#but like...can you blame them after everything they've been through??

[hum-suffer]

I am so fucking sick of people blaming Hindus for what happened in Kashmir.

I'm a liberal. About as liberal as liberal gets in India: pro-LGBT, pro-secularism, anti-BJP (although Congress is full of morons at the moment so I can see why BJP is the best option for a lot of people), anti-Hindutva, etc.

I am also from Mumbai. A city that faced terror attacks every couple of years for nearly three decades. I watched on the TV as terrorists burned my city in 2008. Both my parents have a 'if we had taken our regular train/bus we might have been dead' stories. I don't know a single middle-class family that doesn't have a relative with a bombing/bombing-adjacent story. My grandmother used to panic until my mother got home from college after '93 happened. My mother was with 3-year-old me alone, on a day out not far away from where one of 7 bombs burst in 2007. When I was a small child, every time we travelled by a local I would imagine how the metal would twist and crumple if the train exploded, because it was shown so many times on news and in movies/documentaries.

I have seen what terrorism is. I have seen what terrorism does. The lives lost to it, the fear that people go through. Your husband goes to office and is blown up. Your son goes to college and gets burned in a metal coffin. Your sister goes to meet a friend and then is returned in pieces.

Generations affected by terror. And it's not just Mumbai. The same story has happened in Delhi, Kashmir, and so many other states. And it happened yesterday in Kashmir. But instead of grieving for those who died, the first instincts of some of these so-called liberals is to play PR games about Islamophobia. The feelings of live Muslims are somehow more important than the blood of dead Hindus. Kashmir is our fault. Pahalgam is our fault. Everything is our fault.

I am a liberal but these kinds of liberals enrage me. Their politics is so important to them that they deny basic humanity. Wake up. They didn't ask for your political affiliation, they asked for your religion. "My Muslim friend-" dude FUCK your Muslim friend and their feelings, I got hundreds of dead and thousands of injured INDIANS in my city alone.

Fuck these kind of people. They've gone from anti-Hindutva to anti-Hindu. They sit behind their glass screens and defend with their dying breath the same gun that will be used to kill them and their loved ones. If the first thought after hearing about a terror attack is the worry for potential Islamophobia instead of horror about the incident and grief for the dead, then you've lost the plot.

We've seen heroes like Syed from the recent attack and others from 26/11. Not all Muslims are terrorists. But all Hindus are targets. And if you don't realize that? One day someone from across the border will make you.

The last paragraph, let's please shout it together.

Yes, I also support several modern ideas and some which could be called "liberal" too. And yes, I recognise that Hindus will always be targets and every time more of us die, we will mourn for four days and then move on. We must always be tolerant, must always be quiet no? Otherwise we shall be called sanghis and extremists and andhbhakts and whatnot. They live in a world where Hinduphobia doesn't exist because of course, Hindus should definitely be trodden upon.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 2 of Danny being sort of reincarnated in the DC universe. Tim's pov of Danny and his weirdness. Ft Damian and setting up a play date [pt 1 here] [pt3 here]

Tim can honestly say he's enjoyed the last few months. His newest little brother is a delight and managed to get everyone wrapped around his little finger. The funniest, and saddest if Tim was honest, part of it all is that Danny has no idea. He hasn't seemed to realize how devastatingly cute he is while exploring the world. Add in the fact Tim found a speech therapist for him, so sometimes he will actually say something instead of just writing, and you can actively hear/see the scary Gotham vigilantes crumble every single time.

Danny follows whoever he deems "safe" like a weird glowing duckling. The kid had no idea how the world works and knows it, attaching to family in fear and googling anything and everything to understand. Tim really wants to get the kid help for his anxiety, but Danny is refusing currently. Tim can't really blame him, Danny has so much medical trauma.

The downside of being deemed as "safe" and non judgemental early on is Tim knows the most of the horrible details. It'd not much, but between what Danny has let slip and what he's searched on different mental health and trauma, Tim has a very ugly picture of what happened during his time in the lab. On the plus side, if he's asking questions and trying to work on/understand his mental health, then Tim is sure he'll be willing to see a specialist eventually. Tim is willing to go at Danny's pace and protect the kid as much as possible. He debriefs the rest of the family whenever he discovers a new trauma so no one accidentally triggers Danny into another panic attack. He has far too many of them daily already, and Cass is the best at calming him down, but she's not always available.

A less sad, and more interesting development is Danny's features have been changing from Damian's. Whoever made Danny really fucked up. Genetically he's still a clone of Damian, but visually, he looks like someone tried to draw Damian from memory and decided to make him part fae or something. Danny's eyes faded to a pale celadon blue, his ears are slightly pointed, his teeth are sharper than the should be, he gained freckles that glow Lazarus Pit green when he gets emotional, his hair curled and turned the darkest black Tim has ever seen while also gaining glittering white tuffs throughout, and his constant soft glowing are just a few things that shifted and changed over time. Tim has a theory that Danny has a higher concentration of Lazarus waters in his body than any of his predecessors and that caused him to mutate. Unfortunately, it's just a theory because Danny had a massive panic attack and dissociation episode the one time they tried to draw some of his blood. No one was willing to push it after that. So until Danny is healed enough mentally for it, there will be no tests.

Danny also freaked out and hid in his closet for 3 days straight when he realized how uncanny he's looking. He was terrified they'd hurt him for it or the flickers of developing powers when he's emotionally, which is often, and it took an insane amount of reassurances and bribes to get the kid to come out. Duke was actually the one who got Danny to calm down enough to talk about what he's developed so far. Duke talked about his own powers and how they developed; he's also taken to using them around the manor more to help the baby realize it's okay. It's now fairly common to see both use their powers, even if Danny's usage is still unintentional. Tim wonders if he should ask one of the Martians to help Danny control his, so far Danny has shown invisibility, floating, and phasing through things, he was startled into using them every single time they've manifested. Tim is holding off on contacting anyone yet because Duke and Tim have been double teaming to get Danny comfortable with his powers and making progress.

Plus, Danny regresses every time back into the mute, anxious wreck hiding behind his "safe" person like the first night any time someone new is introduced. So Tim makes sure both Cass and him are present for any introductions. Though, he does think introducing Danny to aliens would go smoother than most others. The kid is absolutely obsessed with everything space related. He lives in space themed clothes and has his own section in the family library because of all the space, physics, and alien culture books he's collected/been gifted. He's read every single one at least twice and is actively trying to learn Martian and Kryptonian, mostly their written language currently since talking is still an ongoing battle. Tim can hardly wait to introduce Danny to Kon.

Speaking of ongoing battles.

"Please, anki, you need a proper name." Damian sounds desperate, "I made a list of names that you can keep your nickname with. Please just pick one."

"Don't wanna." Danny whines quietly. Despite the kid technically being the same physical age as Damian, Danny never acts it, ping-pongs between behaving like literal 4 year old and young teen. Have you tried to tell a 4 year old they need to pick a different name for themselves or stuffed animal or pet or something? It's a battle of patience.

"Please.." Tim blinks as Damian pulls out his saddest puppy eyes. Tim has literally never seen Damian do that. It's not very good, but Danny is the definition of a people pleaser.

"...okay..." Danny reluctantly takes the list from Damian.

"Thank you." Damian gives a small satisfied smile.

"Danny, do you mind if I borrow Damian?" Tim asks in amusement. "Oh, shit!" is clear in Damian's body language, but the lack of real panic in Damian and the teasing vibes Tim is sure he's putting off keeps Danny from panicking. Kid can give Cass a run for her money in reading body language.

"Okay... I'll look at the names while you're gone.." Danny's voice starts fading out by the end of his sentence. Tim expects Danny is going to be mute for the rest of the day. He's come a long way since arriving, but speaking is still hard on him. Tim is positive it's a trauma thing. Another reason to try to convince him to see a therapist.

"We'll be right back." Tim smiles and pulls Damian out of the room and a little ways down the hall. "You taking lessons from the baby?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Damian grumps.

So Tim puts on his best approximation of the face Damian pulled and in his most pathetic voice goes, "Please..."

Damian turns an interesting shade of red. "Shut up."

"I think it's cute." Tim's face hurts a little from his grinning. He has to shove down the anxiety at that realization, remembering what his own therapist has told him in relation to grinning reminding him of JJ.

"I'll stab you again."

"And upset the baby? Heartless." Tim teases before switching topics. "Do you think you could have Jon visit?"

"Probably, why?"

"I think it's time to introduce Danny to people outside of the family. Jon is a ball of sunshine and an alien, I think he'd be a good start." Tim explains.

"Why not Kon? I'm sure Anki would love to meet a clone like him. Especially one who is an alien and is as different from his template as Danny is to me." Damian points out. "As well as being connected to one of his "security people"."

"I thought about that, but I was also thinking about Jon being closer to his physical age." They discovered Danny has an intense distrust of adults, and while Kon is chronologically closer in age to Danny, he's mentally and physically a 19 year old. He knows Danny will love Kon and vice-versa, but he feels it's worth starting with someone younger.

"... I shall call Jon tonight. I assume Friday after school is acceptable?"

"Yeah, Cass should be hanging out with him all day and I can get off early. Tam knows we got a traumatized baby with separation anxiety." Tim chuckles, "I think she's happy I've been taking care of myself more because of Danny."

"Why have you been doing that?" Damian tilts his head. "It's not a bad thing, but it's out of character."

"I realized I can't be Bruce."

"Wha-?"

"I can't let my worst habits affect a kid that is dependent on my ability to help him figure out his place in the world." Tim feels tired. "How can I help him if I won't help myself?"

"... I see. When you put it that way, I understand." Damian looks thoughtful. "Perhaps I should look into getting a therapist as well."

"I'll send you a list of people I've vetted." Tim says and starts heading back to the room they left Danny in. "Now, let's check on the baby."

Danny is frowning at the list Damian gave him. It's an interesting sight, several names are blacked out with extreme prejudice, and his iPad is opened to the search engine. He seems to be looking up the remaining names' meanings and hating most of them. Any he doesn't hate, he writes the meaning next to with a frown. Tim and Damian occupy themselves while he does this, Danny hates being stared at, especially while working on something.

The silence is broken when Danny crushes the paper. A glance shows he copied 5 of the names and their meanings down in a note app. Danny opens the drawing app he prefers to communicate with while nonverbal.

[I want to think on these. I'll make a decision by dinner tomorrow.]

"Decide on what lastname or names you want and I'll set up a paper trail to prove your identity during the weekend. Damian wouldn't let me or Barb set one up til you picked a "proper" name."

[Ugh! Fine!]

"What do you mean? Anki will have the Wayne last name!"

"Yeah, but he might want mine or Cass's name too. Or maybe he'll decide to take the Al Gul name out of spite." Tim shrugs. "Names have power. Cass and mine would be an extra layer of protection, but he's technically an Al Gul. Kon took the El name to spite Clark and Clark couldn't do shit about it since Kon is technically blood."

"I suppose..." Damian does not look happy about this.

[Your friend's name meanings hope's abomination or false hope?] Danny looks so concerned.

"Yeah. He picked it out himself. He's a clone of Kal-El, better known as Superman or Clark Kent." Tim tries to keep his anger at Clark under wraps, but Danny's weary look tells him he didn't succeed. "Clark and Kon have a better relationship now, but Clark was awful to him for simply existing at first. It's fine for him to feel violated and angry, but it wasn't acceptable that he took it out on a kid who didn't ask to be made."

[Is cloning common?] Danny is intrigued.

"Only in the hero communities. Villains seem to like trying their hand at it. It's hit or miss on how the clone ends up. Some are mindless puppets, some are actually programmed to be an evil version, some literally are just the hero with some "fun" new trauma, and some might be completely unaware their clone statuses. Then there's the clones who know they're clones and are completely different than their DNA donor, but still want to do what's right." Tim explains. "The categories can overlap or a clone can start in one and end up in another."

"Would you be willing to meet Kon-El?"

[Maybe? Is he nice?]

"He's one of Drake's paramours."

"Damian!"

[What's a paramour?]

"He means he's one of my boyfriends." Tim can feel how red his face is.

[Pural???] Danny looks like a whole new realm of possibilities just opened up. It's adorable.

"Yeah, I have 2 boyfriends." Tim smiles, "Having multiple partners is completely fine so long as everyone is in the know and consenting, otherwise that's cheating."

"Stop corrupting my Anki" Damian complains with no heat. And Tim can't let that "challenge" slide.

"Look up the polyamory and being polyamorous, if you want to know more. Also, gender is a lie and sexuality is a mess. Do whatever makes you happy so long as it doesn't hurt you or anyone else." Tim says with the tone of someone commenting on pleasant weather. It makes Danny giggle before he opens the search bar to Google what he can on those three topics, wanting to fill his gap in knowledge. Damian and Tim share a fond look. This isn't nearly the first time Danny went on a research binge after a conversation. He has some vast gaps in his knowledge, and he takes it as a personal challenge every time he finds a new hole. It's admirable and adorable to see him so enthusiastic about learning. He has an air of child-like wonder, even if he dislikes the topic.

