanics, your wording is all over the place, captain. Let's break it down. To the best of my ability, this card should say: "Whenever a non-Merfolk token you control is put into a graveyard from the battlefield, create a copy of that token, except its name is Nex, Research Assistant, it's 0/1, and it's a legendary Merfolk Zombie in addition to its other types. It gains haste. This ability triggers only once each turn." I'm a little stumped on the flavor of copying things like Treasure and Blood, or how the haste in blue is okay here. I think that aspects of this card would be okay, but perhaps a little more flavor explanation and mechanical directness could serve you well. Right now I'm not as on-board as I'd like to be.

~

@edenzom — Liesa, Vengeful Valkrie

Something tells me that this one wasn't supposed to be common, but the rarity didn't get added in? Don't worry about it too much. I'll assume rare or mythic, probably rare. With that, I do like the triggered ability, and I like the concept of the unearthing. Unless unearth is a big mechanic, I think you could've spelled it out as just an activated ability of this Liesa, but that's your call. I feel that there are a few too many restrictions on the cost of the unearthing, though. Sacrificing humans may be enough. You're also in a trap, though, where you want to run high numbers of humans, but you also probably want the relevant demons, devils and vampires to make this card work the way that it wants to. Is that going too wide? I have the feeling that we're playing with too much flavor and not enough archetyping here.

Still, I'm definitely okay with Liesa going a little bloodthirsty here. She's tapping into the red of the plane and coming back with the power of the demons with which she once forged allyships with. There are costs to everything, but one would be forgiven for assuming that she was a demon herself were it not for the typeline there. With all the avenues that people went for this week, I think this one is really cool conceptually and aligned with the real possibilities that Innistrad's past could have gone down. What if the demons come back, y'know? I think a little mechanical smoothing could've made it go down quiet well.

~

@feyd-rautha-apologist — Reyhan, the Dragonslayer

The flavor of this card from an Abzan standpoint, as well as a warrior standpoint, is pretty on-point for me. I'm curious what you were envisioning for the remainder of the timeline—did Reyhan succeed in defending her clan? If I'm interpreting right, then I can see a world where she becomes an outcast of sorts, a vigilante among the dragon-tribes. It's certainly an interesting angle, focusing more on the individual character rather than their role as a stalwart leader. White's heroic focus isn't often touched upon, at least when compared to the sometimes solitary nature of green and/or white's focus on the group and community.

The mechanics are a little iffy for me, specifically because of the keywords. The eternal hybrid problem is finding a way that both colors can have the overlap, and I feel that some flavor got in the way of in-pie reasoning. Reach is tertiary in white at best, and practically never appears in black (unless it's on a spider-themed card from what I can see). Deathtouch is out of white's pie. First strike is where there would be the most overlap, and that one's fine; it's still overshadowed by the other two. Regarding the wording choices, it's hard to find proper templating but I believe this card could read as: "Reyhan has X as long as it has at least one +1/+1 counter on it, Y as long as it has at least two +1/+1 counters on it, and Z as long as it has at least three +1/+1 counters on it." What would be the best XYZ abilities, I wonder? First strike could be a good aggressive baseline to start, but black and white together have flying, lifelink, double strike and in corner cases indestructible... It's up to you how these things stack and maybe keywords aren't the best place to go, honestly.

~

@helloijustreadyourpost — Zegana, Conclave Visionary (JUDGE PICK)

Oh my goodness, it's supposed to be HAND, that's why the flavor didn't make any sense to me on the first readthrough. Anyway, let's ignore the ribbing that I had planned and point out instead that yes indeed, we have another maze-runner-turned-strange here on stage, and I'm living for it just like I was then. Now, people who are deep into the Ravnican lore might give me crap for this but I like the idea of there being inter-Selesnyan conflict, a little bit. Kkkkinda. Conflict isn't the right concept, but like, different points of view I suppose? Green and white merfolk are bizarre but everyone's accepted, so there's that. Zegana's a cool character from what I remember, so this would be a cool break indeed.

And there's one thing that Zegana's known for, and you've brought that to life here for sure. I wanted to commend this card as a judge pick because of how much of a pain it would be in limited and how the Selesnyans really needed a card like this to go hog wild. It's a card that probably would entice commander players with its swinginess and it fits perfectly into the shells that already want the +1/+1 counters. Board buffs make the world go round and she's no exception. It's also super interesting that everyone BUT her gets the counters. That benevolence is a good touch to show the differences between both card and character.

~

@hypexion — Feather, the Fallen (JUDGE PICK)

Angels without flying definitely get my attention. Looking up Feather's past (again, I'm not super deep into Ravnica), the fact that she had her wings bound makes this card agonizing to see. An angel that has to walk among the blood-soaked streets and make her mark known, disgraced in her power, sword in hand... What's really cool to me is how not-Rakdos she is here. There's no sense of joy or revelry, no art in what she does. There's business to attend to, refracted through the blood covering her eyes... I'm reading too much into this but the POINT is: it's cool.

The mechanical thoughtfulness is also a good touch. While it's a little close to home, the fact that it has to target Feather herself is a good step. Removal begets removal, and buffs mean more removal. I do think that she should be rare and not mythic, but only because opening her would mean a hyper-narrow combat deck if you're gonna build around her aggression. I don't think there's that much real estate to be had. Now, cantrips in the right shell might make her far stronger than I'm initially thinking. Right now, though, I'm landing in the camp of decreased rarity, one line of flavor, and you're golden. Unlike Feather. Poor angel.

~

@kalinary — Etrata, the Consumption

I always thought that oozes were more of a Simic thing, but I'm willing to buy that the murky and stinky under-sewers would be home to a nasty character like this. As for the how and the why... Well, I think that we're missing a couple things on this card. I'd like to have known more about what this card really represented, what she does here, what part of her is still vampyric and the like. "The Consumption" is a pretty big title. I'm not currently getting a sense of story scale.

Mechanically, I'm also underwhelmed. Having to pay a cost that's also contingent on combat damage, AND the fact that it has to eat a creature, AND the fact that it has no evasion and the body is really underwhelming for a mythic... There's a lot left to be desired with this card. When making these big mythics, the things to consider aren't just how the character on them is depicted, but also: if this card is filling in a powerful slot in a set, what can you do to make it theoretically stand out above the theoretical rares? What's the floor/ceiling for that balance? It's a fine card conceptually and I don't dislike the ability. It just feels like a bulk uncommon that's missing flavor text more than a big Golgari legend.

~

@maypletreeway — Gor Muldrak, Trailblazer

I think that I'd've wanted to be told more about Gor's journeys through an attached blurb rather than the flavor text we have here. In that limited space, what I would have wanted to see was how Gor changed completely. What about the red separates him from the blue of his research? From the beginning, I mean—because here and now, I can definitely sense the gist: crazy research guy cuts down the land, makes the paths, discovers the salamanders. That I'm on board with. With how the flavor text is written, I feel like this is more on the continuation of a timeline rather than the alternate/twisted universe.

What I don't fully understand is why, mechanically, Gor has protection from salamanders here. It made sense on the Commander card, but not as much when you're looking at a table where you're the only person making them. Flavor as justification only goes so far. Frankly I think that a solid protection from blue would've been fine. IMO the only reason his first card has any kind of protection is because it was intended for folks to turn salamanders against one another. What I really like about this card is the aggression that you're putting on display. Sacrificing a land to get a 4/3 is pretty bonkers even if it's not as fast as Titania + Safekeeper or something. I'd run a version of this in Gruul aggro.

~

@misterstingyjack — Vargus, Wrathful Raider

Vargus is one of the hottest pirates to sail the multiverse seas, so you've got a lot to make up for in that department. What's happening here, I think, is that you've made a strange Commander-y card that's an odd duck in limited. The thing about goading is that you've got this scenario where you're encouraging folks to attack in a multiplayer manner—goad's specific wording implies it. With a standard set, is that the most grokable? I don't think so, not to the extent that it should be one's first choice for mechanics here.

Still, the vibe of the card is significantly different. Cutting the blue takes the seafaring nature out of the pirate and replaces it with the brutality of plundering. Brutal indeed—a strong way to spread the love. If we're just looking at this from a multiplayer perspective, this card does everything it needs to do well, and the small pirates get to swing in and create trouble for an already troubled opponent. Giving them creatures that deal damage is pretty nuts even if they might not stick around, y'know? In 1-v-1 limited, you're going to get your hits in and I think that this card can hold its own. I'll contend that this design is better in a Commander set than a standard set. I'll also contend that it's pretty slick regardless.

~

@nine-effing-hells — Kruphix, God of Whispers

You're gonna have to make a pretty strong argument for having a mechanical shift from devotion being less than five to less than seven, and why you changed the wording when Phenax is available for a template. As for scrying and surveiling, I think that highlights a personal pseudo-frustration that we live in a world where both of those things are viable in a standard environment. As far as the gods go, I have to say that this card itself feels weak comparatively. There's Eligeth who does it without the life loss, and the build-around is asking for more than I feel is reasonable.

A lot's not changed between this and the original Kruphix with same mana value, same stats. With the manifestation, though, I'll admit that you've made a super cool connection between Kruphix as a prophetic god of knowing re:possibility and as a god of knowing re:accruing that knowledge. Greatness at any cost and whatever, right? The people demanded knowledge and there came a god that rewarded both cunning and ambition. That much I'll absolutely give to you. The rest of the card isn't making me super enthused.

~

@spooneater457 — Tolsimir, Bane of the Conclave

The alternative history you've presented here is concise and pretty well-done. What's up with everyone bringing up Ravnican legends in cool ways this contest? Anyway, not knowing much about Tolsimir beyond the wiki, I think the sense of story you've made is quite interesting. Tolsimir lives, and the dryad is punished, and there's a lot of shakeup in the guild. If nothing else, you can take the joy in knowing that your card made me actually look up the Karlov Manor story to fully understand what was happening.

I do know my mechanics, though, and I know that you've given lifelink to a creature that's red and green, and neither one of those colors have access to lifelink even on their own. Riot's another story, and I appreciate that, although it could've used some reminder text. The damage trigger is, AFAIK and unfortunately, out of red's pie. Green can get some contingent damage, but this is pretty widespread. I think that this card's the sum of its parts and some of its parts are really messed up to the point of being way out of line. As much as I think your story path is one of the coolest divergent splits, I would go back and check the hybrid relationship.

~

@stareyedesper — Dack, Enduring Scoundrel

As you might've seen by now, this was a hybrid contest, not just a multicolor one, where you had to change (e.g. replace) one of the character's colors. Additionally, this was supposed to be based on legendary creatures and not planeswalkers. I'll make some quick judgements, but do keep in mind the contest requirements for next time.

Mechanically, I think it was ambitious to have the specific haunt clause on there. For ease of access, I feel that it could've been easier to just have a death trigger that was contingent upon Dack remaining in exile.

Flavorfully: this is where I'm also a little bit lost. Where is the alterternate aspect happening here? As far as I can tell this takes place right after War of the Spark when Dack dies, and thus becomes a ghost, but that's just one possibility and not a full change of timeline. 

~

@tanknspank — Kaseto, Orochi Maverick (JUDGE PICK)

The orochi are a weird bunch, aren't they? I think you're really pushing the limits of green recursion here, but hey, green gets cards back, red gets the temporary reanimation—there's nothing technically being broken here. It's a great modification staple, and I feel that seeing the orochi reclaim their wild side is an interesting move. Reading up on Kaseto, I can see where you've gone for the change of timeline pretty exactly: he rejects his ancestors and fights against the encroaching world centuries later.

And as far as limited goes, this one feels like a beater, and there's not much more to say about it. I can see the late game having some awesome auras coming down from the creature that had died before with the auras on them, and equipment in the form of reconfigured creatures makes the aggro deck that much more aggressive. Zero complaints here. I think he's a fun casual commander, a fun limited card, and you can use a lot of natural development and sacrifice to make him worthwhile. Maybe I'm not having my heartstrings tugged at with this change of life experience, but that hardly matters when the snake kicks butt—hence a well-earned JP.

~

@wildcardgamez — Killian, Memory Mage (JUDGE PICK)

Young Killian embracing his light side and kindling it with the fires of independence? Yes please! That's a nice change, and as much as the Strixhaven story was...something I didn't really follow, reading up on it makes this card far more unusual. The question the becomes whether or not the Lu family was now all Lorehold in their history (complete alternate universe) or whether this is the path where Killian has broken completely free of his father's shadow. I dunno about the rest of the Lorehold folks, but Killian here certainly feels more education-oriented and down-to-earth. Mechanics are pretty rad for heroic nonsense as well. The timing window restricts this card, but you've got to learn when to play it so that you can maximize the value. Additionally, there's no reason you can't run it out for exile-from-graveyard synergy, but what happens afterwards? Well, maybe it was a mistake to do that, or maybe not, and you learn as you play the cards more. I think the benefit of an school-themed set is that it's fun to have meta moments in that vein. It feels meta to me, anyway. One note is that it should be "exile an instant card" and not just "an instant," because of the way that objects in zones are referred to. I like how it's utilized both for removal and for combat benefits. Neat all around!

Tune in tomorrow for the heat death of the universe. Love yall! @abelzumi

[seyaryminamoto]

I need to express how I love the fact that you never miss the opportunity of making Azula and Sokka very into extremely nerdy computer games in as many AUs as you can. It even made me interested in playing dragon age or hades (yes, because of that band au you wrote for sokkla saturdays and IHTBY. I also like the dragon age au you wrote, though in this one they were actual characters of that world instead of two nerds)

Hahaha, yeah... well, it's because they're nerds! It's canon! xDDDDDD At least, I can't help but see them that way. IHTBY is a hilarious AU where basically everyone's nerdy as hell, Azula had to be a nerd in secret, but now she no longer hides it. Ty Lee and Mai may be the only exceptions, but by now it's only a matter of time before they, too, are recruited into the nerd legions (?)

The online gaming angle really fit with IHTBY because of the original prompts were "meeting online" and "high school AU", both of which I had no idea how to combine organically until that whole idea came to mind. Sometimes the least likely prompts are the ones that do the trick xD but yeah, since it was a "meeting online" situation, I couldn't help but think about how that meeting would come about, and my occasional dabbling in suuuuper old and defunct MMORPGs supplied the answer. The game they play in IHTBY, Dannan, is actually based on the setting of an original story of mine that I haven't really found a way to fully articulate and that I'd probably need to massively rework... but the worldbuilding and concepts I had for it were a decent concept for the MMORPG I needed so, since I very much knew nothing about active MMORPGs at the time I was writing IHTBY, I just made up my own game and that's why they're not playing WoW or Genshin Impact or FFXIV (okay the last two would have been impossible considering how new they are x'D).

As for Hades... I'm still having Hades brainrot to this day x'D finished what may have been my most perfect run in it only yesterday, WITH ROCKET BOMB! (Eris Rail cluster rockets+Zeus legendary+Scintillating Ice Wine cast+Artemis legendary, the RNG gods smiled upon me with that build x'D). If I ever continue the band AU in a distant future, I hope that Melinoe's new adventures in Hades II will serve them as inspiration for making more music...

And in DA... I guess I just made them nerds in-story anyway x'D even if they're IN the game, so to speak, they're still nerdy in some ways. It's a constant, really. These two strategy-driven dorks can't help but thrive in learning new things, acquiring new talents, seeing more of whatever world they're in... I just love them and their inherent nerdiness. It's just one more level in which I'm sure they'd understand each other perfectly <3

[leiawritesstories]

I've been playing with a prompt idea in my head, which could have all the fluff you want. Also it's not as much a prompt, as it is one sentence 😅 do as you wish with it, you always create magic with whatever you write ❤

"There's nothing like a natural disaster to bring two people together"

first of all, thank you so much, it made me tear up to know that someone enjoys my little stories this much ❤️❤️❤️

but enough sappiness! here have a lil fic!

word count: 2,324

warnings: language, idiots in love, thunderstorms

enjoy!!

Thanks To The Thunderstorm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s nothing quite like a natural disaster to bring two people together. 

And gods, Aelin had never thought she’d be thankful that she hated thunderstorms as much as she did. But it was her relationship with storms that had led to her relationship with her now-fiancé, so would she complain? Hell no. 

Rowan and Aelin had been best friends since high school, the two of them near inseparable after they were assigned to be conversation partners in Spanish class and struck up a friendship. They had very different life goals but ended up deciding to go to the same university, the University of Rifthold, and neither of them knew the other had decided to go there until college declaration day at their school, when they both showed up wearing UR gear, Aelin in a t-shirt and Rowan in a sweatshirt. 

A sweatshirt that was now unofficially hers. 

Though they’d met all kinds of people and expanded their friend group greatly during their freshman year, Rowan and Aelin stayed close, remained each other’s 2-am person, the one person that the other trusted to call or text in the middle of the night knowing they’d be there to talk. Perhaps it helped that Rowan was the one with the car, because he offered to drive Aelin home anytime he was headed back to Orynth during a break. 

At the end of freshman year, they decided to carpool home together, after Aelin moved a bunch of her dorm stuff into a storage unit that she shared with three of her friends. The drive was fifteen hours, so they decided to split it over two days and spend a night in a hotel in Perranth, which was just about the halfway point of their trip home. And they’d take turns driving, so neither of them got too tired at the wheel. 

Everything went smoothly, the first nine hours of the drive passing by relatively uneventfully, save for the handful of patches of congested traffic. Rowan grumbled under his breath when they got stuck in traffic, cursing that other drivers couldn’t bother to go the speed limit. 

“Ro, they can’t help being idiots.” 

“Can’t they be idiots going road speed?” 

Aelin snickered. “Obviously not, there’s not enough brainpower for that.” 

He cracked a smile. “Damn, I forgot about that. Guys only being able to think with one of their body parts and all that.” He wiggled his brows wickedly. 

She wheezed. “Shit, Ro! What, you spend a year with a bunch of horny freshmen guys or something?”

“Something like that,” he smirked. “Ae, you’ve met my roommate. Abd probably some of the girls he kept bringing in on the weekends.” 

Not just the weekends,” she reminded him. 

“Ugh,” Rowan groaned. “Thank the fucking gods I’m not rooming with him next year.” 

“Nah, you’re rooming with someone worse,” Aelin snickered. 

He shrugged. “Lorcan’s not a bad person, Ae, he’s just--”

“Grumpy?” 

“Grumpy,” Rowan agreed. 

Out of the last bit of congestion. they had a smooth drive to Perranth, arriving at the hotel around nine o’clock. The sky, gray and cloudy all day, had gone darker, the wind beginning to gust as if in warning, the threat of a downpour hanging heavy in the air. Rowan parked, turned off the car, and released a deep, heartfelt groan of relief. “We’re here.” 

“Oh thank all the gods,” Aelin sighed. “I was about to fall asleep in this seat, and trust me, Ro, your car and my spine would not agree.” 

“C’mon, then,” he laughed. “Let’s get you into a real bed, yeah?” 

She had to take a second to force down the sparks that Rowan’s casual words sent shooting through her nerve endings. Get your shit together, AAG! He’s your best friend, nothing more. “Simmer down,” she shot back, “some of us need to stretch out.” 

Rowan refrained from commenting, just waited until she’d climbed out of his car and then grabbed his backpack and her personal suitcase and headed into the hotel building with her, where he quickly checked in at the front desk, got the room keys, and handed one to her. “Room 411,” he said, leading her over to the elevators. 

“Ro, I’m more than capable of carrying my own suitcase,” she teased, pushing the elevator call button. 

He glanced down at the luggage in his hands. “I don’t mind, Ae.” 

“Such a gentleman.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Indeed, fair lady,” he deadpanned, putting on his fakest British accent. 

Aelin giggled and let him carry her suitcase into the elevator and down the hall when they got to their floor. “Oh, gods,” she groaned as she opened the door to the room. “Sleep!” She plopped her backpack atop one of the beds, waited for Rowan to put down her suitcase before unzipping it and grabbing her pajamas and toiletries, and then headed right into the bathroom, the shower turning on a moment later. 

She emerged about half an hour later toweling her damp hair, comfortable and sleepy in her old Nirvana t-shirt and sleep shorts, and gods fucking dammit, Rowan’s mind went to several truly impossibly places at the sight of her. Get your shit together, Whitethorn! She’s your best friend, and you’ve got no right to be staring at her or thinking those fucking things. “You about done hogging the one bathroom?” he teased, barely managing to mask the way his voice rasped. 

Aelin shot him a rude gesture. “Yes, and you can go primp now,” she returned. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that I know how many products you use.” 

He sighed, grabbing his own pajamas and toothbrush before ducking into the bathroom. Where he took a shower that was significantly colder than he would have preferred, using the bracing temperature to ground himself in reality. By the time he emerged, Aelin was tucked into her bed, her adorably oversized reading glasses propped on her nose, buried in her current novel. She only murmured a good-night, she was so absorbed in her story. Rowan clicked off his bedside lamp and rolled onto his side facing away from her, left he fall asleep to the image of her face, least the sight of the girl who owner his whole heart worm into his dreams. 

Again. 

Aelin clicked off her lamp shortly later, exhaling softly as she settled into the hotel bed’s soft covers. Outside the window, raindrops began splattering against the glass, the first wave of the promised storm. She drifted off to the pattering sound, having always found the rain calming. 

Then jerked awake at the first clap of thunder not quite a couple hours later, the storm yanking her out of sleep. She shifted, tucking herself deeper into the covers, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths. “It’s just a storm,” she whispered, “just a storm. It can’t hurt me.” Her mother had taught her to speak those words when she was just a little girl, so terrified of the rumbling thunder and blazing flashes of lightning that she’d burrow into her parents’ bed whenever there was a storm, screwing her eyes shut against the onslaught and taking refuge in her parents’ arms. “Just a storm,” she whispered again, bracing herself against the stormy symphony. 

Lighting blazed across the sky, a streak of white breaking through the curtains for an instant. Aelin whimpered softly, curling tighter under the blankets, and started counting under her breath. One, two, three, fo--Thunder rumbled through the night, the storm a mere three and a half(ish) miles away. She tucked the blankets closer around herself, willing her breath to stop fucking heaving as she tried in vain to calm down her racing pulse. 

Across the room, Rowan’s bed creaked, shifting with him as he rolled over, half-awake, and cracked open his eyes to check on her. “Aelin?” he whispered, his soft voice roughened with sleep. And again, “Aelin?” 

Another blaze of lightning turned her planned response into a whimper. She screwed her eyes shut and started counting. One, two, three, four, five--five seconds before the thunderclap. 

“Aelin?” Rowan’s murmur was closer this time, paired with his padding footsteps as he circled around to face her, concern shining in his green eyes. “Are you okay?” 

She just shook her head, the movement as much as she dared. 

Rowan exhaled slowly, obviously working over his next words. “Can I--I mean, would it help if--” He sighed, mussing up his already-sloppy hair. “Ae, can I hold you? It--fuck, it scares me to see you like this.” 

“Yeah, you--ohh!” Her faint response cut off into a whimper as yet another streak of lightning flicked across the sky. 

“Oh, Ae,” Rowan murmured, swinging himself into her bed, instinctively opening his arms for her as he slid under the covers. She tucked herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and buried her face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he was her safety raft. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, stroking one hand up and down her back in broad, soft lines, feeling the tension in her limbs slowly ease as he calmed her. “Do you need to count?” he whispered, unconsciously slipping his fingers into her hair. 

“Eight,” Aelin mumbled, tensing briefly as the thunder boomed across the sky, briefly drowning out the beat of the rain against the windows. 

“’S getting farther away, then,” he murmured, his hand resuming its path up and down her spine. 

The next thunderclap came at fourteen seconds, then twenty, then thirty. The farther the storm moved from them, the more Aelin relaxed, though her hold on Rowan never faltered. By the time the thunder had grown faint in the distance, replaced by the tattoo of raindrops on the glass and the façade of the building, her breathing had begun to even out and the crease in her forehead had faded away, her calmness returning as the storm dissipated. 

“Hate thunderstorms,” she breathed. “Always have.” 

“It’s pretty far away now,” Rowan reassured her, quietly reveling in the way she hadn’t tried to send him back to his bed. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, exhaustion making her all but sink into the bed, still curled into his warmth as sleep claimed her once more. As he breathing evened and deepened into sleep’s rhythms, Rowan couldn’t stop himself from brushing a featherlight kiss across her temple, one last little gesture of comfort before he, too, let the darkness of sleep take him. 

