#can you pass the acid test

[incorrect-kotor-quotes]

The KotOR games have plenty of memorable lines, but there's one I think is underappreciated.

After meeting all the rival Sith students and either sparing them or killing them, fighting your way through all these tombs, getting involved in Uthar & Yuthura's mutual backstabbing plot, and completing this final trial, there is the line I think is the culmination of Revan's arc, assuming you don't want to go back to galactic conquest.

"I don't believe you. I don't feel superior to anyone."

This could be interpreted as only deriding the exam, but I saw it as rejecting the Sith way of thinking. You defeated the other students and impressed your teachers by passing the test. It feels not only hollow, but ridiculous. Revan isn't even upset or outraged, this was just dull. The test to become a Sith can be summed up as "Don't get eaten by monsters, don't be stupid enough to throw an incendiary grenade into a lake of acid, then bring back a mediocre lightsaber you don't want and will never use."

That's the Sith Academy. That's the Sith way. Inventing a bunch of inane tests for themselves and thinking that passing proves they're better than everyone else.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Home for the First Time

It was early when there was a knock at the door of Wayne Manor, Bruce was still in his nightgown because even though it was nearly noon he’d been out late. He stayed back while Alfred opened the door, curious to see who it was and hoping he hadn’t forgotten he was supposed to meet with press or something today. But no, it was two children, nearly identical besides the fact one had blue eyes and the other green.

“Hello,” The blue eyed one greeted with a bright, charming smile, he had one arm out slightly, subtly shielding the green eyed boy who was hanging back a little, a serious look on his face and a stubborn set to his jaw. “My name is Danyal Al Ghul and this is my brother Damien. Perhaps Bruce remembers an ill advised dalliance with our mother Talia roughly 11 years ago? We are the result, and she says it’s time we meet our father and learn what we can from him.”

“Of course we’ll submit to a DNA test to prove our lineage,” The green eyes one, Damien, put in. Danial didn’t look at the boy as he nodded along.

Behind Alfred Bruce choked on his coffee and started to cough. Alfred was unflappable as always and simply nodded once. “I see, why don’t you two come through into the sitting room? The paternity test shouldn’t take long using our equipment, we’ll just need a bit of your hair,” Alfred said as he stood back and usured the kids in. Bruce deciding now would be a good time to disappear and compose himself before he had to meet these unexpected children.

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

Danyal was nervous and excited as they sat in the drawing room, cradling mugs of tea neither of them had drunk. Damien was probably suspicious of an attempted poisoning, but Danyal was just nervous! Not that he showed it, his hands didn’t shake and an impassive little smile stayed on his face as he observed every inch of the room. That was the difference between him and Dami really, Damien had been raised the heir to the Demon Head, Danny to the Bat and Wayne industries. They had gone through the same physical training of course but they had different behaviours ingrained in them.

Damien had been taught to repress all emotion and not show it at all where as Danny had been taught how to mimic them. Hide his true emotion and show the appropriate ones. A ‘press smile’ as they say, to charm and manipulate and give just the right half answers that truly gave nothing away. He excelled in science and technology which would be perfect for running Wayne Enterprises, so it mattered less that his reading skills flagged behind Dami’s a bit, or that he had been the weaker combatant.

Had been, until he had been struck by lightening and then revived by Lazarus. It had been a disappointment, but thankfully not something he could have been faulted for, an act of god to punish their grandfather for his avoidance of death and because even the gods feared who they would become. He remembered the strike, the unimaginable pain of it, and the aftermath as he lay on the ground, his heart stuttering and thumping to hard, then not, then fluttering, then not, then nothing as he had passed out.

He did not remember being dropped in the pit, but he did remember waking up within it. It burned through his veins, seeping in to the hand that had been struck holding his weapon, racing up along the fractals of energy, collecting the currents that still had him twitching uncontrollably and curling together into a hard ball in his chest. A wash of cold spread over him from his new centre, soothing the burn of the acrid, acidic pit. It made drifting there… comfortable.

He knew it shouldn’t have been, he had seen multiple people break the surface, gasping and screaming and clawing their way to shore, but it wasn’t for him. Then again Ra’s bathed in the pool, so maybe this was alright? It made him wonder about the people who never surfaced again, did they choose to stay because this was how it felt to them too? Drifting listlessly in comfortable… What? What was this feeling. Danny had turned and dove deeper into the pit, seeking answers as he always did, even when it wasn’t wise.

He didn’t know how long he swam before he could see the edges, the pool narrowing closer and closer till he could barely make it through, and then he found an exit. It was small, a porthole into a void of stars and doors. It was unlike anything he’d seen and he realised immediately it was calling to him, that was why he had dove. It wanted him to enter, it called it was where he belonged, it terrified him. When something far to large drifted by his little vantage point he fled back towards the surface, the life he knew, and the broken family he still loved.

He was a bit surprised to find that Damien and mother were still there but grandfather had already left. That was fair really, Danny didn’t know how long he had been down there, but his brother and mother are still there. It seemed Damien was being allowed a rare moment of weakness, on his knees by the edge of the pond, staring blankly into the water with their mother crouching next to him, rubbing his back though Damien’s eyes were still dry. They were… grieving him.

He burst through the surface of the glowing pool, gasping for air he scrambled up onto the bank, coughing up the disgusting liquid clogging his lungs. His ears were ringing and his sight narrowing to a green blur, completely unaware of what was going on around him until two hands, one the size of his own, and one larger land on his body. The smaller set held back his hair while larger rubbed his back, slowly sound returned and he heard his mother’s soft cooing and Damien’s panicked breath.

He gasped for breath and looked up at the two of them, the green retreating from his vision as he blinked rapidly. “Damien? Mother?” He had gasped seeing the relief overtake both of their faces that Lazarus hadn’t stolen his mind.

It hadn’t, in fact he was just as sharp as ever and had found that since then no one could detect him when he wanted to remain unseen, no door could stop him or keep him out. He was what any assassin dreamed to be, but it had also come with new awareness since he had been overhearing things no one would usually let him hear. He had heard the conversations Grandfather had with mother going back and forth about which of them should go to their father, since it was always meant to be Danyal but now with his new abilities he was clearly chosen by Lazarus so maybe he should be the true heir.

Danny known Grandfather was manipulative for as long as he could remember, not like Damien, who still had faith in the league and their grandfather. Damien was smart, and talented, he was suspicious enough for both of their physical safety, but he had a much harder time realizing when they were being manipulated, or when they were being used. That was alright, Danny could make up for this weakness as Damien had done for his unwillingness to kill. It had taken him a while of carefully planted seeds in both Grandfather’s ear and Mother’s to bring them around to the idea of both of them going to father.

Danyal didn’t know if father would be any better, but he would probably be easier to escape from then the league and maybe with some distance he would gain the courage to point out to Damien how it was wrong.

That was how life found them both sitting on their fathers couch, Danny’s tea long since having grown cold. He surfaced from his thoughts, seeing his eyes shimmering unnatural green in the reflection within the cup, as it usually did when he thought about his death.

He blinked it away in time to look up and see Bruce entering the room, he put his smile back on and stood, Damien following suit and looking sullen. They had agreed Danny would take the lead, but Damien still didn’t like it. “You must be Bruce, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danyal said offering his hand to shake. Bruce blinked looking a little startled and shook his hand, Danny did his bast to give a good, firm handshake, hopefully his hands were too cold. “Mother always speaks highly of you, and even Grandfather admits there’s much we can learn from you,” He said, stepping back to let Damien shake Bruce’s hand as well.

“And anyone who can impress grandfather must be half a god,” Danny joked causing Damien to hiss and elbow his side as he usually did when he though Danny was speaking out of turn. Danny made a little oof sound and then gave Bruce a conspiratorial look, pleased to see he had made the stoic man crack a smile.

“It’s good to meet both of you as well, I’m sorry I didn’t know about either of you until today. The paternity test confirmed that you are my sons, Alfred is already setting up rooms for you next to each other in the family wing. In the mean time how would you feel about meeting a couple of your siblings? I believe Tim, Cass, and Stephanie are home at the moment? You’ve had a long trip, if you’d rather wait till tomorrow then I understand.”

“We’d love to meet them,” Danyal said, a little louder then usual to cover his brothers scoff. Damien scowled at Danyal who scowled back just as fiercely and tried to step on Damien’s foot, he knew the other boy would move out of the way before he could but it would make his point not to be disrespectful! It was clearer then clear that their father didn’t care much for blood given how much he loved all his adoptive children no matter what Grandfather thought. If Bruce wanted a biological heir he could have easily have gotten one, their blood might give them a slight advantage but they would have to prove their merits. But of course Damien believed everything Grandfather said still.

Damien dodged and then kicked back, Danyal rolling his eyes and dodging as well. Before a full fight could break out they both heard Bruce chuckle at them, Danyal gave the man a sheepish smile and while Damien blushed and looked down at the floor sulkily. “Alright, well then follow me. I’ll call Dick as well, I’m sure that when he finds out he has two new brothers to meet he’ll come running, I’m sure he’ll be here for dinner as well.”

“We’ve heard a lot about him too,” Danyal said with an impassive smile, they had to know about those who might be their competition after all. Danyal knew a bit more then Damien but they both knew what they needed to, like strengths and weaknesses. Danyal wondered if he was going to have to come to their adopted siblings defences, he fully expected Damien would try to assassinate them, whether or not it was actually wise to do so.

“Alright, then lets go see Tim first, he’s playing video games in his room. Steph and Cass are in the studio together,” Bruce said as he ushered Danny and Damien out of the sitting room and up a set of back stairs into the family wing of the manner. Danny and Damien following, having a silent argument of signs and dodgable blows about how exactly they should be handling this. What finally ended the argument was Danny flashing fang, his eyes glowing green and baring his teeth at Damien. Both to remind Damien of his true strength and to show how important this was to him, which made Damien relent for now he wasn’t sure.

Either way they had sorted it out by the time Bruce opened the door. “Tim, how do you feel about two new brothers?” Bruce said almost sheepishly and Tim groaned, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair.

“Damn Bruce where did you find these two?” He asked giving his adopted father a tired glare.

“On his doorstep,” Danny said promptly.

“We’re his biological sons,” Damien said at almost the same time, then glared at Danny who shrugged, both were true.

“Damn really?” Tim asked as he finally got up, examining both of them.

“We already did the paternity test,” Damien said with what Danny would call an unwarranted amount of pride.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Danyal. You can call me Danny if you want,” Danny said, stepping forward and offering Tim a handshake and his best smile. Tim blinked and shook his hand. “I’ve never played a video game, they didn’t allow such frivolities in the compound. They look like fun though, perhaps you could teach me?”

“Uh sure, sounds fun. What about you? You want to learn other little bro?” Tim asked looking to Damien.

“Why would I want to learn a skill with no practical use,” Damien scoffed. “My name is Damien, and I do not approve of nicknames,” He said, giving Danny a haughty look as he shook Tim’s hand. Danny just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say little D,” Tim scoffed. Damien gave an indignant squawk and before he could go for a weapon Danny grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Bruce said, grabbing a knife Danny had missed Damien drawing and twisting it out of Damien’s grip as Danny got his brother in a headlock.

“Sorry about him, the League of Shadows doesn’t care much for social graces, I barely escaped being just as feral as him,” Danny joked before letting out an oof as Damien elbowed him in the side and escaped his hold.

“Eh it’s not the first time a brother has tried to kill me. I can look after myself,” Tim said, which was clearly a warning to Damien judging by the look. Danny knew that Tim could, but also knew he was still underestimating them, and he hoped that wouldn’t bite him before he figured it out. “Let me know if you change your mind, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do with tech and media, I’ll be happy to be your guide.”

“Tt,” Damien scoffed and stomped out of the room.

“Well I’m looking forward to learning about all of that, I think it’ll be fun! Ignore him, he’ll come around. Just, uhh, watch him, That won’t be the last time he tries to stab you. If anything it’s a bonding activity for him,” Danny joked as lightly as he could before hurrying after his twin, Bruce on his heels.

Part 2: here

[star-dust-shark]

pjo characters as weird and dumb things me and my friends have said

Percy: what the fuck is cockblocking like I can't block ur cock on Snapchat

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Will: UUUUUUUGH MY ASS HURTS- ooh look a butterfly

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Leo: I CANT FIND MY PRETTY STICKER- AW FUCK- SHIT- MY VAGINA- OOAOoOoOOooAHAHHAgh

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Jason: I can't actually believe I just agreed with you but hey here we are

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Reyna: why the fuck am I friends with any of you hoes

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Piper: should I...? too late I did it

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Will: the best way to rizz someone up is by rizzing them up *turns to friend, winks horribly* hey baby girl

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Rachel: one sec getting my anger out *aggressively splatters paint on canvas*

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Annabeth: sometimes I'm smart. When I'm smart, I'm smart. *awkward thumbs up and grimace*

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Octavian: fuck the gays they should all die ... I mean I could fuck some gays

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Hazel: I'll make you tea but not in a sweet way I'll make it so hot in burns your tongue and you can't speak for a week

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Frank: hey guys check me out I'm a furry on drugs *WOOOF WOOF BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF*

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Grover: I love plants :3 specifically magic mushrooms but like

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Leo: I mean I would totally fuck you but like respect man

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Will: Ugh fuck my life I hate everything *coldplay starts playing* I retract the previous statement I fucking love life

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Jason: UGH UR ALL SO DUMB but I'm in

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Nico: if u wanna kys clap ur hands *rapidly claps hands*

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Piper: *hypnotizes u with my beautiful blue orbs* come over to my house

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Hazel: respectfully hope you die <3

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Frank: I'm on acid what's it called when a ton of cats jump on each other a dog pile or a cat pile

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Reyna: OH THANK GOD- sike I don't believe in that motherfucker hahahha

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Annabeth: I'm so smart *holds up the one good test I got in school* see the teacher even gave me an 11/10 because I wrote my name in a cool font

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Leo: UUUUUGGGGGHHHH IM SO HORNY- *mom walks in* oh hi mom how are you

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Will: we can just... fuck. as friends though no homo.

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Rachel: IF I DON'T DRAW SOMETHING IN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES I AM GOING TO MAUL SOMEONE

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Octavian: you all suck and I hate you *silence* no wait come back

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Someone: haha ur gay

Nico: yeah??? and ur not?? like don't knock it until you try it dick is yummy man

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Hazel: someone just told me what smearing is and honestly I kinda wanna die *fix you by coldplay starts playing* LMAO WTF

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Frank: you sad ass emo dog just be happy

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Percy: I Am OnE wiTh ThE oCeAn AnD HopEfuLLy aLL oF ThE hOt MerPeOpLe In iT

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Leo: *talking to literally nobody* hey guys!! gonna go get my top surgery! *shows up at claires*

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Reyna: I only wanna die sometimes and that's normal right

RIGHT

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Will: *playing guitar* haha look guys I'm fingering A minor *strums violently*

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Jason: screw men *eyes widen* I should start taking my own advice ngl

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Will: *listening to a playlist that Nico made him* ugh my emo ass boyfriend and his stupid music I hate him *proceeds to write his name over and over again in diary with hearts around it*

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Nico: what if I strangle someone with a pair of earbuds

Will: please don't

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Leo: *in demonic voice* LeAf *eats it*

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Nico: *pulls gay flag out of pocket* omg it's u

Will: *shuffles around in pocket, finds condom* ... it's u, vanilla flavoured

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Leo: my name's Leo

Percy: and I like jugs

Nico: I'm mentally ill

Leo: and I'm on drugs :D

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Jason: is there anything better than pussy

Piper: I thought you where gay

Jason:

Jason: my boyfriend's trans?

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Will: the temptation to fuck an emo boy rn is killing me

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Leo: the masculine urge to

Leo:

Leo: I forgor

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Will: that's good!

Nico: like me in bed

*silence*

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Leo: smash or pass Ryan Gosling

Nico: SMASH

Will: PASS

Solangelo: *glares at each other*

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Nico: omg stop with that song

Will: but

Will: but you can take me hot to go :(

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Annabeth: yeah

Percy: yeah

Annabeth: *in funny voice* yeah

Percy *hentai moan* yEEEAAAaaH

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Leo: *pointing at Nico* EEEEEEWWWW AN EMOOOOOO EWWW

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Jason: never ever look up what an eyesha erotica lyric means

Reyna:

Reyna: oh you poor soul *pats back*

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Nico: I can't breathe

Will: just

Will: breathe air

Nico: I breathe drugs

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Piper: I'm gonna go play basketball

Leo: haha play with my balls

Jason: already do

Leo: *chokes on air*

well that's all sorry for the torture, thanks to @localcosplaymushroom, @crowwolf8, @justagremlinoncaffeine, and @secret-mewtwo for all of the funny convos that went into this

[yeyinde]

i apologize if you’ve already answered this question before somewhere - but would you ever consider writing something with an explicitly male reader? i’ve been an avid reader of yours since mw2022 came out and after having read most of your works, i can’t say i’m not curious as to how it might change the dynamic

it would change the dynamic a little bit. more so because i think there's more options to explore with a male mc in an m/m relationship. especially with the 141. these are all super rough ideas i dreamed up at lunch lmao so an actual fic might change a lot of them but:

Simon is basically the same but more physical. aggressive but in a condescending way. always seems like he's goading you into a fight (and he is, but that's just so he can throw you to the ground and rest his weight on you until you beg him to get up). but i don't think he interprets gender. it's mostly just people who he can be rough with and those that he can't. the f!mcs i write fall into this weird middle ground of he can't, but he wants to. he has to be softer but he wants to ruin them. i'd probably do the opposite with a m!mc - should be softer, but can't. if only because mean Simon bullying the guy he's down bad for would be so fun to write. it'd be more animalistic because the m!mc wouldn't have an issue with fighting back against his ugly form of love.

you'd meet him in a bar. he's the scary guy in the back who says nothing to you at all but every time you look at him, he's already staring back at you. picking a fight, you'd think. and it'd cow you a little. as much as you can hold your own, as often as you get into tiffs, he's a tank. his size makes your belly twist. makes all those ugly feelings in the back of your head well up, the ones you tried to bury behind a too-bright grin and forged masculinity that fits like clunky armour. you feel sick looking at him. jealous. envy. greed. a noxious cocktail roiling around the generous sips of flat beer. so you don't. you look away. but the glares you send over your shoulder only make him huff, his head angling down toward his chest in a way that oozes a droll, acidic sort of amusement. stay away.

and you do. but he catches you at the mouth of the alley when you try to make your escape for the night, shoving your face into the brick as he grunts into your crown about fuckin' teasin' him all night. don't worry, though. he's gonna give you exactly what you've been craving, pretty boy. just be good for him, yeah?

Price is crass. rougher. but like Simon, gender, sex, and identity are all narrowed down to two categories for him: those that need his help, and those that don't (and then beneath that: those that deserve it and those that don't). if you're in control of your own life, competent, he'll force you into the former. bully you until something breaks. he's a bit more reserved with his advances but only because knocking you up isn't really an option. so, he has to be smart. cunning. it's a waiting game with Price, really.

with Gaz, there's almost a sense of a rivalry in the relationship. he definitely understands his attraction to you, knows what he wants, but he likes to push the people he's interested in and a m!mc would let him test the limits a bit more. he likes to mould the people he likes around him. re-build their entire life until it's tangled up in his. a m!mc would be a harder catch. like Price, it's not like he can just knock you up and keep you forever. he needs to strategise a bit more and i think that would make him more desperate.