"Before we lose you to the allure of learning, anki, I'd like to ask if you'd be alright if I brought my best friend over after school on Friday?" Danny looks at Damian in surprise. Tim jumps in.

"His name is Jon, he's kryptonian and Kon's sort of brother and/or nephew. He's Clark's son, but he's always been accepting of Kon, so he'll be nice to you. Especially since Damian cares about you." Danny cautiously studies them before nodding. "Awesome. I plan to be home before them and Cass will definitely be here all day, so if something happens, we will be here."

Danny looks relieved.

"Now, enjoy your research."

[rcmclachlan]

Can you imagine what Tommy looked like when he went in for his shift later that day?

(8x11 coda)

+

When Kinard walks into the locker room at the start of their shift, Lucy does a double take that would make Tex Avery weep with envy.

No one at Harbor would be able to say with a straight face that Kinard's been fully himself over the last few months, what with the wistful eyes and the almost complete lack of Independence Day quotes, but watching him stow his shit in his locker now, he looks diluted, like someone spilled water past the edges of his outline until he grew blurry and ephemeral. She has no idea what could've happened to make him look like this.

He shuts the door to his locker not with the cheerful flair with which he's done since she met him, or the way he's been doing it as of late: quick and perfunctory, like if he wastes even the slightest bit of movement, he'll be losing some kind of bet with himself. 

He shuts the door with a quiet click. Then he just stands there, hand on the handle. She's not even sure he's registered that she's in there with him.

"Kinard," Lucy says. "You good?"

It takes a second for it to penetrate, but she sees the moment it does. He blinks himself out of the fugue state and straightens up,  no expression on his face. He looks like the fucking Terminator. 

"Kinard," she says again, this time barking it out as forcefully as she thinks he can handle. That tone never fails to work on her brother's demon kids, and also Captain Ribiero.

"Donato." He says her name slowly, almost dreamily. He's as solid as a cloud. If she got off the bench and put her hand on his arm, it would fall right through him. "Do you remember the second time we flew together? The gas explosion at Park Fifth. Do you remember what you said to me after we got the kid out—Charlie?"

Wide-eyed, she stares at him, because he's never once brought up Park Fifth since it happened, mostly out of fear that she'd bludgeon him to death with the closest thing within reach for the reminder. It's been literally years since then, and the trust and rapport they've built has erased any hard feelings from that night.

"I asked..." She trails off with a grimace.

It hadn't been her finest moment, considering the kid had just died in his arms. It was her fault—for not listening to him when he wanted her to fly to the east side of the building, downwind, so he could get in and run to where little Charlie Kindstrom was trapped inside with a gas fire that wouldn't quit no matter what they threw at it. She had wanted to get in from the apartment window, have him attack it head-on, to save time, and she'd used her seniority to override him. They wasted precious minutes anyway, trying to get him inside by way of the one clear corner and somehow keep him from being flambéd. 

When they finally got Charlie on board, Kinard had been covered with ash and blood from where Charlie's skin had sloughed off during the transfer, and when Reina, their aeromedic, couldn't get her pulse back, he looked at Lucy with what, at the time, felt like blame. The guilt and frustration and the fact that this smart-ass fucking newbie was calling her out on her mistake, even though he wasn't, not really, got the best of her, got control of her mouth before she could wrestle them back.

"I asked if you ever got tired of being right all the fucking time."

He'd rocked back from it like he'd been slapped, eyes wide and hurt, red from the smoke and the loss, but he never answered her. Reina called time of death, and nobody said a word the entire flight to LA General. When they got back to Harbor, they had it out right there on the tarmac, then walked back inside, arms slung around each other, to find three of their teammates holding up pieces of paper with scores written on them. Nico gave them a 6.5, the fucker.

Now, she watches with wordless horror as a smile like a flatline slowly creeps across his face, eating everything in its path. He steps back from his locker.

"I do," he murmurs. "I really do."

Kinard exhales, then visibly steels himself, plates of armor sliding down, locking in, and then walks out into the hangar like nothing can touch him. Like nothing will touch him ever again. 

Realization hits, and it takes conscious effort to dig her nails out of her palm so she can grab her phone off the bench and open a very, very, very old text thread.

Blowing out a breath, she puts her phone on Do Not Disturb then slides it into her pocket so she can finish tying her boot laces, trying to unclench her jaw with varying success.

Not only does she have an entire shift to lead during the fourth straight day of a county-wide burn ban, which means every idiot from here to San Bernadino is going to try to burn their neighborhood to the ground because they couldn't go a week without throwing a backyard barbecue, but her best pilot's nursing what is clearly a freshly broken heart, and that's a thousand times more dangerous than some dumbass lighting up a firepit in their bone-dry yard.

"I should've called out," she mutters, then stands up.

Would've, could've, should've, but that won't pay her bills. Spending the next 48 hours keeping Kinard from falling out of the sky, however, better come with OT pay.

[theodorenmyth]

I just read 'people you know' and it's so good !!! I was just wondering if you could make an alternate ending (I love the angst but fluff is so cute!!!) with Mattheo and Theo realising what they've done and apologised to y/n but he Makes them work for it until he feels like they're truly sorry, then it works outs. 🙏🙏 Thanks sooo muchhh ♡♡♡

People you know

Pairings : Mattheo R. x GN!Reader x Theodore N.

Summary : Mattheo and Theo work to earn back your trust, proving they’ve changed. Slowly, you let them in again. One night, after carrying you to bed, you ask them to stay. Holding you close, they realize—they’ll never lose you again.

A/N : maybe this one will heal your hearts.... I think

Warnings : Angst, fluffy ending

Word count : 1k+

They didn’t think it would ever come to this.

Mattheo and Theodore had convinced themselves that no matter how much damage had been done, no matter how deep the wounds had cut, you would always find your way back to them. You always had before.

But not this time.

This time, you had replaced them.

At first, they didn’t take it seriously. They saw you hanging around Casper Rosier and Elias Avery and thought it was a temporary thing, that you were just passing time. But then you stopped looking at them. Stopped waiting for them. Stopped acting like they were the center of your world.

And it hurt.

It hurt when Mattheo saw Casper drape an arm around your shoulders.

It hurt when Theo saw Elias steal bits of your food at lunch like it was his right.

It hurt when they saw you at the courtyard under the tree—their tree—with them.

They had no one to blame but themselves.

Pansy had called them out on it first. "You let them go, and now they found people who actually treat them right."

"We didn’t let them go," Theo had muttered, but his voice was weak.

"Yes, you did," she’d said with finality. "And now they’re happy without you."

They should have taken the hint. Should have accepted that they had lost their chance.

But then Mattheo saw you at the Three Broomsticks, sandwiched between Casper and Elias, laughing, and something in him snapped.

The next thing you knew, Mattheo was looming over your table, his hands braced against the wood. "Alright," he said, voice low and sharp. "I think it’s time we talk."

You raised your brows, unimpressed. "Talk? Now you want to talk?"

Theo appeared beside him, looking just as tense. "We should have talked a long time ago," he admitted.

Casper leaned back lazily. "You’ve got some nerve, Riddle."

Mattheo ignored him. "Please," he said, voice tight. "Just five minutes."

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine."

Mattheo and Theo led you outside into the cold, their hearts pounding.

"You hate us," Theo said quietly.

You crossed your arms. "I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you anymore."

The words stung.

Mattheo exhaled sharply. "We were assholes," he admitted. "We fucked up. We got caught up in our own shit and didn’t see what we were doing to you until it was too late."

You studied him carefully. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Theo ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "Because seeing you happy without us fucking killed us." His voice cracked slightly. "Because we miss you, and we know we don’t deserve you back, but we’re selfish enough to want to try anyway."

You felt something in your chest tighten, but you weren’t going to let them off that easily.

"You don’t get to just say sorry and have everything go back to normal," you said. "You hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. If you want me back, you have to prove that I do."

Mattheo and Theo looked at each other before nodding firmly.

"We’ll do whatever it takes," Mattheo said. "Just… don’t shut us out completely."

You hesitated, then gave a small nod. "You can start by earning my time back."

And with that, you walked away, leaving them standing in the cold.

But this time, they weren’t going to let you slip away again.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

They weren’t expecting you to forgive them easily.

Honestly, Mattheo and Theo would have preferred if you had just screamed at them, cursed them out, anything but what you actually did—make them earn you back.

And oh, did you make them work for it.

It started small. They weren’t allowed to sit next to you in the Great Hall, but you let them hover nearby. You wouldn’t wait for them after class, but you didn’t speed up when they walked beside you. You let them talk, let them try, but you made no promises.

And yet, that small sliver of hope was enough for them.

They did everything.

Mattheo would leave sweets on your desk before class, casually acting like he had no idea how they got there. Theo would pass you notes, little things like ‘You look nice today.’ or ‘This class is unbearable without you talking to me.’

They remembered things. Things they should have always remembered.

Theo pulled you aside before Potions one day, placing a small, wrapped package in your hands. "I know your hands get cold, and I saw these at Hogsmeade."

Inside were a pair of enchanted gloves, warm as if you were always near a fireplace.

Mattheo, as dramatic as ever, threw his scarf around you when he saw you shivering. "Can’t have you freezing to death. I refuse to grieve fashionably."

And slowly, you started letting them back in.

You allowed Theo to sit across from you in the library instead of a table away. You let Mattheo walk with you to class without rolling your eyes. You started responding to their little notes with snarky comments, making them grin like idiots.

The real shift happened one night in the common room.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, your book slipping from your fingers. Theo and Mattheo had been sitting nearby, both watching you with quiet longing.

Theo was the first to move. Carefully, cautiously, he reached over and brushed a strand of hair from your face. "They used to fall asleep on us all the time," he murmured.

Mattheo swallowed. "I miss that."

Theo hesitated, then whispered, "We should bring them to bed."

Mattheo nodded, and before he could second-guess himself, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you as gently as he could. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, instead curling into his warmth instinctively.

Mattheo’s heart clenched.

Theo followed closely behind, and when they finally tucked you into bed, they both hesitated before stepping away.

And then, still half-asleep, you murmured, "Stay?"

They froze.

Theo swallowed. "Are you sure?"

You sighed sleepily, shifting to make room. "I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t."

They didn’t waste a second.

Theo slid in on one side, his warmth familiar and comforting. Mattheo took the other, draping an arm over you protectively.

For the first time in months, it felt right.

Mattheo exhaled against your hair. "Missed this," he whispered.

Theo pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Missed you."

You sighed, finally, finally relaxing in their arms. "I missed you too."

And just like that, they knew—this time, they weren’t going to lose you again.

[mbruben-stein]

MHA boys reaction to finding out after the final war that their s/o became wheelchair bound and became a teacher after the war ended.

~Izuku Midoriya~

When Izuku first learns that his s/o was badly injured in the war and can no longer walk, he would be absolutely devastated. Seeing the person he loves in so much pain, and knowing they sacrificed their mobility fighting alongside him, would tear him apart with grief and guilt. He'd likely break down crying and apologizing profusely for not protecting them.

But once the initial shock passes, Izuku's compassionate and supportive nature would quickly take over. He would do everything in his power to be there for his s/o during their recovery and adaptation to life in a wheelchair. Izuku would constantly encourage them, telling them how incredible and heroic they are for all they've done. He'd be endlessly patient, helping them with daily tasks and pushing their wheelchair without complaint.

At the same time, Izuku would make sure not to coddle or pity his s/o. He knows how strong and capable they are. So while he offers help, he'd also give them space to figure things out and maintain their independence as much as possible. Izuku would cheer on every milestone as they learn to navigate the world in new ways.

I imagine Izuku being so proud when his s/o takes a job teaching at UA. Using their skills and experience to help train the next generation of heroes is an amazing way for them to continue making a difference, wheelchair or no wheelchair. Izuku would brag about them to everyone. On tough days, he'd remind them what an inspiration they are to their students.

Overall, this tragedy would only make Izuku love and admire his s/o more. He'd stand by their side unconditionally, being the steadfast pillar of support they can always count on. They would grow even closer through this challenge. To Izuku, his s/o will always be his hero, no matter what.

~Katsuki Bakugo~

Initially, Bakugo is filled with rage and guilt. He's furious at the villains who hurt his s/o so badly, and furious at himself for not being able to protect them. He may lash out or seem angry at first, but it's masking his devastation and self-blame.

Once the initial shock and anger fades, Bakugo becomes fiercely protective and supportive of his s/o. He's determined to be there for them no matter what as they adjust to their new circumstances. He helps them with physical therapy, getting their home accessibility upgraded, and anything else they need without complaint.

Bakugo is secretly very proud that his s/o has taken on a teaching role at UA to help train the next generation of heroes. He knows they have a wealth of experience and wisdom to share. But he grumbles that the "damn kids better not give you any trouble or they'll have to answer to me."

When his s/o has hard days and gets frustrated with their physical limitations, Bakugo is quick to remind them that they're still every bit the incredible hero and person they've always been. "You think a little thing like a wheelchair makes you any less amazing? Don't be a damn idiot."