Aelin awoke to bright sunlight, the faint scent of clear, clean, post-storm air, and the warmth of someone’s arms around her, of someone’s body cocooned around hers. 

Not just someone’s. 

Rowan’s. 

He’d stayed. After the storm passed, he’d stayed with her, held her as she fell asleep, and unless she’d been dreaming at that point--which she probably had been, to be honest--he’d kissed her forehead. His barely-there kiss soft and warm and oh so longed-for against her skin. 

Rowan was in her bed, holding her in his arms, and damn it all to the hells, she wanted him to stay there for the rest of her life. 

As if her thoughts had awoken him, Rowan stirred, blinking into consciousness and realizing, like she had, that she was cradled in his arms, her limbs tangled with his, her head still lying in the crook of his shoulder and neck, her hair loose and splayed across the pillows. 

“Morning,” he breathed, almost like he, to, wasn’t quite sure if he was still dreaming. 

“Morning, Ro,” she breathed back, staring into his pine-green eyes and finding herself absolutely unable to look anywhere else. 

“I--” 

She cut him off before he could do anything stupid like try to move. “Thank you. For staying with me.” 

Rowan visibly relaxed, his arms subconsciously flexing around her. “I’m always here for you, Ae.” More emotion, more confessions packed into those few words than he’d intended. 

Her breath caught, but for an entirely different reason than it had mere hours ago. “Always?” 

“Always.” 

The corners of her mouth quirked. “Then...” She huffed out a short breath. “Rowan, then why haven’t you ever done anything about it?” 

“I thought you just wanted to be friends,” he mumbled, more than aware of the flush spreading across his cheeks. “You...you never made any indication otherwise, Aelin.” 

“You men and your denseness,” she sighed. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Rowan Whitethorn. I am completely head over heels for you, even though I may have been trying to deny it to myself, and I literally cannot keep it hidden anymore. Thanks to the bloody thunderstorm.” 

Rowan blinked, momentarily lost for words. And then a grin brighter than the morning sun bloomed across his face. “Aelin Galathynius, I am completely and totally yours. If you’ll let me be.” 

Her smile matched his. “Are you asking me out, Whitethorn?” 

“Be my girlfriend, Galathynius.” Definitely not a question. 

“I thought you usually waited until after at least a few dates before you asked that,” she teased. 

“Not when I’ve been this dumb for this long,” Rowan grinned. “Yes or no, Ae?” 

“Yes,” she beamed, twining her arms around his neck. “Took you long enough to ask, Ro.” 

His thumb caressed her jaw. “Our parents are going to have the time of their lives when we get home, aren’t they?” 

Aelin’s laughter filled the hotel room with music. “They really are.” 

Five years, one overly enthusiastic dog, and a shared apartment later, Aelin and Rowan were--finally--making their forever official. They hadn’t had a picture-perfect relationship, mostly because those didn’t exist, but they had learned better than to go to bed angry, had learned to talk through their hopes and dreams and tears and fears rather than curl up alone and try to make it through the raging thunderstorm alone. 

No, Aelin reflected, there really was nothing like a natural disaster to bring two people together. 

Especially if those two people had been quietly, madly in love with each other for years. 

[kkusuka]

CONGRATULATIONS FOR 3K!!!! i am really happy for you! i love your writing and i believe you deserve each of your followers.

please, headcanons for jujutsu kaisen! i'd like king of curses sukuna, where he marries the reader, which is a princess from another continent to expand his territories (we all know that if sukuna wants territories he would just take them by force, he is the king after all, but that's just a detail) — unaware that he would find a tough woman, who does not like the idea of ​​marriage and hates him. it would be funny to have some dynamics queen x king. like hate sex; an important dinner with the court and they start throwing food at each other; the reader doesn't like the idea of concubines and send them away; how would he react? how did they fall in love? you don't have to write about everything i said, choose tree of them by the rules, but just seeing this idea here would be incredible! oh, and she/her pronouns please. thank you so much!!!

<3

a/n:  I……….. love this. I really hope I did the ask justice!

Well firstly, he probably takes a wife because he needs someone to clean the temple, and he’s sick of the town’s sacrifices. And what better for him than taking more land! That’s where you come in, lovely princess Y/n of the northern continent!

He was sure you would be some frail, shy little lamb that would do anything he says. Like a little maid for him to order around.

So his first opinion of you was that you were going to be a bore. And, in his defense, you gave him no reason to think otherwise. The first day you were there, you didn’t say a single word… to anyone. Not even a maid. So he really thought he would just kill you and tell everyone that you went missing.

He tried, on the sending night in the mansion he invited you to a diner with him. (aw, your first dinner as a married couple!) well- that’s if you had bothered to show up. For an hour, 12 minutes, and 17 seconds he waited for you to arrive in the dining hall. He was just fed up. How dare you? Did you know who he was? What he could do in a split second?

He was at your room door within seconds--- since you both refused to sleep in the same room-- and you opened the door like you hadn’t done a thing.

“Where the fuck were you?” -- he was already barging his way into your room, you calmly closed the door and waltzed back to your couch. Where he assumed you had spent your time before he came. “When I invitee you to dinner, you will be there”

“And if I don't want to?”

“Excuse me?” He was shocked. Angered. Deadly. Turned on? He really didn’t know but he was truly infuriated you even spoke back to him, never mind questioned his authority.

“I said,” you sighed. sling over the arm of the couch, tilting your head to the Demon before you, “what if I don't want to? I had no intention to entertain you over dinner this evening, nor do I any other time. So if you are here to berate me or spout about your authority, I suggest you take your leave.”

Spoiler alert (not really, just the expression) - you guys fucked until the sun came up, all over the same couch.

Somehow this became a common occurrence. Him doing something o annoy you, you doing something back, then taking your anger out on the other in a night full of moans and the sound of skin slapping.

And you held your word too, you didn’t show up to anything. But you did start sending people to tell him you wouldn’t be coming and repeatedly told him how disgusting you thought he was and how you hated him. Eventually, he was just fed up, he didn’t care what you thought of him and if you were only going to fuck him when you were angry, he would just firn another lady to fuck.

And, lord knows you hate him, but you were fucking married. And if you really hated one thing, it was infidelity. Your father had multiple concubines and you saw what it did to your mother and you would be damned if you let the same happen to you.

“Who the fuck is this, Sukuna?’ you were livid. The bastard looked so proud of himself, having some random commoner on his lap.

“This is Yui. I plan to make her a concubine this coming Sunday.” in all honesty, you should have expected this. A true heartless monster he was. You knew all about his womanizing way and how many women he went through, and you couldn’t exactly say he couldn’t have a concubine.

You really were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Reminded of your mother, you take the action you wish she did, “Fine, but if I see her- in any sense- I will have her head.”  his laugh echoed down the hallway until you reached your wing.

And true to your word, only two months later, she was seated in your seat at the dinner table. Unfortunately for her she never got to see the rest of the meal- a new lesson was learned, your warnings were not to be ignored.

Now, there was one event, not even you could evade; the monthly council dinner party. The most annoying party either of you had ever been to.

It was boring and was clearly just a hoax for nobles to get in your good graces. But, somehow, you both bonded over how much you hated it. You spent the whole time making fun of people’s outfits and how fancy all the food was- small portions really are the worst.

“Who let her walk out of the house like that?” you laughed into your wine glass. Sukuna doing the same, eyes darting to a woman fake laughing somewhere in the corner of the room. Clad in all brown the woman was an eyesore at best.

“The same person who allowed Dutchess Haruknuka out in that hat.”

You guys really just spent the night fooling around and talking shit. It was also the time you started playing games with him, predicting who would finish their food first, seeing who could catch more cheese cubes in their mouth, how much wine you could down in one go.

You still held a strong resentment against him, but he was becoming more and more tolerable.

So, falling in love wasn’t really falling. It was more like a crash through a glass store window into a china shop.

It didn’t happen often, but the mansion gets attacked by some “heroic” people trying to save the people from the demon king.

But this was the first time they had directly attacked your wing of the mansion. It was late before he heard a word about the attack, rushing over to protect his queen- when he began to call you that he didn’t know. The sight that greeted him was you fighting off grown men- covered I their blood, with barely a scratch, though he knew you beginning to be fatigued.

Just as you struck another man down, you let your guard down and was open to a blow to the back of your head, if he hadn’t stepped in the shielded you with his own body- the man falling dead at your feet.

Something in your eyes told him that protecting you with his life would become a pretty common occurrence.

A tiny little headcanon bonus:

Your first baby was a son and when he first learned to walk Sukuna would push him down every time he stood up near him and the only way you could get him to stop was by throwing baby toys at him.

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Just read your paranoid Bella post (it was awesome) and what stood out to me is that in these kinds of AUs the Quiletes seem to be kinda left out. If I recall, Billie actively tried to warn Bella that Cullens are bad news and even argued w Charlie about that. How do you think a scenario with Bella who’s not interested in Edward and instead rekindles her childhood friendship w Jacob from the get go (mb befriends Leah too? and is known as ‘the kid w her own company outside of school’) could go?

The post anon is referencing.

I guess I can answer this earlier than I would normally. Sometimes it's good to shuffle the posts around!

Why No Quileute?

Many of the AUs people ask about center around either the Twilight period (something about Bella is significantly different before Twilight begins), the New Moon period (New Moon changes in such a significant manner that Eclipse never happens), or very rarely the post Breaking Dawn period (Bella's off prancing in the woods and Jake is just kind of there).

With the first two especially the circumstances make it unlikely Bella will significantly cross paths with Jake let alone discover the secret of the wolves and meet the rest of the Tribe.

What Do You Mean Bella Might Not Find Out?!

Remember, Jake was not Bella's childhood friend, that was his older sisters. When Bella stops visiting Forks Jake, only a few years younger, seemed like light years younger than Bella Swan. He was not on her radar at all and was that annoying kid brother.

Even as a teenager, Bella's clearly bothered by the age gap between them, seeing it as much larger than it really is.

In the beginning of Twilight she's pleased to see Jake, is willing to flirt with him for information, but she's not at all interested. She only seeks him out in New Moon to work on the motorcycles with him as free labor. From that, the friendship we see through the rest of the series grows.

Before that, though, Billy was more on Bella's radar than Jake ever was. And Billy in canon is Bella's slight enemy as he tries to warn her away from Edward the vampire. Well, Bella certainly knows more than him! So, there, Billy!

As for the wolves themselves, they didn't want to tell Bella, Sam had Jake cut all ties. By happenstance Jake had happened to tell Bella this story and he happens to be able to jog her memory. Had that not happened, she would have assumed he left her just as Edward did and sunk even deeper into depression.

Likely, Charlie would have sent her to live with her mother.

She would never find out the mysteries of the "bears" in the woods, would never meet all the members of the tribe, would never truly develop her deep friendship with Jacob, and she and the Quileute would simply not cross paths.

Bella and the tribe very easily could have been ships passing in the night.

Why No Quileute in Paranoid Bella AU?

Now, this is a Bella who does not want to be with Edward but she's also a paranoid, terrified, wreck. Edward is sneaking into her room every night before Bella gets to First Beach

I imagine she likely does not go to the beach, or if she does, pointedly does not ask anyone about Edward. NOPE, SHE KNOWS NOTHING. Because for all she knows, Edward is hiding somewhere in the bushes watching her.

He, after all, has dropped hints that he knows everything that happens to her.

Bella doesn't know about the treaty at this point and that Edward cannot physically go to La Push.

When Billy gives her cryptic hints, she probably gives him deer in the headlights looks and debates scribbling "SAVE ME" on a sheet of paper, but for all she knows Billy is a human and stands no chance against Edward. In that moment, Edward is right outside her house, in his car, listening to every word.

If Bella tells Billy to get her the fuck out, she might very well be condemning him to be eaten.

"AHAHAHAHAHA BILLY, I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND. SO MUCH."

When Billy sends Jake to Prom, Bella is in Edward's arms, right at that moment. Worse, unlike Billy, Jake does think this is ridiculous and is utterly mortified at interrupting her date like this.

Bella wants to cry.

"AHAHAHAHA, JAKE, I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND. SO MUCH."

Point being though, Edward doesn't tell Bella about the wolves, and she likely doesn't know about them from the beach. So to her, the Quileutes are just humans who seem to know what she knows. Edward likely never expands on this as he never has to in this universe. So he also never explains things like the treaty. This means they are just normal people who stand no better chance against Edward than she does. She can't go running to them for sanctuary, screaming, and potentially have Edward eat the entire tribe as he would have Biology class.

Just as she wouldn't put her mother or Charlie in danger, Paranoid Bella will not knowingly endanger the tribe.

Paranoid Bella Rekindles Her Friendship with Jake (and Leah Comes Along for the Ride)

Let's say Bella does go to First Beach and notes that Edward says he can't make it for whatever reason. Bella's not sure she believes this but he does seem unnaturally disappointed.

Sam drops his "The Cullens aren't welcome here" ominous line and Bella stares at him long and hard. He seems to know something, might even know the same something she knows, in the first timeline she likely decides it's not worth the risk of Edward overhearing them.

In this one though... this may be her only chance to gather information.

Sam is intimidating and scary looking (which is too bad as he's the one who could actually do something in this situation). So she resorts to her "bad flirting with Jake" plan.

Once again, it works, but this time Bella's soul dies inside.

Oh yeah, the Cullens are vampires and eat people (Bella knew it, SHE KNEW IT) but Jake thinks it's all superstitious nonsense. The only way he has heard of to kill them are noble werewolf spirit warriors from the tribe. But they have the treaty with the Cullens because they don't eat people on purpose (Bella cries inside).

No, Jake's never heard of anyone being an actual spirit warrior, don't be stupid, Bella. It's just an old legend.

Bella leaves the beach miserable.

The Quileute Tribe clearly knows but it seems like there's nothing they can do about it either.

BuT EdWArD's StIll In HeR RoOm aT NiGHt!

Bella decides it's worth the risk.

She drives to Billy's, watching for Edward tailgating her at every moment, but sees no sign of him (thank god). Luckily for her, in this early Twilight period, Edward was trying to pretend not to be a lunatic. So he wasn't running down her car yet like he was in Eclipse.

He's very unhappy she's visiting land he cannot go on but will pretend everything's fine. THIS IS FINE. SHE COULD BE EATEN BY BEARS BUT THIS IS FINE.

Bella confesses to Billy that Edward Cullen, the vampire, is sneaking into her bedroom at night to watch her sleep and she is certain he will try to eat her.

This was not what Billy had hoped or expected to hear from Bella Swan.

Those demonic motherfuckers.

Billy likely debates calling Carlisle, the head of the coven (who genuinely would be appalled by all of this), but he doesn't trust any of these people. He assumes Edward is grooming Bella to be Dracula's Bride (he is) and that this is just a thing vampires do (it's not).

But the Tribe cannot go to war with the Cullens.

They have only one wolf at this point, Sam, who is at this point still a teenager and untried in combat. He would be fighting seven vampires alone, they would be condemning him, and the tribe itself to a massacre.

However, that they haven't come after Bella yet is perhaps a good sign. The Cullens may not want to break the treaty either (Billy doesn't realize it's just Edward out there who wants to break it).

So here's what they'll do, Bella will "rekindle" her friendship with Jacob. She'll come over every single day, immediately after school with no exceptions, and will live at their house every weekend.

No exceptions.

The Cullens cannot enter Quileute land and, if they do... Well then, I guess they prepare for war.

Jake is ecstatic, though weirded out, as Bella suddenly practically lives at his house. They get along very well and soon their friendship is formed. Jake keeps trying to date her though and Bella's not very interested.

As for Leah... Sorry anon, but Leah is at the most miserable point in her miserable life. She's been dumped by Sam for her cousin and she has no idea why this has happened and Sam offers no explanations. She's a ball of rage and misery and has no time for Jacob Black's jittery girlfriend from Forks.

Meanwhile Edward is becoming annoyed.

He accepts the explanation that Bella and Jake are childhood friends, that she knew his sisters growing up, and that they've struck up their friendship again but... He doesn't like it.

He goes from imagining Mike Newton's head exploding to Jacob Black's head exploding.

Every day he curses that treaty and thinks it's so damn convenient that Bella keeps running off to the one place he can't follow.

He sits and he seethes.

...

And I stop here.

Wherever this path leads, anon, it is not one we should follow.

[roanniom]

Phillip and Miss Perfect

Phillip Altman x Reader

Word Count: 2,866

Part 1/?

Summary: Back in high school you were a perfectionist and he was a charming douche. You’ve spent years suppressing the feelings he awakened in you senior year because you’re better than that, right? You’ll sure find out now that you’re back home for the holidays right in time to run back into him.

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Masturbation (F/M kinda). Gratuitous Altman charm.  

Phillip Altman had long been the bane of your existence. Phillip and his cheeky grin and his gaggle of older siblings whose mere existence somehow afforded him an untouchable cool status amongst the weaker minded of your peers. A status you’d always felt was completely unearned as he swaggered through the halls of your high school, winking at pretty girls and tossing innuendo-laden comments to his fawning admirers.  

Yes Phillip Altman, you’d decided long ago, was the bane of your existence.

Handsome and arrogant and too smart for his own good, not that he ever applied himself, for crying out loud. It was senior year that solidified your loathing for the boy. Mr. Weathers had paired the two of you together for the group-project winter final. Only a sadist would assign a group project for a final, so you should have seen it coming. Always the instigator, the old man had been thoroughly entertained by the way you and Phillip would constantly bicker in class. Though “bickering” probably wasn’t the right word considering that the interactions were less a volleying of insults and more a pattern of Phillip smoothly complimenting you and you spewing vitriol back in response.

“My place or yours?”

Your head had snapped up hard when you heard the baritone voice laced with amusement too close for comfort a few moments after Mr. Weather’s class had ended.

“Altman. What have we said about my personal bubble?” You made sure your voice dripped with venom. Phillip straightened from where he had leaned to whisper in your ear as you placed books into your locker.

“Your personal bubble is your own and I am not allowed inside it,” he rambled off, as though reciting a vow from memory. After a breath he wiggled his eyebrows and added, “unless expressly invited.”

“In your sticky dreams,” you shot back.

“Every night, Miss Perfect,” Phillip said, giving a roguish half-smile that you wanted to slap off his face. Instead you slammed your locker door and stalked off.

“So, your place it is then?” Phillip called to your retreating back. You ignored him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after you, making sure that everyone in the hallway could hear his humor-tinged voice.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, Juliet!”

“We’re presenting on Hamlet, moron,” you said, shooting him a look over your shoulder as you continued to walk away. “That quote you just bastardized is Romeo and Juliet.”

Phillip had just laughed and walked in the opposite direction. Leaving you to fume on your way to the bus while wondering seriously to yourself if murder would be enough to make colleges take back the early acceptances you’d already received.

~*~

And so you two had spent one blustery weekend in early December holed away in your bedroom. You trying desperately to keep Phillip’s tiny attention span from wandering to your panty drawer long enough for a presentation on the themes of Hamlet to miraculously get written. Phillip trying desperately to get into said panty drawer and avoid the slaps you repeatedly sent his way. To the surprise of absolutely no one, you both failed tremendously on all accounts. Your mom certainly didn’t help matters by bustling in with Christmas cookies and cooing comments to Phillip about how cute he was. True to form, he thanked her through a mouthful of gingerbread before throwing an infuriating wink your way. That was it. You knew you and your perfect grades were doomed.

And yet on the day of the presentation, something crazy (a miracle, if you’re sappy) did occur. Phillip pulled – out of his ass, presumably – a 180 and gave a performance to rival anything old Willy-Shakes could have staged. Not only did he express a genuine and insightful knowledge of the themes of the play, but he was also a generous presenter, setting you up for and supporting you in points that even made you, the top of the class, look better. As Mr. Weathers complimented the two of you on your efforts at the end of the presentation, you couldn’t help but stare at Phillip, struck for the first time by the way his hair curled a little at the ends and the way his eyes sparkled under the attention of the class. You didn’t like admitting it to yourself, but your stomach was in knots. Phillip parading around like he’s god’s gift to high school girls? Gross. Phillip confidently presenting literary analysis and showing a glimmer of genuine intelligence? Fucking hot.

After class you’d felt a little intimidated at the prospect of talking to him. You weren’t sure why. It was Phillip Fucking Altman, class clown and grade-A pain in your ass. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you slid your books back into your bag. His frame stood out amongst the small circle of his friends, his dumb, tall body making it so that you could always see him from far away.  

You gripped your bag close to your body and walked briskly toward the door, deciding against any further interaction with the boy whose eyes had suddenly made your cheeks grow hot for the first time in all the years you’d known his stupid ass. As you walked by, however, he broke away from his friends and chased after you, calling your name. You didn’t stop until you reached the destination of your locker down the hall.

“Hey, so it seems like we killed it in there.” Phillip leaned against the next locker, slightly breathless from having jogged to catch up with you. It was after sixth period on the last day of the semester, and the last few stragglers filtered through the hall on their way to the sweet freedom of winter break.

“Yeah, I guess we did alright, didn’t we?” you said noncommittally, refusing to look up from organizing the inside of your locker.

“Alright? Pretty sure Weathers jizzed his pants when you brought up biblical allegory,” Phillip let out a bark of a laugh.

“Only you could make academic achievement sound vulgar, Altman,” you said, trying but failing to hide the smile that broke across your face.

“It’s not as hard as it seems. All of those stuffy writers were pervs. You know Mary Shelley fucked Lord Byron on her mother’s grave? And that horny bitch wrote Frankenstein!” His smile lit up the corner of your vision and you looked up, blushing at how cute his stupid crooked teeth looked all of a sudden.

“She fucked Percy Shelley on her mother’s grave, not Lord Byron, you idiot,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Phillip’s eyebrows had shot up and his smile had grown wider.

“Well, well Miss Perfect. Never took you for a girl who reads the naughty books, too.”

“Shove it, Altman.” You punched out at his arm, but he successfully dodged, finally demonstrating fast reflexes for once after years of similar assaults from you.

“Well either way, we did it! We made Lit our bitch – up top!” He offered up a hand which you high fived reluctantly. Before you could pull your hand away, his large one wrapped around yours and he yanked you forward. Your body crashed into his and before you could flail, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug.

You were too shocked by the action to move, too surprised by the feeling of his strong arms twisting around your back and his hard body against your breasts. You’d always known Phillip was hot, it was one of the things you hated him for. But feeling the evidence of that hotness against you? You felt the knot in your stomach from earlier drop a little lower.

Phillip ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, his warm breath blowing on your ear. You became hyper aware of the silence in the empty hallway, marveling at the fact that there was no one there to witness the sudden intimacy of this weird moment. Was there a memo you’d missed about a Christmas Fair that everyone had rushed off to? Damn. You took a breath to speak but Phillip cut you off, the vibrations from his rumbling voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Sorry about your personal bubble.”

You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to speak during this odd experience that balanced precariously in a space between uncomfortable and enticing.

“It’s just that…” Phillip began, but trailed off. Your heart beat in your throat, and somewhere lower, as he began swaying your bodies a little in place. This couldn’t be real, though nightmare or dream you couldn’t decide how you’d classify it. You felt his ribcage expand against you as he went to speak again, barely aware that your own breath was held captive in your chest in anticipation.

“I, too…jizzed in my pants when you brought up biblical allegory.”

It took a few seconds for his words to register in your mind before you reacted. Your hand connected with his face so hard you scared yourself with the volume of the sound. Both of you stood frozen and staring at each other for a moment after that. Him with his hand on his cheek where it had flown to shield his stinging skin and you with your hand suspended in air where it had reverberated back after impacting with his face.

Then Phillip began to laugh.

It was a full sound that echoed off the walls. Your face screwed up in response, immediately feeling shame heat your ears and cheeks. But then you noticed that his smile held no derision, no malice. He was genuinely entertained by the fact that, after all these times slapping him, you’d finally hit the mark dead on.

Your hand flew to cover your lips, dozens of emotions dancing on your features as you began to register the humor of the moment as well. However, you also felt foolish. Not a second before he’d let loose the comment that broke all your physical self-control your mind had been toying with the idea of losing physical self-control in a very different way. The hot, knotted feeling in your lower belly had not gone away with this turn of events, it had merely intensified. Your palm tingled where it had made contact with Phillip’s cheek.