Soap is basically the same. rougher, though. crude, too. has a thing for forced feminization. would call you hen and bonnie even as he manhandles you on the bed and rides you until you pass out. he's softer when he pursues a f!mc because he knows he can't play his hand right away or they'll run, but with a m!mc, he's all teeth. always grinning wide but like a shark. a touch scarier as he slides his hand up your thigh and coos in your ear about how badly he wants to fuck you stupid. but he won't let you cum. no, no - you're only allowed to cum inside him so you better not get off when he's fucking you or he'll have to show you some self-restraint. bites a lot. everywhere. always has a bottle of lube stashed away somewhere. it's intense. wrings you dry.

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee [Chapter 3]

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

After receiving a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

Chapter summary: Rumi helps to 'encourage' your quirk during P.E. which lands you in some hot water- and in the teachers lounge. It does grant you an excuse to relay everything you've picked up about the students, including a certain green eyed young man that knows your secret....

...Whos note passing get's you an all expenses paid trip to see Aizawa after class.

Chapter 3: Detention

Stepping out of the side doors, you saw the boys already assembled, waiting in the courtyard. Aizawa stood there, arms crossed, his expression as unamused as ever. The air around him seemed to carry an unspoken authority, and the students quickly fell silent as they noticed his presence.

"Alright, everyone," Aizawa called out, his voice commanding the attention of the entire group. "You were all almost late. Next time, tardiness will result in suspension." A few students snickered nervously, but most nodded, understanding the gravity of his warning. There was no room for leniency here, and the message was clear.

As Aizawa began to go over the rules and expectations for the upcoming tests, your eyes wandered, catching sight of Rumi and Taishiro standing by the bleachers. Both heroes held clipboards, their gazes sharp as they observed the students. It was clear they were here to evaluate the performances and ensure everything ran smoothly. 

‘Who the fuck is staring at me like that?’

While you tried to focus on Aizawa's instructions, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, your eyes landed on the green-haired boy from the mall—Izuku, if you remembered correctly. He was staring at you from a few feet away, his wide eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and nervousness. 

You glanced down at the robotic prosthetics of his arms and then back up towards his face. The moment your eyes met, his face flushed bright red, and he quickly averted his gaze, looking more embarrassed than before.

Before you could approach him to ease his nerves, Iida stepped in front of you, his posture stiff and formal, as always. "Excuse me," he began, his tone sincere and a bit rushed, as if he'd been rehearsing this in his head. 

"I wanted to apologize for earlier. It wasn't my intention to make you feel out of place. I hope you can forgive me, and we can start fresh." He extended his hand toward you, the gesture as earnest as the look in his eyes.

His energy was soo nervous, but genuine! ‘Okay, I’ll bite.’

You smiled, appreciating his genuine effort to make amends. "Of course, no hard feelings. Let's start fresh." You took his hand, giving it a firm shake. Typically you hated touching hands, it messed with your energy. But he was trying and you weren’t going to fault him for that. 

It also let you see that his energy was stretching out around his body, trying to hold onto others before whipping away and reaching towards something in the distance, or maybe someone you couldn’t see. 

Iida's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded with a small smile of relief. "Thank you. Now, let's get ready for the tests. Everyone, line up!"

As you took your place in line, you couldn't shake the feeling of being under scrutiny. It was weird, being tested again like you didn’t serve your time. Oh well. 

Aizawa directed everyone to their starting positions, his voice cutting through the morning air with sharp precision. "First test: the 50-meter dash. Use your quirks to complete the dash as quickly as possible. One by one, step forward when your name is called."

Mina was the first to go, sliding forward with her Acid Slide, her movements quick and fluid. Next, a boy with electric yellow hair—Denki, you recalled—zipped through with a burst of speed, his quirk crackling around him like lightning. The half and half boy followed, using a combination of ice and fire to propel himself forward, leaving a trail of frost and steam in his wake. The variety of quirks was astounding, each student displaying incredible skill and creativity.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath and focused, the energy of your quirk pulsing just beneath your skin. You could feel the positive emotions swirling within you, ready to be unleashed. With a burst of speed, you took off, the ground blurring beneath your feet as you propelled yourself forward with a trail of energy.

‘Not too much and not too little.’

As you crossed the finish line, you could see Izuku glancing at you again, his curiosity still evident despite his attempts to be discreet. Each time your eyes met, he quickly looked away, the blush creeping back up his round freckled cheeks. You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

During a brief break, you noticed the red-haired boy with sharp teeth waving enthusiastically at Taishiro. Taishiro waved back with a smile, clearly well-liked by the students. The camaraderie among the students was evident, their interactions adding a layer of warmth to the supportive atmosphere.

"Hey," a voice called out. You turned to see a wild Pickahu approaching, a friendly grin on his face. "The names Denki Kaminari. I just wanted to say welcome and that you were really fast on the track. That was cool!"

"Thanks," you replied, smiling back. "You did great too."

Denki chuckled, but you noticed he seemed a little tired, almost swaying on his feet. "You good?" you asked, placing a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Oh yeah, my bad. I was playing video games last night with my buddy Sero. You should totally join us sometime!" He looked like he was trying to keep his energy up more for your benefit than his own. 

Before you could respond, another voice cut in. "Oh yeah," you turned to see Jirou standing there, her eyebrows raised. "Are you moved into the dorms yet? We didn't see or hear of you until now. Kinda strange."

You began to notice some of the other students listening in or stepping up to join the conversation, curiosity evident on their faces. "Uh, yeah, I guess it is kind of strange," you said, trying to keep up the charade. "I just got here yesterday, so I'm still settling in." 

‘Not a complete lie.’

Mina, who had been listening, piped up, "Well, we're glad to have you! You fit right in." You could make out her features a bit more now that her hair was tied back into a mini pony tail. How her eyes were both so bright and dark was beyond you, but she was as unique as Mimi described. No wonder she wanted her as a sidekick. 

Just as the conversation was getting more lively, Aizawa's voice called everyone back to attention. The testing would resume, and you could sense the kids' determination filling the air. You’d give them this: These kids had what it took to be heroes. Not just physically but you could tell their hearts were in it too. 

Now you just needed to know where their minds were at.

As the group began to disperse after the initial round of tests, Aizawa called out, "Alright, everyone, we will now proceed with individual testing. I'll call you up one by one." The students nodded, the atmosphere filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. 

You also couldn't shake the feeling of Izuku's occasional glances. His curiosity was apparent, but he kept his distance, perhaps uncertain about how to approach you. You kinda wanted to squish his cheeks and shake him a little. Just enough for him to function like a human. 

You watched as Aizawa started calling names, students stepping forward for their turn. As you waited, some of the boys from the class began to drift over, curiosity evident on their faces.

"Hey," said a boy with spiky red hair and sharp teeth. "I'm Eijiro Kirishima. Nice to meet you!" He extended his hand with a wide grin. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, shaking his hand.

‘No sleep and low energy. Also is he a natural red or are those black roots normal?...’

Another boy with messy black hair and a confident smile stepped up next to him. "Yo, I'm Sero Hanata," he introduced himself with a casual wave.

As more boys gathered around, a voice called out, "Hey, wait a minute!" It was Mina, her arms were thrown up in the air, making her pink skin stand out even more in the sun. "We still don't know your name!"

"Yeah," Iida added, adjusting his glasses. "Proper introductions are important."

You felt a bit flustered, realizing you hadn't properly introduced yourself yet. 

"Oh, right! I'm….uhh." 

You didn’t see the problem in being honest about that. I mean, the kids don’t even call the teacher ‘Eraserhead’ unless they wanted to be an ass, that is. But you weren’t sure if they had been informed of your name at least and you didn’t know if you should give them your ‘last name’.

“Uhh?”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘Uhhh,’” Sero teased with a playful grin.

“Just Uhh is fine,” you responded, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Uhh?" Kirishima repeated with enthusiasm, slamming a fist into his chest. "That's pretty manly!" He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Definitely suits you," Denki added with a nod, a grin on his face.

As the conversation continued, more questions came your way. "So, where are you from, Uhh?" Sero asked, tying his hair into a short ponytail.

"Out of country," you replied, sticking to your cover story. There was an intense heat behind you and you could feel the distrust and annoyance radiating off someone. Turning around, you were met with the kid who was on his phone earlier. 

"What's your quirk?" the ash blonde demanded, his intense gaze fixed on you, leaving little room for evasion.

Before you could answer, another voice cut in. "Hey, don't feel pressured to tell Bakugou," Toru, the invisible girl, chimed in from somewhere nearby, defending you. "He’s always wound tight."

“ I AM NOT !” Bakugou snapped, managing to glare at the invisible girl.

You gave Toru a grateful smile. "Thanks, Toru."

"So, what kind of training did you do out of country?" Kirishima asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"Yeah, and who’s your favorite hero?" Mina added, leaning in. 

Before you could respond, Aizawa's voice cut through the field. "New addition," he called, his tone flat and authoritative. Iida waved you over with a brisk motion. "You're up next."

"Saved by the bell," you thought as you stretched and walked over to the grumpy man. He seemed to be squinting a lot in the morning sun, his skin looking even paler than it did inside the building. 'Someone doesn't get out much,' you mused, but quickly snapped back to focus on him.

"What kinda test you need me to do, teach?" you asked, trying to sound both respectful and confident.

Aizawa regarded you with his usual stoic expression. "We'll start with a basic quirk demonstration," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Show me what you've got."

You took a deep breath, your mind racing through the possible ways to demonstrate your quirk without revealing too much. You decided on a simple yet impactful display. Closing your eyes for a moment, you concentrate on the positive emotions around you—hope, determination, and even the negativity. 

You felt a surge of warmth as you channeled these emotions, your hands beginning to glow with a soft, radiant light.

The students around you watched in awe as the light grew brighter, enveloping you in a shimmering aura. You focused on creating a small, controlled burst of energy, sending a wave of positive emotion outward. The grass beneath your feet rustled as the wave spread, a gentle breeze carrying the warmth and light to those nearby.

Aizawa's eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded. "Interesting. Now, let's see how you handle a physical challenge. Head over to the track and run a lap without your quirk."

You nodded, the glow fading from your hands as you made your way to the track. The students' murmurs followed you, their curiosity piqued by your display. You took your place at the starting line, muscles tensing in anticipation.

With a burst of speed, you took off, your feet pounding against the ground in a steady rhythm. The wind whipped past your face as you pushed yourself, the world around you blurring. You were good at running from your mental problems, and maybe the police. 

‘I can run as much as I want to. Running is a great way to clear up last night's bad choices.’

Maybe you could convince Tashi to make a cheesecake for dinner. 

As you rounded the final bend and crossed the finish line, you slowed to a jog, breathing smoothly but feeling tingly. The students cheered on, their excitement palpable. They really were a pretty sweet bunch of weirdos. You walked back to Aizawa, your eyes questioning.

"Not bad," Aizawa said, his tone begrudgingly approving. "Next, we'll test your agility. Head over to the obstacle course."

As you were about to walk, Rumi dashed over, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Hey, can I test her on the obstacle course?” she asked, practically bouncing on her heels. Aizawa, who had been observing quietly, nodded. 

A few students exchanged excited glances, their anticipation building. Sero and Kaminari, perched on a low wall, whispered bets on who would come out on top, while Mina giggled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Aizawa’s nod of approval sent a ripple of murmurs through the class, the tension thickening as you prepared to face Rumi on the obstacle course.

“Fine.”

You glanced at Rumi, feeling a mix of apprehension and irritation. You knew that gleam in her eyes wasn’t just for show. “Alright,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady, “but don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Rumi’s grin widened as she followed you to the obstacle course. The setup was a chaotic maze of hurdles, balance beams, and swinging obstacles, with various items scattered around for added difficulty. The class gathered around, their eyes fixed on the upcoming showdown.

You took your position at the start, while Rumi stood on the sidelines, ready to interact with the course in her own way. “Ready?” you called out, getting into your stance.

The class, drawn in by her enthusiasm, began to gather around, their chatter filling the air. Kirishima pumped his fists, hyping up the impending challenge, while Bakugou leaned against a nearby wall, smirking in amusement at the scene unfolding before him.

With a nod from Rumi, you began, sprinting toward the first hurdle. As you leapt over it, items began flying through the air—foam balls, small weights, and even a few harmless water balloons. You dodged and weaved with precision, the obstacles becoming an intricate dance of evasion. 

The instant you started, the class erupted into cheers, the sound a blend of encouragement and teasing. Foam balls, weights, and water balloons suddenly flew through the air, courtesy of a few eager students who had taken Rumi’s playful suggestion to heart. You dodged and weaved through the barrage, your movements a blur of precision and agility.

Rumi’s voice rang out playfully, encouraging the chaos. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

As you navigated the course, you saw her preparing to launch a frisbee in your direction. With a quick decision, you grabbed one of the stray frisbees from the ground and hurled it back towards her. The disk  sailed through the air, knocking her frisbee off trajectory. Only for Rumi to intercept it with a powerful swing of a baseball bat she had miraculously produced.

‘This bitch tryin’ to kill me!’

The class watched in awe as Rumi smacked the frisbee back at you with remarkable force. You ducked and dodged, focusing on your strategy. The crowd cheered and laughed, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Kirishima was cheering loudly, while Bakugou looked on with a smirk.

Kirishima's voice cut through the din, cheering you on with a hearty shout of, "You’ve got this!" 

Nearby, Uraraka clapped her hands over her mouth, half in awe and half in disbelief at the spectacle. Iida, ever the stickler for rules, looked torn between enjoyment and concern, his eyes flicking between you and Aizawa.

Determined to outmaneuver Rumi, you decided to up the ante. 

Concentrating, you summoned a controlled energy blast, aiming for the baseball bat as Rumi swung it expertly. But Rumi was a blur of motion, never stopping her rhythmic movements. You shifted your target to the ground beneath her, intending to unbalance her.

“That’s enough!”

Just as you were about to release the blast, Aizawa’s commanding voice cut through the chaos, snapping everyone’s attention back to him. The energy dissipated in an instant, leaving you with a mixture of relief and frustration. The students, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly quieted, their excitement dimming as they awaited Aizawa’s judgment.

You froze, your hand still extended, energy crackling at your fingertips. The blast fizzled out, and you looked down to see the ground you had targeted now a small crater. Your hands trembled slightly as you took in the sudden silence.

Rumi’s demeanor changed in an instant, her usual playful grin replaced by a more serious expression. She stepped back, nodding at you with genuine respect before offering a subtle wink, one that only you caught. The gesture, though small, ignited a flicker of irritation in you, a reminder of her relentless competitiveness that made you want to kick her in her cottontail.

Aizawa’s red eyes bore into you, his stern gaze a reminder of his authority. The class was silent, their earlier excitement giving way to nervous anticipation.

Rumi stepped back, her playful grin replaced with a more respectful expression. “Good job,” she said, her tone now serious. “You’re definitely a worthy opponent.” 

You took a deep breath, nodding at her. “Thanks. I guess.”

Aizawa approached, his expression unreadable. “You’re done for now. Next time, be more controlled.” His hair drops to his shoulders again and he grumbles before pulling out some eye drops. 

“You first.”

“ooooooooooo!”

Your mouth is always writing checks you don’t wanna cash. 

Aizawa's stern eyes locked onto you again, the classroom fell into a tense silence. His gaze was unyielding, and it was clear he was far from pleased with how things had escalated. 

“You’ve shown impressive skill, but you need to control your temper better,” he said, his voice cold and precise. “For now, you’ll be serving lunch detention.”

A murmur of surprise and disappointment rippled through the class. Rumi raised an eyebrow but said nothing while Taishiro, who had been observing from the bleachers, gave you a sympathetic look.

“Hey now, I was the one who wanted to test her.”

“Miriko, since you’re so keen to stick up for our new student, you can oversee her detention,” Aizawa said, his tone tired and adamant to get rid of you. 

Rumi’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Sounds good to me! I’ll make sure to keep things educational.” She gave him a mocking salute and you wanted to melt right into the grass. 

Aizawa gave a curt nod and left down the trackway. The field, previously tense, now seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as Rumi took charge.

“So, detention it is!” Rumi said cheerfully, walking over to you with a warm smile. 

You sighed, your shoulders slumping slightly. “Got it,” you replied, trying to hide your frustration. You glanced around at the curious eyes of your classmates before following Aizawa to the side, where he filled out a detention slip.

As the class resumed their activities, Rumi approached you. You turned to her, curiosity getting the better of you. "Rumi! Why did you do that? I mean, you know I’m trying to lay low." You huffed and threw some weeds at her. 

Rumi waved them away and flashed you a mischievous grin. "So we can chat during lunch and it doesn’t look weird! Plus, it’s a great way to swap info without raising any eyebrows."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You always have a trick up your sleeve.”

She winked at you and gave you a playful nudge. “Just doing my job.”

She dismissed you back to the group as Aizawa began detailing what everyone needed to improve. Denki and Kirishima exchanged glances before approaching you, their expressions a mix of sympathy and admiration.

"Man, it's a bummer you got lunch detention," Denki said, scratching the back of his head. "I thought you did really cool out there."

"Yeah, seriously," Kirishima added, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You were awesome. Don't let it get you down."

You offered them a small smile, appreciating their support. The girls soon joined in, their faces reflecting genuine concern.

"It's such a shame you can't eat lunch with us today," Momo said, her brow furrowed. "Aizawa-sensei can be strict, but he's probably just being protective of Mirko-san because of her leg."

"Yeah, he's tough on attitudes," Jirou added, crossing her arms. "But you know he's just looking out for everyone."

You nodded, shaking off the annoyance, "Thanks, guys. I'll be fine."

With that, you headed toward Rumi's office, the hallway echoing with the distant sounds of your classmates chattering. You leaned against the wall, waiting for her to return and unlock the door so you could retrieve your bag. The minutes stretched on, and you found yourself lost in thought.

Ochako and Mina approached, their steps light and filled with concern. "Hey, you okay?" Ochako asked, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

"Yeah," you replied, giving her a reassuring smile. "My bag's inside. I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Alright," Mina said, her tone cheerful despite the situation. "But let's swap numbers after school, okay?"

You nodded, waving them off as they left. The hallways gradually emptied, leaving you in a peaceful silence. Moments later, the sound of footsteps approached, and you perked up, expecting Rumi.

‘Only.. that’s not her aura and definitely not her firm bouncy steps.’

Instead, Aizawa appeared, keys in hand. Startled, you instinctively grabbed your shoe and lobbed it at him. 

He caught it—with his forehead.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his brow. A nasty glare was thrown towards your direction. You rushed forward, your face flushed with embarrassment. 

"I'm so sorry! But... why are you in the girls' locker room?"

He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. "Mirko and Fatgum went to lunch, so I have to lock up. I thought you left with the girls. Sorry for not calling out to make sure everyone was out." Aizawa turned to leave but paused to address you. "You need to hurry and change to get to lunch."

"My bag is in Mirko-san's office," you explained, feeling a bit sheepish.

"I was waiting for her to unlock it."

He sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation, and tossed you the keys. "Be quick."