Bakugo makes it clear to everyone that NOTHING about his love and respect for his partner has changed. He shuts down any pitying looks or comments immediately. His s/o is still the badass he fell in love with and he won't let anyone imply otherwise.

On the anniversary of the day his s/o was injured, Bakugo is always extra attentive, planning special things to show how glad he is to still have them by his side. He knows things could have turned out much worse and he'll never take their presence for granted.

Overall, in the end, he loves them for who they are no matter what.

~Shoto Todoroki~

When Shoto first learns what happened to his partner, he feels a mix of deep concern, sadness, and anger that they were so badly injured. Even years later, remembering the moment he found out still brings back those painful emotions. He wishes more than anything he could have protected them.

At the same time, Shoto is incredibly proud of his S/O's bravery, sacrifice and strength. They put their life on the line as a hero, just like he did. And now they are channeling that same heroic spirit into inspiring and guiding the next generation at UA. Shoto has endless respect and admiration for them.

Shoto makes sure to be there to physically and emotionally support his partner as much as possible, especially early on as they adjust to using a wheelchair. He helps make their home fully accessible. If his S/O is self-conscious about the wheelchair, Shoto reassures them that it doesn't change how he feels at all - he loves them unconditionally and their chair is a symbol of their courage.

When he visits them at work, Shoto loves seeing his S/O in their element - skillfully navigating the school grounds and classrooms, captivating the students with their hard-earned wisdom and experience. The students look up to them immensely. Shoto teases that they're everyone's favorite teacher.

In private moments, Shoto makes sure his partner knows how much he cherishes them. The war took a heavy toll on them both physically and mentally. But supporting each other and building a life together has brought hope and light back after so much darkness.

Overall, his S/O inspires Shoto to be a better hero and person every day.

[angelremnants]

Of Stormbound Hearts l L. Laufeyson

summary : In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), intense emotional tension, physical intimacy, angst to eventual fluff, vulnerability, character conflict, suggestive content. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 4.9k

(ao3 version)

The dimly lit room trembled under the weight of your clashing words. Tension hummed like a taut wire, each breath you drew amplifying the storm raging outside the windows. Thunder cracked sharply, rattling the walls like an impatient herald of unresolved truths. Yet neither of you blamed Thor for the horrid weather—after all, he had fled the chaos of your ongoing quarrel, retreating to find solace a few doors away.

The argument had collapsed into a suffocating silence, and the air between you was sparking with the aftershock of words that could not be taken back. Loki’s composure was shattered, a pale reflection of his usual elegance. His chest rose and fell unevenly, dark locks falling across his face in wild disarray, evidence of his frustrated hands. His arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers twitching with restrained fury—the kind of control that seemed like a punishment, as though it physically pained him to keep from destroying something, anything.

You fared no better. You tugged tightly at your hands behind your back, a futile effort to quell your trembling. Although your voice had been quieter than his during your shouting match, the magnitude of your confrontation rippled through you like an unstoppable tide, leaving you breathless.

You wanted to say something cutting, to twist the knife just enough to force him to react. But his silence unnerved you. The tension in his body and the way his chest rose and fell unevenly—it wasn’t anger. Not entirely.

“What now, Loki?” Your voice sliced through the quiet, intransigent and bitter. “Another lecture about how I’ve derailed your grand, masterful plans?”

He stood motionless, his silhouette framed by the storm’s flickering light. His shoulders were tense, rigid beneath the weight of everything he didn’t say. You shot daggers at his back, daring him to respond. The distance between you felt impossibly vast yet suffocatingly small.

“Are you going to speak?” you pressed on, your words razor-sharp. “Or is this the part where you brood in silence, as if the world owes you something? How very godlike of you.” Your tone dripped with mockery.

His muscles tensed at the provocation, every inch of him vibrating with restrained energy. You felt the atmosphere crackling with the kind of dangerous power you recognized all too well. Your instincts screamed at you to retreat, to stop provoking the storm brewing before you, but a deeper, reckless part of you pushed forward, daring to test the limits—perhaps as a way to prove to yourself that you could withstand it.

Instead of unleashing his fury, he closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, as though the very act of restraint was excruciating.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, trembling with barely restrained anger. “Do you think I stand here, unraveling because it amuses me? Don’t mock me, [Y/N]. I am holding on by a thread.”

The vulnerability laced through his fury struck you like a lightning bolt, but you wouldn’t let him see it. Folding your arms, you threw his anger back at him with a defiant glare.

“Control. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Your fragile ego.” You scoffed bitterly, crossing your arms to mask the nervous tremor in your fingers. “Honestly, Loki, if you’re so desperate for control, maybe you should stop being so insufferable—”

His head fell forward slightly, his sharp laughter echoing bitterly around the room. The sound was devoid of joy, just a hollow crack in the façade he fought to maintain.

“Stop.” He abruptly turned to you, his eyes unyielding and blazing with darkness. The storm within him mirrored the one outside, each word trembling with unrestrained venom. His lips curled into a joyless smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows carved harsh lines into his face, and his gaze burned with a fury that made your pulse quicken.

“You ruin everything,” he snarled, taking a step toward you. The intensity in his gaze forced you to take an involuntary step back. “Every plan. Every strategy. Every ounce of control I’ve fought to keep. You invade my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment.” He laughed bitterly, his voice trembling with fury and despair. “You don’t get it, do you? How maddening, how utterly unbearable you’ve made this for me. You’ve undone me. Me! The God of Lies, of Mischief, reduced to this—this pathetic shadow.”

Your defiance faltered. There was no venom in his words, only a bone-deep frustration and something else, unknown to your senses.

"Please don't do this," you warned, your voice now softer, hoping to appease him—unfortunately, he wasn't paying enough attention to note this subtle cry for calm.

"Do you know what it’s like? To crave someone so deeply that it consumes you?" Loki continued, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him now palpable. "To loathe them for it? To want to destroy them because it would be easier than feeling this—this madness?"

Your anger wavered in the face of his raw emotion. You noticed his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers curling into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His brow furrowed, veins straining visibly beneath his skin, as if his emotions were about to burst forth. The tremble in his voice betrayed the turmoil he fought to contain.

"You terrify me." His voice softened as he whispered your name in an almost pained tone, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. The vulnerability he had buried so deeply now spilled over. "You've taken the one thing I've always had—control. And you've destroyed it without even trying. I hate you for it. I despise your existence."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and the armor you had so carefully built around yourself began to fracture. It felt like a physical blow, a sharp breath escaping you as if you had been struck in the solar plexus.

"Then leave," you whispered, your voice thin and brittle. The word felt like ash on your tongue. "If I’m such a burden, leave."

“Do you think I haven't tried?” His voice was a mix of anguish and fury. “I have fought gods, defied realms, burned my own bridges to the ground in the name of my freedom—and yet, I can’t walk away. I am shackled, chained to this unbearable ache that you've submitted to me.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as his words sank in, each one unraveling the control you thought you had. You had believed yourself to be the one in charge, teasing him, testing his limits. But now, faced with the depth of his emotions, you realized how little you truly understood him.

“Loki…” Your voice trembled, softer now, filled with uncertainty.

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish,” he insisted, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and vulnerability that gleamed in his eyes. “You will hear this—I deserve the least of it. You infuriate me,” he growled, suppressing emotion as he took a strained breath, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as if in pain. “Because you’ve invaded every part of me. You’ve stripped me bare, torn me apart.”

He took a step closer, the heat of his body almost overpowering your train of thought. Your back pressed against the wall, and as you opened your mouth to reply, no words came out. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

“I hate it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I hate how much I need you, how much I—” He broke off, his words choking in his throat. “I can’t even hate you properly. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything. This burning torment consumes me every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice and know I can never—” He exhaled suddenly, as though the admission physically pained him. Lowering his head, he gripped his hip with his other hand as if to steady himself. “You make me feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out. You haunt my thoughts. It hurts, and it bewilders me beyond recovery to hear you call for me, to hear you say my name.”

The storm outside roared, and the lightning illuminated his face as he towered over you, his forehead nearly brushing against yours. The tremor in his hands pressed against the wall on either side of you, trapping you without making contact.

“I am weak, and you are the one thing I cannot resist. It pains me, irritates me, and yet—and yet, I crave it. I crave you.”

You stared at him, rendered speechless, as his voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I’ve known nothing but pain and suffering my whole life, but never have I suffered like this. Every moment I’m near you is agony,” he confessed, his breath warm against your cheek. “But every moment I’m away is worse.”

He pursed his lips, his throat constricting as if swallowing the pain. Then, slowly, almost as though it was the last shred of his pride slipping away, he sank to his knees before you.

His shoulders slumped forward in silent surrender, as if his pride and strength had been stripped away in that single motion. Your heart raced as you saw him like this—so proud, so untouchable—now laid bare and vulnerable.

"I am begging you," Loki murmured, his voice trembling. "On my knees, if that’s what it takes. Tell me to leave." He shut his eyes tightly, as if even the thought of it would scar him. "If you feel nothing, say the word, and I will disappear from your life, no matter how much it kills me. But if there is even the smallest chance that you..."

He stopped, his voice breaking completely as he looked up at you, his stormy green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"If you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you... please. End this. Free me from this torment—or let me stay as I am. It would be an honor if you could accept me as such." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am already painfully yours. But I beg you, please, tell me what to do."

For a long moment, the only sound was the storm echoing the chaos between you. You stood over him, and for the first time, you saw him—not as a god, not as an agent of chaos, not even as your acolyte, but as a vulnerable being, utterly at your mercy. His words, heavy with unrestrained emotion, shamefully made your heart race and stirred something deep inside you.

"I..." you started, your voice barely a whisper, but Loki shook his head. His hands curled into fists against the earth as he slowly lifted his gaze, stormy green eyes locking onto yours. "No," he breathed in anguish. "If you’re going to reject me, say it directly—don’t give me hope first."

Your heart felt heavy, a tight knot forming in your throat as Loki's words cut through the air like a cold breeze. Each syllable lingered, wrapping around you like a shroud and igniting a tumult of emotions within you. You hesitated for a moment before brushing your fingers over his trembling shoulders. You couldn’t stand to see him like this. He had always been a god of power and control—and now, he was breaking in front of you.

"Loki," you whispered, your voice low but steady, "please, don’t kneel. Get up. It pains me to see you like this."

But like a child being reprimanded, Loki categorically refused to obey to your demand and shook his head, his hands clenched into fists against the earth.

"Look at me, Mischief," you said softly, your tone coaxing, as though your voice alone could undo the weight crushing him. Your hands hovered for a moment before finally resting on his trembling shoulders. "You don’t belong on your knees. Not before anyone, and certainly not before me."

His jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes, an abashed expression crossing his face like a shadow. How wrong you were, not to know that it was one of the finest luxuries in all of the realms for him to be found in such a compromising position for you. Only for you.

Sighing, you resigned yourself to match his position and lowered yourself to your knees in response. Your fingers rose to his face, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he deserved. Though he didn’t return your gaze—probably out of shame, judging by the flush staining his alabaster cheeks—you could see the turmoil in his eyes, mirroring your own.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. Even in the overwhelming intensity of the moment, a mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes, and a small, teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. You brushed your fingers lightly against his temple as you lightly leaned in before flicking his forehead. “You really do have a way with words, don’t you? Twisting my thoughts around like one of your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, flickering with a mix of disbelief and indignation. His mouth opened, a protest forming on his tongue, but it faltered. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. A small tremor betrayed him in his silence, noticeable enough to reveal the cracks in the armor he so desperately tried to maintain.

You sighed softly, your breath brushing against his cheek as you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze again. “You’re impossible, Loki,” you murmured quietly now, in an almost tender tone. “Completely and utterly impossible.”

With that, Loki’s walls crumbled. His head fell gently onto your shoulder as his body surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He was emotionally spent, utterly drained, and you held him close, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hands slid through his hair, fingers gently brushing through the tangled mess as a soft gesture of comfort. You glided your hands down his back, letting the tips of your nails graze his spine before tracing back up, repeating the process; each touch sent shivers of pleasure through him.

“You’re cruel,” Loki barely audibly huffed with dry humor, yet it still tinged with something like relief.

You let out a soft laugh, your lips brushing the crown of his head. “If anything, I think you’re the cruel one for making me care this much,” you replied, trembling. “You push, you pull… you twist me into knots, Loki. And still…” You paused. “Still, here I am.”

His breath hitched at your words, his body taut beneath your touch. You slowly pulled back, cupping his face once more. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones as your eyes roamed over his features—the furrow in his brow, the way his lips trembled slightly, the flush on his pale skin.

“Honestly, I should be the one angry with you, Mischief,” you said with frustration. “I never did anything wrong, yet you let it all spill onto me—your anger, your pain. You teased me, belittled me, and made me feel like I didn’t matter. And yet, here you are, breaking down in my arms and asking me to understand.”

Your words cut through him and he swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. With a sigh, your expression softened, your lips twitching into a small, understanding smile. “But you’re a beautiful soul, Loki—complicated, yes, but beautiful all the same. And I can’t help but be pulled in.”