The rush of emotions, so many and so dissonant, overwhelmed you. So you did the only thing you could. You slammed your locker door, ducked your head down, and ran for the door, leaving a very confused Phillip still chuckling to himself in your wake.

~*~

That night, laying in bed, you had chastised yourself for feeling what seemed to be every feeling but your usual hatred toward Phillip. This wouldn’t do. You were the top of the class. You hadn’t gotten this far for this long by having twisty turny feelings for stupid beautiful boys with crooked teeth and lots of charm.

Somewhere in your self-admonishment, however, your thoughts turned back to the feeling of his hard body against yours. His arms, large and muscled, containing you with such ease and solidity. The planes of his large chest as they pressed into your soft curves. Without even thinking much about it, your hands moved under your sheets, squeezing those curves.

The knotted feeling from before returned, but this time it was less of a knot and more of an ache. You knew the feeling. Had willed it away while watching movies where hot actors sucked too convincingly on the necks of their leading ladies. Had clumsily tried to remedy it with fumbling rubs and twisting legs on nights when the tension got to be too much.

But that night as you’d thought about Phillip Altman’s arms around you, your pointer finger moved to your clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive nub. As you thought of Phillip Altman’s lips as he rambled confidently in front of a crowd, and Phillip Altman’s big nose scrunching as he winked at you across a classroom, and Phillip’s dimples as he laughed at one of your personalized insults, and Phillip Altman’s dick as it could be seen outlined in his athletic shorts during gym….

The ache inside grew and you felt your pussy clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by something you hadn’t known you wanted. Haphazardly you thrust a finger inside your folds, the hand not preoccupied with circling your clit reaching up to grab one of your breasts.

You tried to imagine Phillip’s large hands replacing yours. Tried to imagine how he’d fill you, how he’d squeeze you. You could almost hear the way he’d put that already dirty mouth of his to good use.

“You want to cum, Miss Perfect? Hmm?” You imagined him saying. The vibrations from his deep voice rang through your mind, left over from when it had caused you to shiver earlier. “Want me in your personal bubble now?”

You whimpered in the darkness of your room, speeding up the friction on your clit and thrusting two more fingers in your slick heat. You imagined his lips at your neck, at your clavicle, at your sternum, sucking at the skin and tickling you with the stubbling facial hair he’d only been sporting since last summer.

“You’ve always been such a good girl,” the Phillip in your mind practically purred. You felt yourself reaching a precipice you’d never quite attained before. The muscles of your legs quaked and your squeezed your nipples, needing more of something.

“Why don’t you be a good girl for me and cum?”

Your whole body convulsed against the mattress and your muscles seized, your fingers trapped inside your pussy as it contracted over and over. You felt absolutely euphoric for a moment, almost nothing passing through your mind but the image of Phillip, smiling at you with that same, familiar, cheeky smile.

But as you came down from your high, your sweat ran cold with a realization. It had been your first orgasm. Phillip had caused your first orgasm. A mixture of shame and anger flooded your system as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t enough Phillip Altman was the golden boy of the school, it wasn’t enough that he could – and did – have any girl he wanted, he had to have your orgasm, too?

You felt silly but you also felt indignant. You had prided yourself on not being affected, on being above him. After all, why go after the boy who had it all and who only teased you because it felt like an accomplishment to make the smart girl squirm under his gaze?

No. You hated Phillip Altman and you wouldn’t let him have this. You silently thanked whatever militant non-secular whacko had pushed the Christmas agenda on the school system so hard that you had two weeks off now to help distance you from any interactions with the boy who plagued your mind.

You had drifted to sleep that night, unaware that several streets over, in a room very much like your own, Phillip Altman was tugging at his hard cock, groaning over thoughts of the girl who challenged him, the girl who yelled at him, the girl who slapped him. The one girl he was so sure he’d never get with, but who he wanted most.

~*~

Now, twelve years later, you wander down the baking aisle of the local grocery store, praying to all that is holy that you won’t bump into someone from your high school. After graduation you had peaced the fuck out, leaving for college on the opposite coast. You’d spent years convincing your parents that you were too busy with undergrad and then grad school and then publishing deadlines to ever make the crazy trip back to your hometown, instead baiting them into visiting you for warmer holidays that smelled of the beach and your new life. Two consecutive shitty breakups on your part and one knee replacement surgery on your mother’s part combined to turn this into the year that your parents insisted you finally made the pilgrimage home.

Which is how you find yourself on a winter night browsing the alternative flour selection, having been sent to look for the perfect gluten-free option that will make your mom’s gastrointestinal system “not blow up like a friggen balloon.” It was funny how not even a medical diagnosis could deter that woman from her festive baking habits. You’re deep in thought over the differences between coconut and almond when a deep voice rumbles out from your deepest memories, reverberating right into aisle four.

“You know I read your latest book.”

You look up and almost drop your two flours to the ground. Instead you fumble, gripping them tightly to your chest and causing vaporized coconut and almond to puff into the air in front of you.

As the powder settles out of your line of sight you see him. Phillip Altman. Twelve years older, with more facial hair and a couple laugh lines, but it’s him alright.

“Hey there, Miss Perfect.”

His nose crinkles as he winks at you. You intake breath sharply.

And choke on some flour.

It tastes like coconut. And you know then that you should have just trusted your gut and gone with almond.

You also know that you’re in trouble.

~*~

Tagging some very kind people who have been very welcoming: @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @safarigirlsp​ @sacklerscumrag​

[httphonsool]

Heather

synopsis; you’ve always been the last, the last to be chosen, the last to be remembered, the last. And it doesn’t help that you’re Heather’s best friend either. but maybe, your unfortunate fate can be changed.

word count; 5,957

time taken; eesh, let’s not talk about it.

warnings; angst, heartbreak, feeling inferior, insecurities, bullying (?? if you squint)

notes; hi! i’m back for the time being, i mean not really, but enjoy this for the next three months i guess, i’m joking, i think i might just get back into writing but updates will be fairly slow, and i’m not just doing bts oneshots/series anymore, i’m currently only doing bnha for anime buttt maybe it’ll expand. also, yes, this is inspired by ‘Heather’ by Conan Gray, listen to it whilst you read, you may just cry.

-

There’s always that one girl. The one nobody can hate, the one that everyone swoons for, the one that’s always right, the one no one can be mad at. Unfortunately for you, you are not that girl, but you are her best friend. Yes you heard right, you were the best friend of the Heather in your school, also known as Yaoyorozu Momo.

See, you don’t hate Yaoyorozu, no, no, that’s definitely nowhere near the case, you just hate that everyone views her as some perfect princess that makes no mistakes, in fact it’s not even that, it’s that you’re just seen as her best friend, the girl that’s just there, the one that’s always there, you know the face but never the name. The second choice. The last choice.

It doesn’t help that Momo is your only friend, and that you’ve always felt inferior to her, it’s not exactly the healthiest relationship, but it’s your only choice, there’s not really anyone else. You’re just not taken seriously, it’s always Momo this and Momo that, she’s the only one who really wants to talk to you. And you hate the world for that.

 It’s even more difficult as the days go by, a wave of insecurities, depression, and your childhood trauma finally catching up to you, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head up during class, and the boy sitting to your right seems to notice.

“___? Why do you look like a deflated whale?” you hear a voice from your right, you look up to see a blur of red and white hair and heterochromatic eyes through your tears. Let’s ignore the fact that you are definitely not okay, how does the son of one of the most famous heroes in the world, Todoroki Shoto, know your name when nobody else can bother to learn it(excluding Momo, of course).

“You-you know my name?”

“I mean…I’ve been sitting next to you since the first day…it’s not that hard to remember.”

“Right.” You wipe away the streaks of tears.

“So…do you want to complain…isn’t that what people usually do when they’re sad?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him.

“You don’t look fine.” He says bluntly.

“And? Why does it matter?” Truth be told you love the attention you’re getting, you just want to keep the conversation going, even if it’s short.

“If you don’t want to tell me then don’t.” Well, ouch, but to be honest, you were asking for it.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

And you can’t deny how your heart flutters at the sight of the small smirk that’s planted on his face.

-

And so it began, a slow building friendship, one of those kinds of friendships you see on TV, it was just six pure months of happiness, a true friendship, and you don’t mind admitting that it feels nice to have a friend that isn’t Momo, it makes you feel somewhat better, and he makes you feel somewhat better. It’s nice to not feel insecure every time you’re near a friend; it’s nice to just hang out with him, even if he’s being blunt and a little straightforward, but that’s just how he is and it doesn’t make you love him any less. Except this bond you shared wasn’t just between the two of you, unfortunately Momo decided to come in. It struck your nerves just a little bit, it was almost like she couldn’t let you have anything for your own, but you know that’s not how Momo intended it to be, it just happened, and you couldn’t hate it more. You could tell how Shoto felt towards Momo, doing things for her he wouldn’t even do for you, dropping everything to take care of her, and it didn’t help your case because before you knew it, you were free-falling deep into the rabbit hole labelled ‘Todoroki Shoto’ and he was too; except the rabbit hole was not named after you.

You don’t blame him for being in love with Momo, you don’t. In fact, you can see exactly why he would, she’s pretty, she’s smart, she’s always right, and at this point you’re one-hundred percent sure she’s probably never wronged anyone, not a single sin on her list. It just sucks because, for once, you just wanted something for yourself, but now you can’t even have that.

You’re not quite sure how it happened, if you’re honest, one moment you were trying to get rid of him because he continuously tried to check up on you, and the next, you finally made him laugh for the first time, and you felt hope, so you continued to talk to him, and next thing you know it you were best friends, and then Momo decided to talk to him. And that’s when your special few months were over; Momo was back to claim what was hers, without even knowing it.

-

It’s a dark Friday night when Momo finally tells you exactly what you didn’t want to hear, you’re sitting behind Momo, braiding her hair, being careful not to pull her hair down.

“___? Ow- eesh, ____, be careful, it hurts a little,” she groans.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I’m not used to doing other people’s hair, plus yours is so long!”

“Yours is longer! Anyway, I wanted to tell you something…” your heart stops, time freezes, everything freezes…please no, please…

“I think…I think I…” no, no, please no, “I think I like Todoroki Shoto, no- I think I really like him.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can come up with, your eyes welling up, holding back tears…why, why, why. But like the good best friend you are, you can’t lie to her. “I think he likes you, too. You should confess.” You tell her.

God damn it. You’re so tired of this, you’re so sick of being second best, you’re sick of it never being you, but it’s different this time, you can feel it in the air. Usually Momo rejects everyone, girl or boy, she always says no…but the one time you like a guy…it just happens to be the guy you’re in love with that she decides to reciprocate feelings towards. And maybe you’re just finally done with it.

But you know, like always, it’s not Momo’s fault, not even Shoto’s, if you blame anyone, it’s you because you’re absolutely useless.

“Really? But I can’t…I don’t think he does…I mean…he always seems to love being around you. Is it possible you could…maybe talk to him for me?” You’re trying so hard to not have a mental breakdown, and it only gets harder…’I mean he always seems to love being around you’…is she serious? Is she blind? But you know you’ll still talk to him for her, like you would even if you didn’t love him.

But all of this reminded you, Yaoyorozu was truly Heather. And you were barely even on the list of choices at this point.

-

“We need to talk.”

Shoto looks up, noodles shoved in his mouth, an adorably clueless look on his face- and it takes you every fibre of your being not to shamelessly coo at him. He swallows down the noodles, taking a big gulp of water before looking up at you once more, “What about?”

“Your crush on Momo.” He freezes, a blush covering his cheek, clearly, you hit a nerve.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes. I think it’s time you confess.”

“…You’re right. But how do we...? I don’t really know how…to confess.”

“There’s no we in this, it’s all you.”

“You know, I’d appreciate it very much if you helped me a little.” You want to say no. You want to say no, and you’re going to, but…it’s Todoroki Shoto…the guy you’ve liked for way too long…

“Okay, fine, we’ll plan it over the next two weeks; it has to be perfect for Momo, she deserves only the best.” Yeah, no, you’ll always just be stuck as Heather’s best friend.

“Okay.”

“Meet me after school, at my dorm.”

-

You’re not sure if this will even work but it’s the best you’ve got. And what’s your plan, you ask? Movies. Romance movies, cringey chick flicks, everything there is related to romance that Shoto could possibly take note of.

And surely, as you knew, he shows up, a notebook in hand, and the most deadpan look on his face.

“So…what are we doing.”

“Films, Shoto, romance films, you get the idea, every time you see a romantic confession, you write down things, like how they might be describing their feelings…you know…that stuff.” Why are you doing this again? Oh right, because you’re weak, and because you just want to see your best friends happy with each other.

“Oh…okay.” He sits down on your bed, rolling over onto his stomach in front of your laptop.

“We’re starting with titanic.”

“But isn’t that a sad movie?”

“Well maybe I want to cry,” You state bluntly.

“Oh.”

You’re about halfway through the Titanic, when your phone starts ringing. It’s Momo. Both you and Todoroki tense up. You pause the film to accept her call.

“Momo?”

“___? I didn’t see you all day so I decided I should check up on you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m just with Shoto…” beside you, Shoto relaxes, muscles going from tense to relaxed within seconds just at the sound of Momo’s voice. Your heart constricts once more.

“Oh…um…have fun? We’re still hanging out again tomorrow night, right?” She asks, her voice hopeful. But for some reason that makes you want to curl up and bawl your eyes out.

“Oh, um, I may have to cancel…” you can’t, you can’t deal with her.

“Oh, that’s okay, day after tomorrow?”

“I’ll see.” And with that you end the call, letting the tears in your eyes flow freely, sobs wracking your body.

“___? ___! What’s wrong?”

“What do you do when you’re in love with a boy…who’s in love with your best friend? Shoto, I can’t live like this anymore, I’m always second best, everyone loves her, and the one time I seem to like a guy, he likes her, it’s just so frustrating.” You can’t seem to breathe properly, your lungs seem to be constricted, blocking your ability to breathe, you feel so disgusted with yourself it’s not even funny.

“Well…if he doesn’t like you he’s obviously not worth the effort.” Shoto says monotonously, placing his left hand on your back and rubbing slowly, affectionately, it’s the most he’s ever touched you.

You scream out of frustration, why does nobody understand!? “it’s not just about the damn boy,” you pause trying to gain stability, “it’s everything, it’s always Momo this, Momo that, I’m tired, Todoroki,” he lifts his hand slightly, the unfamiliar sound of his last name leaving your mouth, “I just want someone to want me, I want someone to care for me, it’s not fair I always have to share everything. Half our class barely even knows my name, I’m never chosen to be on any teams, you and Momo are my only friends, and I don’t know what to do at this point because I want someone to choose me for once.”

“I want you. I chose you.” He tries to soothe you, continuing to rub his hand over your back.

“It’s not the same.”

“Why?”

“Because you like her better.”

And for the rest of the evening you both watch the movies in silence.

-

The next time you and Todoroki meet, Uraraka and Midoriya join you.

And Todoroki Shoto is late. For the first time in your eight month long friendship, he’s late.

“Where were you, Shoto?” You ask him as soon as you see him.

“I was giving Momo my sweater, it was getting cold, didn’t want her to freeze.” He mumbles, and there’s your daily reminder that you and Todoroki are just not going to happen.

“Mm, a sweater,” you attempt to joke, and Uraraka giggles.

“It’s just polyester.” He replies.

“Damn, she really has you mesmerised, doesn’t she?” you giggle as you turn away.

-

“So…what’s the plan?” Midoriya asks.

“We’re trying to help get Shoto to confess.” You tell him.

“Please don’t mention this meeting ever again.” Todoroki says.

“Hmm, I’d say describe your feelings? Like when I confessed to Izuku, I told him things I liked about him? Like how his hair reminds me of a broccoli,” Uraraka says, squishing Midoriya’s cheeks.

“I still don’t understand that, but anyway…s-sorry I forgot your name, what was it?” Midoriya asks.

A pang of hurt hits you, damn, you were right…you’re not even second best, your just nothing.

“___.” You tell him, and slowly but surely Shoto’s hand wraps around yours, tightening and squeezing in reassurance.

“Sorry, I’m not that great with names, ___, but I was thinking…how romantic does it have to be? Because knowing Todoroki…yeah…you get what I mean. I mean, I’m sorry Todoroki, you’re a great dude but I rarely even see you smile.” Midoriya says.

“Shut up.” And you almost laugh, because that’s your Shoto…but then you realise; he’s not your Shoto.

“Okay but anyway, you don’t want it to be too romantic, but you want it to be genuine, you know? Like…how about…you…name some things about some guy you like? Maybe it’ll help him?” You sigh as you realise Uraraka has forgotten your name, and it takes everything to not start bawling when Shoto’s hand squeezes yours again.

“Um, well, I like his eyes, they’re so pretty, like a contrast between the ocean on a sunny day, and a stormy day, he’s much taller than me, it makes me feel tiny and small every time he looks down at me, not to mention how he was one of the only people, excluding Momo, to notice me and care about me, his hair always covers his eyes but it never seems to bother him for some reason, and he’s really oblivious about how I feel too…” You trail off, focussing on how not to make it obvious you’re in love with Todoroki, but when Shoto’s hand falls out of yours so effortlessly, you immediately stop talking.

The entire table is in absolute silence.

“Wow…you…really, really like this guy…” Uraraka says, but the expression on her and Midoriya’s face tells you they’ve already figured you out, and the unfortunately concerned look in her eyes tells you it’s hopeless.

“But, er…” Midoriya trails off, trying to remember your name, and you want to scream.

“___. Her name is ___, it’s not that hard to remember.” Shoto grits his teeth.

Something tells you they’ll both be remembering your name for a while now.

But even as you move on onto other topics, you can’t help but shake the feeling that you’re being watched, and as you turn around you see a blonde boy with bright hazel eyes staring at you.

-

The rest of the night continues as it did before, changing from talking about the confession to talking about…normal things, you suppose, and you’re about to leave with Shoto, just as someone taps you on the shoulder.

You turn around to see a boy around your age, dyed blonde hair with curtains and hazel eyes that shine brighter than the sun, the same one from earlier.

“Hey…___, right? We’re in the same Math class.” He knows your name, he knows your name.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You tell him, a hopefully look on your eyes.

“I was wondering…are you…single?” He asks.

“Unfortunately so.” You blush.

“Oh, thank god, so would you…ever consider going on a date with me? I mean I know we don’t know each other or anything…but…”

“I don’t even know your name,” you tease him, his cheeks burning bright red.

“My name is Akio,” He tells you pushing a hand forward for you to shake, “so will you go on a date with me?”

You’re not done with Shoto, and of course, it’s probably not going to happen any time soon, but this boy seems to be nice, somewhat. This could be your chance to start anew, change the fact that you’re never someone’s first choice; you could finally get rid of the dead weight you’re holding on. You look around the table, at Uraraka and Shoto specifically, and while Shoto really couldn’t seem to care less about the situation at hand (which is what you insinuate from the expression on his face) Uraraka seems so pleasantly surprised and just one look at her expression gives you the comfort of knowing you should say yes.

“Okay,”

“Is tomorrow okay? Here? After school?”

“Yes, that’s fine!”

“Yeah, okay, let’s go, ___,” you hear Shoto grunt, pulling you out of the restaurant.

“Was that the guy you were talking about? I didn’t know he was so…”

You’re not quite sure what to say…so you just agree.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s him…I guess he does like me after all.”

“I’ll be honest…I was really hoping he didn’t like you.”

“You want him to like Momo instead, then?” You don’t understand…why couldn’t he be happy for you?

“No, but I don’t think he’s the kind of person you’d want to date.”

You walk the rest of the way back to your dorm in silence.

-

So surely, you show up the next day, after school, same place, you even dressed up for today, quickly changing into a short dress, letting your hair down and even applying lipstick and mascara for the sake of looking presentable.

You stand outside of the restaurant for ten minutes, he doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon so you decide to go inside, expecting to see him sitting at a table, but when you realise he isn’t here yet, you head inside to grab a table and wait for a while.

Ten minutes pass, Akio doesn’t show up, you assume he got held behind.

Ten minutes turn into twenty, twenty turn into forty, and forty turns into a whole hour and a whole hour turns into two hours and you’re starting to get sympathetic looks from the people around you, even the workers gave you sympathy and gave you a free meal.

And as you eat your burger and fries, you realise Akio was never even planning on showing up.

And you know now that maybe you should have trusted Shoto’s judgement.

-

The next day, you’re barely strong enough to get yourself up to go to school, and when you do…well you wish you had given in and just stayed in your dorm.

The door to your classroom bursts open, everyone expecting your teacher walk through but instead seeing a group of boys that you’ve seen amongst the school halls, and amongst the group you notice the blond head that stood you up yesterday, and your head immediately goes to Shoto’s seat, only to see he wasn’t here yet, and again to Momo’s seat, but as soon as Momo saw you, she looked away, face flushing a light pink colour.

“Ah, dear, ___,” Akio smirks, snickering along with his group of friends, “Did you really think anyone would actually want to go on a date with you?”

Truth is, you should’ve known, and you want to say something to Akio, you do, but you don’t, you can’t because he’s right.

“You’re honestly a disgrace; you really went to the same place after school thinking I’d be there for our date…what a bloody fool.” He cackles.

You don’t really want to hear this, all it’s doing is make you want to face the truth…and truth is you’re not ready for that…everyone in the classroom is quiet…even the exploding ball of anger, Bakugo, is quiet, and all you can do is wish that Shoto was here, but what would he do? Scare them off? Exactly. You’re on your own.

And what infuriates you the most is that even your best friend since childhood, Momo, of all people isn’t saying anything, everyone’s just watching it happen, watching the events unfold in absolute silence.

But you can’t hold it in anymore, and the sobs start racking your body.

“Aw, that’s cute…she’s crying.” And they just laugh more, and that’s when you decide to leave, just when Todoroki steps into the room, and all you can hear is Uraraka and Midoriya’s voices calling for you.

-

“___?” You hear Uraraka’s sweet voice call out.

You try and hold in your sobs in the echoing toilet stand, not wanting to be found just yet.

“Can you let me in please? I just want to talk?”

You open the door to the stall, letting Uraraka in.

“I’m sorry, ___, I didn’t know he would stand you up, I genuinely thought he was interested in you, I wouldn’t have encouraged it if I didn’t think he was-”

“It’s okay, Uraraka.” She starts stroking your hair, something you haven’t had done to you in ages, and tears start leaking again, “Besides, Todoroki and Midoriya took care of them, you know,” she giggles.

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah, they took care of them, don’t worry…Look, I know, it’s difficult with…Momo and Todoroki…and I know how you feel, but he really does care you know? I can tell, I’m not sure whether it’s friendly or…more…but he does care as much as he might seem like he doesn’t…he’s just not good with feelings…I mean…do you remember how he described his feelings for Momo?” She starts giggling, and for a brief moment, you laugh too.

“’her hair reminds me of a spider web….it’s just so big…and it like never breaks…’” you laugh.

“’she reminds me of a very old tree…wise and somewhat tall’” Uraraka laughs.

“He does care you know…he wasn’t happy when he saw Akio, and he wasn’t…exactly nice either, Akio’s recovering in the medical room now…” oh.

You’re not quite sure what’s going on with Shoto at the moment, but when you figure it out, maybe you’ll finally be at peace with yourself, even if it’s only for a moment.

-

The next time you see Todoroki Shoto, he’s climbing through your window, and you barely heard the noise he was making due to you blasting Heather- by Conan Gray, crying out your heart.

“Shoto, what the hell?” You say, wiping your tears away.

“You weren’t answering your door so I decided to…” he points at the window.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You says.

“’s okay,” he says, “anyway, we haven’t really talked about the confession lately, so I came here.”

“Oh, oh, right, should we continue with some movies? Or maybe practice it on me? Your choice, you’re the one confessing.”

“I just want to watch movies, I think.” You expected it.

“Do you have your notebook? Or your pen?”

“No.” You don’t ask why as you both continue to watch from where you last left off.

You both end up sleeping in your bed and running late for class that night, but (unbeknownst to you) in his eyes, it was worth it.