You caught the keys with one hand and hurried to Mirko's office. You fumbled with the lock, your frustration growing as the door refused to open. This used to be one of the reasons you always had a roommate- you sucked at opening doors traditionally. 

If Jason was chasing you, you’d be better off breaking a window than trying to jiggle the lock. Frustrated, you padded back out to the gym, where Aizawa was sitting on the bleachers, his expression unreadable.

You stopped far enough to watch him without his notice. Aizawa’s aura was bleeding into a dark gray and you could smell the norepinephrine he was trying to mask. 

‘Is he clinically depressed or just always like this?’

"Um, Teach?" you called out, feeling a bit awkward. "I can't get the door open. Can you help?"

Aizawa’s head snapped up as he turned to look at you, a mixture of defeat and resignation in his eyes, and got up to assist. "Come on, let's get this sorted."

Together, you managed to unlock the door, (he pushed and you kicked) and you quickly grabbed your bag, thanking Aizawa profusely. He quickly left again so you could dress and you wasted no time. 

Running through the gym, you caught one last look at him as he unrolled that yellow sleeping bag. 

You couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected encounter, grateful for the begrudging help from your strict ‘teacher’��.

As you walk to the cafeteria, the lively hum of student chatter grows louder, mingling with the clatter of trays and the occasional burst of laughter. You grab a tray and start moving down the line, your eyes scanning the array of food options. The comforting smell of freshly baked bread and the enticing aroma of warm soup fills the air. 

As you move to the salad bar, you catch sight of Rumi and Taishiro waving you over from a table reserved for the teachers. A smile spreads across your face as you wave back. Glancing over to the section where your classmates are seated, you notice the girls waving enthusiastically, their faces lighting up as they spot you. You wave back at them too, feeling a warm sense of fondness.

Turning around, you suddenly bump into someone, the collision jostling your tray. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" you exclaim, instinctively offering a helping hand to the mop of green hair in front of you.

"Thanks, please don't worry about it!" comes the polite reply, and you realize you're face-to-face with Izuku Midoriya. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize him, and he notices your recognition. 

'Shit ,' you think, trying to keep your expression neutral. Izuku rubs his elbow awkwardly, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. 

"Oh, uh," he stammers, looking around nervously before leaning in to whisper, 

"Do you have a moment to talk?"

You glance around, aware of the curious eyes of nearby students. "Can we talk after class?" you suggest, hoping to defuse the awkwardness.

He nods quickly, relief washing over his features as he hears some friends calling him. "Okay, see you then," he mumbles, picking up his tray and heading towards a table where his friends are seated, their animated conversation continuing as he joins them.

With a sigh, you continue through the lunch line, picking out your meal. You exchange pleasantries with the sweet lunch ladies, one of whom insists you take a piece of fruit. "Here, dear, take an apple. You need your vitamins," she says with a kind smile, placing the shiny fruit on your tray.

"Thank you," you reply warmly, appreciating their kindness. Balancing your tray, you make your way towards Rumi and Taishiro's table. The cafeteria is loud with activity. At one table, Bakugo is gesturing wildly, probably in the middle of an intense discussion, while Kirishima laughs heartily, slapping his knee. 

At another, Todoroki is quietly eating, occasionally nodding at something Iida is saying, his hand slicing through the air in an animated gesture as Tsu gesture for him to sit down. 

As you approach the teachers' table, you see Rumi and Taishiro deep in conversation, their expressions relaxed. Taishiro looks up and grins widely as he sees you. "Hey there, Sunshine! Over here!"

Rumi gives you a friendly wave, her eyes twinkling. "Come on, miss bad girl!  We've saved you a spot." 

You roll your eyes and smile walking over, placing your tray on the table and taking a seat. The noise of the cafeteria fades slightly as you settle in, the warmth of their company making you feel at ease. 

Taishi pulled out a bag of chips, setting it down on the small table between you. “I thought I’d drop by and make sure you’re not suffering too much,” he said with a grin. “Plus, it was on sale from the train station.”

You passed him the lunch lady apple while Rumi started distributing the food from her lunch box—sandwiches, fruit cups, and some snacks. You knew better than to note the lack of carrots. 

“I brought the usual,” Rumi said, handing you a leafy turkey sandwich. “Nothing fancy, but it should help build those big hero muscles.” You snickered, catching her impeccable side eye as you slid her your miso soup. 

“Thanks mommy,” you said, taking the sandwich. “It looks great!” 

As you ate, the conversation between you, Rumi, and Taishiro was light and engaging. Taishiro asked about your impressions of homeroom and how you were finding the students, while Rumi chimed in with humorous anecdotes about the dangers of American highschool lunch.

“So, how’s your first day been, really?” Taishiro asked between bites. “Aside from the unexpected detention, of course.”

You can already sense that Rumi has filled Taishiro in on your earlier conversation in her office. Taishiro’s knowing look and gentle smile confirm it. You take a deep breath, ready to share the latest turn of events.

"So, something else happened after our talk," you begin, glancing at Rumi, who nods encouragingly.

"What now?" Taishiro asks, leaning forward with interest, his large frame making the table seem smaller.

You recount the incident in the locker room with Aizawa. "After everyone left, I was waiting by Rumi's office to get my bag. I thought she'd come back to unlock it, but instead, Aizawa showed up."

Rumi's ears perk up, a curious glint in her eye. "Oh, what did he do?"

You can't help but chuckle, remembering the absurdity of the situation. "Well, I didn't realize it was him at first. I panicked and threw my shoe at him." Taishiro bursts into laughter, nearly spilling his drink. "You threw your shoe at Aizawa? That's priceless!"

"Yeah, and he caught it—with his face," you add, shaking your head at the memory. "I felt terrible and rushed to apologize. But then I realized... what was he doing in the girls' locker room?"

Rumi snickers, and Taishiro tries to contain his laughter. "I bet he had a good reason," Taishiro says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"He did," you confirm. "He explained that you guys went to lunch, so he had to lock up. He thought everyone had left and apologized for not checking first. Then he told me to hurry and change for lunch."

"And did you?" Rumi asks, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Not quite. My bag was in your office, and I couldn't open the door. I had to go back out and ask him for help." You pick out the tomatoes in your salad and give them over to Taishi before swiping some dango. “Shoot, forgot about that,” Rumi shakes her head, "Did he help you?"

"He did. He sighed, threw me the keys, and when I couldn't manage it, he helped me open the door."

“Well we all know you can’t open one to save your life.”

“ Hey! ”

Taishiro nods approvingly. "Well, at least you got your bag in the end."

"Yeah, and now I'm here," you say, finishing your story. "Oh, and Mina asked about Nemuri."

You weren’t sure if mentioning the guy's aura now would be good. I mean– no one really seemed surprised with his antics. So, maybe it was just him? But something in the pit of your stomach didn’t believe that. 

Rumi raised an eyebrow. "The pink girl, huh? What did she want to know?" She’s drinking the fruit cups like a jello shot as you shoot her a displeased look before she runs her tongue over her teeth. You sigh realizing that she’s just trying to tease you before poking her with a straw. 

"She was curious about her condition," you reply. "I think Mina looks up to her. She wanted to know more about Nemuri's health status."

Taishiro leans back, considering this. "Nemuri's got a lot of students asking for her. Maybe we can arrange for Mina to have a visit with her sometime?" He looks up from his squid salad and orange drink. Rumi nods in agreement. "That sounds like a great idea. I'll talk to Mimi’s nurse about it."

"Actually, there's something else," you begin, setting your fork down. "I bumped into Izuku Midoriya in the cafeteria earlier."

Rumi raises an eyebrow, and Taishiro looks up from his meal. "Midoriya? What happened?" Taishiro asks, his interest piqued.

"He seemed really flustered and asked if we could talk later. He looked... I don't know, like he was hiding something. And it's not just him," you continue, your voice lowering as you glance around the bustling cafeteria. "A lot of the kids from Class 2-A seem really tired or like they're sad but trying to hide it."

Rumi takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before responding. "Kids will be kids. They're probably just fooling around or staying up too late playing video games."

Taishiro, however, seems more concerned. He gestures subtly towards Kirishima, who is sitting a few tables away, now picking at his food with a distant look in his eyes. "See Kirishima over there? I mentor him. He's been acting strange lately, not his usual energetic self." He set down his chips and frowns at the sight. 

You nod, appreciating Taishiro's insight. "I think it's more than just fooling around, Rumi. It feels like signs of trauma. They might be dealing with something serious." You pick the crusts off your bread and stuff them in your mouth before Rumi can scold you on wasting food. 

Rumi glances around, her skeptical demeanor shifting to one of concern. "You really think so?"

"Yeah," you reply, your voice steady. "The energy in that classroom is way too heavy. I've felt it before. The way they're trying to keep it all inside... it's not healthy." You tear bits of your sandwich off in an attempt to keep your uniform clean. 

Taishiro sets down his utensils and nods, his expression serious. "We should discuss this further. Let's head to the teachers' lounge." 

You clean up your area ( mama didn’t raise no messy bitch! ) and the three of you slipped out with time to spare before the bell would ring. A few long hallways and some cursing from Rumi later, you made it to the coffee scented door.

As you step into the teachers' lounge, the atmosphere is markedly different from the bustling cafeteria. It's a haven of relative calm, with comfortable chairs, soft lighting, and a few potted plants scattered around. The walls are adorned with various decorations and personal touches that reflect the individuality of each teacher.

Near the entrance, you immediately notice Nemuri’s space. Her corner is unmistakably hers, with a case for her red rimmed glasses, and a small collection of scented candles and essential oils that lend a subtle, calming fragrance to the area. A few provocative magazines and history books are neatly stacked on a side table, along with a plush, velvet armchair in deep purple. Heat rises inside your throat immediately, and you decide to give it a good dusting when you can. 

A few steps away, All Might’s space is easy to spot. A large mousepad of his iconic pose, arm raised in triumph, dominates the mouse. His area is tidy and minimalist, with a sturdy chair and a simple desk, but it radiates his larger-than-life presence. A small collection of memorabilia, including photos with students and other heroes, sits on the cubical wall.

Nearby, you see a corner that undoubtedly belongs to the music teacher, Present Mic. The walls are covered with band posters and music notes, and a set of headphones hangs on the back of his chair. A small stack of vinyl records and a portable record player are on the desk, along with a few microphones and a collection of colorful markers for his lesson plans.

Finally, you spot an area with cat-themed decorations, and you can't help but smile. It must belong to a pro with a related quirk. There are various kitty figurines, a cozy-looking throw blanket with paw prints, and a framed photo of someone’s beloved tuxedo cat. The desk is cluttered but organized in its own way, with graded papers and files neatly stacked. A few cups of coffee were scattered behind the monitor, some finished, other’s with a familiar brown ring. 

You take a seat in the cat-themed corner, feeling a bit more at ease surrounded by the playful decorations. Taishiro grabs All Might’s chair and sits across from you, his large frame making the seat look almost comically small, while Rumi leans against the table, her legs elegantly crossed and a thoughtful expression on her face.

Taishiro begins, his voice serious. "I think some of the students are suffering from PTSD from the hero war. It's been weighing on them, and it's starting to show." You flashed back to that interview that landed you in hot water with your agency. 

Telling the world that you were disappointed in Japan’s top school for heroes in training was not the best look for someone offering to teach there as a promise to an old friend. 

You nod, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I know Principal Nezu was trying to find some counselors for the students who helped the pro heroes during the war. It's a lot for them to handle on their own." 

Rumi’s expression softens as she recalls, "I met this kid–Bakugou– not long ago. I remember hearing about how his heart exploded on the field. And then there's Endeavor's son—those kids have been through so much."

You almost drop your juice box, your eyes widening in shock. "Todoroki?!" you exclaim, before Rumi quickly shushes you, her eyes darting to the door to make sure no one outside overheard.

She lowers her voice, her expression serious. "Yes, the little peppermint one. But let's keep it down, okay? There's a lot more to that story, and it's not something we should be spreading around."

You nod, trying to process the information. Taishiro adds that he overheard that Recovery Girl was considering retirement after this year. 

“She can’t heal what’s wrong with their brains. SO many kids have been sent to her office having panic attacks or for falling asleep in class because they can’t do it at night.” 

You lean forward, your expression earnest. "We need to make sure they get the support they need. Talking to Principal Nezu and the other teachers will be crucial."

Rumi nods in agreement, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a determined seriousness. "And we need to be there for them, none of that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. I’m all for having thick skin but these kids were barely out of middle school when this happened."

Taishiro pipes up, his voice filled with warmth and concern. "Sunshine, I love how much you wanna help these kids. But you're forgetting one thing." His eyes are warm, but there’s a sadness that betrays them. 

You look at him, puzzled. "What's that?"

He sighs, his shoulders slumping a little. "These kids won't even talk about what happened." His gaze drops to the floor, clearly upset. 

"Kirishima is one of the most dependable, upbeat people I've known. He stands his ground and gives everything his all. I had to send him home early the other day because he could barely keep his eyes open while we were patrolling." He flicks a piece of paper at the floor in frustration. 

Rumi frowns, her foot tapping rapidly against the floor. "What are we gonna do then? We can't beat it out of the little brats, and knowing the toxic side of hero culture, they probably think they have to carry this burden." She hopped up on the desk now, her garnet eyes burning. 

You suck your juice box dry, the sound of the last bit of juice being drawn up echoing softly. You look at the label in your hand, thinking. 

"Knowing some of the teachers and accounting their home lives…damn. I knew this would be complicated, but I really can't walk away from this right now." Your eyes drift over to Nemuri's desk before you stare up at the ceiling. 

"She really wants me to help these kids."

Taishiro follows your gaze and nudges your foot with his, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Did she have her own homeroom?"

You shake your head. "Nah, she was an elective teacher. But they were her favorite based on personality alone." You sigh, loosening your uniform tie and unbuttoning your shirt a bit, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Rumi stops her tapping and looks over at you, concern evident in her eyes. "How are you holding up?"

You stop stastaring at the ceiling to meet her gaze, then glance back at Taishiro before looking up again. "I—"

The door to the lounge swings open, and Aizawa and Present Mic walk in. Mic is enthusiastically discussing starting a podcast with the students, his animated gestures and booming voice filling the room. 

You’d never been so happy to hear that loud mouth. 

Aizawa, on the other hand, looks like he wants to escape the cacophony. His tired eyes scan the room briefly, giving a nod to Rumi and Taishiro before zeroing in on you. He stops in his tracks, his gaze unwavering.

Mic notices Aizawa's sudden halt and looks over his shoulder. Spotting you, he breaks into a wide smile and waves energetically. "Hey there!"

You giggle and offer him a big smile and wave back, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room. When you glance back at Aizawa, he's still standing there, not saying anything. You wave at him, and he slightly quirks an eyebrow before looking at the desk behind you.

Rumi is the first to break the silence, her tone teasing. "Cat got your tongue?" 

Aizawa's eyes narrow slightly. "My desk." 

Mic elbows him with a look and Taishiro tries to break the tension with a lighthearted joke. "Well, they do say cats like cozy spots!"

Mic chimes in, his voice a bit more subdued. "Hey, I remember seeing you in the hallways before homeroom. Nice to see you again!" You wanna respond to the literal surround sound but you’re too busy staring down banana man. 

Aizawa remarks dryly, "You're in my chair."

Mic shakes his head, chuckling. "Ease up, Aizawa. She probably didn't know."

You stand up quickly, your movement abrupt as you bump your hip against the edge of the desk. "Excuse me, I wasn’t aware." You try to play it off but that freaking desk hit that really soft spot in your hip that made you wanna take a knee. 

‘Motherfuc-’

Aizawa sighs, rubbing his red, swollen eyes. "It's fine, you didn't know." He walks over to the coffee machine, picking up a mug. As he fills it, he hands Rumi the same keys from earlier.

"So why did you bring my new problem child to the lounge?" he asks, taking a sip from his mug.

Present Mic has moved to his corner, setting up his record player, the soft hum of vinyl filling the room.

Taishiro clears his throat, about to speak when you give him a subtle signal not to. He looks confused but nods along. Rumi quickly covers for him, her tone casual and light. "Oh, nothing major. Just discussing some classroom management strategies. We don't think ‘Tempest’ here has any issues with temper, just a very eager student, that's all."

Mic's curiosity is piqued. "What happened?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

Taishiro jumps in, grateful for the distraction. "Oh, we were just talking about the test earlier. You should've seen the energy blasts Sunshine was dishing out. Impressive stuff."

Mic's eyes light up with interest. "Really? That sounds awesome! I'd love to see that in action sometime."

‘Awe, okay his aura is literally joy and concern. Maybe he’s a teacher I could talk to about the kids. Isn’t he the language arts teacher? If anyone could give me some insight on how to communicate with them, he’s probably the best bet.’

Aizawa looks at you with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "Really ? "

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, just excited about the training." You hoped you sounded more convincing than you looked but it was pretty easy to keep up the new kid act so far. 

Rumi grins, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. "Yep, ‘Tempest’ here is a powerhouse. No doubt about it."

Okay now she was just trying to keep you flustered!

Taishiro chuckles, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. "That's right. Our very own ball of energy." You throw him side eye for that dad joke and Taishi just cheeses at you before shrugging. Rumi looks over at him like she’s going to die if she has to listen to another lame pun. 

The interaction painfully continues causing you to feel a mix of relief and anxiety. You managed to divert Aizawa's attention for now, but the underlying issues still need to be addressed. For now, though, you're grateful for the support of Rumi and Taishiro.

Mic shifts his attention back to his record player, fiddling with the settings as the soft hum of music fills the room again. Aizawa takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to his paperwork.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation. 

As the conversation winds down, a crackling sound from Nezu’s intercom interrupts the room's calm. “Rumi Usagiyama and Taishiro Toyomitsu, please report to Principal Nezu’s office.”

Rumi perks up at the announcement, her ears twitching slightly. “Well, looks like that’s our cue.” She glances at Taishiro, who’s already pushing himself up from his seat with a soft grunt.

“Guess we better not keep the boss waiting,” Taishiro adds, giving you a reassuring smile as he adjusts his scarf. “You coming?”

Just as you nod, the bell for lunch rings out, signaling the end of the morning classes. The timing couldn't be more convenient. Rumi grins and gestures for you to follow them. “C’mon, we’ll walk you out. Lunch is the perfect excuse to escape whatever paperwork Aizawa has planned for you.”

You can't help but chuckle at that, grateful for the company as the three of you head out of the room. The hallways are bustling with students heading toward the cafeteria, their chatter filling the air. As you part ways with Rumi and Taishi, you give them a quick wave. 

“Thanks for walking me out.”

“Anytime,” Rumi says with a wink. “Catch you later, yeah?”

‘Yeah, as if we don’t live together.’

“Stay outta trouble!” Taishiro adds, his deep voice carrying a playful tone as they both head toward the principal’s office.

You turn to head toward your classroom, but the labyrinthine hallways of U.A. start to confuse you. You take a few turns, trying to remember the route, but end up in a quiet corridor, far from where you intended to be. 

Sighing, you glance around for any sign of familiar territory, only to bump into something solid—or rather, someone.