A shudder ran through him at your words, his vulnerability deepening. For a moment, he looked as though he might shatter entirely.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair. You leaned into him, intoxicated by his warmth, your lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “I want you to look at me, sweetheart.”

Loki’s sharp intake of breath betrayed his surprise, his stormy eyes snapping up to meet yours. His reluctance was palpable, a flicker of resistance flashing through his gaze, but this time he obeyed nonetheless.

Your teasing nature returned, a discreet and sly smile tugging at your lips as you pulled back slightly. Your thumb grazed his jaw, your touch soft and deliberate as your gaze roamed over his face. You admired every detail, letting your fingers trace his lips, cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, your words cutting through the veil of confusion and tension that had clouded his mind. He buzzed with delight under the weight of your gaze and the soft but insistent touch of your fingers; it was almost too much to bear. Battling to stay still, he fought against the urge to jump on you and ravage you senseless for speaking those words and treating him like he was the finest ornament.

You replaced your hands in their original positions and brushed your eyes over his face, taking it all in. Loki’s features were a portrait you wished you could engrave in your mind forever. His brow furrowed slightly, expressing the intensity of his uncertainties. His lips, which you teasingly traced with your thumb, parted in a shallow, desperate breath, trembling ever so slightly as if on the verge of confessing something left unsaid, although everything had already been spoken. The sharp, high points of his cheekbones, usually so regal, now appeared softer, flushed a deep crimson from a mix of vulnerability and desire. A single drop of sweat traced down the side of his face, catching the light and adding to the tension in his gaze—and oh, those eyes.

His eyes, darkened with longing, swirled with flickers of green shimmering with desperation. The depths of his irises seemed to pull you in, reflecting not only his internal struggle but also his raw need to be seen and understood, and more importantly, for you to accept him wholly. Beneath the intensity, you could sense the vulnerability in his eyes, attracting you like would a siren song.

Your fingers glided down the length of Loki’s neck, lightly grazing his skin as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. The faint teasing smile on your lips never faded, even as you sensed the tension building in his body, each gentle touch adding to the pressure. You reveled in the way he reacted to your every move. It was a delicate game, a playful form of payback for the emotional torment he had caused you during your journey, and perhaps a way to steady yourself against your growing desire to close the distance between you entirely.

Your thumb traced his jaw, your fingers lingering near his lips, as if daring him to break the silence. The heat between you thickened, charged with unspoken need. You almost forgot his boundaries, lost in the thrill of the game and definitely too enthralled by the gorgeous being in front of you.

However, you failed to notice the shift in his posture. The practiced stillness that once defined him wavered, giving way to a sense of danger. His breath hitched, and his mind snapped back to the person he truly was. The weight of his identity surged through him like a tidal wave, breaking the fragile restraint he had been maintaining. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his eyes burned with a warning you failed to heed.

In that moment, you overlooked the reality that you were not dealing with an obedient being, but a depraved and hedonistic god who always took what he wanted. A god whose desires were as boundless as his patience was fragile.

In a flash, Loki shot out his hands, seizing your wrists and yanking them away from his face. His grip was firm and unyielding, forcing you to pause as you felt the rising tension in his body with barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“Enough,” he growled, a whisper of danger hanging heavily in the air. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the shift in his demeanor. You found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, unaware that his restraint had snapped and his longing had surged to the surface all at once. Primal hunger radiated from him as his hands tightened around your wrists, pulling you closer with an urgency born of days filled with loneliness and yearning. The heat between you burned brighter, almost unbearable, as the space between your faces dwindled.

“You should know better than to toy with a god,” he warned, his voice thick with desperation, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned in slowly, your lips hovering just a breath away from his. Your warm breath teased him, a subtle dare to close the distance. But at the last moment, you hesitated. Something inside you faltered—not out of fear, but from an instinct to stretch and savour the moment. You drew back ever so slightly, your lashes fluttering as you caught your breath.

The instance of hesitation was his breaking point. A low, feral sound escaped his throat as his hands moved swiftly, cradling your face with a reverence that trembled with need.

He surged forward, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both relentless and heartbreakingly tender. It was fierce and all-consuming, as if every ounce of his pent-up longing was poured into that single moment. You thought you heard him sigh in relief as he pulled you closer, as if the weight of your shared emotions connected you in a way that words never could.

His trembling hands released your wrists, one sliding to the nape of your neck, the other tracing down your silhouette before settling at your waist, pulling you firmly onto his lap. Your bodies aligned, his center flush against yours.

You tried to speak, but the words were trapped in your throat, lost in the overwhelming intensity of his kiss. His lips were insistent, each press a force that left no room for thought, only the sensation of him, of this. Each kiss felt like a claim, a demand you couldn’t resist. Your breath caught in your chest, and before you realized it, your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as his kiss deepened.

Your mind raced faster than your heartbeat, torn between the fire of his touch and the fear gnawing at your insides. How did we get here? you wondered, your fingers pausing against his skin as confusion tugged at your thoughts. Is this what I’ve been waiting for? The line between longing and fear blurred in your chest. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into his orbit, yet a quiet voice in the back of your mind warned you not to lose yourself in this moment.

“Loki...” you whispered, your voice heavy with the vulnerability you could no longer conceal. But before you could finish your sentence, his lips claimed yours once more, and you found yourself powerless to resist. He couldn’t stop; his mouth moved over yours with a desperate passion, and you surrendered to him, lacking the strength to pull away.

"Don't pull away," he mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Not now, please."

The world outside your embrace faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours and the heat of his body seeping into yours. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, pounding as fast as your own. Every kiss was a question, and every touch confirmed that neither of you could walk away from this—no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much fear lingered in the back of your minds.

You knew that you should stop, that you should hold back, but the pull of him was stronger than anything you had ever known. The quiet voice in your mind warned you not to lose yourself, but it was drowned out by the heat building between you, a magnetic force neither of you could deny.

You could feel his pulse racing in his fingertips as they traced the line of your spine, grounding you in the whirlwind of emotions. Everything around you seemed to be speeding up, charged with an urgent, desperate energy that neither of you could control. For a fleeting moment, you understood: this wasn’t just about passion; it was something deeper, something you couldn’t articulate. It was months of tension and longing finally unraveling between you.

When you gently separated, your bodies reluctant to lose the closeness, Loki still had the clarity, even amidst the storm of his desires, to give you space. His forehead brushed against yours, and your breaths mingled as you both tried to steady the rapid beating of your hearts. Loki’s hands lingered on your skin, holding the moment without pulling you back immediately. There was a vulnerability in that, a tenderness within his hunger.

Your heart pounded against your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you gazed into his eyes. There was a quiet intensity there, a storm brewing in the depths, and you knew, with terrifying clarity, that neither of you could walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.

He whispered, his voice raw and desperate, "Stay." The word was barely a breath against your lips. It wasn’t a request; it was an unspoken promise, a silent vow.

Your cheeks flushed deeply as you felt the weight of his gaze and the heat between you. Timidly, you nodded, your lips parting in a barely audible "Yes"—a whisper of surrender. The vulnerability of your gesture only spurred him on.

Without a word, Loki's lips found yours again, his kiss more urgent than before, as if claiming what was now his. His touch was demanding and desperate, overflowing with everything he had kept buried. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was a claim, a release for all he had confined within.

He took everything you offered, his lips moving hungrily against yours, ragged with desire. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that spoke of months of longing. One hand slid back to the nape of your neck, while the other traced the curve of your waist, stationing to their rightful places, savoring how your bodies were leaving no space between you.

You felt a stronger pull towards him than ever before. As you surrendered to his embrace, you realized there was no turning back. You let your instincts guide you and continued to kiss him, your focus narrowing to the sensations of his lips, his touch, and his breath.

His hands trembled as he gripped you tighter, sliding over your curves, anchoring himself to the reality of your touch. He explored with deliberate slowness, tracing the length of your spine and backside, teasing as you had done to him earlier. He relished in this dance of long-awaited affection and need, in the feeling of your fluttering eyelashes against his cheeks, the thundering beats of your pulsing heart under his palm, the shared heat as your bodies almost united as one.

You tugged at his hair, attempting to slow him—but oh, he couldn't, not anymore, not ever. He groaned, unrelenting, lost in the feeling of you. He was too far gone, too hooked up on the feeling and the taste of your sweet lips. He shuddered pleasurably when he chased your mouth even as you gasped for air, even when he too needed to breathe.

It felt as though he could travel to Hel and back with the fire in his veins, ignited by the scent and taste of you. You only spurred him further when you bit his lip and gratified his back by raking your nails down. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he shifted his grip and lifted his hips in reflex, pressing against you with relentless hunger.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for oxygen, Loki's forehead rested against your temple. His breathing was uneven, and his hands still trembled from the raging storm inside him as they lingered on your skin. Although his grip loosened, the raw intensity remained, demonstrated by the furrow of his eyebrows in pleasure.

"Careful," he rasped moments after with his voice hoarse, having taken his time to clear his mind a bit from the foggy sensation in the febrile hope he could somewhat behave himself not to go rampant. He backed away to admire his handiwork, his eyes roaming over you to appreciate the flush in your cheeks, the pink of your swollen lips, and the dazed look in your eyes. "You've already tested my patience. Keep this up, and I won't hold back."

Your heart thundered, your body vibrating with exhilaration and need. A small sly smile tugged at your lips as you leaned forward, biting his lip once more in defiance. Loki’s control slipped further. With a swift motion, he pulled you down against the concrete of the ground, his lips finding yours again in a renewed storm of desire.

The storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.

ending note : I honestly almost turned it into a smut— almost. It was tempting, but I haven't reached that level yet.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

dividers ©️ @strangergraphics-archive + @enchanthings .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Float On

CCF Spring Break Prompt: Seagull | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Pre-Steddie | CW: After Effects of S4, Depression | Tags: Eddie Munson Lived, Now He Just Kinda Wants to Float Away, His Friends Won't Let Him, Angst w/a Hopeful Ending

The bird swoops low again, aiming for the sandwich on Eddie's knee. It's graceful, in a way Eddie isn't. Not these days, not since, well. Since. He sits on the beach and wastes another day of their spring break moping. 

Spring Break isn't for him, not since that one two years ago. But everybody else wanted to get away, and he couldn't blame them for that. He wants to get away from Hawkins, too. Permanently. But all his prospects for escaping that hellhole have fallen into the cracks in the earth, like much of the rest of the town.

So, here he is. Half-heartedly protecting his peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a would-be thief of a bird.

Eddie's tired. More tired than usual of trying to fit himself into a round hole as a square peg. Eddie isn't, and will never again be like everyone else after everything that happened. Societal norms seem harder than ever, after knowing what being just a little different gets you. 

His friends don't get it, not really, and he tosses the sandwich on the ground, giving up. He's used to things being taken from him, and he doesn't have the fight left to stop it.

Eddie floats on his back in the ocean. He floats better here than he ever did at home in lakes and ponds, and he's been doing it for hours every day they've been here. 

Float, float, floating. 

He almost wishes there were a water gate underneath him now, complete with tentacles to pull him under. Down, down, down, until it spits him out someplace else. Somewhere more suited for this version of him, forever tainted by the Upside Down.

Eddie hears the splashing, the man-made movement of wading, then swimming, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to listen to Gareth's lecturing, or Jeff's eternal encouragement. It's definitely not Goodie. He's scared of the seagulls after they stole his nachos, tray and all.

The movement ceases, and he can feel them floating next to him. That's fine, he supposes. As long as they stay quiet.

"You're drifting kind of far out."

Eddie's eyes open, and he turns his head to look over at Steve Harrington. He shouldn't be here. How'd he get here?

"Gareth called me. Said you were floating away. I didn't know he meant it literally."

Eddie nods. He is floating away. He's damaged, inside and out, and spending spring break at the beach isn't helping.

Nothing helps, not really.

Steve reaches over and takes his hand, "You can't just float away, okay?"

Eddie admits, "I kind of want to."

"I know. But I won't allow it," Steve says, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and Steve's hand, at the same time.

They aren't friends, not really. But it's been a weird limbo after that other spring break. You can't live through something like that with people, and not feel kinship. But they are very different people, and Eddie has always known that.

Steve Harrington landed on his feet. The bruises around his neck faded, and he got right back out into the world.

Eddie's scars seem to run deeper.

"I just feel heavy. Weighed down."

"You're floating," Steve teases softly.

"But I feel saddled with an anchor, hell-bent on dragging me down. Maybe it should," Eddie admits.

Steve rolls onto his side, out of his floating position, and kicks over closer to Eddie's head. Then, Steve treads water behind him, cups the back of his neck, and slides an arm over Eddie's belly. Slick skin against slick skin.

Eddie knows what's coming, can sense it, and he closes his eyes. Holds his breath.

And he was right. Steve pulls him under, fully submerging him, washing him clean. Then, he brings him back to the surface.

It's symbolic, a baptism of sorts, and he accepts it. Turns his face towards the sun, and opens his eyes, blinking the stinging saltwater away.