-

When you next meet Shoto, you’re with Momo, awkward tension filled in the air around you, and you don’t know what it is, but it’s almost worse than it was before you started discussing Shoto’s confession.

“So…It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out together…what’s new?” You ask, trying to ease the tension.

“What’s new is that you don’t seem to be acting like a best friend anymore.”

What?

“Momo, what do you mean?” You ask

“Best friends don’t date each other’s crushes.” Is she joking?

“I’m not…what?” You’re confused to the max right now, and Todoroki seems to not be able to say anything either.

“Forget it. I’m leaving.” Well, okay, then.

“I’m sorry, ___, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Before getting up and leaving as well.

And well, you’ve decided maybe going through all this effort to make sure Momo and Todoroki happy is just not worth it if it puts you at stake.

-

When you meet Todoroki next after the incident, it’s by the sea shore, you’re both sitting in the sand, a small wave coming by to touch your toes every few seconds. He’s shirtless, just wearing swimming trunks, and you’re in a black swimsuit, wearing Shoto’s shirt over it (it’s way too big for you but you’ll wear it because it’s his anyway).

“So tomorrow’s the day you finally tell her, huh,” you want to be happy for him…but you can’t.

“Yeah…something like that…” he sighs.

“I think you’ll be okay.” You tell him, “Just go with what you feel, even if it’s not perfect, at least it’s genuine.”

“Right.” Slowly, a smirk forms on Shoto’s face, his hand slowly reaching towards the water and splashing water all over you. Ah, so he wants war.

You splash water straight back at him, and he you, and it continues like this for a while until you both finally stop, giggles leaving your mouth and it makes you realise exactly why you love him.

You stare at him, eyes flickering down to his lips, and you just know…you need to know what it feels like to be loved by Shoto, even if it’s for a second, because after tomorrow, all hope would be lost for you.

Please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, it’s all that’s ringing through your head as you push your lips against his, his hand coming up to grab your jaw, gently caressing your jaw line.

He’s kissing you back! He’s kissing you back! He’s…kissing you back…?

Surprisingly, he keeps it going, making the kiss deeper and deeper, and one kiss turns to two, two to three, and then finally you pull away, guilt coating your insides.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

“What was that for?” He asks

“Me. It was for me.” You pause, “What was that for?”

“Me. It was for me.”

-

Today’s the day, and the weather seems to really match your personality, it’s been raining since last night, and you don’t think it’s going to stop any time soon by the looks of it, but it’s okay…it’s not like you have school today anyway, and you’d rather stay at home today than run into Todoroki and Momo during their date, or worse; seeing them do some cute romantic couple-y shit.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re probably never going to be a first choice, but it’s not that big of a deal, you had your moment with Shoto, and that’s all you really want for the time being, you’re satisfied.

Hours pass, you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, instead just sitting up and reading a book, crying your eyes out as Rue dies in the Hunger Games.

You’re just reading the end of the book when you get a text from Shoto.

Hello, can you let me in?

You’re reluctant at first, assuming he just wants to tell you about Momo, but you begrudgingly lift yourself off your bed to open the door, not caring that you look like you have a hangover.

“Hi.” His gray and turquoise eyes stare down at you, your heart constricting and throat tightening at just his stare.

“Hi. How’d it go? Did you steal her heart?” You attempt to joke.

“…No, I think I broke it…” what? “Sit down, ___.” You take three long strides to sit down on your bed, pulling him along with you.

“What happened? I thought you wanted this?”

“I had to tell her the truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I don’t love her.”

“So I wasted two weeks on preparing you for this…for nothing?” You ask, you’ll never tell him, but you’re a little glad he broke her heart.

“Not for nothing…yesterday…when we…”

“Oh. Did I confuse you? Because you don’t need to worry about that, I know I should have asked, but I just wanted to know…what it felt like to be loved by you…”

“No, it’s okay, I enjoyed it, I mean obviously, I mean I was the one to continue it, and I mean I knew I wasn’t in love with Momo the first night when we were watching movies, but yesterday, I just knew I couldn’t go through with it,” your heart is beating violently in your chest, almost as if it’s threatening to jump out, “When you were telling me about how you were in love with a boy that loved Momo, it made me…it just irked me the wrong way, I don’t know why but I just knew that if I really loved Momo, it wouldn’t make me feel the way I did. And then at the restaurant…well you get it.”

“Shoto, what are you trying to tell me?” You breathe heavily, trying to control the breathing in your chest.

“I love you, no, I’m in love with you, I love Momo…but it’s nothing compared to how I feel towards you, and I think, even if you don’t return my feelings, I’m okay with that, because I don’t think I’ll be able to get rid of these feelings any time soon if not at all.”

“Well, I mean at least we know that my lessons worked on you,” you nervously laugh, he lets out a smile.

“So…do you?”

“I think…I love you, no, I’m in love with you,” you tease, squishing his cheeks as he laughs, “but you know…I heard you dealt with Akio.” Shoto stays quiet, a mild blush covering his cheeks. “You know, at first I thought it was a joke, but then I saw the bandages all the way up his arm in the hallways, and the broken leg…Shoto, what did you do?”

“It was Midoriya’s idea.”

“Mm, Midoriya barely talks to his girlfriend without stuttering, you really think he can break someone’s leg without being in a high-pressure situation?”

“He had it coming.”

“Do you even know what he did?”

“No, but from what I saw…he deserved it.”

“Shoto.”

“Mm?”

“Thank you for doing..what you did, even if I don’t like that you were violent.”

“…And I’d do it again.”

“Shoto-.”

-

You didn’t want to have to do this, but you think that the two of you deserve to talk it out.

You and Momo haven’t talked in three weeks, three weeks since you and Shoto became…well you don’t know what you are but it’s much closer than best friends at least, there’s no official label to it, but you’re content at the moment.

“Momo.” You call her name as soon as she sits down at your table.

“___.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. I think we should…look, I’m sorry I didn’t know, I would have backed off immediately if you had told me you’d been in love with him since the beginning,” Momo heaves, a crestfallen expression painted on her face.

“Momo, I’m sorry, I’m just so used to you having everything, I kind of wanted to have something for myself, I can’t tell you how much it hurt me when I saw him slowly falling in love with you, because I was hoping he’d be my little secret, something I didn’t have to share. I know it seems selfish, but I can’t help it.” You don’t want to cry, but something’s urging you.

“___, this is why…this is why I want you to be more vocal, I’ve known you’ve been insecure this whole time, but I didn’t want to say anything because…well, partially I liked all the attention I received, it was addicting and I felt good, I felt popular and special, but you suffered because of my selfish tendencies, and I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to do that, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” It hit you hard. So she knew? This whole time she knew?

“Momo, even I have to admit…it’s a little bit selfish, and it’s annoying, because this whole time I thought you genuinely didn’t know how I felt.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” she sighs, tears welling up in her eyes, “It feels so stupid now, I was so stupid, and the fact that I had a feeling you had feelings for Todoroki and I still decided to try my shot- you know, I had a feeling he liked you all along, from the moment I decided to talk to him, I’ll be honest with you, ___, I don’t think he ever liked me, or even loved me, those ‘lessons’ you two had were probably because he needed a reason to spend more time with you.” Momo had been selfish, at least you had figured that out, but you can’t deny how good it feels to finally be honest between the two of you, and with what she was telling you about Shoto- you had a feeling Todoroki had been lying a little, but the more you think about it; you hadn’t seen Shoto pick up his pen once during the films you watched, and if he did you surely never heard the sound of his pen scribbling away at the paper, the way he so awkwardly described Momo when you met up with Uraraka and Midoriya, and the way he was frustrated by Akio, and the way he so willingly kissed you back at the beach…you’re not sure if you’re looking too deep or not deep enough,

But that’s not what you need to be thinking about right now, right now, you and Momo need to set shit straight.

“___, I’m sorry, I love you, you’ll always be my best friend, whether or not you forgive me, I hope you know that I had no intentions to hurt you.”

“Yaoyorozu, maybe at some point, we can be friends again like we used to be, but for now, I want to keep some distance, I just want a little peace, I want to see what it’s like to be on my own.”

“O-Okay, that’s okay, I can do that, we can do that, thank you.”

“I love you, too, by the way.”

And you won’t forget the smile the smile that graces her face afterwards.

-

“So I heard…from my pet fish…that Todoroki Shoto, happened to have a crush on me before our lessons.”

“Does your pet fish happen to be called Yaoyorozu Momo?”

“Maybe…” You trail off, playing with Shoto’s red-white hair and placing kisses around his scar.

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner, I thought maybe it was obvious I was lying to you a little bit when I came to you three weeks ago.” A sweet sigh leaves Shoto’s lips as you pepper his face with kisses.

“Shoto, I couldn’t pick up the fact you liked me even after our kiss, also you called me a deflated whale when we first met, do you really think-”

“Does it really matter how long I liked you? I mean I thought it was obvious that this whole time I was using our lessons to spend more time with you, besides, even if I didn’t use our lessons for Momo, at least…at least they came in use at the end,” Shoto sits up and pulls out the notebook he brought with him the first time he came around, flipping through the pages showing you all his notes that seemed to be centred around you, and the terrible (don’t worry I won’t tell him you thought that) drawings of you he had attempted, it was so wholesome you thought you might burst into tears.

“Besides, asking why you looked like a deflated whale when you were sad was just an excuse to talk to you anyway. It kind of frustrated me when you started crying about how you were never someone’s first choice.”

“Why?” God you’re so clueless.

“Because you’ve always been my first choice, even if I didn’t show it.”

[lofitojii]

PART [I] Guardian Angel

*★*――――*★**★*――――*★**★*――――*★*

Summary: You are a new sidekick to the number two hero of Tokyo, Hawks. You team up with another sidekick, Bakugou, in an ongoing investigation on a serial killer. Unexpected interactions happen that flip the whole case around causing new, confusing feelings which alter your relationships in ways you never saw coming. 

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: Minor Swearing 

A/N: It’s HERE!!! The new series I’ve been working on for the last month is finally planned out and I’m super excited about it! Please let me know what you think, there will be posts made for discussions before the new part is released. 

NOTE: This is not following the current story at all. The League of Villains do not play any part in this at all, only Dabi. 

Guardian Angel Master List

*★*――――*★**★*――――*★**★*――――*★*

The fall air was crisp, every inhaled breath chilling your body from the inside out. The leaves looked as if they were on fire, the deep crimson, the burnt orange, lighting up the grey world they resided in. This was your favorite time of year, when you could visibly see the seasons change. Despite the fact the darkest part of the year was right around the corner, you were looking forward to all of it. This year was going to be different, you could feel it ridden within you.

It was your first day at your new job, completely unaware and new to the area. You had moved in the weekend prior, receiving the job through a simple phone call interview. You had no idea who or what your new boss looked like. All you knew is that you were hand picked from a group of qualifying sidekicks to the number 2 hero, Hawks. Apparently he is a very busy man, and the only thing you knew about him was that his quirk was similar to yours. Except he can’t put his wings away. 

How can you not know who the number 2 hero is? Well, coming from a rather small town where you worked 7 days a week kind of took up most of your free time, and when you did get a moment to yourself, you were either reading or spending time with the locals. You didn’t care much for TV or the news or social media. You enjoyed quality time and company, something most people didn’t really understand. 

Your quirk was known as the ‘Angel Quirk’ meaning you had white wings that grew in size under your control, whenever you pleased. You also had a healing factor to your quirk, using your feathers as a type of medicine as well. You were a Pro Hero’s sidekick back in your home town but received an email one morning that read: 

Dear Y/N,

After doing intense research and speaking to your most recent employer and university teachers, you have been chosen to accompany Japan’s number 2 hero, Hawks, as his personal sidekick with the goal of becoming one of Japan’s very own perosnal Pro Heroes. According to your employer, he has said he feels you have greater potential that you can’t utilize in your small town. Please give us a call or email us back. Thank you!

-Hawks Agency

You had no idea your previous employer had reached out until you received that letter. You didn’t mind doing small hero work here and there in your small town but when your boss stressed to you that you could be and do more, you decided to reach out. You didn’t know what you were expecting but you had received the job within the first 10 minutes of your interviewl. 

So that’s where you are now, downtown Tokyo, trying your best to understand how the train systems worked. Yeah, you could’ve just flown there but you didn’t want to make a scene before debuting with your new boss. It was just something you had decided, thinking that maybe an article would be released about a new hero coming to town rather than being seen with Hawks himself first. You didn’t want to come off as rude or arrogant, even though you knew you were probably overthinking the situation. 

You just wanted to make a good impression, regardless of what your old boss had said about you. They already have this idea of you, and you wanted to live up to that idea. Your boss did speak highly of you, you didn’t want to let anyone down, mainly yourself. 

“Damn, this city is huge,” you cursed out loud, looking up from the city map you had picked up at the subway stop before you hopped on. “So if that’s the coffee shop, then I still have about a good mile or two before I get to the agency building. Maybe I should use my wings to get the- OOF!” you were hit in the back, causing you to choke on your words and stumble over onto the cement. 

“Sorry!” You looked up to see a man, his red wings casting a long shadow over you. “Didn’t see ya there! Sometimes I’m too fast for my own damn good.” He reached his hand out, letting you tightly grip it as he helped you up. 

“You’re good, I was the one standing there like a mindless idiot,” you joked, reaching down to pick up the things you had dropped due to your collision. When you stood up, you noticed that he was already gone. Wow, so much for being polite. He said sorry but what does that mean when he just flies off without saying anything else? Whatever, you had to get to work so you just decided to brush it off. 

You expanded your white wings, trying your best to fly higher than the city clouds in order to keep people from seeing you. You thought to yourself that maybe this was the best route to work, clear yet cold skys. Not to mention you would cut your full trip in half. You landed in front of the office building, retracting your wings back to its original, small size before entering the building. You approached the girl that was sitting behind a desk, tapping away at her keyboard. You cleared your throat before interrupting. “Hi, I’m the new sidekick Y/N. Just wondering where I need to go?” You asked the front receptionist you guided you towards the elevators. 

“It’s the top floor,” she smiled. “Good luck, Miss Y/N.” You let out a sigh of relief as you stood in the elevator alone. Your day had just barely started and yet you could feel yourself already growing tired of everything. Your temper was rather short today, that man setting something off in you when he left without saying anything. Thank god you didn’t have to worry about him anymore. Tokyo was a rather large city, what are the chances of running into him a second time? You tried your best to shake off the incident that took place this morning, not wanting it to ruin your full day ahead of you. 

You walked up to the giant wooden doors, knocking twice before opening them. You were greeted with a huge open window, a single desk sitting in the middle of the room with a beautiful view behind it. There were bookshelves lined with literature you had read or had planned to read. “Similar tastes,” you whispered as you traced along the backbone of the books. The room was empty, leaving you alone to examine the things you found interesting to you. 

“You like what you see?” Wait a second… That voice... “You must be the new sidekick. How’s it going? I’m Hawks.” You turned around and were faced with the man that had knocked you over earlier. For some reason, dread took over, your actions visible to the man standing in front of you. “Why the long face?” 

“You’re kidding me, right?” you scoffed, the man giving you a blank look. “You literally knocked me off my feet earlier? I dropped everything?” He was still giving you that stupid blank look. “You’re joking…” 

“OH! I remember now. Yeah sorry about that,” he scratched the back of his head nervously. “I was in a hurry.” Wow...

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, unimpressed with the lack of remorse that came through his tone. You felt as if this relationship would be decided here, right now, just based on the way you were feeling as he stood there, a stupid grin plastard on his face. You let out a deep sigh, trying to regulate your breathing so you wouldn’t lash out on your new boss who was standing inches away from you. “I guess I’ll introduce myself since we’ll be working together. My name is Y/N L/N, I’m from a small town about 4 hours out of Tokyo. My quirk is known as the ‘Angel Quirk’ meaning I can do anything you can but better.” 

“Woah, woah,” he stopped you, waving his hands in the air. “That’s a pretty bold statement, newby. What do you mean ‘better’?” 

“I mean I can hide my wings if I want to, and also can expand them when I choose. They regenerate within the hour, I can use them to heal both internal and external wounds depending on how severe the injury is. I can also use them as weapons, hardening them as I please.” 

“Okay but can you use them to listen to things? Do you have the ability to use them as an extension of you? As in, can you use them to listen or to track?” He was grilling you with questions, almost as if you struck a nerve with him. It was quite amusing to see him all flustered like this.

“I can use them to track things within a certain radius, the further away from the feather, the harder it is for me to make things out.” He furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. 

“Okay yeah, your quirk is better in some parts but that doesn’t make you better than me.” 

“I never said I was better than you, I only said my quirk was better. You’re the number 2 hero for a reason, I have no doubt in your skill at all.” He really got his feelings hurt that bad by your comment? Talk about a fragile ego. 

He let out a sigh, sounding a little grumpy in his words as he went through the paperwork with you. “Oh and take this,” He handed you a bag, his cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what it looks like but the design team came up with it since we do have similar quirks.” 

“A new costume?” You raised an eyebrow, looking at the fabric with the paper bag. It was a body suit, like an actual teddy style body suit, a pair of sheer tights, and some knee high boots. There was also a pair of yellow goggles, matching the ones Hawks were wearing. “What if people think we’re dating?” You didn’t really think about it much until Hawks gave you your new costume that was almost identical in color to his. It was balck and gold, just like his shirt, the cropped jacket being a deeper shade of brown, just like his jacket. 

“And? So what if they do? I wouldn’t mind faking it,” he smirked, winking directly at you. He began to laugh as you reached your hand to hide your crimson cheeks. They were warm, you knew his comment made you blush, and so did he.

“Shut the hell up,” you responded, biting your lip. “I’m going to request a new jacket at least. I’m sorry but this color is hideous with the black.” 

“You really think so?” he asked, looking at his own jacket. “Well in that case, I’ll ask for them to give us black ones.” 

“White,” you stopped him. “I want a white one.” 

“White it is, m’lady,” he bowed, getting up from his seat. He leaned over his desk, transitioning from his bowed state, coming face to face with you. He was so close you could smell the lingering fragrance of mint coming from his breath. “I’m excited to work with you.” You quickly got up, bowing in response all in one quick motion, knocking your head with his. It was loud, painful, and embarrassing all within the 30 seconds that it took place. “Ow ow ow ow ow,” he rubbed his forehead, exposing the red bump that was getting ready to form. 

You were quick to pluck two white feathers from the right side of your back, leaning over the desk and pressing it to his forehead. “Hold still,” you struggled to get out as Hawks winced in pain. You let out a deep breath, focusing on the feather in your hand. It was quick to dissolve, leaving Hawks in awe with what had just happened. He sat back down, watching you apply the same treatment to yourself. 

“Wow,” he breathed, still in shock from what just took place. “Your quirk really is cool.” 

“The only downside to my healing is that it’s only possible with the right side of my wings. The left side doesn’t have the same ability,” you admitted while sitting back down, your wings returning to their smaller size so you were able to sit more comfortably. Hawks just sat there, gobsmacked with the events that just occurred. “To be honest, we gotta get this whole bumping into each other thing under control.” 

“You’re telling me,” he whispered, leaning back in his own seat. He finally snapped back into reality after being lost within himself. “Go change into your new costume and I’ll put the order in for the white coat. You’re going on patrol today with one of my other sidekicks. He’s newer to the team so it will be good for you two to get comfortable with each other. I will warn you though, he’s a bit of a hot head. Short temper, super egotistical. Great guy though, you’ll love him.” 

“He sounds wonderful,” you noted sarcastically. You were soon interrupted by the sound of the door opening, being greeted with a blonde haired man with quite the aggressive scowl. 

“What the hell did you say, you damn bird?” You turned your head, taking notice to his rather large grenade equipment covering his forearms. Those have to be super heavy, the look like they weigh more than the man himself. 

“There you are! Bakugou, I’d like you to meet your new partner, Y/N! You guys are going to be working together from here on out. You’re still my sidekicks, so we’re still a team here but when it comes to the more lowkey stuff, like investigations and patrolling, you guys will be working together.” Did he really just say ‘lowkey’? How old is this guy? He’s got to be older than you, having started his own agency, right? 

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou growled. Hawks wasn’t kidding when he said this guy was a hot head, the vibe he was giving off really intimidated you. But then again, you weren’t one to take shit, not even from some punk coworker with a short temper. “I’m leaving in 10. Better hurry you noob.” 

“Noob?” You questioned, grabbing your things and following Bakugou out the room. You stopped before you reached the door, turning around and bowing towards Hawks. “Thank you!” 

“Good luck, kid!” He waved back, his smile sweet and reassuring. You had experienced something rather unpleasant that morning with Hawks, only to find out he was your new boss. He seemed to be quite the air head, or at least spacey in some aspect. He was interesting to you, and for some reason you wanted to know more about him. The fact he had asked for you specifically out of all the other applicants was even more interesting to you. Did he choose you for another reason? Was it because you had a similar quirk to his? As time goes on, you can only hope that you’ll uncover these hidden secrets you were so focused on. He didn’t need to tell you he was hiding anything, you could just feel something in his aura. 

You followed Bakugou who led you to the women's locker room, telling you he would wait outside the door for you to be finished. He actually told you to ‘hurry the fuck up’ but you just rolled your eyes at his demand. You thought to yourself that if anyone else would have been paired up with this guy, you were sure they would resign due to his attitude. You weren’t one to give up, though. You were here for a reason, having a set goal that wasn’t about to be ruined due to some smart asses comments. Not to mention, the children in the foster home you grew up in were mean as hell. 

When you put on the outfit, you were flustered by how revealing it was. You did mention that you needed flexibility in your costume but you didn’t think it was going to be some kind of lingerie set. Hopefully the coat you requested is available soon, thinking that maybe it would help cover up some of the more revealing parts. 

You exited the locker room, only things on you being your Hero License and your outfit. Bakugou handed you an ear piece, letting you know it’s used for the both of you, two other side kicks and Hawks himself. “So what exactly are we doing today?” You asked, exiting the building with Bakugou by your side. 

“We’ve been asked to investigate the west side of town. Rumor has it that some dick head guy has been spotted frequently in the area who has been linked to a chain of murdered victims. All the bodies have similar burn marks, as if it’s this guys sick way of marking his work. Our job is to try and see if we can narrow down his exact location.” You had read over the file prior to moving to the city, being asked by the agency so that way you weren’t too behind on what was going on. 

Description: Black hair, scars covering majority of his body, black coat, black shoes, distressed jeans. Last known location: West Tokyo. Number of bodies linked to crime: 12. 

“Well then,” you started, letting your wings grow to their full capability. You reached your hand out towards Bakugou, signaling for him to grab on. 

“What the hell? What are you doing? I don’t need your fucking help.” 

“I get that but if you let me carry you, we could cut our trip time in half and with it being fall, almost winter, it’s going to get dark soon. I have no doubt that you can get there by yourself but if we want to play it smart and more efficient,” you sang, reaching your hand out again for him to take, letting your actions finish your statment. He wasn’t happy about the idea but he knew you were right, making it obvious by his aggressive huff. 

You wrapped Bakugou up in your arms, taking off the second you knew you had a secure grip on him. With flying to the west side of town, it really did cut the travel time in half, leaving you an extra hour or so to investigate, much longer than what the estimated time stated. “Land there!” Bakugou yelled, pointing at the roof of a mini mart that was placed in between two rather tall buildings. You released your grip on him, his immediate reaction being annoyed and bothered by the ‘wind’ and you ‘flying too damn fast’. You just ignored his remarks, letting him take the lead on the investigation so he would stop complaining. 

“How long have you worked for Hawks?” You asked, taking a seat next to Bakugou. He lowered his glasses that matched both yours and Hawks’, using them to enhance his sight towards the ground below. 

“Why do you care?” He growled, avoiding any sort of eye contact with you. 

“Well I don’t but if we’re going to be working together, I think it’s important that we have a bearable relationship, don’t you agree?” 

“No I don’t. I don’t care who you are or where you come from. We’re co workers, that’s it.” You didn’t expect Bakugou’s words to hurt as much as they did. You barely met the guy and he’s already made his decision on how the relationship was going to be. A part of you wanted to just let it go, to just accept the fact that he didn’t care for personal relationships, but the other part, the part of you that always got you into trouble, wanted to know and be more with him. 