Aizawa’s coffee cup tilts precariously in his hand as you collide with him, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the floor. You freeze, eyes widening in horror. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

Quickly, you fumble in your pockets and pull out a handful of tissues, offering them to him with an apologetic look. Aizawa glances at the tissues, then at you, before taking them without a word. “Thank you,” he mutters, his voice as monotone as ever.

“No prob, Bob,” you reply with a nervous grin, hoping to lighten the mood.

Aizawa’s brow furrows slightly at the nickname, but he lets it slide. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be heading back to class?”

“Uh, yeah, about that… I kinda got lost,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “This place is like a maze.”

Aizawa sighs, his gaze softening just a fraction as he looks you over. “Why don’t you have a student profile yet? And who’s your assigned buddy?”

You shuffle your feet, feeling a bit on the spot. “I don’t have one yet. And, um, about the buddy thing… Could I maybe be paired with Mina and Izuku? They seemed really kind.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly curious about your choice. “Why them?”

“They were just… nice to me,” you say, trying to find the right words. “Mina’s really friendly, and Izuku seems like he’d help out anyone who needed it.”

Aizawa considers this for a moment, then nods. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements. But remember, you need to familiarize yourself with the school layout. Getting lost isn’t an excuse I’ll accept more than once.”

You nod quickly, relieved. “Understood.”

As you both start walking toward your classroom, Aizawa explains in his usual deadpan tone, “I gave you the lunch detention so you could understand that while enthusiasm for your studies is good, you need to be aware of your surroundings and targets. I knew you’d probably feel bad if you hurt Ugasi-san, and that could have led to… complications.”

His words linger in the air, and you glance at him, a bit taken aback by his concern. “You care a lot for a guy who looks like he’s ready to keel over.”

Aizawa snorts softly, a rare hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. “You would too, once you get to know the rest of your class.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you muster the courage to ask, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, his attention shifting to you. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you so monotone all the time?”

Aizawa looks slightly taken aback by the question but recovers quickly. “Am I? I never noticed. Well, I guess when you repeat the same shit over and over again, you—” He cuts himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry for cursing. In all fairness, I expected you to talk more, that’s all.”

“Why’d you expect that?” you ask, genuinely curious. You cross your arms and the jingle of your adornments falls deaf to your ears. 

He raises an eyebrow before his eyes drift down to your outfit. You’re in the U.A. uniform, but with a twist—comic book onomatopoeia thigh-highs, doodled-on Converse, a tie swapped out for one in your favorite color, rings and bracelets adorning both arms, and a collection of earrings and necklaces, each holding special meaning.

Aizawa’s gaze lingers on the accessories before returning to your face. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?” you ask, half-defensive, half-joking.

“Nothing,” he replies, though his tone implies otherwise. “Just… not what I expected from a new student.”

You chuckle, shrugging it off. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Aizawa merely hums in response, leading you the rest of the way to your classroom in silence. As you reach the door, he pauses, giving you one last, almost unreadable look. 

“Don’t get lost again,” he says, the sternness in his voice softened just a bit by the faintest hint of concern.

You nod, giving him a small smile before stepping into the classroom. “Got it. Thanks.”

As you step into the classroom, the lively chatter of students fills the air, but the moment you appear, it abruptly stops. Mina and the girls are the first to rush over, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity.

 "What happened?" Mina asks, her voice tinged with worry. Denki and Kirishima aren't far behind, both of them looking equally anxious.

"Yeah, you disappeared at lunch! We thought you got expelled already!" Denki adds, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

You huff, rolling your eyes at the thought. "Chill, guys. I'm not going anywhere," you reply, trying to ease their nerves. But even as you say it, you take a moment to survey the room, your senses honing in on the various auras and energy wavelengths surrounding you.

Mina's energy is vibrant, full of concern but also that ever-present spark of curiosity. She’s eager to know what’s happened but is holding herself back from pressing too hard. Kirishima’s aura is solid and steady, his concern for your well-being mixing with a strong desire to take a fat nap. Denki’s energy is a bit more scattered, a whirl of curiosity and nervousness, likely worrying about whether he could’ve done something to help.

‘Jesus these kids and their teacher need to get some sleep.’

As you let your senses expand further, you pick up on the rest of the class. Some are still buzzing from lunch, their energies tinged with the lightness of camaraderie and laughter. Others seem more subdued, perhaps burdened by the weight of the day's lessons or their own personal thoughts. A few are more withdrawn, their wavelengths hinting at anxiety or exhaustion…

‘And sadness…’

Overall, the class’s energy is a complex mix—some students are thriving in the environment, their auras bright and strong, while others are struggling, their energy dulled or jagged with stress. It’s a lot to take in at once, but you’ve grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of emotions. 

"You guys worry too much," you finally say, focusing back on your friends. "But I appreciate it. Really."

Mina gives you a relieved smile, and Denki grins, clearly reassured. "So, what did happen?" he asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing too serious," you reply, brushing it off. "Just had a little chat with the teachers. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to accidentally blow up the school or something."

Kirishima laughs, giving you a playful nudge. "If it came down to anyone blowing up the school, my money’s on Bakugou."

Before you can respond, a small eraser sails through the air, striking Kirishima on the forehead with a soft thud. Bakugou, scowling, growls, "Shut it, shitty hair!"

Kirishima rubs his forehead, laughing it off as the class erupts in a mix of laughter and gasps. But before the noise can get out of hand, Iida stands up, his arms chopping through the air in his usual over-the-top manner. "Bakugou! Such behavior is unbecoming of a student at U.A. High! Throwing objects and using foul language—"

"Shove it, Glasses!" Bakugou snaps back, rolling his eyes as he leans back in his chair, clearly not in the mood for one of Iida's lectures.

The tension in the room spikes as Iida looks like he’s about to continue his tirade. You can sense the different energies clashing, the room on the verge of slipping into full chaos. While everyone is distracted by the exchange, you focus inwardly, allowing a gentle wave of calming energy to emanate from your aura. It ripples through the room like a soothing breeze, subtly cooling the heated tempers and easing the building tension.

The effect is almost immediate. Iida’s rigid posture relaxes just a fraction, his hands lowering as he sits back down, muttering something under his breath about maintaining order. Bakugou lets out a huff, but his scowl softens, and he crosses his arms without further comment.

Amidst the newly calm atmosphere, you catch Izuku watching you, his green eyes curious and perhaps a bit intrigued. You wiggle your fingers at him in a playful wave, and he offers you a small, shy smile in return.

Before anything else can happen, Aizawa reenters the classroom, a new mug of coffee in hand. He casts a quick glance around, clearly noting the sudden peace but saying nothing about it. Instead, he moves to the front of the room, and everyone quickly takes their seats, preparing for the lesson.

Just as the lesson is about to begin, Izuku quietly slides his notebook across the desk to you. Curiosity piqued, you open it to find a page filled with notes and sketches, all centered around a mysterious "mall lady" and a Pro Hero named ChargeBomb. 

‘I knew he knew!’

Some of the information is missing, and you can tell he’s still piecing together the details, but the sketches of you in action are surprisingly accurate.

A smile tugs at your lips as you admire the drawings. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a sticky note and pen, scribbling a quick, playful response before sliding it back to him. But just as it’s about to reach Izuku, a familiar capture weapon snakes out, intercepting the note mid-slide.

'Shit!'

Aizawa’s scarf pulls the note towards him, and he raises an eyebrow as he reads what you wrote. His expression remains impassive, but you can tell he’s amused by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He looks at you and then at Izuku, clearly unimpressed but too tired to make a big deal out of it.

“See me after class,” he says, his deep voice as monotone as ever, though the note in his hand crumples slightly as he tosses it into the trash.

The class quiets down, and Izuku shoots you an apologetic look, but you just give him a small shrug, silently promising to continue the conversation later. The lesson begins, and you can’t help the feeling of excitement at what the rest of the day might bring.

.

.

.

.

“Psst, new girl.”

That's a wrap for chapter 3!

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @naladrawssss, @bakugouswaif If you wanna be added lemme know!

Here is the first chapter! Just updated on my ao3 account.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help motivate me. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

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See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[harmonysanreads]

different anon! but what if arlecchino doesn’t like lyney’s s/o for some reason, maybe they have strong morals and despite accepting lyney’s ‘occupation’, she feels like their relationship could compromise her operations or something

[ Previously ]

I waited until we got more information on Arlecchino to answer this and after her story quest, I can say that Lyney just having a romantic interest would complicate things a lot — at least on the surface.

Arlecchino is hardly someone who adheres to clear-cut principles, every word of her has double meaning and even if she didn't initially speak with such intentions, she can expertly twist words to her advantage. This tendency also shows itself in her actions, as seen by the way she operates the House of the Hearth. She's always scheming, simply put and thus she's the Knave.

For most of the ordeal, Arlecchino doesn't intervene, as she believes that children need their own space, but she's aware of everything that's going on from the start. Problem happens if it appears as though Lyney is neglecting his training and some sort of a scheme arises which suggests that he might be planning to betray the House. I wish they'd told us what exactly the rules of the HOTH are apart from the 'Betrayal is not allowed' since Arlecchino exerts her control through them. But for now, let's go with what we have.

Notice how I emphasized 'appears and suggests'? Arlecchino's story quest has made me respect Lyney's character a lot and from it, I can say for sure that if Lyney genuinely loves you, he'll do anything to protect you. Despite how he presents himself, he's serious about the House and him becoming Arlecchino's successor. In which case, he'd never actually betray the House but since we're talking about Yandere!Lyney, his unstable feelings might temporarily give the impression that he's doubting his designated role. Stretch this leeway some more and we get a new family drama.

This is the scenario where I can see Arlecchino personally intervening ; perhaps she starts by offering some generous 'fatherly' advice to Lyney through a letter or conversation, then maybe she pulls some strings to see what your deal is but the brunt of it will go over Lyney.

Now, Arlecchino's core belief is quite clear for this case ; she'll not interfere with whoever Lyney chooses to do whatever with after he's achieved his seat. But until then, she is in charge and anything that might prove to be a threat to the HOTH must be handled. As such, Lyney will have to pass acid test after acid test to earn her approval and you'll be dragged in them regardless of whether you return Lyney's undying love or not.

Thankfully, Lyney actually does have the spine to stand up for things and as I mentioned earlier : if he truly loves you, he'll fight for you, too. If you ask me though, I'd say to not worry too much overall. The deal with Arlecchino is that she likes to keep people questioning, which creates this fear surrounding her image, one that she leans into as well. But the center of the dilemma is always simpler than what you might be led to believe.

Even if she's against it, there's always a chance to win, you'll just have to fight tooth and nail for it.

[ani-iu]

[𝟑] 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 | angel 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 × female human 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: marriage of convenience; forced proximity; angst; domestic; crack treated seriously; possessive Adam; he falls first and harder; misogyny; Adam being Adam; explicit language; religious imagery & symbolism; sexual tension; eventual smut; happy ending; not canon compliant. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7,7k.

// blue-eyed altruist, keep your distance, but not too far

𝐀dam hates coffee.

He doesn’t like the earthy smell, finding it difficult to understand how anyone could derive enjoyment from something so unsavoury. And the bitter taste — it always, without fail, fades into the anticlimactic acidic aftertaste on his tongue, so already having endured a string of disappointments in his life, Adam opts out of drinking caffeine to spare himself from even more misery.

Yet, at this moment, as the black stainless steel exterior of the coffee vending machine swallows up the reflection of Adam’s black mask — only leaving an amber frown and two glaring eyes staring back at him visible — Adam feels like the happiest soul in Heaven. The bliss, however, is bittersweet.

By now, a couple of hours have passed since Adam and Lute split up so he could go to Sera’s office alone. But here he is, standing in the empty lobby, stalling the eventual visit for as long as he possibly can. He wasn’t afraid of the seraph; he was merely not in the mood to receive a stern talking to.

Silence means loneliness, and Adam, unable to tolerate either, as soon as the machine grows quiet, allowing that dreadful interval of quietude to settle in and the pungent aroma of coffee to reach his nose, throws the coffee cup into the trash can and restarts the process. The cacophony of mechanical and liquid sounds makes the otherwise deathly silence at least somewhat bearable to endure, allowing Adam to test Sera’s patience with his absence for longer. 

The high-pitched string of single-tone beeps signals the completion of another order and diverts Adam's attention from his thoughts, but just as he turns to take the steaming cup and throw it away, he sees Sera's horrifying reflection in the sleek exterior.

"Fuck, Sera! You can’t sneak up on a guy like that!"

"Adam, you are testing my patience." As it echoes through the empty foyer, the seraph's mellow tone of voice is both authoritative and commanding, making her presence felt all the way to Adam's very bones. If you were to ask Adam, he would tell you that the calmness was even worse than if she were to scream at him. "I thought I told your lieutenant I wanted to see you immediately."

"Can’t a guy get a drink first? I had a long day—"

Sera, who is quite familiar with Adam's tendency to change the topic he is not particularly eager to discuss, cuts the angel's prattling short by going straight to the matter at hand. "What is a mortal doing in Heaven?"

"Wow, straight to the point, huh? Well, you all are always on my ass about my way of life, so I decided to change that!"

"You married that mortal." Sera grits through her teeth. She foolishly clung to the hope that perhaps Adam had only brought you here as another rendezvous of his, but marriage, especially if it was officiated by an archangel, was a huge deal.

Adam has the nerve to act surprised. "Oh, so Daniel already ratted me out?"

"No, you did that yourself, but now I will be having a word with archangel Daniel as well for officiating this sacrilegious excuse of matrimony, which, may I add, makes it impossible to send the mortal back! Jaw-dropping, truly. Every single time, Adam, you manage to surprise me with your actions. How did you even get a hold of her?"

"Oh, that's actually a funny story. You should have seen the stunt she pulled in Hell!"

"And that’s where you should have left her — in Hell! Be their problem, not ours!" Sera momentarily raises her voice an octave higher before catching herself and attempting to calm down. She takes a deep breath and exhales, brushing her hair back away from her face while doing so. "Why did she even agree to this?"

Confident to a fault, but having every reason to believe his words, Adam puffs his chest out and points his thumb at himself. "Who can say no to this? Every woman out there wants a piece of the original dick! I just need to pick one of many."

"And you, naturally, go and pick something forbidden." At that moment, it seemed like a reasonable statement to make in an attempt to silence the first man, but that didn't make it less cruel. In front of Sera’s many eyes — visible and not — Adam’s expressive LED mask effortlessly twists his glowing features into a look of pain, although only for a fleeting moment. As soon as Adam gets ahold of his unspoken feelings, Sera concludes their conversation, her tone staying resolute. "Usually wisdom comes with age, but I see that there are instances where age comes alone. I expect you to deal with this problem you created for yourself appropriately. If you keep her under control, I won't interfere. If you are unable to do so, I will. Just like I did with Eve."

And just like that, Adam is left alone, but this time, he is able to stay in that spot for as long as he wants to.

Glancing at the waiting cup of coffee, still steaming away on the drip tray, Adam chucks it into the trash and is about to snap himself to his destination when his gaze gets stuck on his hand. With a defeated sigh, he turns around and strides towards the left wing of the enormous building where all the archangels reside.

Raphael is the last archangel Adam wants to see — ever — usually avoiding the heavenly being as much as he possibly can, which isn’t that hard when the first man is an immortal being who can’t get hurt. But keeping your bleeding wound at the forefront of his mind, Adam has no choice but to seek out the angel of healing of his own volition.

Adam doesn't knock, pushing the door the same way one rips off a band-aid. But instead of experiencing temporary discomfort, he is met with a slender, pale-faced figure.

The eyes, which usually symbolise these celestial beings' all-seeing and omnipresent nature, are tightly wrapped in a white cloth, but a lack of sight doesn't make Raphael's all-pervasive perception any less so. With such a statement, he blatantly showed that he doesn’t need sight to see through others.

Raphael's pride is just another thing he has in common with his fallen brother, apart from their near-identical appearances.

"Adam."

"You already know why I'm here."

Raphael puts his quill down and tilts his head at Adam. "Yes, Sera can be very loud when she wants to. So you really are here because of the mortal? Finally decided to seek my help?"

"She got burned by hellfire. I need something for the wound."

"I was talking about you."

"I’m not hurt."

"That’s what you seem to be desperately trying to convince me of, or are you trying to convince yourself?"

Raphael’s words are met with petulant silence.

The archangel rests his chin in his palm, lazily drawing the silhouette of a bottle in the air with his finger, while Adam watches how an invisible scribble turns into a tangible object before his eyes. Having grabbed Adam's attention, Raphael uses the opportunity wisely. "Not all wounds are physical, and not all of them can be remedied with divine healing. If you want to open your heart to someone again, first you have to mend it together. It has been bleeding for decades, but love heals. Self-love is also love, Adam. You can’t love someone without loving yourself first." The bottle of dark glass grows heavy and starts to drop down, falling into Raphael’s waiting palm. "The burn of hellfire will be the least of her worries if you don’t take into account what I said, Adam."

Snatching the flask of holy water away from the archangel's grasp, Adam teleports instantly back to his apartment. He planned to fly back, but he couldn’t spend a second longer in the same vicinity as Raphael.

If Adam pretended that nothing happened today, it just might seem that way at first glance. All of the furniture is still in its place, and the dust on it is left undisturbed, yet the man can’t help but notice little details like the coffee table being a bit turned to the side while the room feels warmer somehow — more lively and not as empty. Or was it Adam’s subconscious not allowing him to entertain a thought of you not being in his life?

His legs instinctively lead him toward the bedroom, where a small crack in the door allows him to catch a glimpse of the inside without fully stepping into the room.

The moonlight spilling in through the open windows illuminates the minimalistic space. Its rays are softer than the sun's — not as harsh on the eyes — and bathe your feminine features in cool watercolour shades, making you and your existence feel more and more like a dream than reality to the silent observer that is Adam. Adam doesn't even notice when he steps inside, discarding his mask near the bed and sitting on its edge, your sleeping self right behind him.

In the huge bed, you look so tiny and vulnerable — the bedding looks like puffy clouds swallowing you up in dreamy white. But even in deep sleep, you don’t look at peace.

"Mngh…"

Your breathing is laborious as you toss and turn, so Adam thoughtfully glides his index finger along the curve of your body, sliding the long digit under the tightly wrapped strips of fabric and softly tugging on them to loosen up the dress. Almost instantaneously, your lungs take a greedy gulp of air once the pressure on your chest elevates, so fragile and alive…

Adam's hand goes to hover above your face, not yet daring to touch your pinkened cheeks. Instead, he starts small, carefully bringing his leathery fingers down towards soft, warm skin and brushing away a few hair strands that are obstructing his view. But that is when you unconsciously turn your head and nuzzle your cheek into his hand. Adam holds his breath as he watches you closely. Your lips look as mildly intoxicating as the wine you drank, seducing Adam into pressing his own to get a taste. Staring at you in such a way almost feels gluttonous, as if savouring you without your knowledge or consent is one of the sins God warned humanity about, an ever-tantalising morsel…

But just as Adam lowers his face to be merely a hair's breadth away, a feeling of doubt crosses his mind.

Did you drink the wine so that it would be easier to face him? And instead of kissing your lips, he ends up planting a lingering kiss beneath them — on your chin.

Adam's hand, which supports his weight and lays flat beside your head, grips the sheet in anger at himself. He hates himself for his childish dreams of wanting to be loved in this lifetime, for yearning to have someone breathe life into his mundane days, and for wishing for someone who would occupy his self-loathing mind with meaningless conversations.