Steve Harrington still has a hold of him, but Eddie kind of believes he might be able to keep himself above water, now. 

But he doesn't have to. Not yet. He lulls his head back on Steve's shoulder, as Steve holds him up, treading water with ease.

Jeff's standing at the edge of the ocean, and holds open a towel. Eddie's exhausted, and he steps into it, letting Jeff wrap him up in the soft cotton, hugging him.

Steve is shaking out his hair like a wet dog, and the three of them trudge towards the rented beach house that hush money paid for, but couldn't make him happy.

He lived. 

Now he actually has to do that.

They kick through the sand, and when they reach the steps, Eddie pauses. 

"What?" Jeff asks. 

"I'm hungry," Eddie answers, "I'm starving, actually."

"Swimming will do that. We'll order pizza," Steve offers, and that sounds like the best thing Eddie's ever heard. He wants Steve to take charge.

And Steve does. Stands at the counter, in the rented beach house, shirtless, chest hair still damp as he argues with all the guys, trying to formulate an order that makes sense. Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

It's like he's glowing. 

Eddie's stomach tightens. He can't. He can't have feelings for Steve Harrington just because he came and played savior.

There's bickering and wheedling, and Steve Harrington being bitchy to regain control of the situation. It's soothing, somehow. Eddie sprawls out on the couch, and closes his eyes. 

He doesn't open them until his legs are being lifted, and Steve slides down on the couch, now dry, pizza in hand. Steve puts Eddie's legs in his lap, opens the box, handing over a slice.

Eddie grins, and takes it. Enjoying Steve's hand on his shin. It feels grounding, like maybe, maybe he won't come untethered and float on anymore. 

"Thanks for coming," Eddie says.

Steve smiles, "Always. You need anything, I'm here."

For some reason, Eddie actually believes him, and he leans forward, squeezing Steve's hand.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on Spring Break prompts, or to offer up your own!

[celaenaeiln]

What are you favorite things about Dickkory?

Please and Thank You☺️

SO. MANY. THINGS!!!

Where do I start?!

Their freedom

Their dedication

Their dynamic

Ok so my favorite thing - well one of three favorite things - about Dick and Kory is that they just let each other be who they are.

What I mean is Dick never tells Kori she has to look a certain way, act a certain way, or talk a certain way. Obviously he's going to stop her from killing people but he loves her for who she is.

Secret Origins (1986) Issue #13

This means the WORLD to me because EVERYONE loves Kori for her body canonically. Like every single guy is just so turned on by her looks but for Dick that doesn't matter. He loves her wholely and purely. I'm tearing up a little by how much respect he gives her.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #71

You have no idea how happy his words make me. He never ever EVER blames Kori for the way she dresses or restricts her in any fashion. He's always extremely supportive of her. If she wants to do modeling? He's all for it. If she wants to go dancing? He's right there with her. She wants to try something new? He's helping her. He is SUCH a supportive boyfriend in everything she does. The killing is still off-limits ofcourse but everything else he loves her so much. He loves her for who she is not how she looks.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #71

He NEVER puts her down. And she never puts him down. They're supportive. And this I can appreciate even more because some of Dick's other love interests have it out for him. They get some type of power play about digging open his insecurities and throwing his faults in his face but not her. He's aware of his own faults, he doesn't need that to be used as a weapon against him like some more modern love interests do. Kori's understanding and loving and in response to that Dick treats her like a queen.

That's the first reason. The second reason is they help each other.

Dick can be difficult to deal with because he locks his emotions away. When he feels stressed he isolates himself because he doesn't want to talk to anyone about how he's feeling. But Kori? She doesn't resent him for that. She actually patiently tries to get him to open up. She's understanding and loving of him and his situation. I love them because when things get hard they don't just abandon each other, move on, and then get back together again after they've solved their own problems alone - no. They work hard to work through it together.

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

Dick and Kori come from vastly different cultures and have different beliefs so this causes problems. Here Dick's contemplating settling down with Kori because of how she kills people.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #13

But in the face of it all, losing her is imporant to him that their difference in values

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #14

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #15

The thing about Dick and Kori having problems is that it's inspiring. Like you see all the troubles they faced, all the hardships, differences, and difficulties they went and it's amazing. Because Dick and Kori come from two different world. Literally. But they worked hard on their relationship. They worked through their differences because they loved each other so much that they wanted to stay together.

We could've have Dick and Kory forever if the real life Batman office writers hadn't broken off their wedding because they wanted to take Dick away from the Titans and give him to Batman. Do you realize what this means? If DC writers Dick hadn't been ripped away and Kori hadn't been disparaged by them, we would STILL be reading about Dick and Kory now. They would've been married and had kids by now.

But that brings me to my point - their love is amazing because they worked on the things that were different. It's awe-inspiring to love someone so much that you'll stay with them through anything.

Dickkory is my number one romantic pair for this reason. The problems that Dick has faced in his subsequent relationships is NOTHING compared to what he worked through with Kori. Which is why it frustrates me when a love interest abandons him at first stirrings of trouble because "hello? what you're getting now is cleaned up dick grayson. This is like playing a game on easy mode and still failing. If you can't be there for him when he has his act together, how could you ever be there for him when he's truly struggling?"

Going back to the scene at hand, Dick still stays with Kori but Kori is forced to marry another man at her father's orders and this is what breaks them apart. Because Kori is married to Ryand'r and Dick loves her. But despite this?

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #32

For Dick on the other hand it takes a case for him to understand -

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #34

But he gets it.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #34

They come back stronger than ever.

Their love is the greatest romance of the ages for this reason. Your partner is your confidant. When the whole world turns against you, YOU need to be there by their side and they need to stand by you through everything. If you suddenly go from being rich to dirt poor, your parents abandon you, your friends betray you - the greatest love is standing with your partner through everything.

And Dick loves Kori for this too

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #44

And that's what they embody and that's why I respect them.

Their relationship isn't a shattered vase glued together, their relationship is a muscle growth. You exercise, you stress the muscle and tear it. It causes you pain but that tear heals and the result is a stronger muscle and a healtier and fitter body. They're just so great.

So the second reason was their dedication to each other. The third reason is I love their dynamic!!

Kori is aggressive and strong but loving where as Dick is softer and strong but loving. It's like a girlboss and powerful malewife dynamic. Dick is phsycially shorter and smaller than Kori and Kori taller than him. They way she carries him around and touches him and holds him?!

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #15

The way that Dick gets so jealous and tries to show off for Kori only for his mount to slip off the cliff is so cute!! To everyone Dick is this cool, sexy, intelligent, perfect figure. The only time he gets childlishly jealous and reckless is when he's with Kori. And then having Kori bridal carry him after his mistake is just priceless.

But Dick doesn't begrudge Kori for this. What I love about Dick loving Kori is that he loves her for her power.

The Flash (1987) Issue #81

Dick thirsting for people who can pick him up and throw him around will always be my favorite part of him.

"I love that in a woman."

Yeah, Dick, we can hear that loud and clear. See it too.

LIKE LOOK AT THIS!!!-

Dark Knights of Steel Issue #7

With Kori there's no hesitation to give Dick affirmation.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #2

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #49

Everyone in the entirety of DC knows that Dick is exceedingly pretty. Even villains regularly call him out on it. But it's SO nice to hear his girlfriend tell him that in such an honest and nice non-sleezy way. And that's my probably most favorite thing about them. This girlboss/malewife dynamic they have going on. They're equals but it's not the usual dynamic where the guy showers the girl with compliments and she's satisfied back. She tells him of her own volition how much she loves him and how beautiful he looks. She carries him around and is aggressive in their love. And I just love that so much.

Their love overall is just off the charts.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #39

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #38

Teen Titans Spotlight (1988) Issue #19

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #10

[psychostxr]

𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢 | emotions

PAIRING. jordan li x gn! reader

WORD COUNT. 0.7k

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of death, marie bashing (i'm sorry)

NOTES. i have also hopped on the jordan li train, and my god, i've never had a character chokehold me so tightly

Since Marie Moreau joined Godolkin University, everything has gone downhill. After the death of your friend Luke and the murder of your favorite professor, your life has gone through a ball of shit. You didn't want to blame Marie. The poor girl got caught up in Luke's drama — drama you didn't even know existed — she's just as traumatized as you are.

That's what you would've said before news spread around school that Marie and Andre were the ones that stopped Luke, not Jordan. Your partner who actually fought Luke while Marie ran at the first sign of danger. The thought of Marie frustrates you to no end, but you have other things to worry about, such as Jordan locking themself in their room since classes ended.

For as long as you've known Jordan, they've always been competitive. They climbed up the school's student ranks at Godolkin, beating almost anyone and everyone who tried to get in their way. They were one stop away from being first-ranked. But because of Marie and Andre's 'courageous act' of stopping Luke, they've been pushed up the ladder, while Jordan has to settle for fifth. It hurts to see Jordan so angry at the world and themself.

You knock gently on Jordan's door, hearing the muffled sounds of what you presume to be Marie's interview with Hailey Miller. The room goes quiet, and you wait a few moments for Jordan to open the door. But they don't.

"I know you're in there, Jordan." You turn the doorknob, rattling the door in your unsuccessful attempt to get in. You sigh and lean your head against the door. "Please open up, baby. I'm worried about you."

There's a moment of silence until the door cracks open. You take a step back, seeing Jordan's somber expression.

"Hey," you say, smiling softly. "Can I come in?"

Jordan hesitantly returns your smile. "Sure."

They open the door wider, allowing you to enter their dimly lit room. Their room is nothing from the usual, with clothes strewn over their couch and textbooks scattered on their desk. You pull your bag off your back, setting it down on Jordan's bed to retrieve your laptop and the takeout you bought from Vought A Burger.

"I was thinking we could maybe watch Property Brothers and have dinner together?" you suggest. "Or any other show if you want?"

Jordan shakes their head, their lips quirking upwards. "That sounds really nice, actually."

You pass Jordan the takeout, unsure if they've eaten anything since having lunch with you earlier today. You quickly set up the laptop on the coffee table before sitting on Jordan's bed.

Leaning against the headboard, you open your arms wide. "Come here."

Jordan doesn't hesitate, settling themselves in your waiting embrace. Their arms wrap around your torso, pulling them closer until their head finds a comfortable spot nestled against your stomach.

Feeling the weight of Jordan's emotions, you hold your partner close, your arms enveloping Jordan's shoulders. You softly kiss the crown of Jordan's head, your lips brushing against their ink-black hair.

"I'm sorry you're having a shitty day," you whisper, threading your fingers through their silky strands. "It's not fair."

"It's not your fault," Jordan says, sighing. "Shit happens."

"This school is shit," you explain, your anger spiking. "You've worked your fucking ass off to become second-ranked at Godolkin, but because of Marie and our asshole of a principal, you've lost your spot."

Jordan lifts their head to look at you. "It sounds like you're more upset than me."

"I'm sorry, it's just..." You shake your head before staring lovingly at Jordan. "I love you so much, Jordan. So much that I feel everything you feel. When you feel angry, I feel angry. When you're sad, I'm sad. So when you go through these obstacles in life, you aren't alone. I will always be there for you, baby."

Jordan crumbles at your words, and a small smile plays on their lips. They lift themself and lean towards you. Their lips press against yours gently before pulling away, leaving you no time to savour the kiss.

"I'm lucky to have you," they admit.

As you grin, you pull Jordan closer into another kiss. But this time, you can feel the intense emotions radiating off them, and you soak in the passion and love from Jordan's kiss. The rest of the night is spent in each other's arms, binge-watching Property Brothers and devouring greasy takeout.

© psychostxr — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[corkinavoid]

Obsessed With You by Cosmicandy

Theater gothic/Phantom of the opera

(For some horrific reason I couldn't think of a trope)

DPxDC Phantom in the Opera

9/2 sat

Went to Gotham City Opera to see Eugene Onegin with B & Dames. The performance sucked ass (as modern takes on classics usually do), but during Tatyana's aria, some tech guy dropped a rubber chicken from catwalks right on stage. I bet it was on purpose since the lead's voice sounded much similar to the sound that chicken made. Wish I could shake the dude's hand, that was truly the crescendo of the whole scene.

15/2 sun

Came by GCO on the way to WE. Had some time to spare, so decided to go in and find the rubber chicken guy to thank him for the laugh last week. Thought he might appreciate the positive feedback since he was defo yelled at for the stunt. Turns out everyone blames it on a 'ghost'. Using 'Phantom of the Opera' as a cover story is poor taste, in my opinion, but on the other hand, it worked, and who am I to judge.

17/2 mon

Got curious and pulled up the records of GCO employees. No one matches the guy I've seen on the catwalks.

18/2 tue

Blackmailed Damian into drawing the guy. No match through the face recognition program. Should have expected that, really; the one cute guy with a sense of humor I meet (or see, actually), and he doesn't exist.

20/2 thur

Can't stop thinking about the rubber chicken guy. Might have to go back to GCO and ask about the whole ghostly rumor. Last time, no one bat an eye at the 'ghost' excuse, now that I think about it. Has it happened before? Is it a go-to explanation for any prank no one wants to take credit for?