“Well I care,” you finally blurted out, causing Bakugou to finally look over at you. “I’m not saying that we have to be friends but if we want to be a strong team, we have to get to know each other on a more personal level. I can see you’re very strong and I also know that we could be really good together. So ignore me all you want but I’m not going to stop asking.” He looked puzzled, as if no one had ever bothered to speak to him like this. It was as if he was thrown into foreign territory and had to figure out how to navigate to the sudden outburst. 

“3 months,” he answered, immitadly turning away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at the small achievement you had accomplished. It wasn’t something drastic or something to celebrate, but you took it as a win regardless.  

After sitting on the roof for a good half hour, you had decided to take street view, letting Bakugou keep the high ground. You were told that the suspect wore a black coat, had dark features, but the main identifier being his scars. He wore the black coat to hide his arms and body and wore a face mask to hide the scars that are suspected to be on his face. 

After mindlessly walking for what felt like forever, Bakugou finally came through the ear piece. “Angel, there’s a man fitting our description on the other side of the street, walking towards your direction.” You were quick to react, trying to spot any signs of a man in a dark coat. You thought you were going to lose him in the crowd, having to make your way through groups of people walking in your opposite direction. 

“Bakugou, I don’t-” You were suddenly cut off, being pushed back by the force of colliding with another person. You lost your balance, falling straight onto the concrete sidewalk below you. “Ouch…” You winced in pain, the collision of your bum hitting the hard concrete rattling you a bit. You looked up to see what it was that you had bumped into, Bakugou screaming in your ear before you could put the pieces together. 

“THAT’S HIM!” You made eye contact, complete shock written across your facial features as you stared directly at the man you had been looking for. 

“Here,” he reached his hand out, offering to help you up from your fall. “Sorry about that. It’s easy to get caught up in these crowds.” You were hesitant to take his hand but did it anyways, knowing that you had to diminish any sort of suspicion. His hand was rough to the touch, as if it was scared more so than dry skin. You noticed his stitches that held his scars together, slightly grazing over them as you released. “Oh uhh.. I got these cause my quirk is too strong for me to really handle.” The man seemed to be around your age, his whole appearance matching the description you were given. 

What do I do? 

“Oh I wasn’t meaning to stare,” you hesitantly assured him, trying to awkwardly laugh off the situation. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he finally changed the subject, the new topic being just as stressful as the last. 

“Oh yeah I’m new to town! Just doing an internship so I’m still kind of new to all of this. I’m just out patrolling the area, making sure nothing bad happens. Ya know, the normal hero stuff.” You awkwardly scratched the back of your head, avoiding eye contact as best as you could. In all honesty, you wanted to cut this conversation short and let Bakugou track him to wherever he was planning on going, but your mind had gone blank. You were unable to think of an out so instead, you had to let the conversation carry on until you found an opening. 

“Well I bet people will feel better having such a pretty hero like you around to keep them safe.” Woah woah woah… Did he really just call you pretty? And are you actually blushing right now at his comment?? Get it together Y/N! 

“Eh- haha. I mean I’m just doing my job, just like any other hero.” Please leave. Please go away. Please give me an opening to get out of here.

“I guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you then?” His smile was everything but welcoming. You could see that this man wasn’t someone who found heroes pleasant to begin with. The uneasy feeling you had when you made eye contact the first time started to grow, causing you to internally panic. “Cute wings. Reminds me of another Pro Hero I see flying around here sometimes.”

“Uh… Who?” You asked, trying your best to play dumb. He furrowed his brows, your response coming off more suspicious than before. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m new here and I don’t even know who I work for. I was just sent here as soon as I got there so I haven’t really met anyone.” 

“Huh. Well I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. Especially if you have wings like that,” he said, pointing to your enlarged wings. “He’s a pretty big fan of people who have similar quirks to his.” 

“I’ll definitely have to keep an eye out then. Sounds like we’d get along.” 

“The names Dabi, by the way. And you are?” Did he really just tell you his name? Was the whole ‘play dumb’ act really working? Could this be some kind of message that he wants to send to Hawks since he was the one who mentioned him? 

“You can call me Angel,” you responded, knowing it was better to offer your hero name rather than your real one. You chose the hero name ‘Angel’ because it could be taken as either a hero name or even a birth given name. 

“Angel,” he repeated, barely above a whisper. “Fitting.” You didn’t respond this time, wanting to let the conversation end there which Dabi caught onto. “Well I’ll let you get back to work Angel. I hope I see you again.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing from your view into the crowd of people.

You were quick to make your way around the block so that way you could communicate with Bakugou without having to worry about Dabi overhearing anything if he had happened to still be in ear shot distance. “Angel what happened!? Did you get anything?” 

“I’ll come find you! Just keep tracking him! I’m on my way!” you told Bakugou before lifting off above the city. You were quick to spot Bakugou who was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, keeping a steady pace and decent distance between him and the suspect. Once Bakugou stopped, you took that as a sign to land on the closest building and follow Bakugou’s actions so that way you could keep a low profile since the suspect now knew who you were. You mentally kicked yourself in the butt, knowing that you should’ve just left after he helped you up. 

“What did he say?” Bakugou barked, his vision focused on the cluster of buildings in front of him. 

“Well I got his name.” 

“And?” He looked over at you, his expression completely unreadable. Were you going to get in trouble for making contact? And on the first day too? 

“Dabi.” Bakugou’s face went white, his expression telling you that maybe they knew more about the suspect than they were telling you. “Bakugou, who’s Dabi?” 

“I pinpointed the location. Let’s get back to the agency and report to Hawks what we found.” 

“I’m not taking us anywhere until you tell me who this Dabi guy is!” 

“Suit yourself you dumb bird.” He was quick to blast off, making his way back in the direction of the agency. You were in shock by his sudden outburst, creating quite the distance between you two. What is going on? You were so confused, only being left more in the dark as Bakugou ignored your multiple questions. 

Snap out of it Y/N! Follow him! 

“What- Bakugou!!”

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine Ch 2

Ch 1 here.

Chapter 2: woke up to find that summer gone

Evangeline sat at the dark cherry desk in her bedroom, staring down at the piece of parchment which seemed to be staring right back at her. She had picked up a pen almost half an hour ago and had successfully written one line.

Dear Lys,

“Damn this!” Tossing the pen to the side, she stood and began pacing around the bed. Normally, her letters back to Caraverre were pages and pages of stories, filled with every minute detail and every silly joke that Lysandra and Aedion might enjoy. Tonight, she could barely get her thoughts in order enough to discuss what she’d eaten for dinner two hours ago.

Evangeline knew exactly who to blame for this conundrum. Hollin Havilliard.

Her first two weeks in Rifthold were amazing. Ever the social butterfly and lacking peer friendships back in Terrasen, Evangeline absolutely loved getting to know the other students in her lessons.

“You should come shopping with us next week,” Regina suggested, her smile genuine. As the third eldest daughter of the Callot family, the largest noble support of Adarlan’s fashion industry, Regina would certainly have good taste. “Anya and I are looking for springtime outfits.”

The other girl had jumped in then. “How long will you be staying? My parents always plan a trip to the country house right after the Spring Solstice and I can bring a few friends.”

So yes, Evangeline had no problem making friends. She was downright delightful and ready to try anything, go on any adventure.

Her lessons were equally wonderful. Part of the reason she came to Rifthold was to expand her education, filling in gaps that Darrow had no expertise in, and she enjoyed the challenge immensely.

Point being, she should have plenty to write home about. The shopping trip, the mathematics concept she finally mastered, even the amazing duck stew she tried two nights ago.

Unfortunately, the fond memory of her duck stew faded when she remembered what had immediately followed.

Dear Lys,

I had the most awkward night of my life. I’m relatively confident I’ve made my first enemy and I may never go back to the ballet after this traumatizing experience.

No, she couldn’t possibly send that. Aedion would charge into the palace and demand revenge at the mere thought of anyone disliking Evangeline, if he didn’t laugh himself to death trying to imagine the concept first.

Her popularity aside, she was still in disbelief. Hollin had approached her first, offering to escort her to the royal box at the Rifthold Theater for a travelling dance troupe that evening. Evangeline accepted (delightfully and more than ready for an adventure). She even dug through her closet for the stunning cerulean gown Aelin had gifted for her fourteenth birthday.

And then the prince proceeded to ignore her. All night.

“Who goes two entire hours without speaking one word?” Evangeline grumbled, moving towards her closet to grab a nightgown. The letter could wait until tomorrow. “Why bother inviting me in the first place?”

Whatever. She would be just fine with her new friends, who’s families also owned boxes at the theater.

----

“It’s been two days.” Dorian dropped into the chair next to Hollin. “Two whole days, and I haven’t heard a word from either of you. Quite rude, if you ask me, considering it was my idea to take her to the ballet.”

Hollin kept his eyes on the book in front of him. “Some people think it’s rude to speak in a library. And yet, here we are.”

The king sighed, as if his little brother’s social life was as draining as running a nation. “At least tell me if you enjoyed yourself. Or if you think Eva enjoyed herself.”

“The dancers were talented.” Hollin turned a page. “I can’t speak for someone else’s opinion.”

Dorian huffed. “I meant, did you enjoy spending time with her?”

Hollin shut the book with a bit more force than needed. “Do you have nothing better to do than force me to go on dates with your friends’ wards? I’m working on something here.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a date!” Dorian protested. “Just...Evangeline is so delightful. And friendly. I thought she could, you know, be a friend?” His words trailed off at the end.

He heard the unspoken words. Hollin was not delightful and not friendly. Dorian probably hoped this picture-perfect girl could change him, mold him into a better prince.

“She has friends. And I have work to do.” He looked pointedly at the book strewn across his lap.

Dorian, finally, took the hint. “Fine. Enjoy your suspicious research.” He stood up, fixing his tunic. “I expect to see you at the merchant’s council dinner tomorrow night.”

Hollin waved him off. “See you then.” He’d been searching for some excuse to get out of that event, some way to avoid all the grouchy, greedy men that tried to grab the king’s attention.

Maybe if he fell off a horse, he could avoid politics for a few days.

----

The two months passed quite quickly. Evangeline was expected home in time for Aedion’s birthday celebration, so she took the last day in Rifthold to search for a gift. He might grumble about her spending money on him, letting his annoyance over aging take over his usual good mood, but Eva knew he would secretly cherish something special.

Anya had offered to join her, commandeering her family’s carriage for the trip. The two of them, along with Regina, had become inseparable during Evangeline’s stay.

She had never had friendships that were entirely her own before, outside of her family’s vast and unyielding legacy. Spending the day shopping tasted like freedom and youth.

“Where are we heading first?” Anya asked, shifting her long skirt to make room for Evangeline to sit on the bench next to her. “What does one even buy for the most infamous General in the world?”

So maybe she never could fully escape that legacy. Evangeline chose to ignore the honorific. “Aedion? He can be quite the sentimental type. I was imagining some sort of calendar he could use; one that I’d add drawings and photos and secret notes to. Something useful, but still personalized.”

“Oh, thank the Gods. I was terrified you would drag me to some boring weapons shop.” Anya fanned herself in mock horror. “Minsky’s has the best stationery.”

Once they arrived, Evangeline lost herself in the rows of parchment. She adored the smell of the shop, somewhere between a library and perfumery, thanks to the variety of candles that lined the walls.

She wandered for a while, enjoying the feel of books, journals, scrolls, and other trinkets underneath her fingertips. Anya struck up a conversation with Minsky, the elderly owner who apparently had very strong opinions about what time of day one should light lavender candles.

Evangeline stopped in front of the rack she’d been looking for, eyeing the different color choices. Each calendar looked sturdy and durable, perfect for Aedion’s regular travels, but only a few had carrier cases. She selected the emerald one, to match Lysandra’s eyes.

“Oh that’s lovely!” Anya beamed as Evangeline joined them at the counter. “Very practical.”

Minksy nodded solemnly as they checked the price. “Smart child, finding a way to stay organized.”

“It’s actually a gift,” Evangeline corrected. “Would you have any wrapping supplies?”

They pulled out a few choices of paper, and the girls left the shop with the package securely tucked under Evangeline’s arm.

Anya opened the door of the carriage to let her enter first. “Do we have any other errands - Gods!” Her question was cut off with a curse. “Galen, you scared the life out of me.”

Evangeline found herself face first with Anya’s older brother. He shot her an apologetic look.

“I spotted the carriage and didn’t fancy a walk back to the house,” he explained, musing at his dark locks with one hand. “Any change you two lovely ladies want to go out for lunch?”

“You are unbelievably annoying,” Anya sighed. She moved to sit next to him, glancing at Evangeline. “What do you think? One last meal before you go?”

Galen turned to face her as well. “Leaving so soon?”

Evangeline hadn’t had many interactions with the older boy. Galen had danced with her at one of their parents’ parties, and had teased her a couple times when she joined them for dinner. But all of a sudden, Evangeline found herself wishing for some more time in Rifthold for an entirely new reason.

“I have to return to Caraverre tomorrow,” she informed him. “It’s my....it’s Aedion’s birthday.” Explaining their relationship was difficult enough, and easily avoided since everyone knew exactly who he was.

“Pity,” Galen replied. “But that just means I have to treat you to the best sandwiches Rifthold has to offer before you go.”

Anya groaned. “He always drags us to this tiny little place, when there are plenty of nice restaurants around.”

“A tiny little place sounds perfect,” Evangeline reassured. The carriage jolted forward, carrying them away from the main streets.

An hour later, she wasn’t lying in the slightest when she praised her meal. The sandwiches were really quite good. And the twinkle in Galen’s eyes when she stole one of his chips was even better.

“Oh goodness,” Anya interrupted as they stepped outside into the twilight hour. “I left my pouch at the table. Be right back.” She strode back into the restaurant, leaving Galen and Evangeline alone by the doorway.

Galen leaned against the stone. “Do you have plans to return to Adarlan?”

“Not in the next half-year,” Evangeline admitted. Her thumb rubbed the edge of her pointer finger, a nervous tick despite her calm tone. Was there meaning behind his question? “I’m due to spend two months with one of my mentors in Arran after some time at home.”

“Pity.” He offered her a light smile. She prayed to the former Gods to keep her face from turning pink. “Next time you come around, I’ll have to move faster. Ask you on a date at the beginning of your stay, instead of the end.”

Evangeline couldn’t hold back a wide grin. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

---

Hollin threw himself onto his bed, head spinning a bit from the wine he snuck during dinner. Evangeline was leaving tomorrow, a fact that wouldn’t affect his life much since Dorian had stopped forcing a friendship between them.

Maybe the wine was a mistake. The prince didn’t like alcohol much, knew he was far too young to start drinking, but insomnia had plagued him for weeks now. Hollin tried so many home remedies, from herbal teas to meditation, before attempting to drink himself to sleep that night.

It wasn’t working.

He still couldn’t force his mind to relax. Ideas for new experiments and inventions swirled around, mixed with memories of his most recent failures that stabbed him with self-doubt. Then came the childhood memories, the horror of being raised by the devil without noticing and the shame of past cruelties keeping him far from relaxation.

Hollin groaned into his pillow. He wanted someone to talk to. It was such a simple solution, one that most people would find easy. Dorian had even hired a specialist, a healer who worked with minds as well as bodies, for palace staff who needed help after a traumatizing war. Hollin had paced by their office more times than he could count, never entering.

Somehow, he fell asleep before sunrise. A sharp knock at the door yanked him out of restless dreams.

“Hollin?” He recognized Herina’s voice, one of his personal servants who was years past using formalities. Changing a baby's diaper gave one that privilege. “I have your schedule for the day.”

Hollin stood up, blindly feeling for the robe hanging next to his dresser. “Come in, thank you.”

She pushed the door open, pulling a cart of food behind her. “I didn’t see you eat nearly enough at dinner last night, certainly not enough to be stealing drinks of wine like you did.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it quickly. “I - thank you,” he said again, too tired to form a better sentence.

Herina left the cart by the entrance and walked further into the chamber. “You have a couple lessons scheduled, one before lunch and one in the evening. Light day.”

“Not too terrible.” Hollin took the parchment from her. “Herina..” He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Could you - do you know how to add things to my schedule?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course. What grabbed your interest?”

He pushed past his discomfort at the idea. If he didn’t sleep well after, that would be the end of it. “Training. Physical, that is. I’d like to learn how to fight.”

Herina eyed him warily, no doubt taking in the lanky and awkward features that haunted most fourteen year old boys. “You know the king would never expect you to fight. He knows that isn’t where your interests lie.”

“I know.” Gods, he was blushing now. “It’s for myself, just a new hobby.”

Thankfully she moved on. “Well, alright then. Don’t be late today.”

With a final meaningful look at the breakfast, she left. Hollin thought about ignoring the food and falling immediately back to sleep, but his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. He would need the calories if he planned to actually follow through with his new training idea.

If getting knocked on his ass for two hours a day didn’t help him fall asleep, then nothing would,

[midsummerevening]

Alright so I thought I’ll share some of my thoughts on certain scenes of Love, Victor. As I said in a previous post, I don’t think Victor was ever attracted to Mia. He might have thought so, but he never was. To me, Victor was never meant to be bi. He’s gay but was in denial and did not want to accept that part of himself yet. That’s a hot take, I know that some people won’t agree and may criticize the series for its bi-erasure or even for being misleading with their trailer + the series in general. This comes from a girl who is bi herself so I understand why you may feel this way. You may or may not agree with me, and that’s okay. Feel free to add anything if you want to!

Okay. I thought I’ll do this episode by episode. At first I wanted to do it in one single post then it turned out that even in the first episode there was plenty to say so (warning: it’s pretty long)… off we go!

Episode 1: Welcome to Creekwood

Starting with the beginning. What struck me (besides the whole intro where Victor basically lashes out at Simon for having it easy), was a line said by Pilar. “if you had a girlfriend, you would understand” right there. See that face Victor’s making? It felt familiar to me, as it may too to other people. People including family assume you’re straight.

Pilar assumed Victor would have a girlfriend. There’s no wrong in assuming, but Victor probably feels like he can’t be anything but straight. Being gay isn’t presented as a “possibility” and it means he would have to come out, and that’s a lot harder. Especially knowing where Victor comes from. Texas, yes.

I found the little flashbacks scenes very revealing on his character and why he would deny who he is, and what is his sexuality. In Texas, there was “no place to be different” so Victor, to be accepted and included, fitted in. And I don’t think I’m reaching if I say that this has built up his internalized homophobia throughout the years. It’s no wonder he wouldn’t want to be gay when all he saw or heard was negative. His own father was mocking that man in the church, assuming he was gay because of his behaviour (and maybe he is). My point is, the vision that Victor always had of gay people is limited, and only draw criticism and judgement.

Victor is so afraid of not fitting in that he would rather stay in the closet, push down those thoughts than admit it, and assume who he really is.

When he arrives to Creekwood, meeting Mrs Albright made him realize he could finally be himself. Who he knew he was but never “dare” to be. When he learns about Simon’s story, he looks so relieved. If you look closely you can even see that he releases the tension he had at first. He had so much expectations about coming to a new school. New life, new me? Right. And then Mrs Albright made his dreams come true.

But even with that, Victor’s still afraid, which is understandable. And he falls for the safety net saying there’s no girl back at home and confirming the assumptions that he’s straight.

Now Felix has been the most accepting and the most wonderful best friend Victor could have had. I love his character a whole lot! There was just this sentence that did not sit well with me. I don’t think Felix ever meant any harm by saying it. I think though, it did not help Victor to embrace who he is.

First Felix assumes Victor has a crush on Mia after he talked to her for five minutes. Okay, why wouldn’t he right? He doesn’t know anything much about Victor yet, and as I said, there’s nothing wrong about assumptions. However it is hurtful to Victor, as again, gay isn’t presented as a possibility for him.

Focus on Victor’s reactions which, to me, are pretty telling on what he thinks about what Felix is assuming to be a growing crush on Mia:

“you’re blushing too – no I’m not”    

“you’re falling in love!”

Then what’s striking is the first scene with Benji. Do I really need on expand on that? When he appears, everything disappears. The sound fades. Victor has only eyes for him. If you were taking the music out I’m certain you would hear his heart beating sO fast. It simply looks like Benji took Victor breath away. His first scene is faaaaar different from the first scene with Mia. That speaks volume to me. This scene reflects on what attraction looks like. I could even say love-at-first-sight, because honestly, I’m pretty sure Victor fell for him the second he saw him, but that’s for another conversation.

Though I think Victor have chemistry with both of them, the way he looks at Benji is different.

Back to Felix. You may have noticed what he said after that marvellous scene. “Benji’s chill. Also, he’s gay. Just so you know.” When he says this, Victor appears so frightened of what Felix might say next. You can see that a million thoughts are already spiralling in his head. Then when Felix proves to be accepting/supportive, Victor relaxes a bit but for a short while as Felix continues by saying, probably unconsciously and without knowing what effect it will have on Victor: “You don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” You can tell Victor is affected by it, but tries to save face, and then his smile falters shortly after Felix goes away.

This, combined with the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to say he is figuring things out to Mia and Lake, crushes his dreams of coming out, whatever he may have thought after Mrs Albright’s speech is gone. And it continues to weigh on him during the whole fricking day. In the locker room for instance, where again, being gay seems to be the object of mockery. Or when outside, later on, as Benji reaches out for his hand to help out, there’s that stupid guy who shouts “get it new kid!” which, of course, panics Victor and pushes him to go far away from Benji. He fears he may be associated to him, I guess, and doesn’t want people to label him as gay as gay is apparently not really accepted here.

The scene with Isabel is interesting as well as it entails that Victor’s family especially her mother relies a lot on him, so coming out would break that stability (or apparent stability, as it will break sooner than expected) and Victor, as the fixer of the family, doesn’t want that. Instead, he’s holding back on his true self. “Pretending is exhausting.” That’s the key line here. Victor knows damn well what it means to pretend. But to protect his family from exploding, because he is “the strong one” he would rather continue doing so, even if that crushes him deep down, and gives him so much pressure. Sooner or later that pressure will make him crumble.

All that culminates in him choosing Mia over Benji at the Winter Carnival: as hurtful as it may sound, it’s easier to try to be with her than to be with Benji or any boy for that matter. As much as being straight is a lot easier than being gay. He won’t face hatred or judgement if he dates her, however if he dated a guy, that’d be another story. It is therefore no surprise, seeing where he comes from, and seeing that first (eventful) day at school, that Victor would go for this possibility. Why, he wouldn’t want to accept that part of himself yet. He would rather stay in denial than face the possible consequences of being who he truly is. From his family, his friends and people at his school.

(If you made it until the end, I thank you a lot. Didn’t think I had sm to say just for one episode but here we are.)

[starker-stories]

Iron Man

Also on AO3

Another of the moodboards by @starker-sorbet​ inspired this one. Whenever I'm looking for a bit of inspiration, that's where I go. There are moodboards there that just talk to me. Amazing work. The best moodboards in the fandom.

Click on the link to go see the pretty pictures :) Young, rich & promising app developer!Peter x ex hacker and now struggling homeless middle aged!Tony for anon. Peter takes pity on the man and gets him in his house to shelter him on rainy/snowy night.

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Hacking, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Homeless Tony Stark, Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Pre-Slash, Ex-Con Tony Stark, Rich Successful Peter Parker

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

The man didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t have a sign or a cup or his hat off and upside down on the ground in front of him. He was just leaning against the wall of a little delivery drive between stores near Grand Central. Something about his look, maybe the amount of snow he had on his cap, said he’d been standing there for awhile. He was wearing an old, frayed woolen top coat. The sort worn over a suit. Beneath it only a ratty t-shirt and baggy jeans. None of which would keep the man warm enough. Not when it was already in the teens and going to drop below zero that night.

Peter took a twenty out of his wallet and put it back. He folded the bill so it could be passed discreetly, but had the value showing. He didn’t want any other homeless people to see how much money the man had. Peter had read that thievery and violence was endemic to that class. He stopped just before he got to the man, standing off to the side of him, not directly in front, not threatening.

“For whatever, dude,” he said, holding out his hand as if to be shaken, but with the bill showing. The man shook his hand and nodded his thanks. “You need to get to a shelter. The city’s opening warming centers.”

The man scoffed. “It’s safer out here.” He started to walk away. “Thanks for the donation,” he said with another nod.