"Mmm… Marcel…"

He loosens his grip on the sheet and sits up.

"And you, naturally, go and pick something forbidden." Sera's words echo inside Adam's head as if his own inner voice isn't taking enough space in it as it is.

Adam knew a thing or two about forbidden things. He understood how perilous they were and what misery they could bring him if he indulged in them, but there was also the indescribable sweetness that almost made it all better.

He takes your burnt hand into his own — your human skin sharply contrasting with the inky black of his palm — and covers the weeping wound in holy water. With his thumb, he gently moves the liquid back and forth until it all disappears, washing away the blood and pain while only leaving a scar. Hellfire was no joke.

After giving you one last look, Adam gets up from his seat and retreats back to his spot on the couch.

He indulged himself enough for one day.

» » »

It takes you a while to blink your sore eyes open — the room you are in is just too bright.

You toss and turn, pulling the sheets closer to you with involuntary movements. Slightly disoriented, you finally open your eyes, and as your brain connects the dots, the sleepy bliss disappears. You can feel your stomach drop at the realisation that all of it was not a nightmarish hallucination. The room is Adam’s bedroom, as in the first fucking man from the Bible, and you are in Heaven — a place, not a state of bliss.

"God, I’m so fucked." You groan while palming at your eyes. It takes you a few deep breaths in and out to calm yourself down, but once you do and roll to lie on your back, another problem makes itself known.

The wedding dress that had been so tightly wrapped around you yesterday is now just a pile of loose pieces of silk hastily draped over your body, leaving too much skin exposed to the chilly morning air and to anyone’s eyes if they decided to walk in the room. Most importantly, you had your new husband to watch out for, and as that realisation dawns on you, you sit up in the bed while hugging yourself, desperately searching around for something to use as a shield from his perverted gaze. Luckily, it doesn't take you long to spot a neatly folded fabric at the foot of the bed.

Scooting closer, you reach for the garment and unfold it to get a better look. The fabric is so silky smooth that it slides between your fingers like quicksilver. It is cold to the touch, but you have little choice; the other one is to walk naked, so putting on the new dress it is.

You glance at the door before standing up. With the remnants of your previous dress pooled around your legs, you pull the new one over your head. An involuntary shiver shakes your body, but with the help of your body heat, the fabric quickly warms up. If only everything could get better so swiftly. 

The dress is more comfortable, less tight, and has long bell sleeves that leave only the tips of your fingers visible. Still no underwear, but beggars can't be choosers.

All dressed up, you plop back onto the bed, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Deep inside you, a conflict rages between your stubbornness and insatiable curiosity. The wine hangover helps the latter prevail, so you warily walk out of the room.

With your heart pounding, you trail your palm across the walls for support, listening for any noise and searching your mind for the appropriate words. How does one start a conversation in this kind of situation? 

As you reach the corner behind which the living room resides, you stand up straighter, take a deep breath, and step forward with way more confidence than you feel at the moment.

Only to find the space empty. All that pep talk, only for Adam to be nowhere to be seen. Did he even come back home yesterday?

But instead of relief at the angel's absence, a cold, freezing feeling of dread washes over you, to the point it makes your skin prickle. Sure, you would prefer going back to your old life with no Adam in sight, but if you can’t, you are ready to accept your new normal. This is why, without Adam around, you feel the loneliness and emptiness that you felt when you got the news of Marcel’s passing. 

Adam can't die like Marcel did, so his absence is intentional. 

Brushing your hair away from your face, you turn your back towards the living room and face the darkness of the corridor with new resolve. You will do your best to make the most of this situation and use your husband’s absence to look for a way to bring your dead boyfriend back from Hell.

There is one more door further down that was left unexplored yesterday — the one you push open, allowing the morning sun to kiss you all over your face. It warms you up like a mother’s hug, and you feel a bit better until you see what type of room it is.

Jackpot.

The cosy home study houses two big bookcases and a desk area with a sizeable amount of drawers, which means ample space for storing something that could be useful to your cause.

The cosy home study houses two big bookcases and a desk area with a sizeable amount of drawers, which means ample space for storing something that could be useful to your cause. Given your affinity for reading, you naturally begin by scanning the leathery spines on the bookshelves.

Gold decorative elements on the spines give off a sense of elegance and luxury, but they emit any lettering that would hint at or spell out a title. When you hook your finger and drag one out of the row, it's a blind guess.

The book has some weight to it, which only adds to the impression of its value in all aspects, but as you open it, it lacks the one thing that is most precious to you. The high-quality paper is pleasant to the touch yet is worthless without any ink staining it. 

You flip through the rest of the book, but all pages are like that — empty.

All the same, you painstakingly go through every book. You pick each one with the same exact care as the one before it, skimming through pages on the off chance that one of them will contain something, and after sifting through three shelves worth of books, you would choose any language over blank pages. But as you close the last one and put it on top of a pile, the reality sets in.

You believed that nothing could be more disheartening than finding yourself stranded far from home in a loveless marriage. That is, until now, as you sit on the ground, surrounded by nothing but empty leather shells and an emptier mind. 

You stand up and begin putting everything back, and as you reach the last volume, you hug it close to your chest, refusing to accept defeat. Maybe I need some kind of looking glass to be able to read? This is Heaven after all, and naturally, a human couldn’t simply access something that might be deemed sensitive information.

With that, you turn toward the desk.

Come on, Mr. 'I’m so important' should have something useful in his freaking house.

The desk has paperwork in the drawers, but they look like basic forms that probably should have been filled out and signed.

I’m starting to think that either his importance is inflated or he actually doesn’t do anything.

You want to stay confident, but the revelation hits you in the gut. Despair, headache, and hunger unite their forces, and you slump into the armchair by the desk — defeated. It’s difficult to stay optimistic when everything seems to be working against you.

Having nothing else to do, you pick yourself up and give the room one last glance before stepping out and closing the door behind you.

And then your bad mood is only made worse by the unsurprisingly empty kitchen.

You swallow down the taste of nausea at the back of your tongue and turn to face the rest of the living space while leaning your back against the kitchen counter. As you gaze around, you chew at your bottom lip, debating if it’s time for self-cannibalism.

The coffee table is empty of any trash, so Adam must have come back for at least a second. Now the important question is what he did while he was home if he didn’t leave anything for his very alive wife.

Your eyes move to the side of the main area, where you maintain eye contact with another living thing in the apartment — the potted plants. Walking closer towards them, you sink your middle and index fingers into the pot, touching the soil to find it freshly watered.

So, he had half a mind to take care of the plants, but not you? Noted.

Hunger turns into anger as you storm towards the wine cellar to pick up a fresh bottle of poison.

You wonder if this is his tactic to make you succumb to him. Does he think that if he isolates you for a long enough period of time, you would jump in joy to see him, simply because you would crave that human connection? If so, he underestimates you greatly.

You will jump him alright, with a knife at hand.

You get comfortable on the couch, snuggling into the soft blankets. They smell like him, but the scent is surprisingly pleasant, so you don't mind it too much as you nurse a bottle of red wine and patiently wait.

Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t a confrontational person. You wished nothing less than to go back to the bedroom, mind your business, and wait till the next day for Adam to leave. Rinse and repeat. But no, you couldn’t afford that now. Now knowing that there is nothing of value to be found in the house pertaining to your plans, you have no choice but to be confrontational.

When you notice the first signs of the evening in the room, you put the half-empty bottle on the coffee table and begin slowly flipping through the empty pages of the book that you snatched from the decoy study. It's a poor attempt to make yourself get lost in thought, and it gives your fidgeting fingers something to do — not to mention it is more interesting than looking at a plain corner. 

You wonder what time it is in Hell, and where Marcel is right now. Is he lying in bed just like you, thinking of you the way you are thinking of him? You know that he is, and that's what keeps you company. The knowledge that wherever he is now, he is with you in thoughts and memories — happy and sad ones. You now cherish every single one.

And that’s when the front door finally opens.

"Oh, you’re still awake?"

Adam is noticeably a bit surprised to find you sitting comfortably on the couch with a new wine bottle opened and standing tall on the coffee table. There’s a glass beside it, half full.

You glance up from the decoy book. "You hoped I wasn’t, huh?"

"Huh?" He dares to act confused.

"What’s your long-term goal? What’s the gain? You just tore me away from everything I once knew, only to leave me all on my own to navigate the land of the dead!" The sound that is created by you loudly closing the book acts like the exclamation mark to your abridged list of grievances, and when you — not so gently — throw it on the coffee table, it reopens and displays the nothingness you have been looking at this whole time. It's a silent testament — one of many — to just how much effort Adam put into caring for you. So much, in fact, that he couldn't even provide you with something to occupy your time. But that is the least of his offences.

He finally closes the door behind him.

"You bitches are so fucking emotional, fuck. Can’t even step properly inside."

Silence.

You are now looking at Adam through your furrowed eyebrows, chewing on the skin of your lips in deep thought. Thank God you threw the book before he spoke; he can practically see the murder plans brewing inside your pretty little head. 

And then you smile, falling back onto the couch and rolling around like it is the most comfortable thing in the entire world — it isn't, which is why your words sound even more condescending.

"That’s a lovely couch you have there. Is that why you sleep on it instead of the bed?"

"...what?"

"Why don't you sleep in your bed?"

"I— uh, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I may be a dick—"

"No," you shake your head, leaning back against the backrest with your arms crossed. "You didn’t sleep there before me either."

"Pff, and you would know?"

"Why?" You ignore his fake display of cockiness.

"Why what—"

"You know damn well what I’m getting at. Don't act stupid, and do yourself a favour by not openly showing that you are not the brightest star in the sky. What’s wrong with the bed?" You would guess that the mask adorning his face serves a specific purpose. Without a doubt, it serves as an accessory on the battlefield, but its constant use leads you to believe that the man in front of you likes to hide his true feelings behind it. Too bad that his mask is just as expressive as the skin he hides underneath it. "It’s not a weakness to admit pain, you know? Talk to me." Give me something to work with...

"Listen, babe, I think this role of a ‘wife’ is getting into your head, as does the holy wine. I think you had enough of that, don’t you?"

He takes the bottle away from you before you can snatch it.

"Maybe leave me with food next time if you don’t want me drinking! How else am I supposed to sustain myself?!"

"Definitely not with liquid, and for your information, holy wine sustains the soul, not your mortal body, dumbass."

"Keyword — mortal! You want me to die?!"

As you scream at one another with such a hefty distance between you two, the situation kind of seems hilarious, if it wasn’t so fucked up.

"Sorry, I didn’t know that I couldn’t leave you by yourself for five fucking minutes as if you were a child! You know you’re free to roam around, little dove? The cage," he turns around and reopens the front door for effect. "Is unlocked."

"As if I will venture to a place that I know nothing about!"

"That didn’t stop you from going to the fucking Hell! Heaven is where you draw the line?! It’s the safest place there is, for fuck sake!"

In your fury-addled state of mind, you stand up on the couch, your bare feet sinking into the plush cushions.

"Maybe the sound doesn’t travel up to that height or you are just as empty as the books in your study, but all the same, let me rephrase my words. Ever think that it would be just as scary as a human to be around angels as it would be surrounded by demons?"

It turns out that wanting compassion out of the first man is useless.

"If only I knew beforehand that you would nag so much."

And for someone as primordial as the Earth itself, Adam comes across as very callow.

"You call me wanting to understand my husband more nagging? Or is it the part where I ask for basic human necessities?!"

It takes him exactly three steps to stand face to face with you. Your breath is visible on his mask.

"Oh, you want to do your wifely duties so badly?" He coo’s at you patronisingly, his voice so flat it makes you shiver in fear. "How about we start with consummating our marriage, hm?"

The words reach the desired reaction as Adam watches your face grow noticeably pale.

"Nothing to say? Can I speak now, or are you going to scream some more?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, tasting defeat. Once again, you lose the shiny spark of hope in your eyes, and Adam swears that the room grows darker just like the colour of your iris.

"I never thought I would have to fight for a marriage I didn’t even want. Why marry me if you have no need nor time for another person? If I wasn’t in a new environment and actually knew someone else who wasn’t you, believe me, I wouldn’t be begging for your company. You are not the prize you think you are. I’m a fish you plucked out of water and threw in a glass with water because, according to you, that’s everything a fish needs — something to breathe."

Adam doesn't stop you from climbing off the couch, nor does he run after you as you slink towards the bedroom.

After gently closing the door, you press yourself against it and slide down until the dress pools around you. You hide your face in your knees and let out a shaky breath. This is your life now: living in a place that will never be your home, surrounded by creatures who will never understand you. Even if these souls once were humans, they have long forgotten what it feels like — Adam is a wonderful example of that.

You don't know if you slept that night. You only know that your eyes were already open when the first rays of the morning sun started spilling into the bedroom. Everything is foggy in your mind as nightmares mix up with reality, until the line becomes so blurred that you don't know where one ends and where the other begins. 

After stupidly wasting too much time pressed against the door, you finally exit the bedroom when, to your relief and irritation, Adam is nowhere to be heard again. You don’t want to see his face after yesterday, but his absence also means that he didn’t care about anything you said to him — or about you, for that matter.

As you make your way through the empty apartment, the presence of the study behind you is almost palpable — mocking you behind your back for naively believing it would be of any use to you. However, you won't let a small disappointment deter you from seeking a way out of here.

Sure, being able to find everything you need in one place that you have complete access to would be ideal, but life is never this easy, and the afterlife, being an extension of it, is no different. Nonetheless, you already are planning what your next course of action is going to be, and for it to work out, all you need is to find out where Adam works and think of a diversion so he doesn't question you too much. Of course, on top of everything, having bravery would be an advantage, but it's not a requirement.

And just like the sun comes out after every storm, something in your peripheral vision catches your attention, leading to a growling stomach and a spark of sudden inspiration.

Surprisingly, Adam took into consideration your mortality and left you with a plethora of ingredients — killing two birds with one stone by providing you with something to eat and entertainment in the form of cooking. This is also the moment when you decide what you will use as a diversion in your plan.

Maybe you could slowly make Adam trust you over time, or, even better, somehow infiltrate the circle he’s frequenting until you get the useful information. But you are not known for being patient — determined and stubborn is a more correct description. And as you shove a freshly baked muffin into your mouth while putting the rest into one of the containers you've found, you hype yourself to finally leave the comfort of the apartment, despite your stomach churning with anxiety.

He wants you to venture outside on your own? You will… you will…

And you do.

Until now, you didn't have a chance to truly observe Heaven, but one thing is for certain — you look terribly out of place here.

It’s a very surreal experience, as though you've journeyed into the distant future. Perhaps it's because of all the Renaissance paintings you familiarised yourself with during your frequent visits to local museums and art galleries, but you truly believed that Heaven would have more fields filled with freely roaming animals rather than the anthropomorphic ones who are actually not so subtly staring at you as you pass them by.

Their reactions to you kind of explain the reason behind Adam's hideous mask. He did feel quite human looking underneath it, and judging by the looks you're getting, that's not a very common appearance around here.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where I could find the first man?" You turn and direct your question at the first unfortunate winner you encounter, who appears to resemble a lamb. She even bleats like one, noticeably frightened by your presence and straightforwardness.

However, she is in heaven for a reason. The beautiful angel, unable to turn away a person in need, with a soft, high-pitched voice accompanying her hoof points towards one of the glass buildings and says, "You should find him there."

No maybes are muttered, only an assured statement as her white face blushes golden.

"Thank you."

But you don't care for nuances. Ultimately, you are simply content that you now know for certain where to look for Adam — inside of a particularly tall glass building outside which you now stand.

When you push the door open, its surface fogs up from your warm touch, leaving noticeable fingerprints behind. You tug on the sleeve of your dress and attempt to clean the smudging off, but it seems to only make the mess bigger and, in turn, more visible. Your skin prickles with hot embarrassment as you almost drop the box with your baked goods while trying to fix up the mess.

"Oh, sweetheart, where did your halo go?"

Startled, you jump a bit, causing the door to slam shut with a glass-rattling bang. Seeing no one at your eye level, you glance down to look at a small animal-like creature near your feet. The small sheep angel looks like what grape candy tastes like, dressed in various shades of periwinkle from head to hoof.

Before you can answer him, another voice cuts into the conversation.

"Obviously she’s human, Collin!"

You turn your head to see who the second voice belongs to and notice another tiny guy, but this one looks like a chubby human baby and a more familiar version of the small angels you have seen being depicted in paintings before. These small creatures are cherubim.

"H-human? In Heaven?!" The sheep cherub is soft-spoken, his voice remaining on the lower side even as he shouts.

"If I may ask," you clear your throat to catch the attention of the little cherubims. "Where could I find, um, Adam?"

But they just take the information you have given them and ignore your question entirely.

"It's not surprising that the first man allowed a human to roam freely around Heaven." The more human-looking cherub puffs out his tummy and huffs while crossing his tiny hands in front of his chest. 

"Cletus! You shouldn’t speak that way!"

That's when you feel someone tug on your free hand, the one with your wedding ring on.

"So the rumours are true…" the baby cherub whispers underneath his little button nose while the timid sheep jumps into action and finally gives you what you wanted.

"He’s currently at a meeting but should be back soon! You can wait in his office! It’s— actually let me write it down for you!"

With the directions written down in great detail, it doesn't take you long to reach your destination. You give a knock first, in the off chance that Adam got back, and you would have to execute your original plan. You don’t want to — it’s easier if he’s not there — but you will do anything for this to succeed.

The door is unsurprisingly unlocked, and when you step inside and look around, it all suddenly clicks to you. No wonder Adam doesn’t come home.

Adam's workspace looks like what one might expect a person's home to look like. It’s cosy and warm, filled to the brim with character, as each element conveys a deeper meaning without the need for Adam's voice. Now you know where he keeps his guitars or where he writes his music. And the furniture — now you notice that you haven’t seen any wooden furnishings anywhere else apart from Adam’s home and now his office. Everything else around Heaven is cold to the touch and glassy. You can't help but wonder if he builds everything himself. 

You finally snap out when the door, no longer being held by you, snaps close shut with a loud bang.

Right, you should probably get going.

However, there are even fewer things to be found here. It's all the same unfinished paperwork you have seen back in his home study, but this time there's not even a decorative bookcase filled with empty books to at least create an illusion.

You halt in your step when you hear footsteps and the sound of Adam’s voice nearby.

When the doors open, you are like a deer caught in headlights. You find yourself standing in the middle of the office, with no time or opportunity to hide. You guess there is no other choice for you but to go along with the original plan.

Another angel accompanies Adam; she resembles Lute in her attire, yet her complexion is darker and her hair is longer, with curls cascading down to her chest. She is standing flush with the taller angel as if attempting to squeeze through the narrow doorway at the same time as Adam. But although he is guiding her away from him, he’s doing so with softness and a light-hearted laugh while the smaller angel seems to drink up the affection with glowing cheeks.

You know you shouldn’t feel the way you do, but you can’t help but feel your heart squeezing up at the sight. And just as you consider ducking to hide under Adam's desk, he suddenly looks in your direction, and his face falls.

"Oh! Hello?" The female angel looks you up and down, craning her head a little bit to the side. "You must be one of the girls from the temples, right? I can’t believe the outdated dresses they make you wear there."