26/2 wed

Visited GCO at night. Seen the guy, but the cam footage came back corrupted when checked downstairs. So maybe the fact that his hair was floating and glowing in the dark was not a hallucination.

27/2 thur

Definitely not a hallucination! Good news: got a sample. Bad news: after analysis, the data also came back corrupted. Weird news: the hair keeps glowing even after it's been cut off.

2/3 sun

The guy's name is Danny. Ghost story confirmed. I'm having a crisis.

4/3 tue

I'm not sure if I want to know absolutely everything there is to know about him or I want to forget everything I've already learned. But then, I've already got so far. Might as well commit to the bit?

8/3 sat

Was invited to see La Traviata tomorrow. Can I still call that reconnaissance, or am I in date territory?

10/3 mon

...it was a date. On an entirely unrelated note, Teddy Hyde ruined all my attempts at coming prepared.

18/3 tue

Heard a new rumor among GCO staff members. They suspect the ghost in their opera is having a crush on Red Robin. Not sure where they've got that idea, but it sure took them some time to notice.

19/3 wed

Damian keeps staring at me at dinners. Maybe I should take that portrait of Danny that he did down from the wall over my bed.

22/3 sat

Going on a date today, and this time, it's definitely a date! Feels like I should be having a crisis over dating a ghost, but somehow, I'm only having a crisis over outfit choices.

61/0° gBs

hEy, yoU're keEEpinG a DIary¡ aboUt Me!¡ ThAt"s cuTe FUCK OFF DANNY THIS IS PRIVATE INFORMATION GET OUT heHeheEhe no~

~•~•~•~

The thing is, I loved the song. And I loved the aesthetic. And I had such a goddamn hard time figuring out how to fit them together; I went through at least three different setups before deciding fuck it imma write silly boys being silly and wish for the best.

Dare I say it turned out cute as fuck, even though I still missed the mark on theater gothic aesthetic for the most part. Anyway, have a few pictures for general vibes!

[Just so you know, if you enter 'sex with a ghost' into google, the first few results will be the lyrics to 'Sex with a Ghost' by Terry Hyde, which is why Tim's research has been rather fruitless]

[l00kingatthem00n]

can i ask for some medkit :3? something like tending to his wounds or listening to him complain after a long day, can be platonic

━━ IT WAS A GOOD DAY.

WARNINGS: self-deprecation [mainly from medkit] - let me know if there is anything else.

Working with the Church of the True Eye is exhaustive, even isolating. After days with little to no contact from him, Medkit finds himself a block away from the little diner you've said to meet him at. He could easily go in and see you, get this over with. But he finds himself hesitating, wondering if he really should go over.

MEDKIT PRIDES HIMSELF ON HIS PUNCTUALITY. Whatever time is asked of him, whatever is needed, he comes and does what is expected of him. Carefully, meticulously, he’s maintained this perception of workplace professionalism. However, with the dark rings beneath his eyes, the disgruntled expression across his features, and the disinterested lilt of his words, it’s evident that he doesn’t enjoy his duties. He used to help people, or he thinks he used to help people, but now he can’t even begin with what he does. Medkit knows he'd be buried for spilling anything about his work. It’s simply just exhausting, enervating. But, he knows if he wants to keep living within Crossroads’ streets even somewhat comfortably— Safely, too —He’ll have to continue with such efforts. 

That’s why the Church of the True Eye is a frequent employer of his at the very least, but that’s putting it lightly. His timeliness, abilities and efficiency are what promise him paycheck after paycheck. Nevertheless, Medkit never wastes his time. Each hour, each minute, and each second is spent doing his work according to his rigid schedule. Again, it’s not out of a fondness for the work he does nowadays but more of a necessity to ensure that he still gets the money that he needs. He’s paid for his time; He might as well do what he does with a slight sliver of hope that they’ll cough up spare change. Ultimately, he rarely ever makes any last-minute rearrangements, nor is he ever late. 

And so, it is beyond his comprehension that he decides to be late now on all occasions. It isn’t that he’s lost in downtown, the winding streets and stores are familiar. He knows that antique store with its ridiculously expensive prices. He knows that the laundromat with their barely functioning machines. He also knows that the boutique the more than pleasant cashiers. It also isn’t even because he’s behind on time from pressing work, all that has been attended to throughout the morning. Truthfully, he’s far from lost, and he’s far from busy. Medkit is across the street from the diner you’ve agreed to meet at, far enough out of sight from the window on the street. It's to ensure that he doesn't risk you seeing him there, standing and stalling. Despite everything, his punctuality, he can’t bring himself to walk over when it's a walk that's a few measly minutes of his time. Maybe, even a measly seconds.

It’s only a stroll along the crosswalk, weaving through masses of strangers. Then, what gives?  Maybe he can blame his bodily paralyzation on the particularly exhaustive day he had at the Church of the True Eye. That's not to say that they already treat him well. Swords, they don't even try to generally treat him well, if anything, his contracts with them only have him recognized as a “valuable asset” rather than a “valuable member.” Medkit is above the crude and unprofessional language, something he leaves with Sword and his friend, Rocket. But, if he were to use any of their crass sayings, the one that would accurately describe his day would be that:

The Church have been up his ass. 

Whatever reason for their miserable ministrations towards him is beyond him. From the Broker’s consistent monitoring of his personal matters, Scythe’s insistence that he update her on gear modifications, to even Father Overseer’s impromptu call necessitating that he remembers his service to them, Medkit doesn’t know why they've been so inconvenient to him. To say the least. He thinks himself a decent employee under their dubious standards. He hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to interfere with their plans. And he certainly hasn’t been a prominent and lingering concern for dissension and betrayal. He does what’s asked of him, and does what needs to be done. 

It could be that his already thin patience has gone thinner, scarcely tolerating their wants and demands. That’s unlikely, though. He thinks he woke up fine. A warm mug of tea by the window side as the sunlight cascades through. Maybe, it could be that he’d done something a while ago offensive to the Church’s practice. Except, if that were the case, they’d have made a demonstration out of him and not press him so passive-aggressively. He’s more than familiar with what happens to those who’ve wronged them. While he thinks he’s important enough that they’d be less severe with their punishments, he would know for sure if he’s done something. 

It also couldn’t be that he’s secretly scared of you. In all his years, within the winter confines of Blackrock, the towering labyrinths of Lost Temple, and the neon inferno of Crossroads, he’s met many inphernals. Some were unkind, some were cruel, some beyond that. From their poisoned tongues to their stained hands, to their unspeakable actions. He remembers someone like that so well, someone he knew so closely that they’re now engraved in the recesses of his mind. 

But, some were kind, some were caring, some were too generous for their own good– Like you are. Once more, he’s not scared of you. It’s quite the opposite. For their society built upon conflict, you’re probably the most charmingly compassionate individual he’s ever met. Truthfully, someone like you should stay leagues away from someone like him. Medkit feels selfish for gravitating towards you. A guilt that settles in his chest for letting him be your friend. 

You’re good for him, too good for him. 

Now that he thinks about it, that’s most likely the reason why he’s stalling; So close yet so far from you. It’s been days, maybe weeks since he’s last seen you. Too preoccupied in the maddening world of work from the Church of the True Eye. He’d been kept beneath their watchful gaze for a long time. You’re kind, you’re patient, yet everybody has certain thresholds. As much as he wanted to call you, learn how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, he knows the Church would be breathing down his neck for as long as he wasn’t attending to their pressing matters. Even then, when he returned to his apartment in Crossroads, he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and call you. It felt unpleasant. No, it felt wrong to contact you when he hadn’t spoken to you in so long. 

That was when you decided to call him. His phone had rung three times as he contemplated picking it up. The first time it had rung, he had clicked his tongue and aggravatedly wondered who it was. The second time, his eyes widened with realization and he considered letting the noise go on and on until you would call it an end. And the last time, guilt came over him again at the thought of losing you even more with his lack of communication, so he picked up the phone. On your end, it’s quiet. For a moment, he worries that you never even meant to call him until—

“Medkit!” You gasp, “Oh my Swords, sorry, I didn’t think you would pick up. Hey, how are you–?”

You talk to him like no time has passed. That he hadn’t left you in utter silence for days, letting you wonder and worry regarding his well-being. Medkit is not deserving of anything from you who is so tender-hearted, not your sympathies nor your condolences. He’s your friend, supposedly, but he feels he isn’t deserving of such an intimate title too. Now, because here he is, meant to see you in this little diner. But, he’s here; On the sidewalk, standing from afar. A sinking guilt settles within his chest. He should just move, just move his feet and walk over. Medkit is not scared of you, so what is he scared of? 

He hisses through the gaps of his teeth; Nothing, he has nothing to be scared of. There are lingering worries about the worst possibilities that could occur if he were to see you. Would you be disappointed with him? Would you see him and spit venom at him? Would you wish him the worst and finally put an end to this friendship? Medkit doesn’t know. Even if his scattered and stressed thoughts lead him to believe that the absolute worst will happen, finally he feels himself moving forward. 

Weaving between the passing inphernals; Frantic office workers, lazing cashiers, and chatting friends –he makes his way over. From the street window, he can faintly see you at the back of the diner through the smudge and grime across the glass. Your horn colour and its distinct shape make it noticeable among the others. Before he knows it, his hand grasps the steel knob and he opens the door. A faint ringing of a bell to signal his arrival. Some young server briefly welcomes him as they pass him to give orders. The quaint atmosphere of the diner allows him a moment of clarity before he hears your voice ring boldly. He snaps his head to the back, seeing you smiling widely. 

You wave excitedly at him, “Medkit! Hi”

Medkit swallows thickly. The worst hasn’t happened, it seems far from it. But, he’s still worried. Still thinking something bad could happen to him. He slips into the leather chair, scooting closer to the table as he quietly greets you. Still, you smile at him as you place your chin in your palm. 

“It’s good to see you!” You tell him.

“I hope this was an alright place. I know you have more—" You gesture vaguely "—Eloquent tastes.”

“No worries, it’s fine.” He glances around another time. “It’s quite nice.”

You seem excited at his agreement, nodding along. “Right? I love the colours, there’s a bunch of decorations too!”

Your enthusiastic presence is overwhelming. Yet, it's also pleasant. He doesn’t know why, but he soaks in your sunlight. You're smiling t him as you babble on and on. The words are blurred from your frantic tongue. But, at some point, Medkit can’t help but follow along too, and he finds the faintest of smiles gracing his usually rigid features. Every time he meets your gaze, he practically admires that brightness he is so absent of. You babble on about something he doesn’t exactly catch. It’s not particularly a grievance of his, but you tend to speak quickly whenever you are so elated. Regardless, something clear comes through your chatter. 

“Oh, by the way,” you click your tongue, snapping your fingers as you meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking...” 

“What took you so long? Knowing you, I was expecting to be late.”

Medkit pauses. His lips pursing together as he mulls over what to tell you. To tell you about his trouble, that he had been a stroll away, letting the time pass by because he was scared to confront you, only to finally come in a moment of blind courage; That would not be worth the effort. One day, maybe he won’t feel much a drowning in his stomach when he tells you about what strife lingers in his thoughts. For now, he’ll tell you little white lies— It’s not like you’d know anyway, right?

“I was occupied. My apologies.” 

You raise your brow. “Occupied by?”

“Them.”

“Oh.” 

There’s a silence that hangs between the two of you. He wonders if he’s already slipped up, saying so much with so little. Though you dispel any doubts promptly, waving your hand at him. 

“Psh- Don’t worry about those guys, let’s focus on getting a bite! I’m sure you’re hungry, it’s lunch after all.”

Then, you move your hand high up, waving it absurdly to catch the attention of any available staff. Reflexively, he lowers his gaze, letting his visage be obscured by it resting on his palm. The server clicks their pen, patiently waiting for your orders. With a quick skim of the menu, he lets you order for the two of you. While he isn’t particularly a fan of burgers, obscenely gross with oil and grease dripping down his hands. Gods, the thought alone disgusts him. He supposes he’ll let you take a reign meal plans for today, as a treat for his distance behaviour. As the server bids their farewell, promising your orders hastily, you turn to him. 

“So, Medkit, tell me about your day.”

Medkit scratches the nape of his neck, deciding to keep up with his little white lies. “Uneventful, just uneventful."

"I have got bothersome and relentless work from them as usual."

"Geez, really? That's rough."

"Of course, but it's nothing that I can't handle."

You chuckle, "Just don't exhaust yourself like you usually do, Medkit."

Medkit blinks slowly; Once, then twice. He chuckles too, soft and almost uncertain. He dismissively waves his hand at you.

"Oh, please, it's fine. I’d much rather hear what went on with you, truly.”

You seem surprised. He’s unsure why. It could be that he’s a little more straightforward than usual. He hopes he isn’t coming off as curt and snappy, that’s the last thing he wants you to think of him. 

“Oh,” you blink; Once, then twice. “Really?”

“Really.” He drums his fingers against the laminated table, “If I remember right, you said you got a teaching internship recently. Could you tell me about it?”