“How much to get an SRO for the night?” Peter asked, falling in to walk beside the man.

“Only by the week and only if there’s room and only if you have about a hundred.”

“The money’s not a problem…”

The man muttered, interrupting, “Wouldn’t think so.”

Peter passed it off. He was exceptionally well dressed. A coat like the man himself wore, only not frayed and this season’s style. Beneath it a suit. He’d been heading back to his hotel after a meeting, or else he’d be dressed down, Silicon Valley style.

“Okay, then let’s solve the other problem.” Peter always thought in terms of problem solving. Breaking a matter down into segments, creating an algorithm to work towards a solution. “Availability. How do we do that?”

The man shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Got a real California boy genius problem solver here. We walk, rich kid, we walk. Spoil those Louboutin’s with the salt and slush.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “How do you know I’m from California. I don’t tan.” The man smirked and kept on walking. There was something familiar about the expression.

Against his better judgement, Peter kept walking beside the man, even as he led him down a winding path, the blocks getting progressively worse in appearance. It was a very long walk. “What’s your story?” he asked just to fill the silence.

“Want me to sing for my supper? Don’t think so.”

“You weren’t panhandling.”

“Not there. Too close to the terminal. They move you on immediately if you put your hand out. Holding up a wall? You can get away with that for a bit.”

“Why waste your time there, then?”

The man shrugged his head to the side and spread his arms a little, hands upturned. Again, Peter was struck with an odd familiarity in the gesture. He watched the man move, falling a step behind to see his walk. Unlike most homeless, there was no slouch, no shuffle. He walked upright, steadily forward, with surprisingly confident, hurried steps.

The man gave a little chuckle and fell back to walking beside, not ahead, of Peter, but didn’t change his gait. “My time to waste,” he said. They walked silently for another block. “How was the 7 line to Queens today? Riding for old times’ sake instead of taking an Uber?”

Peter reached out and took the man’s sleeve, stopping their progress. “Do you know me?”

“Peter Parker. ParkerSoft.” The man brushed Peter’s hand off his sleeve and kept walking. “Another block. They usually have rooms.”

Peter stopped them again. “Do I know you?”

The man smirked again. “Nope.” He started walking again. “‘I don’t associate with Star Wars twerps and noobs’,” he said, giving Peter the same line he’d sent when the kid was a ten year old exploring corners of the web he didn’t belong in.

That time Peter grabbed the man’s arm, turned him away from the street and pushed him against the wall. “Holy fuck, you’re Iron Man!”

The man snorted. “WAS Iron Man. Now? Just being near that particular brand of phone,” he nodded towards Peter’s pocket, “is a violation of my supervised release.”

“Shit. I remember reading about your trial. Iron Man is Tony Stark.” The pieces were all falling together. The place where the man was leaning had a good view of Osborn Tower, formerly Stark Tower. And the phone in Peter’s pocket was made by Stark Industries.

“That, I still am, for all the name’s worth.”

“It’s still worth something.”

Tony laughed. “The board locked me out. And even if they hadn’t? Try running my business without going near a computer. Tony Stark’s as dead as Iron Man. You getting me this room or what?”

“Come back to the Langham with me,” Peter said excitedly.

He shook his head. “I mean it, kid. I’m not going back to prison so you can tap my brain and get me to do some work for you,” Tony said.

“I thought if you got caught at your level of hacking, the FBI or the NSA offered you a job.”

Tony laughed uproariously. “Still a noob. You believe that shit? The only thing they offer you is a six by eight room for fifteen years. And not at some country club estate.”

The problem solving wheels were spinning in Peter’s head. “Okay. Room first.” Peter grabbed Tony’s hand in his and headed into the SRO’s lobby. He paid for a month.

“Lose your bag, kid,” Tony said before they left the desk. “You’ve got my phone, you’ve probably got the tablet and I know you’ve got the laptop with the severely dumbed down version of JARVIS in there. He, I most definitely am not allowed near.” Tony smirked again. “’Course neither is anyone else.”

Peter put his phone in his messenger bag, and with a couple hundred incentive, left it with the desk clerk, hoping it would still be there. If it wasn’t and someone tried to access any of his electronics without his biometrics, everything would erase and the batteries would overheat, literally frying everything inside. He followed Tony up the stairs to his newly rented room. He plopped himself into the one chair in it.

Tony sat on the end of the sagging double bed. “So… TANSTAAFL. What do you want from me for the room?”

“I don’t want anything.”

Tony snorted. “If you didn’t want anything, you’d’ve upped that twenty to a hundred and walked on to your next meeting.”

Peter fell silent. “I want to test the limits of your cage. See what I can do to get them expanded.”

He chuckled harshly. “Easy for you to say from where you’re sitting. Before I lost it all, I threw everything I had at this problem. I had the best lawyers. Paid politicians at the highest level in my pocket. I was too damn high-profile for them to do anything. All the favors suddenly dried up because everyone knew I’d be in prison and be unable to make good on any deal. I’m worthless, Parker. This is it.” Tony spread his hands expansively, taking in the small room. “The limits of my cage, as you put it. It’s bigger than six by eight. And I can walk out that door whenever I want. After fifteen years, I count myself ahead.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I have nine more years of my ten supervised release to do. I am not spending that time back in prison. The limits of this cage don't get tested.”

“I thought you completed your sentence; you were free.”

“Fuckin’…” Tony shook his head. “Yeah, I got sentenced to fifteen, served fifteen. I got caught in defense systems. Federal time. No parole in that system. And after? They can do whatever the fuck they want to you. God, you’re naive, Parker.”

“Okay. So there’s no getting around the electronics restriction…”

“Nope.”

“Do you need access to code?”

“You are a piece of work,” he said shaking his head. “I am not coding for ParkerSoft. You can’t afford me,” Tony said, arrogantly.

Peter shrugged and looked around the room.

“Bye, Parker,” Tony said, standing up and heading for the door. “Better hope they never catch the Spider. Or I’ll be sharing a street corner with you.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “How did you…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Tony turned and leaned his back against the door. “You were ten when I met you in the warez channels. And as you got older, you went everywhere bragging about every system you walked around in. You wrote lazy, distinctive code — still do. Anyone who looks at your old code and compares it to the shitty apps your company puts out would catch you in a minute.” “You don’t get it. I didn’t get it. How… ephemeral… this all is.” He crossed his left arm low across his body, holding his wrist.

“There’s nothing solid in the world, no matter how much we pretend there is. There are a million ways for you to end up like me, even if you never get caught. ParkerSoft has employees living in their cars, and you won’t even let them stay safely in your parking lots much less pay them a living wage for the area. Stark had them too. Living in places like this because the cost of living in New York is mad. At our lowest level, we had people taking sponge baths in McDonalds and sleeping wherever they could.

“I had no idea. Even if I did, I would’ve thought it was their own fault for lacking ambition or skill. You need to get it through your head. This is it for me. Maybe in nine years, if I live that long, I can manage to build a little something again to carry me through my sixties. Probably not.” He sniffed, scrunching his face.

“Then why not work for me?”

“Because, kid, I don’t trust you. You are going to brag about having Iron Man or Tony Stark writing your code. You can’t shut your fuckin’ mouth. I’m too big a get for you to just sit on that information.

“Second, not only can’t you pay me what I’m worth, you can’t pay me at all. I can’t have income without a job. I can’t get a job. Getting this place? I can say I got lucky panhandling. More than that?” Tony shook his head. “Not risking it.”

“C’mon, Tony. It’s a system. It can be gamed,” Peter said, enthusiastically. “You and me? Best in the business.”

Tony snorted at the kid putting himself in his category.

“Don’t judge me by my apps. That’s money.”

“What else do you have to judge you by? Certainly not your hacking skills.”

“I do games…”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Everybody does games. Thrill me.”

“Security.”

“Walk me through it.”

Peter explained the companies that he personally provided security for and how he did it. Tony grudgingly gave him a side nod. He went back to sit on the bed. “Interesting, but, eh… not exactly…”

“I’ve reverse engineered JARVIS,” Peter spluttered out.

“The OS on your computer may have his name but…”

“Not the OS. That was just the starting place.”

“Impossible.”

“Okay. I haven’t done it completely…”

“No shit.”

“But I’ve gotten farther than anyone. JARVIS is the big get our world right now. Has been since you went away. No one else has gotten past the OS.”

“But you have,” Tony said skeptically.

“I have his visual manipulation systems. The true natural language, not the crappy OS version.”

“Personality?”

Peter shook his head. “None of his personality or on-the-fly problem solving. Not…”

“So none of what makes JARVIS, JARVIS. Just a slightly more advanced OS that you’ll never be able to use because Stark still owns the rights to him even if they can’t get to him.”

“I’m looking to put together a buyout of Stark. Not just their computer division. The works.”

“You don’t have the resources, kid.”

“It’s not worth what it used to be.”

“I know exactly what my company is worth. Without me, it’s been rushing for the bottom. Pepper can’t salvage it, even though she’s good.

“Exactly. A decent offer, the board wouldn’t turn it down. They’re looking to cash out while what’s left is still worth something. A little manipulation…”

“You’ll get caught.”

“No I won’t.”

“Not gonna argue with you. You still don’t have the resources to buy Stark, even at a bargain.”

“When I turned twenty-one five years ago, I inherited my parents’ estate. Including my father’s chemical patents.”

“Okay,” Tony said, nodding once. Richard Parker had done some groundbreaking research. Stark had tried to hire him and failed. “But none of what you say, none of your ‘gaming the system’ gets me out of my situation. You can’t ‘game’ your way out of supervised release.”

“Your connections, give them to me.”

“Wow. You’ve got balls, kid. Anything else of mine you want in exchange for a three fifty a month room?”

“Yeah.”

Tony snorted. “Go on. Tell me. You want me to code. You want JARVIS. You want my connections. What else?”

Peter stood up and walked closer to Tony. “I want you to put me on this bed and fuck me brainless.”

Tony threw his head back and laughed. He looked up at Peter, ran his gaze up and down him, then laughed some more.

“What!” Peter said, offended at the apparent rejection.

“I’m far more than twice your age. I look like shit. I haven’t had a shower in a year. I’m fifteen kinds of filthy. And you want me to fuck you. What the hell kinda kink you got, kid?”

“You are still as fuckin’ gorgeous as ever. And brilliant. But I can’t fuck your brain. There’s showers down the hall, the guy said.” Peter took off his overcoat. “I’ll wait.”

“And you get to fuck your sexual-awakening crush. Bet you had pictures of my Iron Man icon on your wall along with the Death Star.”

“Nah, but I did have Tony Stark’s Rolling Stone cover,” Peter said, grinning.

“Shit. You always this direct?” Tony a.

Peter shrugged. “In business or fucking, it gets me what I want or gets me out quickly. You’d know. I took the play from your autobiography.”

“Kid, you’re killin’ me,” Tony said with another shake of his head. “Fuckin’ fanboy since you were ten. Why the hell should I put you in this bed?”

“I’d imagine you haven’t had any for awhile,” Peter said slyly.

“I’ve always liked them young and pretty and I’ve stayed in shape. This past year, not so much. Before? Plenty.”

That took Peter aback.

“Christ, Parker, I never raped anybody,” Tony said, seeing Peter’s reaction. “Stop watching bad movies.”

“Well?”

“I am not fucking you.”

“Okay.” Peter said down on the bed, next to Tony. “Can I take you to dinner?”

“You get nothing for it.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Tony looked at him skeptically.

“I’d just like to get to know you,” Peter said.

“Still a fanboy.”

“A little, maybe, but I’m a bit old to be just that. You’re hot and I’d like it if you fucked me. You’re brilliant and I’d like to get to know you.”

“Gonna take me on a date, kid?”

Peter smiled. “Maybe.”

“The clothes will still reek, but I’ll take a shower.” Tony smiled. “You figure out the best place that will let someone dressed like me into it. I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

“Unh unh. You’ll let me take you on a date.”

Tony laughed genuinely. “Okay Pete, I’ll let you take me on a date.”

[dragonnan]

fanfic tag game

I was tagged by @disappearinginq​- these are the absolute best fun!

Questions:

Ao3 Name: dragonnan (same as everywhere: Psychfic, FFN, etc)

Fandoms: *cracks knuckles* You want, like, ALL of them?? Welp I’m obsessively listy so here we go:

Currently writing fic for: 

Sherlock

MCU

Psych

In the recent past wrote fic for (and may again as there are WIPs remaining):

SPN

HTTYD

Simon & Simon (as part of a crossover)

Lucifer

Wrote fics years ago but probably won’t write more:

Monk

Star Trek Voyager

Big O (as part of a crossover)

Wrote 1 or 2 fics but probably won’t write more:

Cowboy Bebop

Inuyasha

Lethal Weapon

Invisible Man (2001)

X Files

Quantum Leap

Fullmetal Alchemist

Haven’t published any fics yet but have (or had) ideas:

Doctor Who (specifically 10 and 11)

Burn Notice

Psych

Beauty and the Beast (1980′s series)

Moonlight

In Plain Sight

Star Wars

Haven’t had ideas but I love the fandom and may someday write fic:

Prodigal Son

Star Trek (TNG primarily)

MacGyver (1980′s)

Number of fics: Ummm.... It’s a little hard actually to parse that as some of my stories are posted as larger collections so let’s see what I can do...

Psych: 168 (give or take)

Sherlock: 8

MCU: 19

Other: 29

Total: 224

1. Fic you spent the most time on:  Can I even remember anymore?  I suppose Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth (Psych) which I think took me over 5 years to complete.  However, I wasn’t straight writing that entire time so not certain if it specifically qualifies?  Another contender is The Tiger and the Shark (Sherlock) which I posted pretty consistently and took about 2 years.    

2. Fic you spent the least time on:  I’m not counting those 100 word challenge fics cause, please.  I think the least amount of time I spent on truly legit stories would be one of these possibilities (cause fuck if I know for sure): Wibble Wobble Wibble Wobble To and Fro (Psych), A Good Heart (Psych), Making the Cut With a Squeeze of Lemon (Psych) 

3. Longest Fic: Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth (Psych) 104,522

4. Shortest Fic:  Promises to the Dead (again, not counting 100 word challenge fics), This Week on Psychfic - 280 words

5. Most hits: Just Pieces; Passion, Pain, & Parody (Psych fic collection.  Does that count?)

6. Most kudos: All Nighter (Psych)

7. Most comment threads/ reviews: Standing from Falling (Psych) 352 Reviews

8. Fave Fic you wrote: Ooohh screw this question!  Staawwwp!!! I can’t just pick A favorite but I gueeeesss I could narrow it to a few which out of over 200 damn stories you should be grateful I can narrow it down that much (of COURSE I love my own writing - that’s why I do it!).  I’ll also only include completed works: Psych - Suffer the Night, I Would Do Anything for Love; Even That, You Give Me Fever MCU - Just Another Day in New York, Did You Make it to the Milky Way to See the Lights all Faded, Simple Math Sherlock: The Tiger and the Shark, A Russian, Two Spies, and an Elephant

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:   The Tiger and the Shark (expand) Fury (Psych) - rewrite

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:  How about both?

Untitled Iron Dad and Spider Son fic:

It started with sand.  Benign. Sorta... tan...  Fucking sand and yet there he was, trembling like he'd just spent the last two hours in subzero temps wearing nothing more than a speedo and a grin.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony gulped; curling his toes before looking up at the young man across from him... who was wearing an expression that mirrored the anxiety thumping in Tony's chest. "Hey... you okay, Kid?"

Peter shrugged - his long fingers clenching and stretching.  "Y-yeah.  Sure!  I mean..." he swallowed, "not like anything bad happens at the beach, right?"

Tony tapped his teeth around his lower lip.  "It's just sand..." Not like sand ever hurt anyone...

Why were they there again?  Oh right; facing demons.  Because that shit never backfired.

The ocean was calm that afternoon. Behind them the sounds of the pier carried with shrill laughter and the cacophony of vendors, shrieking children, and seagulls.  Lots of seagulls - drawn to the scent of funnel cakes and french fries dominating the blend of scents that normally drew Tony, as well, but currently just twisted the pool of nausea threatening his pride.

Peter drew his focus back with a sharply drawn breath.  Then another.  Wind flicked the curls that had been pasted to his forehead with sweat.  Tony pushing his feet through the hot sand - too hot - a decade later and he still couldn't stand the feel of hot grains...  until he stood alongside the kid. Not looking away from the reflection of sunlight on water he nudged his elbow against Peter's arm.  "Not so bad during the day, yeah?"

Peter blinked rapidly - making something like a smile.  "No, yeah... way better." he nodded - looking about as convinced as Pepper would be at the prospect of birthing octuplets.

Tony pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.  The most expensive shades on the planet and he still hadn't managed to stop them slipping down when he sweated.  He cupped his left elbow in his right hand and watched the para-sailors and jet skiis and swimmers splashing in the low waves.  No surfers; not that day.

He wouldn't have been there if not for Pete.  Kid's idea.  Apparently therapy was the new heroin.  Better come down, he supposed.  Even at that he'd tried for distraction, first.  Tony was nothing if not the Grand Master of distractibility. Offered everything from a road trip along the East Coast to helping the kid build a personal bot (who was he kidding, he planned both as a graduation present).  And, yet, here there were.  Revisiting trauma because what better way to spend a Saturday?

Story Idea - Doctor Who/ Doctor Strange crossover:

Plot: Stephen encounters a woman in a parallel world – a world protected, not by a Sorcerer Supreme, but by a man known only as “The Doctor”.  He soon finds out that this Doctor is unique among the worlds he's explored.  For all he has seen - all the beings he’s encountered, he has never met a woman with such energy coiled within the depth of her brain as the ordinary, redheaded woman he bumps into walking through a parallel London.  In fact, so powerful are the forces within her that he is immediately struck with a chaos of discordant images – of giant wasps and singing squid-like beings and screeching salt shakers and before he can even begin to understand it a face – eyes furious and dark – glaring from a raging fire. “GET OUT!  THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING! GET OUT, NOW, WHILE YOU STILL HAVE A CHANCE!”

Stephen figures out that Donna is slowly being consumed by the Time Lord energies locked inside her. The Doctor may have barred her memory but it still seeps through – with each exposure weakening the walls even more.  Eventually, it will consume her.    

This is not something he can fix alone, however.  He will need to track down the man who first created those mental blocks and left Donna behind to slowly go insane.  The Doctor.

Tagged: @sgam76 @silentsaebyeok @kitcat992 @mizjoely @villaniouslyawesome @itsjustdg @hanuko @jennberry1984

[funny-mlb-screenshots]

My Favorite ML Fics (With links and descriptions)

One Thing After Another - Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Back to Us - After a reveal so shocking it rocks the core of Paris itself, the villain Hawk Moth is finally defeated...at a great personal cost to heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir. With the city safe, they go their separate ways, returning to the lives they were forced to put on hold since receiving their Miraculous.

Now, seven years later, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is on the rise, studying at the fashion college of her dreams by day, working at her dream internship by afternoon...and occasionally moonlighting as Ladybug by night. This routine is set so firmly in place that, once it's shattered by an old-yet-new enemy, and the reappearances of a cold friend and a hot partner, the whiplash threatens to send Marinette spiraling down into chaos.

As Ladybug, she can do anything...but soon those limits will be tested, whether she is in or out of the costume

Truthful Scars - Adrien Agreste has never been an expert in controlling his emotions. When feelings for his classmate in pigtails begin to arise, he can't stop himself from seeing her any chance he gets—even when wearing a pair of cat ears and a black tail. Although his affections are strong and true, he doesn't exactly know how to deal with them, especially under the watchful eye of his father.

After all, what's a boy to do when he accidentally finds out that the girl he's got a crush on returns his feelings?

 [Obsession - Miraculous has unintended side effects. A chance encounter leaves Chat Noir in Marinette's magic hands. Scritch and scratch, this kitty has needs. MariChat.

Glaze - He watched her fade, right before his eyes, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Quiver - Spring in Paris, a time for flowers and love, for fashion and passion. But heated blood can lead to dangerous decisions and Adrien’s about to discover how hard things can be. Hawk Moth is on the horizon. COMPLETE]

Smoulder - Marinette traced her fingers down the smooth lines of the magazine, a blush creeping to her face. It wasn’t just his toned, muscular body that set her aflame, although that was certainly a bonus. It was his eyes. The way his body appeared, languid like a summers day. His body said relax but his eyes said devour. From the pages of the advertisement, Adrien smouldered in a way that he’d never done during any of his other numerous photographs, and yet she was struck with a familiarity that made her skin tingle, made her swallow with sudden and surprising nervousness. She was sure she’d seen that expression somewhere before. A pair of green eyes looking at her like that, with an unknown question in his hungry gaze. She’d seen that smoulder before.

In which Adrien loses a bet and becomes an underwear model, Marinette loses her mind, and the whole fiasco starts a fire which might lead to the pair discovering their identities.

Telltale -  It all starts with a simple injury, but slowly Ladybug begins to really see who Chat Noir is, and Adrien begins to see Marinette…

Pick-Up and Chase - After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just desserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans. A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it

Won’t Tell a Soul - Nino accidentally runs head long into the biggest most stressful secret he can imagine, but now that he knows the truth about Marinette he is determined to help her in any way he can.

Serendipitous Fate Adrien is excited to reveal his true identity, while Marinette is terrified. But Master Fu says they can't afford to be distant any longer. Chat Noir and Ladybug are meant to work in tandem both in and out of uniform, their strength stemming from the bond created between them. Yet, teenagers are sometimes better at dancing blind than running with wide open eyes, even with the steps laid out before them.

Steps in the path of an expanding world. Apart, they'll flounder. But together, they might just stand a chance.

Anywhere, I wouldve followed you - Indygodusk "Just because you care for something, doesn't mean you get to keep it."

Lately, Marinette's luck has been failing her. No one's guessed her secret identity yet, but after Hawk Moth escalates his attacks, she decides it's time to finally tell Chat Noir. Unfortunately, it's not that easy. To make things worse, her home life is falling apart, college is looming, and she can't keep a boyfriend. Secretly, Marinette's not sure she even wants to be Ladybug anymore.

Adrien's life isn't faring much better, especially after dark secrets about his mother come to light.

Then the unthinkable happens. Afterwards, both Adrien and Marinette have to make their own luck. In the process, they defeat the bad guy and make their dreams come true (even if those dreams weren't what they thought they'd be).

Sting - When Chat Noir inexplicably disappears, leaving Ladybug bee-hind to face Papillon on her own, a new wielder is chosen to keep the akuma from swarming. Ladybug is adamant she doesn’t want another partner buzzing around and why is this new-bee flirting with her?

Meanwhile, Adrien just wishes Ladybug would stop bugging out and listen to him because his bee puns are fuzz-tastic.

The repercussions of the bee are farther reaching than anyone realised.

The Parts of You - “I just…” Her hands migrated from covering her face to clutching her hair. Her ears matched her suit but her eyes were glowing with — what was that? Love? Admiration? His chest tightened. “I can’t talk to him! I always get tongue-tied, or say something stupid, or trip over my own feet. It’s so embarrassing! I mean, I’ve gotten better since we first met, like, we’re actually kind of friends now, but it’s kind of a big leap to go from ‘I can sort of string more than two words together in front of you,’ to ‘Please date me, I love you,’ you know?” His breath hitched at the word “love,” but Ladybug didn’t seem to notice. “Plus, it’s not like we’re super-close or anything. I mean,” she tittered nervously, “we’ve known each other for years, but it’s not like talking to you.”

If words could have killed him he would have been in his grave.

In which Identity Shenanigans™ make everyone's life way harder than it has to be.

Breeze - Marinette sobbed into her hands as she recalled Chloé’s hurtful words, each and every one of them.

“You’re nothing! You’re not even worth yourself, much less your so-called friends! Don’t you see they just hang out with you because they pity you?! You’re worth the dirt under my feet, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you have no right to speak to me like that, you pathetic little brat. You don’t even have the right to speak to anyone! Just keep your stupid thoughts and ideas to yourself because nobody wants to hear them!”

After a big fight with Chloé, Marinette finds herself sobbing on her bed. The words hit her deep down. And before she knows it a dark Akuma comes fluttering in, ready to introduce her to Hawkmoth…

Technical Difficulties - “Man,” Nino groans, accepting defeat at last, as he gives the golden elevator doors a vicious, vengeful kick. Just like that, he remembers his present company.