Somehow that stung, even though you didn’t choose your clothing yourself. You started getting used to them, this particular dress being quite comfortable and pretty in its own way, but now you just felt even more like a fool. It didn’t help that you already felt self-conscious — being a human and not an angel. In their eyes, dying could turn you into a sinner, implying that you didn't belong here. But also being branded as old-fashioned for your clothing was definitely a final nail in your imaginary coffin. 

Was Adam thinking the same way? Sure, he married you, but perhaps the Hell’s lighting played tricks on him, and now he realises after the fact just how unattracted he is to you. In the Archangel’s office, it was dark too. It would only make sense—

Wow, your self-esteem got really hit. That is the only explanation why you would care what he thinks.

You don’t say anything to her, just raise your hand so your palm is hovering above your head and move it back and forth to show the lack of a halo. This finally catches her attention, and with wide eyes and a meek apology, she leaves you and Adam alone in the room.

"How did you get in here?"

Adam doesn't sound frustrated with you, so that’s a relief. You swallow down any unsavoury words you might be tempted to say and grab a box of muffins from his desk.

"I took up your offer and went for a walk, also thought I would bring you this," you present him with the baked goods. "Think of it as a peace treaty."

He still looks sceptical, so you bite your inner cheek, put the box back on the wooden surface, and move toward Adam with slow steps.

"I’m really sorry for how I acted last night." There is only a small gap between you two as you, without looking away from his masked face, drop to your knees and sit down so that your butt rests on the heels of your feet. "What do you say, let's start over?"

Afraid he would start thinking too much when you want him to not do that, you don't wait for his answer and bring your hands to grasp both of his clothed thighs. You gather the fabric of his robe in your fists, pulling the garment up — all the while maintaining eye contact.

You feel Adam's fingers wrap around one of your wrists, which motivates you to now undo his belt. However, before you can do anything, Adam effortlessly pulls you up.

"You think I’m that dumb, wifey?" He tugs you by your arm until you are leaning against his stomach. "Save the last bit of your dignity and go home. You want me to believe, after the blowout of yesterday’s night, that suddenly you’re so head over heels for me while shaking like a leaf? Please."

But that’s what finally does it for you.

You free your wrist from his grasp and make your way towards the door without saying another word. You don't give a damn about where you're going or where you should go. At this moment, all you want is to reach the end of Heaven and jump off it. You didn't want to see Adam or the judgemental glances of angels and winners as you passed them by.

But just as you are about to reach for a handle, Adam — not wanting this to happen in a place that everyone can see — opens a portal where the door is, and that makes you fall through it straight onto the couch in the living room of your shared apartment.

"Are you really that upset about me not wanting to take advantage of you?" Adam yells as he steps through the portal himself.

"You are quite comfortable taking everything else from me, so I don’t see the problem with that, but no, for your information, that is the least I’m upset about." You sneer back at him. "Did my presence in Hell truly offend you this much that you decided to curse me for a life of misery?"

"Life of misery? Is that what you call a marriage you consented to?!" Adam instantly regrets his outburst. It was always so easy to cast the blame away from himself. Usually, he wasn't at fault, but your solemn face tells a different story. He made a huge mistake.

"I did, huh." With that, you push yourself up from the couch and turn to leave.

That’s when Adam grows desperate, scrambling to get you closer. He quickly gets back into your line of sight in an attempt to grab your hand.

"What do you want me to say?! That I didn’t think it through when I married you?? Bitches fall on their knees for me! They love me! What makes you so different? For your information, I take wedding wows extremely seriously, and I’m not some kind of monster to touch you when you don’t want me to. I–I didn’t want to come onto you and make you uncomfortable." Adam can't even bear to look you into your eyes. "I wanted your loyalty, that unrelenting devotion for myself. I didn’t think it through. I thought, at that moment, that I could take it, but it was never mine to take. But here you are, bending over backwards, trying to prove something! Is he really worth all of this? Do you think you are so brave for doing something like this? Sacrificing yourself for nothing?"

"For nothing?! I'm doing this for love! Love IS a sacrifice, and I sacrificed being with Marcel because I love him enough to give my life and future for him when I don’t even know if he’s alive. That’s how much I love him." You scream at Adam as if your loud voice would finally get through him, but he doesn't even look in your direction. He leaves you to stare at your own reflection in his dark, shiny cheek. "Everyone deserves love, but you devoid yourself of it on your own. I accepted my fate! I really wanted to know you more, see from your perspective, and what did I get in return?! You treated me like a joke!"

"I don’t want this to just be bearable for you! I don’t want to see you because I can’t bear looking at someone who is just okay to be here!"

"What’s even the point of wearing that mask if you can’t even look me in the eyes while saying that I’m just a mistake you made?"

"I know that you hate me. It would be so unbelievably stupid of you if you didn't, and that’s why it’s easier if you direct all of your hate towards this," he points to his masked face. "Than the real thing."

You two stand so close to one another — too close — but neither of you moves away for a while. Adam can hear your breathing, but that's it. 

And that's when one of you makes a move — you walk around him. Adam tries to grab you again, but you yank your arm away.

"At least hate me like you did before. I need you to feel some type of way, anything but indifferent… please. Scream and shout, but don’t stay silent."

He hates the silence.

You stop, but don't turn around to face him.

"All I can do is pity you. You are your worst enemy, Adam."

Back in the bedroom, you tear the dress off your body and fall onto the bed. You curl in on yourself and burry your face into the fluffy sheets, soaking them in your fury-fuelled tears while screaming all of the frustration away. Your head is a mess, and your heart is too.

Helpless — you feel so helpless.

[danielmolloystits]

looks just like an angel (Armand/Daniel, 1/1)

Summary:

The man in the chair—who Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collar—looks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes. “Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.” “Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.” — The drug den Daniel wakes up in after his encounter with Louis and Armand gets busted, and Armand decides to pretend to be the priest at his court-ordered N.A. meetings. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Pairing: M/M, Armand/Daniel Molloy (Devil's Minion) Rating: E WC: 5,555

It’s 9:52 in the morning. Daniel’s mouth tastes like he ate roadkill for breakfast and his head is pounding so loud he wants to tell it to come back with a warrant. Across from him sits his probation officer, whose name he’s pretty sure is Sarah, wielding a kind expression and a notepad that contains a quick summary of Daniel’s many sins.

So far, he likes Sarah. Sarah is nice. Sarah is telling him how she’s going to get him through this without it destroying his entire life. Well, she hasn’t used those precise words, exactly, but Daniel has been able to glean the gist of it—she’s been saying things like “first offense” and “dismiss the charges” and it has all vaguely sounded like it might not screw everything up for him forever.

So that’s something, at least.

“Of course, pretrial diversion does come with some requirements on your end,” Probably-Sarah is saying, with a look of what appears to be genuine concern on her face. Maybe she’s a good liar, but Daniel thinks there’s a chance she actually cares about the dumb hungover kid who’s half-sitting, half-melting in her office chair. “You’ll need to start attending NA—Narcotics Anonymous, that is—and we’re going to administer periodic drug tests to make sure you’re keeping clean.”

Christ, he’s such an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot who’s just lucky to not be dead right now. His innards churn miserably in agreement with that thought, and Daniel hopes that they’re at the tail end of this pretrial check-in thingy. He really doesn’t want to throw up on this nice lady’s carpet.

Sarah continues, “But if you hold up your end of the bargain, then I’ll hold up mine.” She smiles at him, apparently oblivious to the imminently-threatening hostage situation that is Daniel’s stomach right now. It’s kind of sweet, though; she looks like she really believes he’s gonna make it through this program. Like she thinks he could maybe be somebody someday.

A bright young reporter with a point of view.

“And if all goes well, then after your probationary period is up, you’ll never have to see me again.” She tilts her head at him, and sure, it’s condescending. But, like, in the nice way moms are sometimes. “Let’s try to make sure that happens, yeah?” She passes him a stack of papers that repeat all of the information she just gave him verbally, which Daniel is grateful for, because it’s been challenging to try to pay attention when his insides are so valiantly attempting to become his outsides. “I’ll see you two weeks from now.”

Daniel nods and hurries out of the room, right as the hostage situation devolves into a massacre with no survivors. He swallows against the gastric acid and bits of egg that are currently attempting to escape his throat and rushes to the single-stall bathroom down the hall, sending a prayer of thanks to every higher power he can think of that it’s unoccupied. By some small miracle, he manages to keep his shit together until he is on his knees in front of the toilet, at which point everything he’s put in his body for the past week unceremoniously comes back out.

Idly, he wonders how many public bathrooms he’s done this in by now, how many times he has been in this same stupid situation—his mouth and nose hovering above a filthy fucking toilet seat that’s touched the asses of God knows how many strangers—as the choices from the night before come back to haunt him like an ex-lover after a bad breakup.

Too many, he thinks. Definitely too many.

He looks down at where the informational materials are still crumpled in his left fist, pastel-colored pamphlets with titles like Self-Acceptance and Am I An Addict?, and thinks he could probably use a break from living like this. Thinks maybe this won’t be such a bad thing if it leads to him finally getting clean.

After all, it sure as hell can’t get any worse.

***

Two nights later, Daniel arrives at the church closest to where he’s staying in the Castro, which the Welcome to Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet told him hosts meetings three nights a week. Our Lady of Most Holy and Ardent Redemptions, or whatever. He doesn’t actually remember, but he’s sure it was something like that: all overwrought and Catholic, a name that’s meant to imply you have to absolve yourself for the crime of being born.

As he walks through the vestibule, he’s surprised to find it utterly abandoned, blanketed in a thick layer of silence that clings to the dusty pews and eggshell-colored walls like a film. It’s eerie, almost, this conspicuous absence of life—if it weren’t for the printed-out sign attached to the back of the pulpit that reads NA meeting downstairs in Rosary Room!, he’d assume he’d gone to the wrong place entirely. As it is, he wanders around the nave with a vague sense of unease until he finds the stairs to the basement, then follows the unsettlingly-cheery instructions of yet more signs until he reaches one that says NA Meeting here!!! taped to a mahogany door.

For a moment, he has the absurd impulse to knock, as if he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. He shakes himself out of it and opens the door.

Inside, there isn’t much to look at: a handful of low bookshelves pressed snugly against the wall, a long table with a coffee pot and an unopened box of donuts, and seven or eight folding chairs arranged in a circle.

Only one of them is occupied.

The man in the chair—who Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collar—looks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes.

“Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.”

“Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.”

“It would seem you are our only attendee for this evening.” A sheepish little laugh rumbles out from the priest’s chest as he adds, “I suppose sobriety is not so much in vogue these days.” He has an accent, Daniel notes, like maybe he emigrated from England but was somewhere else before that. The way it squeezes around his vowels is dimly familiar.

“Guess not,” Daniel agrees, casting a sideways glance at all of the empty chairs. The poor attendance doesn’t bode great for the overall well-being of the Castro’s citizenry, he reckons; it’s certainly not because they don’t need to be here. “Isn’t NA supposed to be group therapy? Is it still gonna...work?”

The priest chuckles softly again, a light exhalation of air to break the stillness in the room. “Yes, though it appears our session will perhaps be a touch more intimate than most. I hope you don’t mind a bit of individualized attention.” His eyes sparkle, almost seem to shine, as he gestures for Daniel to take the seat across from him. “Please, sit. I’m Father Armand.”

He does. “Daniel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Daniel,” Father Armand says sweetly, and wow, he has really thick eyelashes. So thick and dark that Daniel wonders briefly whether he’s wearing mascara—though he isn’t sure whether priests are allowed to do that. “What brings you to Narcotics Anonymous?”

“Um.” He stutters, flushed and awkward with the weight of Father Armand’s undivided attention. “This is the part where I’m supposed to say I’m an addict, right?”

“It’s just us, Daniel,” the other man replies, in a low and conspiratorial whisper. Like the two of them are getting away with something, like this is a part of an inside joke they’ve shared for years. “You may say whatever you’d like.”

“What if I don’t want to say anything?”

“That’s fine, too,” Father Armand answers easily, a reassuring smile on his face. “Though we might not make much progress on the issues that brought you here if we sit in silence.”

“Fair enough,” Daniel says. “All right, I guess I’m here because a court ordered it. I’d really rather not be.”

“This is not the outcome you’d have wanted, then, but perhaps it is the one you need.” And, warm and friendly as he is trying to be, the priest’s stare seems to cut straight through him, right down to the ugly things inside him that he endeavors to hide. It is wildly discomforting. “An intervention from a higher power, of sorts.”

“Not how I’d put it, personally,” Daniel says, simultaneously bemused and on-edge. He scratches an itch on his forehead. “More like an intervention from the SFPD.”

“Even the SFPD answers to God, Daniel.”

“O-kay.” Unsurprisingly, the fatalistic religious bullshit is not doing much to set Daniel at ease in this situation. “But yeah. I’m, uh. Here because I got busted. In a drug den.”

“What were you doing in a drug den?”

“Well.” Daniel blinks at him. “Drugs, mostly.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Father Armand says, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “But what compelled you to the drug den in the first place?” Then, before Daniel can answer, he continues, “Don’t say ‘drugs’ again.”

Daniel was definitely about to say ‘drugs’ again. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for here, man,” he answers instead, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally. “I like getting high. Not a lot more to it.”

“There’s always more to it,” the priest replies, sage-like and frustratingly stoic. “Whether we want to admit to it or not.”

“Orrr,” he drawls the single syllable out sarcastically, “maybe it’s just not worth telling. I was there because I wanted to do drugs and I got caught, dude.”

Father Armand hums thoughtfully. “Surely something in the evening must have led you there, though.”

“I don’t really remember,” Daniel says, and he’s maybe starting to lose his patience a little. “Probably on account of being radically high.”

“You can’t recall anything about the evening other than its conclusion?” In the dim lighting of the basement, the priest’s expression is difficult to read.

He frowns. “I might’ve met a guy at a bar, before. I think I was at Polynesian Mary’s, maybe?”

“Do you meet guys at bars often, Daniel?”

Immediately, he tenses, a frisson of indignation alighting in his gut at the priest’s thinly-veiled judgment.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He probably should’ve known better than to expect anything approaching compassion or understanding from the Catholic fucking Church. Lesson learned for next time—maybe the Episcopalians are running NA somewhere in the city.

“I meant no offense, Daniel,” Father Armand says, voice calm and composed in stark contrast to Daniel’s rising indignation. “I’m just inquiring as to your habits, to get a sense of where you could benefit from some lifestyle changes.”

“Oh, and I’m sure whatever you think I’m doing with these men is high on that list, right? This is the Castro, dude. Fuck you.”

“You have quite a lot of anger,” the priest comments dryly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as though he’s inspecting Daniel. “Is that what drives you to use?”

Is that what makes you fascinating?

“No, seriously, dude: fuck you. I’m not putting up with this shit.” He stands to leave, but Father Armand reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can, his grip unexpectedly steely.

“A reminder, Daniel, that your participation in this process is necessary if you wish to avoid jail time,” he says, still smiling that same, infuriating smile.

Daniel stops in his tracks. “Maybe not. I’ll work something out with my P.O., I’ll–”

“Yes, Sarah, was it?” Father Armand asks. “I wonder how she would react to news of your resistance to the process.”

“You–”

“I’m only here to help, Daniel,” the priest interrupts with an infuriatingly placid smile. “Now, are you intending to cooperate, or shall I go ahead and inform Sarah of your refusal to participate?” He gestures once more for Daniel to sit, his expression replete with a cool smugness. Begrudgingly, Daniel complies.

“Fucking—whatever, fine.” He closes his eyes and exhales noisily through his nose, trying to will himself into a state of calm. When he opens them again, the priest is staring at him expectantly. “I guess I use because I...I get bored.”

“Bored of what?”

“I dunno, dude.” He shrugs. “Sobriety. Life. Everything.”

Father Armand leans in even closer. “Interesting.”

“If you say so, man.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Mostly it’s just tedious. I mean, all of it.”

“How so?” There is nothing but apparent sincerity in the question, which makes Daniel’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“It’s the same shit every day, isn’t it? Wake up, go to work, eat dinner, watch TV, over and over until you die,” he says, and the priest nods along as he speaks attentively. “At least drugs break up the monotony a little.”

The unnamed malaise you feel on Sunday afternoons.

“Sure,” Father Armand agrees breezily, his eyes never straying from Daniel’s. “If you do them once in a while, maybe. But they’ve become part of your routine, haven’t they?”

Daniel crosses his arms belligerently. “You don’t know me, man. You’re not my fuckin’ friend.”

“I’m not here to be your friend, Daniel,” Father Armand replies, tone clipped and succinct; annoyed, almost. But then, more delicately, he adds, “I’m here to help you get better. The first step is admitting you have a problem, no?”

“I guess.” Daniel slumps back in his seat, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “All right, so let’s say I have a problem. What next?”

“The next step is coming to believe in a power greater than yourself.” The priest’s hands are clasped together, his thumbs twiddling idly as he speaks, “One that is capable of delivering you from your illness.”

“So, what,” Daniel deadpans. “I’ve gotta convert to Catholicism?”

“If you’re so inclined,” Father Armand responds wryly, as if he’s privy to some great secret that eludes the poor, ailing addict. Daniel wonders in that moment how old the other man is. He can’t have too many years on Daniel, surely, but he seems so much older that it’s almost a little unnerving. “However, it could be anything, really; your love for your family, your will to live. It could even be me, if you wanted.”

He says it like it’s meant to be another bad joke, but something about it brings Daniel up short. Like he’s not really joking at all, actually. “You could be my higher power?” he asks flatly, unsettled and using a fair amount of bluster to cover it. “Isn’t that sort of sacrilegious?”

“I’m not suggesting you pray to me; I’m suggesting you allow me to carry some of the pain that troubles you. To share in the weight of the dreary mundanities that lead you to use.” The priest’s eyes bore into his, his tone soft and reassuring. “I assure you, Daniel, God will have nothing to say about it.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Father Armand smiles. “I want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?”

And it is, really. But despite his misgivings—practically against his will—a sense of calm washes over Daniel at the sound of the priest’s voice; the crash of a wave lapping gently at a shoreline, soothing the impotent swell of restless irritation that has been building inside of him since he first sat down. All of that rage, those years and years of tiresome anger, snuffed out as easily as the flickering light of a candle. With nothing more than a few words, Father Armand has taken the heft of that burden from him, as effortlessly as if Daniel had handed it over to him willingly.

Rest, now.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much after all, he thinks—putting the confusing knot of chaos inside of him into someone else’s hands. Maybe it would be nice to give his will over to something greater than himself.

“Okay,” Daniel hears himself saying, as though from a great distance. He’s hardly even aware he’s speaking. “Okay. It can be you.”

Rest.

Father Armand beams at him then, and Daniel realizes for the first time how beautiful he is; he looks just like an angel in a Renaissance painting, like a portrait of a martyred saint. His eyes seem less brown, now, closer to the rich and vibrant glow of an ember. Of course Daniel can trust him. Of course.

“Excellent,” he says, and his hands extend to clasp around one of Daniel’s. The leather over his skin is cold. “You are safe with me, Daniel.”

Rest.

Mutely, Daniel nods. The part of him that wishes to object is so quickly subdued, as if smothered by an insistent hand.