“Ah! You remember!” You somewhat squeal, sitting upright, “Yeah, I got a student teacher job in downtown Crossroads. Uh, where to start?” 

You contemplate for a moment, then you smile, “Okay, so–”

This time, he tries his best to discern your tongue. Somehow, you’re even brighter than before. Your hands are wildly gesturing all over for emphasis. Your smile is wider than it typically is, letting the wrinkles of your face glow. Your eyes have a distinct twinkle that he feels nobody in this diner would miss. It feels like nothing has passed, that nothing has changed. It was the same as it always was and it always will be. He hopes, at least. 

Maybe, it was a good day. With you, that is.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: dude. I COMPLETELY MISREAD YOUR REQUEST. I TOOK IT AS LETTING MEDKIT LISTEN TO YOUR DAY. TS PMO. 🥀 I STILL nailed down some of the original request, but omg whoever you are, please feel free to request again because i feel SO bad 😭😭😭unless you actually enjoy this but OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY

ultimately, this was such a cute thing to write... i ave to admit that medkit isn't my favourite, but writing him is so fun!!! i decided to leave this relationship as ambiguous if you cant tell...So feel free to interpret it as platonic, romantic or something In between heh

[slavdollz4mangione]

where lu’s parents find him after he disappeared and try to force him to leave you hc:

as requested, this is part 2 of my “troubled lu healing through meeting you hc” i hope you enjoy it anon! <33

a/n: once again this is purely fiction and i am in no way saying nor do i believe lu’s parents are like this

- luigi thought he'd finally left the past behind, but months later, everything changed when his family tracked him down

- they found him, or at least the version of him they've always known, the obedient heir — and they came storming in like a whirlwind, ready to drag him back to the suffocating life he fought so hard to escape

- his family didn’t care about the life he tried to build with you; all they saw was a rebellious son who strayed from the path they meticulously laid out for him

- the first encounter was explosive.. they called him selfish for leaving, reminded him of the "honor" and "legacy" he was supposed to uphold, and they blamed you — you, the one person who had given him the love and acceptance he had never known

- his mother accused you of poisoning his mind, of keeping him from his true calling, from his family, while his father looked at him with disgust, as if he was already a disappointment, as if there was no going back now

- but lu had already made up his mind, he was done being their puppet, their ideal heir

- when his father demanded he returns home, luigi stood tall and for the first time in years, his voice didn’t shake as he spoke.

- “i'm not going back," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "i’ve made my choice and i choose myself. i choose her”

- his family wasn’t done, though, they played dirty, using every tactic they could to manipulate him

- his father tried guilt while his mother tried sweet words and promises of everything he could ever want if he just comes back

- they make you the villain, accused you of being a distraction, of breaking their perfect little family

- but luigi didn’t waver, he was tired of hiding behind a name that isn’t his own

- he stood between them and you, protecting the relationship he built with you, the only thing that had ever made him feel truly alive

- "you don’t get to decide who i am," he told them, his voice low but powerful. "and you sure as hell don’t get to decide who i love."

- of course, there were moments when the weight of their expectations almost broke him

- late at night, you found him sitting in the dark, the battle raging in his mind, but you always pulled him back, reminding him that he’s not alone, that no matter how hard it gets, you would always be there to support him

- “you’re not their puppet anymore, lu," you whispered softly as you sat beside him, wrapping your arms around him "you don’t owe anything to anyone. you’ve already given so much of yourself, now it's your turn to take back your life, and i’ll be here every step of the way, for as long as you’ll have me"

- for a moment, you could see the weight lift from his shoulders, the relief in his eyes as he realized that he can choose this life, that he does have the power to choose himself, his happiness, and that his family couldn’t take that away

- it wasn’t easy, of course: there were threats, more manipulation, emotional games, but through it all, luigi’s resolve strengthened

- the love he had for you was the one thing his family could never take away, and as they finally left days later, empty-handed and fuming, he turned to you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that said he found his place, his purpose, and it’s with you

- “no matter what happens, i’m not going anywhere," he promised as his thumbs brushed your cheeks. "you’re my home, you know that? i never knew what it felt like to be truly home until i met you”

- you saw the sincerity in his eyes, and in that moment, it was clear that despite everything he’s been through, he found the one thing he’d been searching for: peace, love, and belonging, with you

[moopiter]

When It's Over - Chapter 1

2.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Angst, Pre-established character death and such discussions. Kinda Slow Burn-ish As always, cross posted to Ao3

The greatest superhero to ever live supposedly gave his life six months ago in a blaze of glory. But you swear you caught a glimpse of his cape in the halls of Vought tower your first day. You're left with nothing but questions. Is there even a body in that casket they put in the ground?

Authors note: Hey look at me, I'm not dead. Trying to get to drafts. This will be multi-chapter and I'm planning on having fun with it! Divider credit

It’s pouring rain over Manhattan, just like the forecast said.

For once, you can’t blame the clouds. You’ve felt like rain a while too.

The piles of undone laundry and dishes in your apartment that you've been putting off attest to it. But you've put yourself together for a big day. Rain be damned.

The puddles of rain are pooling in the cracks of the concrete under your boots. It's silly, but years ago you might’ve splashed and played in them, back when the world wasn’t such a big place. You try not to think about it too long, but you do. Just like how you’ve already overthought every interaction that’ll follow after you step foot through Vought’s doors.

You're always worried about the 'afters' of things. Repercussions and worries keep your mind occupied. It's a bad habit really, overthinking.

The wind undoes everything you’ve meticulously styled in the mirror this morning, but you keep your head up and simply persist. There’s a sea of new opportunity waiting for you after all. For once in a long time, you're determined.

The interview was the hard part, and that’s over. It leaves nothing to worry about. Worst of it's past.

When you graduated college, Digital Marketing Specialist wasn’t really what you imagined to be your future career. But an opportunity at Vought was a one in a million. Maybe one in a thousand. They were willing, after all. You hopped on it.

You catch wind of a conversation you'd rather not hear, meandering around the puddles. One that you've heard all too often before.

"He can't really be gone. I'm waiting for them to make it a stunt."

"Yeah, he's like the strongest dude alive. He wouldn't just up and die."

Every time you think you've forgotten, you're reminded. Homelander's dead. You're not going to work under your childhood hero. Vought's posterchild, the best of the best for as long as you can remember. A perfect superhero—no, the perfect superhero, or so everyone thought. Until it all was over.

Funny, ever since his funeral, seems like all Vought wants is more and more new employees.

They've been making frequent changes to their staff. Creating a new image for the company and rebranding the Seven must be a lot of work, if you had to guess. He was their shining star after all. You don't dwindle there long. Maybe this would be a steppingstone on a bigger journey, or maybe you’d climb the ladder. The hazy fog hiding your future is just a little lighter today, and you can daydream. It carries you through those first few steps through the door.

You take the new employee orientation in stride. Surely, there are only so many NDAs to sign right off the bat because you’re working with social media and marketing. It’s just something you shove to the back of your mind. Especially as you give your first overly zealous handshake to your new supervisor. But no matter what you do, it feels like you'll never have that energy you can't put a name to.

Nothing to worry about, you remind yourself. But she has sharp eyes that notice one of your buttons has come undone.

She leads you along your new office first, as you diligently follow behind and try to fix yourself. Appearance-wise, the space it occupies is nothing compared to the marble and accents throughout the rest of the building. It's dreary and bland. The repeating greyscale only occasionally broken by splashes of color from sticky notes and desk décor.

You catch glimpses of the posters that adorn the three walls that aren’t windows. All different members of the Seven advertising who knows what.

It's hard not to notice Homelander’s posters rolled up beside the trash can when you walk past. He was always your favorite.

He was always everyone's favorite.

And people still talk about him.

They probably always will, given what happened. Ultimate sacrifice and all. It’s easy to wear that smile he used to and try to look on the bright side. At least this place is more detached from the rest of the building. Bigwigs don't cast sideways glances here. It feels detached, like its own little world hidden in a maze of cubicles and computers.

You’re happy to hide in it, make it cozy. Forget about things.

With a generic introduction, you’re finally acquainted with your new office family. Not many disengage from their work to look up from their cubicles. But you wave and say hi anyway. It’s awkward, sure.

You're terrified someone will take note of how terrible you look compared to everyone else. Dressed in second-hand business attire, just trying to do your best.

But overall, it’s not half bad. Nobody notices, somehow.

You're happy to be shown around, to see the inside of a place everyone always wants to see. The marble clacks underneath your feet as you follow your new supervisor around the floor and take in the sights, trying your best and failing miserably to maintain direction.

It’ll take some time to get adjusted to. Just like the robust cafeteria and lavish break room you have access to now.

Not to mention the elaborate coffee bar too luxurious to even imagine relaxing in. That's all everybody drinks here is coffee, all hours of the day.

Maybe just this once you can convince yourself you deserve these finer things. As intimidating as it all may be. You made it after all. You work for Vought. Nothing to worry about, right?

It’s something you try to internalize as you walk in tandem with your new supervisor, making your way back to the elevator. Walking past corridors and offices, traversing the endless maze you’re bound to be lost in later despite her best efforts of a tour. Her skirt barely accommodates her rushed wide strides you're barely able to keep up with.

“There are certain floors off-limits. Without even looking at you, she explains that the underground levels and the medical wing are off-limits.

You nod along and give a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” and try to keep from falling behind.

“And 99. Unless you’re given special permission, that floor is off-limits for lower-level employees.”

That’s all I am? You think, your attempts at staying on the bright side faltering.

But something catches your eye before you can respond.

It’s the blue you see first, out of the corner of your line of sight, down the last corridor. There just long enough for you to dart your eyes left and watch as it disappears around a corner.

Deep blue followed by unmistakable red and white. Stripes, too long for a regular flag. You even catch a glimpse of gold for the split second it graces your vision. But in the millisecond it takes to turn your head, it's gone.

If you weren’t wiser, you’d think it was Homelander’s cape. The Homelander.

It wasn’t a regular flag. Couldn't of been. It flowed too languidly, just like how it used to be carried on his shoulders, strong enough to carry the weight of the world.

But Vought wouldn’t do that to him. They wouldn’t let someone else wear his suit, right?

Wouldn’t it be wrong?

“Hey, earth to newbie.”

Your eyes shoot back to your supervisor, now standing facing you with her hands on her hips. She taps her foot against the ground in displeasure, her once friendly eyes turning judgmental as she looks you over again.  “Are you just going to stand there and waste more time? Come on,” she sighs, turning on her heel to leave as she beckons you along behind her.

You burn bright red with embarrassment, following behind and trying to push the sight out of your mind.

You attribute it to your nerves, and nothing more.

Beyond the raindrops coating the glass outside, the sun starts to peek through. So you muse over that instead and let your thoughts carry you somewhere else.

The cubicle they allot to you is nice, and the chair is comfortable. At the very least, it’ll keep you sane during the long shifts staring at the screen in front of you. Writing and researching. A dozen other specialists and analysts work through the day, keeping the coffee bar busy as you sign digital forms and click through endless new employee trainings. Occasionally, you think back to that unexplainable sight earlier.

There are no publicity stunts planned, no specials, and no memorial photoshoots. You can’t help but scavenge through the schedules you have access to now, looking for a reason.

Despite all your efforts, you can’t find any rationality as to why someone would be parading around in one of his suits. He had to have had multiple, couldn't of been the suit.

You catch yourself wondering if he was buried in that red, white, and blue or in something more modest. Only his family got the privilege of seeing him one last time.

Everyone wanted to see him again. Who wouldn’t? But rumor has it, there wasn't much left of him anyway.

His folks were too heartbroken to speak publicly. They were, like the rest of the country, immersed in the day of mourning. But now that you think about it, you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen anything about his family. Just the origin movies with terrible actors.

For a moment, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you’d actually caught a glimpse of him. If all those Reddit theorists questioning his death might be onto something. But it’s just wishful thinking you shrug off.

The long hand of the clock barely graces 5, and the department slowly files out the door without you noticing. Too preoccupied. Being the determined person you are, you stay behind to finish the training early. It gives you more time to muse about what you saw.

Hopefully it'll get a genuine smile out of your supervisor when tomorrow rolls around, and you'll make up for today.

Over your shoulder, the shorthand of the clock ticks by 5, trudges past 5:30, and crawls over 6. Unaware, you finish the final module of the information safety training and sigh. When you stretch your back, your chair creaks, the only sound in the office. It's palpable, the satisfaction of completing a task.

Nothing to worry about. That is, until you become aware of the silence surrounding you. Your smile falters then.

There’s no incessant tap of keyboard keys or overheard phone calls. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the time that you let slip past as you peek above the walls of your cubicle.

Not only is the social media department absent of the hum and chatter, so are the adjoining offices.

Oops.

Somewhere along the line, the rain stopped falling. Now the sun’s climbing down out of the sky. At the very least, you won’t have to catch a taxi in the rain; just trudge through the puddles again. It’s muggy past the windows, the clouds still looming, and the humidity fogging your view of the city.