Nino turns chagrined eyes to Ladybug.

“Er. Sorry… Probably shouldn’t take it out on the doors?”

Ladybug doesn’t seem to hear him. She is staring hard at the security camera located in the corner. He’s never seen her so quiet… not that he’s seen much of her, that is. Definitely not this close.

Damn, he can’t help but think. What Adrien wouldn’t give to be here right now.

“I’m sure they’ll fix it soon,” Nino offers tentatively, because it seems like something Adrien might say. Or Ladybug, probably, if she weren’t so distracted.

“They will,” she acknowledges, but her eyes are still pretty far away. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What?“

Ladybug straightens. She makes a decision; it does really pretty things to her eyes, so Nino doesn’t hear her at first, when she asks him for his hat.

— In which Ladybug gets trapped in an elevator with... Nino. { LoveSquare, brotp!MariNino, all-around-friendship!fic } Prompt:Trapped in an Elevator.

 Curiosity and Satisfaction - When Adrien agreed to this line of work, he thought all his focus would be on the job of catching the elusive Lady Luck. It never crossed his mind that someone else would catch his attention.

 Turn Loose the Mermaids - Marinette should have dragged him under the water in and feast on his body when she had the chance. Maybe then she wouldn't have been his prisoner. Blasted pirate.

That awkward moment when… - “Marinette wasn’t an idiot. As many precautions as she insisted they take, she knew she and Chat Noir were both going to find out sooner or later. Of course, Marinette assumed that the way they’d found out wasn’t by running right smack into each other and detransforming in front of the other. So of course, in a typical calm and rational manner, they pointed to each other and screamed.”

Because, nine times out of ten, letting the cat out of the bag just ends up being very, very awkward.

Tandem - Two students get carried away in a friendly game of dodge ball.... and two other students get very suspicious

Best Frenemies - Marinette Dupain-Cheng leads a double life. It’s often difficult, but it’s the only way to protect the people she cares about. But when her rival, Chloé Bourgeois, discovers her most closely guarded secret, she finds the two separate aspects of her identity blending together… but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It can be nice sharing the journey with someone even if it's the last person she ever expected to trust with her secrets.

Chloé Bourgeois leads a double life. It’s often difficult, but it’s the only way to protect the people she cares about. But when her rival, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, discovers her most closely guarded secret, she finds the two separate aspects of her identity blending together… but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It can be nice sharing the journey with someone even if it's the last person she ever expected to trust with her secrets.

The Date - They had a simple deal: one date. Chat had one date to sweep Ladybug off her feet. If she still didn’t like him in that way at the end of the day, he’d give up his attempts altogether. Ladybug took the deal, knowing that her heart belonged to another.

But we know them too well.

Wherever I Go - Marinette accidentally gives her class the impression that she has a crush on Chat Noir.

Adrien decides it's time to get over Ladybug.

Ne Me Quitte Pas - “This is my umbrella,” Adrien told him, as though he didn't quite believe it and the words would bring some sense to it.

“Even I could have told you that,” the kwami said with a shrug, his focus returning to his meal.

“Why did she keep my umbrella?” he asked, only half-directing the question at Plagg.

The kwami, however, chose to answer anyway. “Well, she is your friend, isn't she?” he asked as he finally gave in and stuffed the cheese in his mouth. He swallowed, closing his eyes in satisfaction. “What's so weird about it?”

Bring Me Home - Everybody deals differently with the consequences of Hawkmoth's defeat.

The day after, Ladybug eagerly awaits her silly kitty, finally ready to hand him her heart and start a new chapter of their story with him. He never shows up.

The day after, Adrien Agreste shuts the whole world out, ashamed of his father's action, while Marinette grows more and more exhausted and depressed as the years go by.

Five years later, can anything really be salvaged out of the remnants of their relationship?

Kitten Therapy - After scoring the highest points in a stress level test at school Marinette and Adrien have to take 'recreational hours' in order to prevent being akumatized. It seems like a long awaited break for them until Ayla hacks into CCTV and discovers …?

Mostly fluff. Especially the kittens.

Eperdument - All the pieces are starting to fit together, as much as Marinette doesn't want them to fit. As much as she desperately fights against seeing the signs, sometimes the cat refuses to stay in the bag.

And sometimes the cat kwami refuses to stay out of her lunch bag.

I Didn’t Want it to be Like This - There was always the possibility that someone would find out. Marinette, Paris’s very own Ladybug, knew that it was a high chance. Eventually someone was going to put two and two together.

The Most Eloquent Reply - Deaf Marinette

MDR - Marinette liked not knowing much about her online friends. With the arrival of a newcomer to their group chat, they suddenly start to believe that she has a crush on herself, no matter how obvious she tries to make it that she likes someone else. AU.

[qqueenofhades]

I have a mighty need to read your version of the Aziraphale and Crowley elevator scene should you be so inclined.

Based on this post. I don’t actually think they BANGED banged, mainly since they’re so bad at this that they might have a heart attack and die, but reasons. I may expand on this later, but yes. 

The inside of the lift down from heaven is white. An eerie, celestial white, polished and slick and almost, but not quite, reflective enough to see your face. All the buttons glow with gentle crystalline radiance, the tannoy voice is soothing (almost creepily so) and it never breaks down. Crowley, who has spent a lot of bloody time riding up from hell, is struck by the contrast. The lift up from hell looks straight from a 1970s horror film. It’s dingy, none of the buttons work, you’re struck by the constant impression that it might break down and leave you trapped for a hundred and twenty-seven hours and forced to eat your own arm to survive, and the tannoy voice sounds like your mum about to let herself into the house while you’re naked. No notion how. Just does.

None of this, however, is what Crowley is currently noticing. Not when he’s pressed up against the wall and (this isn’t the strangest thing to happen to him, but it’s close) getting the daylights snogged most bloody enthusiastically out of him by, well, himself. Course, it isn’t actually him, just his body, only with Aziraphale in it. Crowley in turn is parked in Aziraphale, and his hands reach out to clasp hold of his own arms, and all he can think dazedly if this is what it feels like to be inside Aziraphale when said snogging is happening, it sounds like a twenty-piece brass band where half of them are tubas. His knees are shaking and his hands are sweating and his mouth is opening and his arms, his hands are clutching and his entire faux-angelic heart is going like a kick-drum, and all he can wonder, with his very limited remaining critical faculties, is how on earth the angel played it more or less cool for six thousand years. He is steeped in Aziraphale’s adoration to every particle of his essence, and it –

(Aziraphale’s adoration. To some degree, Crowley was expecting it. Being of pure love and all that. But this is different. He is feeling what this tender little corporeal form of Aziraphale’s feels about him, and he would like to argue the point that maybe it isn’t him specifically, but he’s being rapidly disabused in all sorts of ways and He Does Not Know What To Do With That.)

Crowley reaches up with Aziraphale’s plump gentle hands, getting fistfuls of his own rather magnificent ginger hair and tugging. He wonders if Aziraphale thinks that Crowley is remotely suave and composed enough to initiate this kiss, entirely unexpected by both of them, that is the sort of thing that Crowley would do after they’ve both survived their bluffs, hellfire and holy water alike. He supposes he’s flattered that this is how Aziraphale sees him, the confident one, the competent lover. They can’t stop kissing either way, though it’s baffling since neither of them know how they started and they certainly have not the foggiest idea what they are doing. By human standards, it’s probably not a good kiss. By human standards, it might even be terrible.

(Crowley doesn’t give a single damn.)

For his part, Aziraphale is also experiencing what it is to be inside Crowley and to feel his entire soul come unstrung with the wanting, of the memory of six thousand years ago and that you what?, and the thought that followed, that moment of recognisance one soul to another, and oh, it’s you. He is discovering to his own consternation and confusion and shy, dawning delight just how much of an utter, total, literally godforsaken mess Anthony J. Crowley is around him, for him, and he likewise cannot fathom how Crowley did such a good job pretending otherwise. (That again is Aziraphale being absolutely blinded by love, because one could argue that Crowley did a very bad job indeed.) Aziraphale can sense the way Crowley’s hands have wanted to touch him for eons, the way he crowds him sharply against the wall and turns his head and cups his face and strains him on his tiptoes. Though Aziraphale is not presently in his own body, he can feel it as if he is, both himself and Crowley kissing him at once and it mixes up the two of them and turns their essence into one thing at once, bright and beautiful and blazing like the sun.

They keep kissing for several blinded, incoherent, hungry moments. They are not yet quite back on Earth and time is largely irrelevant. Aziraphale, in Crowley’s body, has not entirely finished getting dressed again from disrobing for his dunk in holy water, his shirt is open at the neck even further than it usually is, and Crowley, in Aziraphale, gives into what he realizes is Aziraphale’s burning desire to bite his collarbone. Their hands are tangled, they push each other against the wall still not quite sure whose body belongs to who, half-slipping back and thrusting again, breathless, breathless, breathless. It feels good on something far more than a physical level, since that is acting in a manner entirely outside its normal operation. It feels celestial. Ineffable.

The lift dings. They pull apart belatedly, gasping, wrecked, wet-mouthed, weak-kneed. It takes more than the usual strength of miracle for them to both look completely composed a split-second later. Aziraphale-Crowley gets out, finishing buttoning up his shirt. Played it fantastically cool, as always. Top job.

The lift dings again. Crowley-Aziraphale walks out more or less like a person who did not just ferociously make out with his crush, temporarily borrowing his own body to stop him being murdered in a demonic bathtub, for the first time after six millennia of pining. Nailed it.

“Now that,” he says to himself, “was playing with fire.”

(They are never going to talk about this again. Or at least, there’s no doubt that they never would have before. And yet. The apocalypse was cancelled. They are alive. They are alive. And both of them have just been given some rather incontrovertible proof as to how the other feels.)

The door opens. Earth is there, still there. Angel and demon glance at each other, and then as one, as ever, our own side now, they take the first step.

It is indeed a whole new world.

[unpack-my-heart]

IT Fandom Prompt Week - Day 7 - Famous / Band AU

@constantreaderfool​ @xandertheundead​ @tinyarmedtrex​

Final Prompt for IT Prompt week 2019. 

Read on AO3 HERE

Like many people, the first metal band that Eddie listened to was Metallica. He was 16, and had spent the day at Bev’s house, the balmy evening sun hanging heavy and bloated in the sky. They’d sat at the bottom of her garden, legs bare and grass between their toes. Bev’s old cassette tape player was balanced precariously on a rickety wooden chair, the tapes lay scattered around the grass, like plastic flowers. Eye’s half-closed, Eddie was listening to Bev tell him about the book she’d been reading, and how he should read it before they start their college degrees in the fall. Bev’s voice, pitchy and animated, fought with Morrissey’s crooning voice, and Eddie let himself swim in the noise. That was, until Bev changed the tape, and an unrelenting guitar riff came booming out of the tinny speakers. Eddie’s eyes snapped open.

“Who’s this?” Eddie asked, shifting so he was propped up against the fence.

“Huh? Oh, Metallica. They’re pretty good, right!”

“Yeah,” Eddie mused, bobbing his head slightly along with the rhythmic chugging of the guitar, “yeah they’re pretty good”

That night, Eddie had practically skipped home, fanny-pack stuffed with as many cassette tapes as Bev could wedge in there without breaking the zip. The bands are those he has never heard of before, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Nine Inch Nails. Bev promised that he’ll love them, and he trusted her.

A few days later, Eddie escaped the stifling confines of his mother’s house to join Bev on a trip to the local record store. Bev immediately tugged him over to the ‘rock and metal’ section, where they spent ages flicking through the tapes, Bev filling Eddie’s hands with tapes in a matter of minutes. Eddie, who had felt out of place in a dingy record store in his pressed khakis and pastel yellow polo shirt, had immediately struck up a conversation with the friendly guy behind the counter, who couldn’t have been any older than he was.

“First time?” The guy asked, picking through the tapes that Eddie had dumped on the counter, looking for the price stickers.

“Pardon?”  

“First time somewhere like this? You have the first time kinda look, like you’re afraid the tapes will bite you or something”

“Oh,” Eddie replied, scuffing his feet on the floor, “Yeah, it’s my first time. Bev said she’d been in here loads and it’s cheaper than the store downtown, so…”

The guy laughed, a warm laugh that rang in the quiet store like a bell.

“Yeah, Bev’s in here a lot. Doesn’t spend much money, though !”

“Bite me, Hanlon”

“Ever the charmer, Miss Marsh,” The guy turned back to Eddie, “As rude as she is, Bev has good taste. You’re definitely in safe hands, but you can always come in here and I can help you, if you get sick of her forcing you to listen to Trent Reznor’s entire discography over and over and over again”

“I’m warning you, Michael!” Bev hollered, brandishing a vinyl record like a weapon.

– X –

Soon enough, Eddie fell into a routine. He’d wait until his mother fell into a deep, sleeping-pill induced sleep in front of her soap operas, and shut the lounge room door, painfully slowly to stop it creaking. Then, he’d charge upstairs as fast as his legs would carry him. Whilst Eddie looked everything the picture-perfect poster-boy for “good boys” everywhere, from his perfectly coiffed hair, his crisp, 100% cotton polo shirts, and even down to his sensible, chalk-white sketchers,  he had a secret hiding under his bed.

Under his bed, behind the stacks of biology and chemistry textbooks and old shoes that don’t fit him anymore, lurks a small metal box, and a rusty cassette player. The metal box is home to his ever expanding collection of tapes, and he’d take great pleasure in passing his fingers over the spines of the cases, like he was choosing the biggest, most decadent chocolate in the box. His fingers almost always landed on Metallica first, his gate-way drug. He’d disrobe the tape, and place it into the cassette player, but not before he’d plugged his monstrously large headphones into the jack. Cranking up the volume, Eddie would place the cassette player next to him on the bed, and lie back, and drift.

Master of puppets I'm pulling your strings Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Eddie would spend hours listening to Rob Halford’s demonic screaming if his mother had been particularly taxing that evening, or if his day had been slow and lazy, Ozzy Osborne would sing him to sleep, regaling him with tales of faeries dancing with dwarves. Soon enough, and without any real effort, Eddie became a secret, but die-hard, metal-head.

– X –

A note hit the back of Eddie’s head in chemistry.

Anthrax are playing at oil slick in Bangor! We gotta go. B x

Eddie tries to protest, he really does. He sits under the bleachers with Bev at lunch, and tries to convince her that he’d never be allowed to go to a show in Bangor, that his mother would never let him, that he can’t lie to her, really Bev, I’ve tried, I’m a terrible liar.

She doesn’t take no for an answer, and sure enough, when the night of the show arrives, Eddie is sat in his bedroom at half past six, practically vibrating with nerves. He knew that his mother would be dead to the world in a few minutes, passed out for a whole twelve hours. Eddie thanked the God of Nyquil and prescription medicine. When the familiar rumble of his mother’s snores starts to seep through his floorboards, Eddie throws open his window, takes a deep breath, and leaps like a frog onto the branch of the big tree that stands dormant outside his window.

He runs straight to Bev’s aunts house, and they both clamber in her rickety Sedan, Bev, who had recently turned 17 and was now trusted with her Aunt’s car, at the wheel. Eddie was wearing the black straight-leg jeans he’d begged his mother to buy him, and Beverly Marsh, his lord and saviour, had lent him one of her old leather jackets and her Iron Maiden tour shirt that fit him like a glove. Together with Bev clad in enough leather to upholster a couch, they drove to Bangor.

Eddie had the best night of his life, and crawled back in through his bedroom window at four am the next morning, sweaty and disgusting, but happier than he’d been in years.

– X –

When Bev’s aunt gets a PR job at Iron Horns, the best heavy metal festival this side of the Atlantic, Eddie almost squeezes the life out of Bev when she invites him to go with them. He was eighteen, and on the precipice of adulthood. He’s staring down the crevasse of responsibility, college degrees, mortgages and student loan repayments, and the void is staring straight back at him. He toyed with the idea of telling his mother that her little Eddie-Bear spends his weekends lurking in dive bars listening to boys with longer hair than most girls scream into the microphone, and he plans on getting dirty in a field for a weekend with his best friend.

He, of course, doesn’t do this, and instead told his mother that Bill and Ben have invited him to go camping with them, and he wanted to go. Predictably, she wasn’t happy, and bleated on at him about bears and poison ivy until she was blue in the face and panting, but she couldn’t catch Eddie as he sprinted down the path, backpack bulging on his back, pop-up tent in hand.

Iron Horn’s was huge. The site was a sprawling sea of grass, tents and stages, and as they drove down the make-shift drive-way to the staff car-park, Eddie could feel himself begin to panic. His hand instinctively tried to find the inhaler he has stashed in his fanny-pack, but Bev’s hand caught his hand in hers and squeezed. They held hands until they got out of the car.

Bev’s Aunt Lucy was ‘head of logistics’ for the entire festival, something that makes Eddie gawp with awe, and because she was such an important cog in the machine of the festival, they had arrived one day before the music started. Lucy was also able to throw her weight around a bit and swing them a camping plot in the staff and VIP section of the festival, something that calmed Eddie’s nervous jitters. The staff camping had a regular block of toilets, so he wouldn’t have to venture into alien territory … the dreaded porta-loo.

The staff camping ground is made up of plots of grass for people to pitch tents, but it also had porta-cabins for the musicians. Eddie scanned the names on the doors, finding that he recognises all but one of the bands.

“Bev, who are Crimson Nightmare?” Eddie asked Bev, trying to help her pitch their tent, but mostly just getting in her way.

“Huh. I have no idea, but they’re headlining the second day so I guess they’re probably pretty good”  Bev huffed, trying to bash the tent-pegs into the firm ground with the heel of her boot.

Once they (or rather, Bev) had finished pitching their tent, they both clambered inside with their bags, and proceeded to get changed out of their travelling clothes. Most of the clothes that Eddie has brought with him are Bev’s hand-me-downs, or things that she’s bought him for Christmas, or just because. Eddie changes into one of Bev’s ripped Judas Priest shirts, and a pair of her tightest black skinny jeans that just about fit him if he doesn’t breathe too deeply. Luckily, because Bev’s feet are the size of common shrews, Eddie has his own boots that he’d saved up for with money from various birthday’s. Obviously he can’t keep the boots at home because his mother would find them and burn them in a sacrifice to the God’s of easy listening music, so they live in the trunk of Bev’s Aunt’s car for him to change into when they go to shows. They’re beaten up old black Docs that he bought in a thrift shop. He swapped out the characteristic yellow laces for rainbow ones, and he let Bill draw dancing skeletons on them in white sharpie. Eddie treasured those damn boots.

Once they’re changed, Eddie and Bev head over to the VIP tent where they grab some food. The VIP tent was home to a catering service, and a small bar for the staff and the musicians to wind down in the evening. Upon walking through the entrance flap, Eddie was immediately star-struck. There are people from his favourite bands milling around, talking to each other, laughing, shouting, existing. As he looked around, Eddie realised that no-one else looked quite as starstruck as he did, which made him feel all sorts of ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He continued to stare at Layne Staley.

Once Eddie and Bev had finished their food, and Eddie was trying not to stare at the lead singer from Steel Martyr too much, he caught the eye of a tall guy with intense dark eyes and a wicked smile leaning nonchalantly against the bar. Eddie doesn’t recognise him, so he assumed that he must be a light tech, or an audio engineer, or maybe even a roadie. He also looks very young, perhaps no older than nineteen. This, accompanied with the fact that he’s wearing sweatpants with an old hoodie, suggested to Eddie that he couldn’t be a member of a metal band. The guy held Eddie’s gaze for a beat too long, and before he glanced back to the bartender, the stranger winked at Eddie.

Against his will, Eddie felt the all too familiar heat in his cheeks – an unfortunate indication that his face was blooming a violent scarlet red. Eddie snapped his head away, eliciting an loud bark of laughter from the stranger at the bar. Bev, who had been too busy trying to surreptitiously roll a joint under the table, looks up when she heard the laugh.

“Eddie, why is that guy over there staring at you?”

“…Wuh-What?,” Eddie stutters, fertilizing the glint in Bev’s eye, “What guy? There’s no guy”

“Uh… Yeah there is, that one” Bev snorts, and turned in her seat to point directly at the stranger, who waved at her.

“Him? What about him? I don’t even know him” Eddie mumbled, staring very intently at an interesting speck of dirt on the floor.

“Well, he’s been staring at you since we got here, he laughed at you about thirty seconds ago, and now he’s coming over here”

“WHAT!”

“Yeah, he’s totally coming over here!” Bev squealed, looking positively gleeful.

Eddie snapped his head up, and sure enough, the stranger in the sweatpants was striding over purposefully, his eyes glued on Eddie.

Eddie stared back at him, eyes owlish and ridiculous.

“I guess I’m gonna have to make the first move, then?” was the first thing the sweatpants-stranger said, as he plonked himself down in the empty seat to Eddie’s right.

“Um” was all Eddie said in response.

Bev was thirty seconds away from howling with laughter judging by the look on her face, and Eddie prayed that embarrassment was a painless way to die.

“Hi! I’m Bev, and this beetroot looking thing here is Eddie”

“Nice to meetcha, Red. The name’s Richie. D’ya have a voice, short-stack?”

“I do as it happens” Eddie replied, snottily.

“Oof. I like ‘em spicy. Come here often?”

“Do you speak only in pick-up lines or are you capable of stringing a coherent sentence together?”

“Get yer coat love, you’ve pulled”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and angled his body away from Richie’s.

He knew what this game was, and he intended to play to win.

“Hey now, I’m just playing with you” Richie cooed, taking Eddie’s bait, “In all seriousness, whatcha doing here? You performing this weekend?”

“Naw, my Aunt is the head of logistics for the fest so we came along for the ride. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Tool for the fifth time!” Bev responded, speaking for Eddie, who raised his eyebrows at her gratefully.

“Ah, of course. Gotta admit, I’m pretty heartbroken I’m not gonna get to see little Eddie Spaghetti losing his shit on that big stage, though. I bet that’s a real pretty sight”

“And what are you doing here, then? Light tech, or something?” Eddie interjected, a feeble attempt to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Something like that. A bitta’ this, a bitta’ that. Jack of all trades, me”

Eddie wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t push it any further.

“Can I get you both a drink?” Richie asked, drawing Eddie out of his introspection.

“Are you over twenty-one?” Eddie affirmed, sceptical.

“Nah, but I’ve known Jonsey for a few years now. He’s not worried about silly little things like legal drinking ages”

“Uh ..,” Eddie looked at Bev for confirmation, and much to his chagrin Bev gave him the most ridiculous, and most unsubtle thumbs up ever.

“Okay, sure,” Eddie relents, “just get me whatever you’re having”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Richard said with a wink. Eddie stared at the floor again, eyes wandering over Richie’s boots. The laces were not proper laces at all, and were instead blue string, frayed and threadbare.

“I’ll have a jack and coke, if you’d be so kind. Lotta Jack, not so much coke” Bev asks, smiling up at Richie.

“That’s a lot of booze for a young lady like yourself” Richie drawled in something Eddie supposed was supposed to be a southern accent.

“Bite me”

“If you’re sure”

Eddie sort of expected Bev to tell Richie to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She did something much more surprising.

“Hey Eddie, why don’t you go and help Richie carry the drinks? I’m just gonna –“ she gestures to the opening of the tent and waggles the spliff between her fingers.

“Aw, man. I’m hitting on the wrong person here. Any chance of a do-over, Red?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance, Trashmouth. I’ll be back in a few, Eddie, go help with the drinks!” Bev says again, a little bit more insistent this time.

“What a marvellous idea! Come on, Spaghetti” Richie announced, sending a look towards Bev that Eddie didn’t understand.

Eddie stood up, wordless, and followed Richie towards the bar, but not before sending a silent “what the fuck?!” Bev’s way. She just smiled at him, stuck her thumbs up, and disappeared out of the tent.

Eddie waited at the bar with Richie, who was drumming out the beat of a song that Eddie doesn’t recognise on the polished wood.

“Bev has a girlfriend, you know,” Eddie blurted out before he could stop himself, “just so you, y’know … know”

“Does she? That’s nice. Now, do you have a boytoy, Mr Eds?”