“Now,” Father Armand begins, the dingy gold of the basement lights glistening off of his teeth, “you’re going to tell me about what happened before the drug den. What do you remember, Daniel?”

I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for.

As the unspoken words pierce through the veil of his cognition, Daniel jerks like a sleeper agent awakened. In between one moment and the next, his mind is inundated with lurid images of an apartment, the apartment he was in before he wound up in the den: a man—if he can even be called a man—who looks so much like the priest is hovering over Daniel, whispering devastating kindnesses into his ear until the fight slowly drains from his body. He tries to hold onto the shape of them, to remember what it was that happened, but the flashes slip through his fingers as easily as soap bubbles off of a dinner plate. As he reaches for them, grasps at them, a pressure builds in the base of his skull like a low roll of thunder, and a scream tears through his shaking body. He cannot hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can feel it, feel it rattle his chest and reverberate in his bones. It is agony, unending and complete. It is torture.

The only comfort through all of it is the weight of Father Armand’s hand around his own.

“It hurts,” Daniel whines, instinctively trying to shy away from the throbbing fissure in his head by leaning further into Father Armand’s touch. Tears prick the corners of his eyes like pins.

“Does it?” the priest asks, voice steady and still like the face of a mountain. “Good. Pain is your body’s way of telling you to avoid something. If it hurts, move away from it.”

Daniel sobs, and the next thing he knows he is on the ground, having fallen off of his chair; the hard press of the floor underneath him is the only thing holding him up. “Please,” he begs, not really sure what it is he’s asking for.

A cool finger crooks under his chin to tilt his head up. Through his swimming vision, Daniel sees Father Armand looking down at him. “Do you want me to make it stop?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his body curling up into the fetal position like a dying cockroach. “Please.”

The priest frowns, dispassionate. “What would you do for it? What would you give?”

I could be on my knees in a second.

Another burst of pain blossoms underneath Daniel’s eyes and he winces, cries out. “Anything,” he promises, his fingers reaching out to clutch at the leg of Father Armand’s trousers. “I’d give anything.”

“Would you give me money, Daniel?”

He nods enthusiastically even as the motion of it only exacerbates his anguish. “Yeah,” he says, “everything I have.”

“Hmm,” the priest hums. His expression as he watches Daniel is calculating, frigid. Slowly, he lifts one Doc Marten-booted foot to rest on Daniel’s chest. “Would you give me your obedience?”

Instinctively, Daniel’s spine straightens under the weight of his heel, the firm way it presses down on him a strange but poignant comfort in his addled state. The feeling it grants him is not quite relief, but it is something adjacent to it, something that loosens the tightly-wound tangle of anxiety that squeezes his lungs. He craves more of it. “Yes.”

“Yes what, Daniel?”

He swallows roughly. “Yes, Father.”

Lowly, the priest murmurs, “Good boy.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, his gaze growing half-lidded and hungry. “Ask me what you can do for me, Daniel.”

A shudder runs through him, sharp and electric. His mouth tastes of ozone. “What can I do for you, Father?”

The priest grins at him, then, wicked and predatory. “Worship me.”

The words echo around Daniel’s mind like a hollow room, silencing all other thought. Silencing the terrible cacophony that has been threatening to rend his very self in two. He squirms with the ecstasy of it—the unparalleled bliss of reprieve—mewling his acquiescence to the priest’s demand.

He can feel Father Armand’s pleasure at his submission trickling like a leaky faucet down his spine. “Do you feel that, Daniel?” he asks, as calmly as if he were asking about the weather.

Tears are still streaming down Daniel’s cheeks; his nose is stuffed and snotty from crying. “Yes, Father,” he croaks.

“That is solace, my dear boy,” the priest tells him, unwavering and impassive. “I have given it to you, and I can take it away from you just as easily.”

At the thought of the pain returning, a fierce panic slices through Daniel, hot and pointed as a knife in his guts. “No,” he moans, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at Father Armand. “Please don’t.”

The boot presses down harder, pinning him to the yellowed carpet. “You forget yourself, Daniel,” the priest replies.

He whimpers and corrects himself: “Please don’t, Father.”

“That’s better,” Father Armand says with a mean twist of his lips. “Tell me: where is your place?”

And Daniel has played this role before, knows the script by heart. Could recite it in his sleep if he had to. “Beneath you, Father.”

The priest grinds his heel into Daniel’s sternum, then, wrenching a pitiful cry from between the boy’s lips. It hurts, of course, but in a different way than before; this isn’t the horror of his soul being cracked in half and poured over the ground. This is a familiar pain, a welcome one, one that Daniel arches up into like a cat stretching its back.

“Do you like that, Daniel?” Father Armand asks, a trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Do you like it when I hurt you?”

Wordlessly, Daniel nods, because he does. He always has. He’s always pining to feel something, anything. Whatever it takes if it means not being bored.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” Daniel wheezes, forcing the words out from underneath the weight on his chest. “I like when you hurt me, Father.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” the priest purrs, half-aroused and half-contemptuous.

“Yes.” Daniel hisses, his fingers clawing into the carpet as his body curves to accommodate—to seek out—the press of Father Armand’s heavy boot. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, that he wants this after everything that’s happened today (the past week, some distant part of his mind whispers), but he does. Maybe he simply craves the release of oblivion after teetering over the edge of it. “Yes, Father.”

“I could make you feel good, too. If I felt like it.” He lifts his foot a fraction of an inch, enough to make Daniel’s lungs expand gratefully where they’ve been compressed. Then, slowly, he drags the toe of his boot down, down, down to where the boy is hard and aching in his jeans. He runs his instep along the shameful bulge that presses against Daniel’s zipper, pressing just lightly enough to tease. To threaten. “Do you want me to make you feel good?”

Daniel moans, a needful, pathetic little sound that makes Father Armand snarl. “I do, Father.”

“Do you think you deserve that, Daniel?” His boot pushes down a bit harder, and Daniel writhes into it, gasps at the delicious torment of the priest’s brutality.

“No, Father.”

“Beg for it, then.” Even though Daniel’s eyes are screwed shut, he can feel the burning weight of the other man’s stare boring into him. His boot steps harder still. “Beg for me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Daniel wants to reply, knows that he needs to reply, but he can’t; his mouth is too occupied with crying out, held captive as he is in a state of delirium.

“Pathetic,” Father Armand spits at him. “Must I speak for you now, too?”

He can do nothing more than nod, than accept the fate he has been dealt at the hands of this cruel master.

“You want me to fuck you.” It isn’t a question; rather, the priest speaks flatly, clinically, down at the boy he has pinned. “You want me to bury my tongue in your ass until your voice gives out from screaming and then fill you to the point of breaking, is that right?”

The words are torn directly from Daniel’s thoughts as though Father Armand heard them uttered aloud. As though he can read the twisted desires playing on repeat in Daniel’s mind as plainly as thumbing through a children’s picture book. The noise Daniel makes isn’t so much language as one of desperation distilled.

The boot lifts off of his chest, suddenly. “Stand.”

Daniel does, albeit slowly and on shaky legs that threaten to buckle from underneath him.

Father Armand smiles. “Good boy.” He gestures with his chin in the direction of the table, still covered in untouched donuts and cold coffee. “Bend over. And drop your pants.”

Sweating and trembling, Daniel feels more of a mess now than he did the day he awoke from his bender. Like the screws holding him together have been loosened and he is the lightest touch away from falling to pieces. Nevertheless, he complies, bracing himself on his elbows as he awaits further instruction.

“You’ve been insolent,” Father Armand comments as he slowly comes to stand behind Daniel. He runs the fingertips of one gloved hand over the swell of the boy’s ass. “Don’t you think you deserve to be disciplined for that?”

And Daniel is still beyond the point of language, so all he can manage is a thin, reedy little moan. Internally, he is only capable of thinking the word please on a recursive loop.

There’s a rush of air, then, followed by the sharp sting of Father Armand’s leather-covered palm striking one cheek. Daniel sucks in a harsh breath, an involuntary inhalation somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp. He gets almost no break before he is being hit again, then again, over and over until he can feel the blood rising to the skin from the burst capillaries. Almost as if from another room, he can hear himself crying out. Although the soles of his feet are rooted to the church carpet, he feels as though his consciousness has abandoned his body to wander elsewhere. The pain is practically transcendent in its savage persistence, the only thing anchoring him to this material plane the rhythmic pulse of the blood rushing to his cock.

Father Armand is relentless, and Daniel wonders whether he is going to be punished past the point where he can no longer withstand it. Until suddenly, the abuse stops, and the priest instead permits his cool fingers to trace over the damaged skin. His touch is surprisingly gentle, laced with a fragile sort of reverence; Daniel can hear the rustling of fabric as the priest crouches down, as if seeking out a better angle from which to admire his own handiwork.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, spreading Daniel’s ass open, the word ghosting feather-light over the sensitive flesh. Daniel whines, restless with the effort of keeping himself still against the overwhelming urge to arch into the contact. “What a beautiful little thing you are.”

The praise wrenches a strangled cry from Daniel’s throat, wanton and depraved. He wishes he still possessed the ability to speak, wishes he could beg for Father Armand to please, please fuck him now. Beg the priest to make him full, to try and satisfy the yearning cavern inside of him.

He’d do anything to not be so fucking hungry.

The priest laughs as though he knows precisely what Daniel is thinking and then, with no warning, he is blowing a teasing breath over Daniel’s hole.

The boy nearly screams, his mind still running on the frantic hamster wheel of please, please, please, please, please—

Father Armand interrupts that train of thought by dragging the flat of his tongue over the skin that his breath just kissed, carefully unraveling what little remains of Daniel’s sentience until all that is left in its place is a moaning, bestial creature. A thing composed entirely of impulse, the only thing he understands at this point being what it means to want.

Instinctively, Daniel tries to grind back into the sensation, but the priest does not allow it, his leather-clad hold on Daniel wrought in immovable iron. At the denial, Daniel merely whimpers, no longer able to beg with anything other than his body and sincerely running the risk of going mad with need.

Patience, Daniel, he hears Father Armand admonish, as if from a stereo system inside of his head while the priest licks over him once more. He doesn’t even question it, really, content to assume that the universe is fracturing around him and that reality itself is simply splintering. It certainly feels that way, with how Father Armand’s tongue writes filthy love poems into his skin, with how he fucks into Daniel just enough to torture.

It is not unlike he is drowning, stranded in the middle of a vast ocean and being pulled under by the grasping appendages of the monsters below. He is overcome with a pleasure too fathomless to name, one that threatens to steal the air from his lungs and fill them with something more volatile and fluid. It’s exquisite. He needs it to stop. He never wants it to stop.

Again, Daniel hears the priest’s voice inside of his mind. So very needy, aren’t you? Filled to the brim with unrealized desire, aching for anything that might scratch the persistent itch deep within you.

The words seem to strip him bare, to peel back his skin and the viscera that holds him together until all of his nerves are exposed to Father Armand’s touch. At this point, he is cognizant only of the places where the two of them connect, the world zeroed in like a pinhole on the press of the priest’s tongue against his ass. He has no self outside of this point of contact, he thinks, and he doesn’t care at all. Can’t imagine caring about anything else ever again.

He keens, his hips attempting to roll back once more. This time, Father Armand lets him, allows Daniel to ride his tongue in the way he so desperately craves, and he gasps with the relief of it, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he thrusts backwards to where the priest’s mouth is waiting for him.

Then, one of Father Armand’s hands snakes around to grip Daniel in his fist, and it only takes a few strokes before the feeling of it swells into a feverish crescendo, before Daniel is twitching and spilling messily over the priest’s fingers.

Good boy, Father Armand says, tongue still deep in Daniel’s ass as he works him through the spasming aftershocks. Now, I need you to do something for me.

Daniel slumps onto the table, barely able to hold himself up, and nods limply. Anything. He’d do anything.

Stay still, Daniel.

Father Armand’s mouth moves to lavish a hot, wet kiss to where Daniel’s pulse pounds in his thigh, his teeth scraping delicately over the skin there. Then, there is the sensation of ice piercing his arteries, of numb and cold and bad and wrong.

The world begins to grow dim around the edges. The last thing Daniel remembers thinking before it all goes dark is, Please don’t kill me.

***

When Daniel awakens in his apartment the next morning, he has a bruise on his butt the size of an apple, a killer headache, and a voicemail on his answering machine:

Hey Daniel, this is Sandra. I was wondering why you missed your first N.A. meeting last night; Father Reynolds said you didn’t show. If you need help getting to them, let me know and I’ll help you work something out. Either way, try not to let it happen again, okay?

As he listens to his P.O.—who is apparently not named Sarah—speak, a lot of conflicting thoughts occur to him at once. Most of them are confused, disoriented, wondering what the fuck happened last night and who the fuck Father Armand really was.

But perhaps the loudest of all of them is the realization that that part of him that is so constantly reaching, so constantly starving, is finally contented.

For the first time he can remember, he is satisfied.

[siren-brainrot-boogaloo]

Gift for @retquits and his delightful Fields of Mistria OC Monroe!!!

Monroe had put in his paces as an adventurer. He was never the strongest or the fastest, but he'd survived being chased by charging iron bulls, never ending slimes dropping on him and his party mates from the ceiling, and one particularly, persistently, furious parrot.

But for all his endurance, THIS was the truest test of his limits.

Soreness burned like acid deep in his muscles as the hoe slipped from his palms. His knees finally gave up on him as he collapsed ungracefully onto his ass, chest heaving as he stared up into the big blue sky. 

He had hoped the conversion rate between a life of adventuring and a life of farming would be more favorable. Though to call what he did “adventuring” would be… somewhat inflated. Monroe sighed as old irritations and insecurities throbbed like war scars. Exhaustion did little to dull their claws. 

His vision shook as he distantly registered the passing of clouds. Ephemeral, wispy things, with disappearing edges that his double vision didn't do any favors in clarifying.

His eyelids grew heavy. The burn of the midday sun on his pale skin would surely make him regret resting HERE, in the middle of his field, of all places...

But the ten foot journey to shade was just too impossible for his thoroughly fatigued body. The soreness from earlier would surely be felt, if he could feel his legs at all. Despite the screaming light of the sun, the world went dark as exhaustion overtook him.

Like the jump between chapters in a book, he woke propped up in the cool shade of the leeward side of his house. Damp handkerchief lain across his forehead. Monroe’s skin was hot and tight across his cheeks, his neck, his forehead, in a way that would surely burn tomorrow. It didn’t keep a look of shock from stretching across his features when one burly, brunette, and very concerned farmer and neighbor jumped into his field of vision.

"HEEEEEY NEIGHBOR! Welcome back to the land of the living!" 

The boisterous boom of Hayden's voice cut sharply through the concern that wrought his features just a second earlier. Truly, was this man always so bursting with energy? At his age? Monroe wished he had half his vigor right now.

"Whhappn'd" Monroe slurred elegantly. His gloved hand plucked the damp cloth from his forehead and flipped it over to the cool side, as he pressed it to his neck, his cheeks, anywhere the coolness was sorely missed. Hayden handed him a flask of water, which he immediately tipped into his bone-dry mouth with gusto.

"Found you baking in the sun when I came by to ask if you wanted to split a bag of sugar! You were halfway to medium well before I got ya into the shade." Hayden chirped back in his characteristic jovial drawl, and punctuated with a firm clap on the shoulder that made Monroe choke mid-swig.

The two blustered as Monroe coughed water out of his windpipe and Hayden patted him on the back, apologizing for his carelessness. When Monroe’s lungs contained more air than water again and his back no longer stung from Hayden’s well intentioned, if hamfisted attempts to help, he let out a long, beleaguered sigh. 

“Thanks for checking in on me. Sorry for the trouble.”

Before Hayden could reply, Monroe stood, head hung, still a bit dizzy, and tottered away from Hayden from where he squatted in the dirt. 

“Hey it’s no trouble-” “You can stay if you want, I think I just need to rest a little longer.” Monroe cut him off. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, some part lingering fatigue, some part old, cruel voices and festering doubts that dug their claws into his mood. His ears rang from dehydration, and all it reminded him of was his own weakness. 

The ringing in his ears and the headache from the heat called to mind a concussion he sustained during his dungeon delving days. He was the only one on his team that didn’t notice the tripwire. It had been obvious enough to them that they felt no need to warn him about it, and that “obviousness” only emboldened their chastising afterwards when the ceiling came down as punishment for his clumsiness. The collapse cost them the promised loot, and a stone striking Monroe in the head cost him four days of wages in lost time. The shame still burned in his memory when he was alone with his thoughts at night. 

The soreness in his body was an even sore-er reminder of the dozens of times his role in the party was “pack mule”; not “sniper”, “tank”, “lockpick” or anything more involved than being a pair of hands to hold and feet to move. Sometimes packs were thrown at his feet with the expectation he’d pick them up, sometimes it was a “Watch the cart.” barked at him while he stood outside ruins and taverns, his only company the hired mule hitched to it. His “friends” handled the important business inside. 

Monroe’s feet grew heavier with each unpleasant memory. He barely registered Hayden’s “You oka-” before he was in the door, face down on his creaky, stiff bed. When the darkness takes him again, it’s at least a cooler, quieter one. 

IF YOU HAVEN'T LOOKED AT HIS FIELDS OF MISTRIA ART YET PLEASE DO!!!

[lostonmyroad]

Moments That I Want Tattooed On My Forehead From S-Classes That I Raised Chapters 30-50

BEWARE OF SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

things are starting to get going. and by get going i mean starting to get unhinged but its still nothing compared to the shit going on by the 300s

chapter 30-40

lmfao yoojin forgetting he blocked yoohyun’s number...king shit

yoojin daring yoohyun to call him out on his suspicious behavior...also king shit 

chapters 40-50

let’s go sung hyunjae makes his debut!!!!

YOOHYUN ACTING INNOCENT IN FRONT OF YOOJIN AS HE MEETS THE GUILD LEADERS AKFJEIDIDOODSOOS highkey one of my favorite scenes ever. “my brother is more mild mannered than me” “yoohyun is an angel” everyone else in the room: press X to doubt

moon hyuna woman that you are. my beloved. you’re too good for this world 

i live for yoohyun generally being a freak about yoojin

i need to know what blackmail he has on moon hyuna. what happened at the convenience store????? moon hyuna what did you do???

thank u yerim and moon hyuna friendship. we love to see it. Now s ranks also passes the bechdel test!!

ah yes potion addict yoojin has arrived. rip buddy at least you get better flavors later down the line

it’s only chapter 44 and yoojin is already being overworked. true cale henituse moment. rip your slacker life!!!

everyone ganging up on him to start enforcing self care. oh honey it only gets worse from here!!!

so far yoojin is: a monster tamer, social media account manager, recruiter for hayeon, owns a building with a research lab…my guy was speedy with it

yoojin going "i just need to complete one (1) more task and then I can live like a slacker" in the early chapters is. oh wow. famous last words. truly need to learn from cale

even peace is a borderline freak when it comes to yoojin. doesn’t give a shit about anyone else 

YOOJIN ANSWERING SPAM CALLS JUST TO MESS WITH PEOPLE SKDJEIODO…he enjoys it…this explains so much about him…he’s bragging about how much experience he has answering them…

yoojin guessing who the kidnappers were because they didn’t call Peace cute is so valid. Anyone who doesn’t like Peace is an enemy

we’re starting to get into “oh wow fear resistance is kind of fucked territory”!!! yoojin is a little freak!!! he’s committing war crimes but sometimes it just be like that

rip blackie chapter 46-47 :(

yoojin treating the s ranks like normal people and them not knowing how to handle it ;((

GIVE YOOJIN HIS OSCAR NOW “uwu i’m a poor kidnapping victim” like sir. you dissolved your kidnappers in acid. sir. 

all the details about yoojin’s life as a low ranked hunter pre-regression :(((

like not yoojin casually mentioning he used to be an alcoholic and yoohyun sent him to rehab pre regression. ok king. we don’t have time to unpack all that

kang soyoung intro!!! i so desperately need to know what her deal was with yoohyun pre regression. why does yoojin think of her as his sister in law. why did everyone believe they were dating.

next chapter brings us a real introduction to sung hyunjae character of all time

[dira333]

Roll the Dice Drabbles - Tendou & Candy Apple

The outer layer of the chocolate melts in your mouth. Satori has used your favorite kind of chocolate, a recipe that he’s perfected over the years of knowing - and loving - you. 