But it’s a lovely sunset past it all. Despite everything.

You mull it over as you pull your jacket over your shoulders and grab your bag, damning yourself for staying so late. There’s something to be said about hard work and dedication, but no one would be around to hear it anyway. So you log off and slip out.

It’s a short trip from your office and down the hall to the elevator. But the sound of your footsteps echoing off the marble as you go makes it feel like a mile. You swear there isn't a single thing in the building alive, besides you. All you can hear is your own heartbeat.

It’s honestly the slightest bit unsettling.

Everyone on this floor abandoned the place hours ago, leaving you behind. Far below you, various security and analytics departments work around the clock. You're sure of it. Far above you, the Seven go about their lives in their penthouse apartments. But from where you walk, it’s like being the only soul here.

You keep your head on a swivel, instincts on high alert as you walk.

But nothing decides to dance in the corners of your vision this time.

A sigh escapes your lungs as you step on the elevator. Embraced by the slightest bit of comfort, knowing you’ll be downstairs with other people again as you slip past security on the ground floor. But something feels off as you lean forward and press the button to head down. The air isn’t sitting right.

The bright yellow button for the 99th floor is lit, the place you’d specifically been told to not go.

Your brow creases as the button for the ground floor presses underneath your finger. Without really thinking, you assume whoever it was changed their mind and got off below you, so you press the button for the 99th down. Hoping it goes off.

It stays illuminated underneath your fingertip regardless.

You press it again once, then twice.

And it still stays lit.

There would be something wrong with the elevator as soon as you step inside, wouldn’t that be your luck? What would you say if anyone caught you up on the Seven’s floor? The most you can do is hope and pray once it reaches the top, it’ll let you go back down.

You close your eyes. If you’re lucky, there won’t be any witnesses to the cardinal sin you’re committing.

Accepting fate, you open them and gaze down the hallway as the metal elevator doors slide closed in front of you, sealing you inside. But the second they close fully and the elevator begins to move, you freeze.

It’s not just your reflection staring.

You can distinguish the unmistakable silhouette of patriot blue, draped by red and white behind you in the reflection of the hazy metal. Artificial light even bounces off the golden eagles on his shoulders as if he’s right there with you.

Menacingly staring straight past you is none other than Homelander himself. It has to be.

For just a second, those hopeful theories pop into your mind again. Maybe he's not dead! Maybe it was all just a hoax, and your favorite hero is here. Alive and well.

But then you remember you got on the elevator alone. Empty.

He doesn't move, doesn't blink. Doesn't even breathe.

Maybe there is one thing to worry about.

[smallmightsupremacy]

Why we are getting a dvk3

So. The war is over now, and everything is supposed to go back to normal, right?

Wrong. I don't know about you, but this recent chapter was... a roller coaster of emotions, to say the least. We went from the highs of graduation to a mysterious new character all the way to some panels showing how Izuku isn't doing well mentally. And I have a lot of thoughts about that last point in particular. Especially for what this means for Izuku and Katsuki's relationship going forward. So, well before reading this chapter, I was a firm believer that we were going to get a dvk3. It just makes sense, right? Every pivotal moment of their relationship has been a dvk moment, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that the third pivotal moment of them becoming true equals would be a dvk too. Not convinced? Well, I'm going to breakdown one specific moment in this chapter and explain why this makes me even more sure that we're getting a dvk3 The moment I'm referring too is Izuku's interaction with Ochako:

We start off with Izuku looking off into the distance after hearing the words "why I wanted to become a hero" from Mawata. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that those words were enough to make him reflect on himself and beliefs; to reflect on his own why. Why exactly did he become a hero?

Well, we already know the answer to that: to save people with a smile.

But in the final war, did Izuku actually achieve that? He doesn't seem fully convinced about that idea:

He believes that he didn't fully save Tenko, and those feelings of self-hatred, of not being good enough rose to the surface when the why of becoming a hero was brought up. Hence, his pensive expression in that first frame. Clearly Izuku's going through some turmoil right now. Self-hatred, emptiness, probably no sense of direction about where he wants to go in his life now that he's quirkless... the list goes on. So what does he decide to do about it? He approaches Ochako:

Maybe it's to talk about her moment on the UA rooftop which was referenced just before, but it doesn't seem that way. They've already talked about that moment already, why bring it up again? I mean, you could argue that it's Izuku telling her not to be so humble or embarrassed over that moment, but his reaction when she changes the direction of the conversation says otherwise:

He looks so upset, like he wanted to truly talk about his feelings with a trusted friend. The war is over. There's no need for him to control his heart again. He can finally talk about his feelings... yet he gets brushed off.

The fact that this panel of him frowning is right next to one of Ochako laughing says A LOT too It wasn't an accident that this panel of Izuku was put next to one of Ochako smiling. This was done for a reason. I think that reason is to showcase Izuku reaching a realization-- the realization that everyone is starting to move on from the war and smile again while he's stuck in a slump. I think it's in that panel, where he decides that he won't try to talk about his feelings again. If he does, then he'll bring down the mood and no one will be smiling anyone. Remember, Izuku still blames himself for the reason why his class got targeted, so he probably blames himself for them getting injured and upset from the war too. In his mind, the least he can do is keep quiet about his feelings and suffer in silence at the gain of everyone else's happiness. That being said, this is by no means an attack on Ochako's character at all. She's a great friend to Izuku- hell, that's probably the reason why he decided to go to her specifically to talk about his feelings -but I think there's a part of her that doesn't want to talk about what happened in the war either.

Even if there was, she still would've said something or shown concern if she could truly see how much the war was impacting Izuku. Instead, she misses it. She misses it because, as close as they are, she's the person from class 1A that knows Izuku second best. So that leaves only one person who can help Izuku process his feelings: the one person that knows Izuku best; the one person that will be able to see through his guise of pretending to be alright and save him before he reaches the point of self-destruction; the same person that has proven that they can and will do something like that time and time again. Sound familiar? Yeah. Katsuki is the only one that can help Izuku right now.

But it's not going to pretty. I'm not necessarily saying that dvk3 will involve a fight. On the contrary, I think that's the last thing that should happen for a multitude of reasons: Katsuki is still recovering, their relationship is at the point where they can have vulnerable conversations without throwing punches (read: the hospital scene), and it wouldn't make sense at all to have them throwing punches. Izuku hasn't got a quirk anymore; against Katsuki, he doesn't stand a chance of winning the fight. And that just negates all their growth of becoming equals. So perhaps we shouldn't call it Deku vs Kacchan 3, but rather Deku AND Kacchan 3 It's going to be a fight of them accepting feelings; both each other's and their own. There's going to be crying and tears and so much pain, but it's going to end up with Katsuki reaching out to Izuku so we can get that long awaited and incredibly foreshadowed handhold. So we can see that Katsuki still sees Izuku as an equal, quirk or no quirk.

At least, that's what I hope. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this too!!

[polydamnory]

Poly D.A.M.N. Crew Headcanons (because I’m legally required to)

Once again, some of these could also apply outside the context of them being in a polycule and that works too lol

Freelancer will paint any of the others nails if they’ll let them (Hux and Gavin let them do it the most) 

Dear and Gavin made it a weekly thing to have lunch together on campus 

In the event that they were to all live together, Damien is usually the one in charge of  grocery shopping - mainly because of all of them, he’s the most particular about what brands they use for certain products/foods. Also you can’t tell me this man isn’t a master at budgeting/couponing. 

Damien and Huxley aren’t allowed to team up when they do chicken fights in the pool anymore - they’re both arguably some of the strongest of the group (they’re constantly working out after all) and after winning literally every time except against Gavin, the rest of them declared the rule that they have to team up with the others to make it fair. Hux just rolled with it but Damien still acts all cocky about it whenever it gets brought up. 

They try to do a movie night every two weeks and cycle through who gets to pick what they watch each time. Lasko made a chart to track it and everything. Lasko has also tried and succeeded only once in getting everyone to agree to a full on Lord of the Rings extended edition marathon despite trying again several times afterwards. Dear has been the only one to agree to do it again afterwards - not that the rest don’t like the movies, they just don’t think they’ll be willing to marathon them like that again. 

Gavin and Freelancer are the resident “distractors” and get kicked out of the kitchen fairly frequently because half the time they’re helping cook they end up “doing things” with the other person in there 👀

Huxley likes playing with the others hair if they’ve given the okay for it - he already knew how to braid and the like, but at some point he began learning how to do more complicated hairstyles and likes doing them for his partners 

Dear and Damien end up having to team up and ensure everyone else is wearing sunblock - Damien does not listen to Gavin when he says that as a demon he doesn’t need it, he has to put some on 

When struggling to find someone or something out in public, especially in large crowd, Huxley has gotten into the habit of just kind of grabbing one of his partners and putting them on his shoulder so they can get a higher vantage point 

Huxley came up with the idea that they should all show Gavin stuff they enjoyed from growing up, whether that be shows, movies, or going places typically meant for youths, because “just because you didn’t actually have a childhood doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to experience one.” They took him to a bouncy castle park and got a good laugh at how uncharacteristically ungraceful he was. 

They all had to basically flee an ice skating rink when they all tried to go together. Gavin wouldn’t stop teasing/flustering Damien and he accidentally melted a portion of the rink. It was an unempowered run rink so the chance of them getting caught/blamed wasn’t too high but they all still ended up fleeing like their lives depended on it. 

They are all constantly stealing Huxley’s clothes to wear. It’d bother him if he didn’t think it was really hot to see them in it.

They've been trying to branch out in the types of games they play together and one genre they’ve been experimenting with is survival games. They’ve tried a few but the one they all seem to like the most is Raft and it gets chaotic. It’s not a strict rule or anything but they’ve also all sort of fell into their own unspoken roles for it: Huxley is always the go to for gathering supplies on islands, Damien’s typically either doing home defense or off trying to kill one of the hostile mobs (the poison-puffer always drives him crazy), Dear’s gathering the underwater supplies because obviously, Freelancer is in charge of gardening and cooking the food, Lasko’s on a hundred different websites and wikis making sure they don’t miss anything/actually know what they’re doing as well as navigation, and while Gavin spends most of his time pretty evenly helping everybody else out, he most often is gathering the supplies from the water, or, on occasion, fishing. (Sorry not sorry that this one only really makes sense to those who also play Raft/watch others play it lol)

[yuri-is-online]

The sheer untapped angst of Jamil in the fyuuture au is haunting me so it's your problem now /hj. I'm trying so hard to be normal right now ugh take my thoughts please they need to get out of my skull so that I can articulate to others how much the fate of Jamil in the first timeline just haunts me. It's like a weeping angel I can't take my eyes off of it and the moment I do it just kills me to fathom the possibilities.

But god imagine being Jamil and you have someone who for the first time is solely on your side, no other reason than that they chose you because they like you and want to stand by your side. I imagine Jamil must have had reservations about potentially dragging yuu into the job of servitude but like hell that was gonna stop them. And then he's happy because he has an actual life outside of Kalim, they've matured over the years and Jamil has more freedom from him than he ever had. He once couldn't fathom condemning a child to share his last name but he is going to be a father and he's so excited.

Then it's just gone. Yuu isn't next to him when he wakes up one morning and the front door of the house is still open. It's a surprise he didn't wake up from the smell of the food burning in the kitchen but he can't think straight because something is so clearly horribly wrong. All of their things are where they left them, their phone is still on the kitchen counter and they didn't take their keys. Neither of them were working in the months leading up to the birth of the child, a gift from Kalim he hadn't refused. He's panicking and in his panic he does something he never would have fathomed himself doing, he reaches out to Kalim for a help.

By the time he gets a response it kills him. He will never know what happened to his spouse or child, Kalim will never get his message, the next time Kalim sees Jamil after the latter's baby shower and paternity leave, will be when his corpse is being dragged along by the sorcerer of the sands. It will ironically be, the last thing he sees.

There is a lot of tragedy in this ayuu, but with Jamil specifically it verges into horror in a way I didn't fully appreciate when I drafted it.

Jamil is essentially a feudal vassal who wishes for the freedom to be a normal member of society. He also, and this is so important to his character even though it often gets overlooked, wants his family to be respected. His parents, his sister, his first memory is them kneeling to a different set of parents and that kills him inside.

For you to come from a world where his situation is somewhat of a foreign concept and still choose him, choose to throw your support behind him because he is worth reforming the world for- it is everything to him. He got his happy ending through hard work and he deserves it, so why is it being taken from him? Why is Kalim's mess of a family taking from him again?

I don't think Jamil ever realizes it has nothing to do with him; the idea that he was collateral damage isn't really something that computes with how his life has been up until that point. The behavior of his phantom certainly doesn't help anyone realize that either, the way it hunts down the Al Asims and controls the people of his home you would assume that was all the corpse that birthed it wanted. That it would have been better off for everyone if there had been no baby shower planned, no paternity leave, no child to begin with. But that's not true. It was never about Jamil, he was just there and it was convenient to blame him for it.

Something that child will realize he has been doing too when he's forced to see just how happy his father really was, once upon a dream.