“but … aren’t you trying to hit on her?”

“Uh, I’m definitely trying to hit on someone, but it ain’t Red”

“Then … who …”

Richie looked at Eddie square in the face with epitome of are you shitting me written across his face.

“…oh”

“Yeah, Oh” Richie mocked, laughing. Eddie couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were glittering despite the low light of the tent.

Unsure of what to say, Eddie remained silent for a few beats too long, but he was saved when the bartender came over to take their order. Richie orders Bev’s drink, before also ordering two pints of hard cider, one of which he passes to Eddie.

“So, to return to our previous conversation, is there a Mrs Eddie Spaghetti waiting for you at home?”

“Okay, you gotta stop with all this spaghetti stuff. It’s just Eddie”

“Sure. Is there a Mrs Just-Eddie waiting for you at home?”

“Wait – hang on. How did you even know I like men?”

“Lucky guess” Richie boasted, waggling his eyebrows.

Eddie stared at him until Richie burst out laughing.

“No, Seriously! It was a lucky guess. I was fully prepared for you to tell me that Red was your girl and that I’d have to slink off with my tail in between my legs”

“Bev will find that hilarious when I tell her that”

“C’mon, S’getti you’re killing me,” Richie groaned, “should I persist in my pathetic attempts to woo you or am I wasting my time?”

Eddie pretended to think, and rubbed his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding his cider.

“I’m not sure I wanna tell you, yet. I’m quite enjoying watching you squirm”

“You sadist” Richie shot back immediately.

Eddie stood up on his tiptoes and whispered, “you don’t know the half of it” directly into the shell of Richie’s ear, before he swiftly turned on his heel and slinked back to the table.

“I’m taking that as a ‘Yes, Richie, please continue trying to get into my pants!’” Richie yelled after him.

Eddie threw his head back, and laughed.

– X –

When they got back to their tent that evening after staggering back across the field, Bev and Eddie collapsed onto the same tiny air mattress and curled around each other like inebriated kittens.

“Sooooo?” Bev drawled, as she tried to pull her boots off without unlacing them first.

“Whazzit? What?”

“Richie? D’ya like him? Because I’m pretty sure he’s gone all kissy-kissy-mushy-mushy over a certain little spaghetttiiiiii”

“oh m’god, shut’p,” Eddie slurred, and he tried to hit Bev on the arm but missed by a good six inches, “he’s just … uh … flirtatious”

“Naw, Eddie, he’s desperate to, y’know, get in there!” Bev laughed hysterically, as she pointed at Eddie’s crotch.

Eddie rolled his eyes, at least he thought he did, he’s definitely too drunk to tell.

“C’mere, tiny, I wanna spooooon” Bev moaned, grabbing Eddie.

They both fell asleep almost instantly after that, Bev’s arm wrapped snugly around Eddie’s waist.

– X –

The next morning Eddie woke up with a mouth that tasted like he’d gargled with white spirit, and, surprisingly, no headache and a stomach that only felt a tiny bit like a whirlpool.

Bev, on the other hand, wailed like a banshee when Eddie shifted on the air mattress to open the tent flap, letting a stream of cool air into the tent.

“Edward, I will cut off you bollocks if you let any more light in”

Eddie slipped out of the tent, leaving Bev to her hangover. The sun was already high in the sky, and Eddie guessed it couldn’t have been earlier than eleven or midday. His mother would definitely never have let him sleep in this late. The music started today, the first band taking to the main stage at 3pm. There seemed to be more people than Eddie had ever seen in his life charging around the staff camping grounds, carrying various bits of rigging, instruments and electrical equipment. Eddie sat on the grass outside his tent, trying to psyche himself up enough to make the long, arduous 500 metre walk to the bathrooms to brush his teeth, when a large hand clamped on his shoulder. Eddie barely managed to suppress his scream.

“Howdy, neighbour!”

“Oh my God, it’s you”

“That isn’t a very nice way to greet your beloved now is it, Eddie?”

“I thought I’d dreamt you up in an alcohol-induced fever dream” Eddie deadpanned as Richie all but threw himself down on the grass next to him.

“Naw,” was all Richie said, closing his eyes against the light of the sun. Eddie swore he could see the freckles scattered across the bridge of Richie’s nose multiply in front of his eyes.

They sat without talking for a while, listening to the hustle and bustle of the campsite. Richie looked exhausted, and Eddie wanted to let Richie rest his head in his lap while he stroked Richie’s wild hair until he was snoring.

“So … plan on seeing any good bands today?” Eddie asked awkwardly, consciously aware of the fact that the Dutch courage previously coursing through his veins had evaporated overnight.

“I dunno, yet. Who are you going to see?”

“Bev wants to see Def Leppard, who I’m not majorly fussed about, but I have to go see ‘em if she’ll even think about coming with me to see Kiss”

“Where is Red this morning, anyway? Is that … is that tent of yours empty?”

“She’s still asleep”

“Cockblock” Richie cursed under his breath, just loud enough for Eddie to hear it.

“You’re very presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of this” Richie replied, with a serious edge to his voice.

Eddie blinked.

“Make a habit of what?” Eddie asked, dumbly.

“This,” Richie gestured to Eddie and then back to himself and repeated the action, “I’m not … I don’t do this stuff”

“Richie, I’m confused”

“Never mind, sugar. I’ll explain it to you when you’re older”

Before Eddie could protest that he wanted Richie to explain his cryptic message now and not later, a rather dishevelled and grumpy looking Bev poked her head out of the tent.

“Okay. One, Eddie, I love you but you are so dense that light bends around you. Two, can you guys go flirt somewhere else please, it’s making my stomach churn”

“Top o’the mornin’ to ya, lassie!” Richie bellowed in an awful Irish accent, shuffling closer to Eddie to allow Bev more space to clamber out of the tent.

Bev collapsed on the grass next to them, rubbing her head.

“Do you have any painkillers in that magic fanny-pack of yours?” She asked Eddie, a pitiful twang to her voice.

Eddie nodded, and climbed back into the tent to search for the fanny-pack. When he’d grabbed it and climbed back out of the tent, Bev and Richie were sitting close, heads together, whispering frantically about something that Eddie couldn’t hear. Bev’s face was stern, like she was scolding a small child who had broken her favourite mug, and Richie’s eyebrows looked very insistent, but also vaguely scared. They sprang apart when Eddie climbed back out of the tent, painkillers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He passed both items to Bev, who hoovered up two painkillers quicker than Eddie could blink.

“I gotta skedaddle now, my love. Promise you’ll stay faithful as you wait for me,” Richie announced as he stood up, and brushed stray blades of grass off his jeans.

“I won’t make a promise I can’t keep, Rich,” Eddie tried to joke, but it fell flat as Richie’s smile, only for the briefest of seconds, was replaced by a mask of hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” and with that, Richie sauntered off, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head hanging uncharacteristically low.

“Eddie, what I need you to do right now, is go after him and apologise for being a dick”

“What did I do?!”

“You know exactly what you did”

Eddie did know.

The truth was, Eddie was harbouring a crush on Richie that was growing exponentially. He’d spotted him immediately as they’d walked into the VIP tent the day before. His heart had thumped wildly the entire time they sat close together, drinking cider and laughing, and he’d almost vomited every time Richie’s arm brushed his. Eddie had it bad. He knew this. But, try as he might, something kept him from entirely letting go. Something about the fact they’d met at a festival, miles and miles away from Eddie’s home town, and they’d probably never see each other again. He’d never experimented with casual sex, a nice fuck and a see you never! arrangement. He’d never given it much thought. Maybe he should.

Without another word, Eddie sprung up and chased after Richie, who was now rounding the corner by the toilet block.

“Rich!” Eddie called out, panting.

Richie turned around, and beamed at Eddie.

Eddie felt lighter.

“I’m sorry I’m a dick”

“You’re not a dick”

“I am, and I’m sorry. Do you … I dunno, do you wanna come see Def Leppard with us later, maybe? I mean – you don’t have to, I just meant if you have nothing better to –”

“I’d love to”

– X –

“POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME!” Eddie screamed along with Joe Elliott, thousands of other people, and Richie.

Bev had disappeared a few songs ago, pushing her way to the front barrier, but Eddie had hung back. He was stood directly in front of Richie, who had been whispering (or, more accurately, shouting) into his ear occasionally, and even in one delicious, ridiculous moment, picked Eddie up and stuck him on his shoulders. That didn’t last long because Eddie was terrified he’d fall off, but having his thighs wrapped around Richie’s neck was exhilarating for the four minutes it lasted.

“Eds, this might be the best day of my life,” Richie shouted, hot, moist breath tickling Eddie’s ear.

“I think me too!” Eddie shouted back, and the Richie did something that made Eddie’s brain shortcircuit.

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, crossing them over his stomach, and placed a large, wet-sounding kiss on the top of Eddie’s head.

Eddie didn’t dare blink, breathe, move or think.

“Thank you for inviting me” Richie whispered, and it was a real whisper this time, spoken directly into Eddie’s heart.

“it’s uh – no problem”

The band ripped into a cover of The Who’s ‘My Generation’, and much to Eddie’s annoyance, Richie released Eddie from his cobra-hold and tugged him forward, forward, forward until they ran into Bev at the barrier. Bev’s long orange hair was piled on top of her head, her face was sweaty and pink, and she looked absolutely radiant.

“This is our fucking song now!” Richie bellowed, hoisting Bev up on his shoulders like he had done to Eddie a few songs earlier.

Eddie grabbed Bev’s ankle and squeezed it. She smiled down at him, all teeth and tongue and happy, happy, happy.

– X –

The sun had fully set behind the massive stage, and Def Leppard had just finished their encore. The mass of people that had been surrounding Eddie, a coagulated mass of shadows and sharp elbows, parted like red sea as people slowly started to trickle out of the main arena and back towards the campsites. As they walked, shoulders bumping together occasionally, Eddie noticed several people staring at Richie, or pointing at him and whispering. Eddie glanced up at Richie to see if he’d noticed, only to find Richie looking down at him with soft eyes and a small, but genuine, smile.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fucking great, Rich. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as I did”

“Ah, that’s because I was there, obviously” Richie boasted.

Eddie could tell that he was joking, that he was just playing the game they’d been playing for the past twenty-four hours, but that didn’t stop Eddie from saying “yeah, it probably was”, as honest as the day is long.

Eddie’s honesty seemed to hit Richie in the stomach like a sucker punch, because he made this weird spluttering noise.

“Fucking hell, Sugar, you can’t just say stuff like that”

“Why?”

“Because – Never mind, I’m gonna walk you back to your tent, c’mon”

Eddie stopped walking, and tugged on Richie’s arm to get him to stop too. Richie swung around so he was facing Eddie, boot toe to boot toe.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Eddie”

“Do what?”

“I can’t just keep this up. I can’t keep fucking – fucking dancing with you, laughing with you, letting you smile at me like that, and then when you cuddled with me during the show I was like, ‘oh my God, this is it, he does feel the same’  but then … then you go all cold on me or you glare at me or …” Richie trailed off, his eyes flickered between Eddie’s eyes and mouth.

“Richie, I – ”

“Please don’t, please don’t pity me or say you’re sorry, or anything like that. God, I’ll drop down dead if you say you’re sorry, Eds. It isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I wasn’t joking about walking you back, though, c’mon, Bev will kill me if we’re back much later than – ”

Richie stopped talking because Eddie had kissed him.

Eddie curled his hand around Richie’s neck and dragged his face down, before he smashed his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that started off almost violent in its awkwardness but soon became soft and hesitant. Richie didn’t move at first, and Eddie almost pulled away, ready to sprint off to the campsite fuelled on nothing but mortal embarrassment, but just as Eddie had pulled his lips a millimetre away from Richie’s, Richie opened his mouth slightly, just barely, and kissed Eddie back.

They kissed, Richie’s hands cradling Eddie’s face, until someone came careening into Eddie’s back, sending him flying forwards into Richie’s chest, arms flailing wildly.

“Sorry, mate!”

“No problem, bro” Richie responded, voice low and gruff, and from his position squished up against Richie’s chest, Eddie laughed, poking at the soft flesh of Richie’s tummy with his index finger.

“Bro?” Eddie mocked.

“What?”

“You’re ridiculous”

“And yet, you kissed me”

“I did”

“So that makes you ridiculous as well”

“It does”

“Wanna do it again?”

“Yes”

This time, Richie kissed Eddie.

– X –

By the time they’d gotten back to the tent, Eddie wasn’t done with Richie. Not even close. They’d stopped a few times on the way back, mostly Richie cutting Eddie off with his tongue, or one time that Eddie got so frustrated with Richie doing that he shoved him up against a tree and kissed him until Richie couldn’t breathe. It still wasn’t enough. However, Eddie didn’t know how to ask for more, how to ask Richie to climb into his tent with him.

Bev wasn’t in the tent when Eddie poked his head in, but there was a note lying on the air mattress.

With my mom tonight, wanted to give you some space WINK WINK

Love you be safe I’ll kick his ass if he hurts you

Don’t show his this note

Or you can if you want

Richard I’ll kill you if you hurt him okay

Love you love you love you

Eddie loved Beverly so much he could scream.

“Uh… are you tired yet?” Eddie asked, trying to remain inconspicuous, but subtlety was never his strong point.

“Nope” Richie responded, popping the ‘P’.

“Do you wanna, come in? I can’t offer you coffee because … well, I don’t have any way of making any but I can offer you … lukewarm water?”

“Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Cut the shit”

Richie all but threw himself through the entrance of the tent, pouncing on Eddie with a loud ‘oof’. They both sprawled backwards, and Richie hovered over Eddie, his eyes dark.

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve been of anything for a very long time”

“Do you have … the necessarily equipment?”

“Are you talking about whether or not I have a dick? Because …” Eddie gestured to his crotch where, yes, it was very obvious that he was packing heat, thank you very much.

“No, you goof, I meant lube and stuff”

“Oh… yeah I do, hang on”

“You’re very … prepared”

“Jealous?”

“I would be if it wasn’t me in this tent with you right now”

“Well it is, so shut up and kiss me”

– X –

The next morning, Eddie had woken up with a crick in his neck. Richie had gone. What lay on the pillow where Richie’s head should have been, was Bev’s note. Or, rather, another note, scrawled on the back of Bev’s note.

Please get as close to the barrier as possible during Crimson Nightmare’s set

Please please please please

You fuckin’ rocked my world last night Eds

R x

– X –

Eddie looked behind him at the pulsing mass of people, blurring into one lacquered mass in the darkness of the night, random faces illuminated by the spotlights. Raucous chants surrounded him, a war cry, “CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE! CRIMSON NIGHTMARE!”. It was cultish, and Eddie could feel himself becoming indoctrinated.

Without warning, the huge fluttering black cloth that had been obscuring the stage was sucked through a gap in the ceiling, and revealed the stage. The entire set was decked out to look like an industrial hellscape, all juddering fans, sharp looking pieces of metal jutting every which way and large metal platforms. Several huge industrial fans were stood in the centre of the stage, acting as a podium for an obscenely large drumkit. Eddie hardly noticed the stage, though, as he was preoccupied with looking at the elaborate venetian masks the band were wearing. They obscured almost their entire faces, and looked like they were made of a buttery-soft leather with horns curling skywards. The bassist was stood on a large piece of scaffolding stage right, and the lead guitarist was standing on the floor surrounded by shards of metal poking out of the floor stage left. The screams and hollers of the crowd grew deafening, and the guitarist ripped straight into a blistering riff that sounded like it’d been spat from the mouth of the devil himself. A scream tore its way out of Eddie’s body, and he began jumping up and down with the crowd, coagulating until he had become One with the throbbing mass of people.

Like Richie’s note had said, Eddie was right at the barrier. His ribs were being crushed against the hard metal every time he leapt up and down, but he hardly noticed it once the vocalist walked out onto stage. The vocalist walked with a swagger that punched Eddie straight in the gut, and before they had even managed to spit out a single syllable, Eddie almost collapsed on the floor. He was held up by Bev, who shot him a questioning look. Eddie didn’t dare speak, move, breath, blink.

“Aw man, look at you see of sexy bitches come all this way to see little old me?” the vocalist brayed, stamping his feet in time with the rhythmic booming of the bass drum.

The crowd roared back in response. Eddie couldn’t breathe.

The vocalist was wearing the same mask as the rest of his bandmates, but that didn’t matter.

“All this noise for me? Too fuckin’ bad I’m gonna make your ears fucking bleeeeeed. This one’s called ‘You’ll Float Too’ and you’re gonna fucking love it” Richie yelled, before screaming like a banshee and launching into the first song.

It was Richie.

It was Richie’s voice.

It was Richie’s voice, Richie’s raspy growl, Richie’s beaten up old boots.

The frontman of the last headliner of Iron Horns was the guy that Eddie had ridden on his shitty little air mattress in his shitty little tent the night before.

Eddie tapped Bev on the shoulder, and soon the taps became almighty whacks when she wouldn’t turn around, but when she did, Eddie knew that she knew.

“IS THAT?!”

“IT IS!”

“FUCKING HELL”

“I KNOW”

Richie paraded up and down the stage, the big black coat he was wearing flapping in the breeze of the industrial fans. Eddie was mesmerised by the way Richie made screaming into the microphone with such tenacity look easy, and the way that Richie leapt around the stage effortlessly. The crowd were screaming, and a pit opened up directly behind Eddie, who clung to the barrier, knuckles bright white, to avoid getting sucked into its depths. Bev, as she always did, disappeared into the centre of the hurricane, and was spat out again several minutes later, eyes gleaming, hair tousled.

– X –

Half way through their last song, Richie locked eyes with Eddie.

Eddie hadn’t been sure that Richie had seen him there, a fleck of sand on the beach, faceless amongst the crowd. But, half way through ‘No Dread, No Desire’, Richie’s eyes locked with his. Of course, Eddie initially thought that Richie could have just so happened to have been staring in his general direction, but when Richie practically ran to the spot directly in front of where Eddie was standing, all doubts dissolved. Richie dropped to his knees and belted the rest of the song directly at Eddie, who needed Bev to hold him up once more.

– X –

Even after Richie had sung the last note of the encore, and bid the crowd farewell, Eddie couldn’t move. He was glued to the spot, practically growing roots. Bev stood next to him, saying nothing, just breathing, loud and heavy breaths curling into the black sky like smoke.

“So”

“So”

“Richie’s in a band”

“Richie’s in … a fucking good band”

“You slept with him”

“I did”

“You slept with a guy in a band”

“I did”

“Are you a groupie now?”

“Fuck off”

A figure appeared on stage, and shuffled towards them. A figure wearing sweatpants and boots with laces that weren’t real laces, but were instead blue, frayed string.  

The figure crouched in front of them.

“Did you like the set?”

“You’re fucking famous” Eddie blurted out, tongue thick and fat in his mouth.

“M’not, not really. The vocalist of Crimson Nightmare is kinda famous, but he’s … he’s not really me. M’just Richie”

“But … Aren’t you the vocalist?”

“Well, yes, I mean technically, but I wear that mask n’ all so… It’s also sort of, not me?”

“Richie I have no idea what to say, I’m like … I’m fucking shaking”

“Good shaking? Bad shaking? Did you hate it? That growl in the third song came out so fucking janky, and I know that I sounded kinda flat in a few of the songs but –“

“You were … spectacular” Eddie breathed, and stared up at Richie with wide, earnest eyes.

“Aw, shit. You’re gonna make me blush, Eddie Spaghetti”

Richie hopped down off the stage, crowding into Eddie’s space. They were separated by a thin metal fence. It was too much distance.

“Beverly, if you don’t want to watch me shove my tongue down Eddie’s throat, I suggest that you avert your eyes, otherwise, enjoy the fuckin’ show”

Bev’s indignant squawk was drowned out by the all-consuming taste on Eddie’s tongue.

– X –

From: Sugar Daddy:

[youtube link]

From: Sugar Daddy:

Last night in Denver. I think you’ll like it <3

Eddie opened the link. It was a video of Crimson Nightmare headlining a spot at Denver arena. The camera was shaky, and the audio screechy, but it was clear enough so Eddie could hear everything Richie was saying.

“Alright, alright, now, I know this is gonna come as a fuckin’ surprise to some of you, or maybe it won’t, but I dedicate this next song to the boy who inspired it. Eddie Spaghetti, this one’s for you, my love, my one, my only”

Screeching guitar and guttural screams filtered out of the shitty speakers of Eddie’s phone. Eddie lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and drifted.

To: Sugar Daddy:

I love you

[clarenecessities]

I was tagged by my fellow Clare @fizzityuck! know what that is? Soliclarity ✊🏻

AO3: Lycaonpictus77

Fandoms: well, I’ve only published for BNHA and Miraculous Ladybug, but I’ve got a few DW fics from like six years ago, some abandoned TAZ wips, and a Danny Phantom one shot that (god willing) will never see the light of day. To say nothing of the HDM/HTTYD crossover I’m working on...

Fic you spent the most time on: in terms of planning and research, definitely Prince of Cats. I’ve gotten a little lost in the sauce, tbh. But in terms of actual time writing? The Dread Pirate Ladybug. I think it’s some of my more technically proficient work, even if it’s old at this point. And damn me, I will finish it.

Fic you spent the least time on: The Widow. I cranked it out in one sitting lmao. I’m kinda surprised how well it was received, since imo it’s my weakest piece

Longest fic: oh, Prince of Cats for sure. And we’re only in the second act. 🙃

Shortest fic: the first chunk in Spooky Snippets, actually. Even shorter than baby’s first oneshot

Most hits: Dragon Head, Snake Tail—by a ridiculous margin. Like over three times the runner up. No idea what the deal is with that but damn y’all love Dabi huh

Most kudos: Dragon Head, Snake Tail, again with a huge lead. I think it’s probably best-circulated of my fics, since there’s so much communication in the BNHA fandom? Hell if I know

Most comment threads: yeah guess who. I wonder if I should be doing these proportionately.

Fave fic you wrote: ooooh, tough. I think the one I have the most fun with is Prince of Cats, but the response to DHST has been fucking amazing. In terms of gratification I think it wins out.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: well past finishing my wips, I wouldn’t mind polishing up that old Danny phantom one shot. I’ve just got other priorities, you know?

Share a bit of your wip or share a story idea that you’re planning: oh you asked for it

Stoick had nearly drowned once in his youth, falling through the ice on what was supposed to be a short fishing trip, only to have the water freeze above him. If Skullcrusher hadn’t been able to break him free and keep him warm, he’d have died of chill thrice over.

Yet still he had never known such cold as this.

It was a cold beyond temperature, a cold that seeped into his blood, into his bones, until his very soul felt frozen. The wind cut hard into his face, biting at what skin it could reach with the ferocity of a beast cornered in its den. He readjusted the pile of furs in his arms, careful to keep as much covered as he could.

“Are you certain?” asked Skullcrusher. He held no bundle, but he was cradling a fox kit to his heart with paws better suited to felling trees.

“No,” said Stoick, his gaze still fixed on the vast, empty horizon. “But she’s out there somewhere.”

“I can go no further,” said Skullcrusher, sitting back on his haunches. “It will fall to you to keep Hiccup from breaking loose.”

“I know,” said Stoick, throat raw as he looked down at his son in his arms. So small. So strong already.

“They may not forgive us.”

���They’ll thank us,” said Stoick, sharply. “One day, when they understand, they’ll thank us.”

“One day,” repeated Skullcrusher, tipping his head back to look at the sky. His breath fogged out in front of his nose in clouds, and with the snow coating his dark fur he looked almost like one of the armored bears, if somewhat naked in comparison. “Great men have broken their hulls on rocks as they sail with their heads trained on the sky, Stoick.”

“Aye, but greater still break the rocks on their hulls.” He gave his fylgja a crooked, reassuring grin. “It’ll all be alright, Skull. You’ll see.”

He struck out without ceremony, no clasping of hand and paw or brief embrace. There was no need for such things between them—Skullcrusher knew as well as Stoick that it would be pointless to revel in any lingering warmth when the wastes stretched into eternity before them.

The wind, still gnashing its fangs for all it was worth, drew curtains of snow between them, and father and son were lost in a world of white.

- - - - -

I’m tagging @thelastpilot—I’m excited to hear about your fics! But any of my followers that write should do this too, give me a tag if you do!