He grins at you from across the table, as you savor the taste. 

Chocolates from him are always an experience. He likes to keep you on your toes and writes hidden messages in a language only the two of you understand. 

Your first clue is usually the packaging. Three round chocolates sit on a pristine white plate. The plate is from your shared apartment which means he made the chocolates at home. This means that this isn’t the type of taste testing you were expecting when he interrupted your work.

Your sculpture sits on the table behind you, a thick cloth hiding it from him. You know he’s probably taken a peak already, but it’s about the principle and your principle is to keep him on his toes as much as possible too.

Satori is beaming at you. He didn’t tell you which chocolate to try first - which is your second hint. But you don’t have time to think about that when the outer layer of chocolate melts away and a truly unexpected flavor hits your tongue.

You gag.

Satori’s hunched over in his seat, cackling at the face your making as you’re looking for your water bottle, a forgotten cup of coffee, anything to wash away that taste.

“Why did- What was that?” You rinse out your mouth but the taste stays. You take a breath and glare at your husband.

“Why did you put a pickle in a chocolate?”

He’s beaming at you. “Don’t pregnant women love that?”

There’s a quiet gasp and you realize it’s coming from you. 

“How did you find out-” You freeze as you realize that he’s got you - again.

“Satori!” You whine. “I was trying to surprise you!”

“Yeah?” His hand reaches out, his long fingers touching the side of your mouth to wipe away a stray droplet of water. “First, I am the guess monster after all. You haven’t had period cravings in far too long. And second, you shouldn’t forget that I take out the trash too. I saw your positive pregnancy test.”

“You could have just talked to me.” 

“Aww and pass over the chance to make you some delicious chocolate?” He doesn’t wait for your reaction, instead pushing the plate closer to you. “Try the next one.”

“Do I have to?”

He doesn’t answer you. At least not with words. But you can read in the way he slouches over the table, seemingly bored but his eyes are watching your every move. You can read it in the way his smile is a lot smaller now, the quiet and soft one he’s reserved just for you.

So you take the second chocolate and pop it into your mouth. This time you bite the outer shell, prepared for the same acidity as before. Instead, there’s the distinct taste of caramel and apple. You blink in surprise. Then it hits you.

“You did it?” There’s wonder in your voice and all the history you have with this man. 

Because back when you’d shared a Candy Apple on your first date, he’d promised to one day make your favorite sweet into a chocolate - your second favorite sweet.

And today he’s finally made it. A treat that means so much more. It’s fulfilling a promise, bringing back sweet memories in the face of an even sweeter future.

It doesn’t matter that there’s still the faint taste of dill pickle and chocolate left in your mouth as you kiss him. The sculpture behind you - you’re attempt at surprising him with your news - is just as forgotten as the third chocolate on the plate. It might be something disgusting or something sweet. But as he kisses you back you know that it can wait.

You’ve got all the time in the world together.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[merbear25]

The joys of music

Music is a wonderful means of self-expression. Being able to connect with its melodies, lyrics, and bands is something that should never be taken for granted. It's just an added bonus to be able to share this with someone.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons, fluff (excluding Caesar)

Mihawk, Caesar, Corazon

Mihawk: dark wave, post-punk, and cold wave. Examples: Twin Tribes and HAPAX

He'd find this type of music soothing. It'd probably help him relax after a long day of being surrounded by many chaotic characters and situations―letting himself get lost in the sound.

You'd find him sitting in front of the fireplace, eyes closed to fully immerse himself in the music.

After a few moments of listening with him, you'd comment on how charming it is.

Opening one of his eyes to look at you, he shifted his sight on the dancing embers.

Slowly getting up, he stood next to you, extending his hand.

Taking it with an inquisitive look, he lifted you up and held you close.

Swaying to the beats, his hand placed lightly on the small of your back and the other careesing your hand: you'd look dreamily into each other's eyes.

Placing your head on his chest, he'd hold you closely. Your souls intertwining with the melodies being played.

Caesar: cabaret metal and avant-grade metal. Examples: Tardigarde Inferno and Stolen Babies please ignore how on the nose this one is 😂

This type of music is often referred to as circus metal, and a lot of the music videos (especially from Tardigarde Inferno) are trippy, which remind me of Caesar. To me he's a walking acid trip.

Conducting experiments and research can take hours upon hours, so it was nice to have something on to boost his spirits.

The circus-like background with the added dark themes was the perfect inspiration for him to think of ways of testing out his newest brain-child on one of his many lackies.

Being enticed by the tunes dancing down the hall, you followed them to find Caesar happily leading someone into a chamber and pulling an ominous lever.

Regretting having found him in the middle of the trial and error portion, you slowly backed away from the entrance.

Unfortunately, your awkward hesitation caught his eye.

Greeting you warmly, he tried to coax you into coming over to him.

When seeing your eyes dart nervously to the chamber, he was quick to add, "Don't worry about this silly contraption! I'd never do such things to you." The softness never left his voice.

Corazon: Indie pop, progressive pop, alternative rock. Examples: The Real Tuesday Weld (linked to a specific song I think he'd love) and tallyhall

I think he'd appreciate the storytelling with these bands/genres. They hold a lot of emotion and are paired with light melodies. He'd probably also like when these are mixed with more upbeat moments.

Laying down on the grass, Rosinante cloud watched while he eased his worried thoughts.

The entrancing stories flowing through his earbuds teleported him to another reality―one where everyone would be safe from his brother's rising threat.

Enjoying the gentle breeze passing over him, his peaceful moment was abruptly put to a hault.

You startled him―seemingly popping up beside him out of thin air.

Releasing his 'silence' he asked if you needed something.

Kneeling down beside him, you told him you wanted to know what he was listening to.

Lending you one of his earbuds, his anxiety sudsided when he saw your face soften to the music.

Throwing his 'silence' up again, he enjoyed having you lay down next to him. The wind was picking up, causing the leaves above you to rustle and letting more sunlight peak through their gaps.

[my-rewrite-academia]

Quirk Analysis #1

As promised, this post is for the quirk analysis of the following three students!

Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina, Hagakure Tooru will be discussed in this post and in that order.

Kirishima Eijirou:

Fatty and oily foods make Eijirou's skin harder, and Izuku hypothesises that it's due to the carbon content. While carbon is often associated with gases or coal, it's in food too, with the content being higher in oily or fatty foods. Eijirou manipulates the carbon in his skin by rearranging the carbon molecules to make it denser, to the point that his mohs level of hardness is equivalent to corrundum (level 9, one level below diamond).

Because of this, eating food containing high levels of carbon makes it so that there's more carbon to push between his skin cells.

While ordinary humans cannot properly digest high levels of carbon, Eijirou's body is able to, not just handle it, but properly digest it. As such, he starts eating activated charcoal, (which is safe to eat in small dosages, though Eijirou can have more), which increases his time limit, and can help him harden his entire body for longer periods of time.

It's also theorised that his teeth are sharp so that he can bite into coal.

Ashido Mina:

The most obvious contender for what her acid is made of is stomach acid, however, if she transported her stomach acid to her skin, it would make her either incredibly ill or she wouldn't be able to digest things, as she subconciously produces acid.

As such, it's much more likely that she's using carbon dioxide. It's usually pointed out as a gas, but it can exist in a liquid form. Carbon dioxide naturally exists in all humans, though typically as a gas that our body filters out through breathing. Mina is absorbing carbon dioxide as opposed to breathing it out and changing it to a liquid form.

She can alter the pH levels, though it's naturally low, around pH level 3, which leads to accidentally dissolving her bed and floor and waking up in the flat/apartment below. Don't ask. She can make the pH levels go up to about 7, which is safe to drink, though it's not recommended, and this allows her to use her acid to slip around the ground.

While she could theoretically try breathing less to increase carbon dioxide intake, but that's very dangerous without proper training. Instead, she takes sodium bicarbonate or sodium citrate pills, which increase the level of carbon dioxide in the body.

Her appearance is not connected to her quirk.

Hagakure Tooru:

Now, if Tooru were truly invisible, she would not be able to see, as the way we see is by light hitting our retinas, which bounces the light to the photoreceptors behind them which send the electrical signal to our brains. If the light passes through you, the light can't hit the retinas, meaning that no information would be sent to your brain, leaving you blind.

As such, reflecting light also cannot be her quirk, as this would lead to the same results, and would make her continuously shine.

Her quirk is actually absorbing and manipulating radiation across her skin. She doesn't feel hot or cold, as seen by her steaming lunch and how she can run around naked without a single shiver, and this is due to manipulating the thermal energy, which is a form of radiation.

Light is also a form of radiation, which is why she can produce flashes from her skin.

This could also mean that she cannot become irradiated by things such as chemical energy, though it's far too dangerous to test out.

Additionally, because of this, it's possible that she can manipulated energy across things made of her DNA, which is proven true when she gets her costume and appear invisible after she wears it.

...

So that's Izuku's analysis of Eijirou, Mina, and Tooru's quirks!

I'm not a master of science, so if there's something that doesn't seem quite right, chalk it up to psuedo-science, please. I did not take A-Levels for science. My knowledge comes from my own research, mainly due to Momo's quirk.

Thanks for tuning in!

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 27: Migraine

cw: migraine, self depreciation, emeto, gory descriptions

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 787

=~=~=

Shades of violet and blinding green swirled around him like storm clouds, spewing lightning and egging on the pain in his head. Hunter hugged his pillow tighter, willing the color to go away. Didn't do shit. The more he thought about wanting it gone, the stronger it got, like it was trying to spite him.

A new wave hit—white fire behind his eyes, his own brain screaming—and he bit down on the cushion until his jaw started to burn.

It hadn't been this bad since… since… the beginning. Since the test that activated his implant in the first place, since he'd crawled out of the burning lab, blinded by agony, the smell of smoke the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Had he overused it finding Manak? Every time he leaned into the patterns, used them, the headaches seemed to get worse.

If he did break his brain finding that arrogant asshole, he wouldn't fucking regret it. He'd made his choice, and Manak wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't.

He needed me. All the brains in the world, and in the end, he needed me, Hunter told himself through the next bout of searing pain, screaming into the pillow as it reached a new sharpness.

He wished he would just pass out. He wished—

“Harbor.”

Speak of the fuckin devil.

It was hard to keep from whimpering at the sudden sound, words somehow both blurred by the colors and sharpened by them, driving into his temple like a spike.

“What?” he managed to spit out, trying to blink past the cloying rainbow to get a look at Manak’s color. He was expecting the usual. Irritation, red and swirling. Can you shut up? Some of us want to sleep.

Instead, he was a neutral forest green, darkness clouding his throat and shoulders, misty red pain hovering around his knee.

The mist had been a lot thicker when he'd found him; flecks of red mingling with real blood, his green darkened to almost black. Brightening at the center when Hunter made himself known, when he carried him away. Manak never brightened around him before, never.

You did save his life. Even Manak would appreciate that, dumbass.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard…” He frowned, steps clicking as he moved closer to Hunter's bed. Crutches. He hadn't even noticed them until now. Manak shouldn’t be up. He should be sleeping, getting better, but somehow Hunter'd managed to fuck up what should've been the easy part.

“Fine,” Hunter choked out. “Just. Implant bullshit.” Power came at a cost. Anyone who picked up a comicbook knew that. So whatever, it was fine. He'd ride it out. He just wished it didn't feel like his head was going to explode.

“Do you want some pain medication?”

“Doesn't work.” The orange ones just made him nauseous, and everything else didn't reach his head. The only way he'd ever shut it up was through booze, and he doubted there was any of that on this tiny compound.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Help. Why would Manak want to help? Did he feel like he owed him? That had to be it. There was no other reason he'd still be in the room, no other reason he'd bother to check on Hunter in the first place.

“You can go away,” he said, and the words came out choked. A fresh pain was building, brighter than the sun, aching, stinging, burning, growing. Like a new star was trying to form in his fucking skull. Agony too loud to hear his own voice, Hunter only realized he was screaming when his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, throat aching from overuse.

He couldn't get away, no escape, the pain was him, he'd have to cut open his skull and let his brains spill out, had to relieve pressure, had to—

Everything went away.

Not for long enough. The pain came back as a dull ache, pounding like a drum in his head. It was hard to breathe at first, hard to see. His mouth tasted like battery acid, bile on his tongue, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything but the implant. Cold metal and brain tissue.

“Are you with me?”

He was sitting up. Hunched forwards a little, arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe.”

Hunter more choked than inhaled. His body felt shaky and bloodless, head floating in a sea of hurt.

Manak was holding him, a cool hand rubbing his back, Hunter’s puke down the front of his perfect sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, the word barely more than a gurgle.

“Just breathe.”

He tried.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What is reader was pregnant at the end of summer nights? Love your writer. I wake up and check your blog every day for new chapters 🩵🩵🩵

Consequence

Warnings: unwanted pregnancy, threats, intimidation, allusions to rape, unedited.

Please provide thoughts and feedback! I had fun doing this and hope to do some more in response to your guys’ asks! Thank you for all your support. 💜

Your shift at the hardware store couldn’t end soon enough. You hike your purse onto your shoulder as you walk out the automatic doors, your stomach rotting and knotted. You’ve felt sick all morning. Your coffee burned like acid going down and you only finished half the stale bagel you found in your mother’s kitchen.

Sleep’s been just as difficult. You can’t seem to get comfortable. Your anxiety keeps you up and a sense of restlessness underlined with dread. The thoughts you keep running from will catch up with you one day.

You pass the pharmacy, glancing through the window at the big poster advertising compression socks. You stop at the other end of the facade and hesitate. You sidle back and stare at another display, pink and white and worrying.

You laugh at yourself. No. You’re just paranoid.

Still, you make yourself go inside. You wander the aisles until you find what you’re looking for. You look up and down the row self-consciously then bag to the shelf. Does it matter which one you get? This one says early detection. And it’s fucking expensive. Does it really have to cost so much to be sure?

Fuck it. For your peace of mind. You may actually get a full night’s sleep if you put this behind you once and for all.

You go to the counter and refuse to look directly at the cashier. You pay, more than you want to, you leave with the test in a paper bag. As you walk down the street, a car door opens behind you. The driver feeds the meter as you distract yourself with the shop windows.

Before you can turn down the path, you hear your name and hand tugs you back. You spin in horror at the voice you never wanted to hear again. You try to wrench away from Andy as he looks at you, a furrow between his brows as he clings to you in desperation.

“Hey,” he says, “can we talk?”

“Get off– what are you– how–” you sputter in confusion.

He lets you go and raises his hand defensively.

“I don’t like how things ended–”

“Don’t like– I didn’t like any of it. Get away from me.”

He flinches and exhales heavily, “you’ve been ignoring my calls. Just hear me out–”

“No,” you spin and stomp away, “there’s nothing to hear.”

He follows you and you speed up, trying to evade him as you hurry down the path. He snags your wrist and the force of it causes the bag to slip from your grasp. It hits the pavement and the contents spill out, the box rolling out from under the receipt.

Andy’s hand stays firm on your arm as you both look down. You feel his grip slacken and you rip away from him. You quickly bend to scramble up your stuff. As you stand he lets out a shudder.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks.

You cringe and swallow, “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” he seems startled, “well… if you are–”

“If I am,” you insist, “it’s none of your business.”

“It is exactly my business,” he retorts.

“Fuck off,” you snarl. “Go home. You already have a child, you don’t need another.”

You evade him as he reaches for you once again. He doesn’t persist as a family comes down the other side of the path with a stroller. Fuck, what a wonderful foreboding coincidence. You pump your arms and furiously march away.

Of all days for him to show up…

How long has he been planning this? Has he been watching you? Those questions rattle in your mind but are quickly muted by the biggest one of all. The one in your hand. Did you really fuck up that bad?

💜

You stare at the two lines. Your heart drops. No. No. God! He already fucked you up so bad, why this? Why? Fuck!

You shove the test off the counter and into the bin. You pace back and forth in a panic, head swelling as the world pulses around you. You can’t do this. You already have your mind made up. You can’t keep it. You refuse to. You don’t want any part of him around you.

“Hey, where are ya?” Your mother hollers up the stairs.

“Mom, I’m busy,” you shout back.

“Not too busy to get your ass down here. Now!”

Shit. You know that tone. You fucked up something. You roll your eyes and rip open the bathroom door. You barrel downstairs and stop as your mother stands smoking by the front door. A large figure fills the frame. Does he not give up?

“I always knew you were up to no good,” your mother accuses.

“What?” You snip, “mom, tell him to go away–”

“No wonder you’ve been shorting me on rent,” she spits back, “you ain’t showing up for work.”

“What are you talking about? You just ask Bert–” You snarl and swallow your anger, directing it instead at your unwelcome visitor, “Andy, go away.”

“Don’t you talk to him like that. You’re not quittin’ this one, honey,” your mother taps ash onto the carpet, “the man’s being nice so you go out and figure this all out. You’re not living in my house if you’re not working–”

“Mom, he’s not–”

“Deal with it,” she crushes the cigarette in the overflowing tray beside the door and stomps off.

You shake your head, “Andy, just go.”

“Please, come outside.”

“No.”

“Do you really want to have this conversation in here?” He challenges.

You roll your eyes and wave him out. He retreats and you follow him, quickly pulling the door shut. You’re already pissed at him.

“What the hell? You told my mom you’re what? My boss? I already have to deal with enough–”

“Well, what could I say? I figured the truth wouldn’t exactly be great.”

“Which truth? The one where you raped me–”

“Sweetie, no, I didn’t–”

“Enough. I’m not telling you again. Go away and leave me alone. I never wanted this. I never wanted you or a baby or–”

“Baby? You took the test?” He asks wispily.

You close your eyes and drop your head back. You hate him. You hate this. You hate everything about your life.

“I’m not keeping it, alright?”

“You’re not– that’s not your choice–”

“It is. You don’t get to take this one from me.”

“It’s mine. My child.”

“Oh, fuck off, look at Jacob. You really another one?”

“Yeah, actually, I’d like to do it right. Sweetie, I can take care of you and the baby. I will. You can get away from here,” he glances over at the stained siding of your mother’s pigsty, “you don’t have to live like this.”

“And you think I want to live with you?” You bark.

“Do you have any other option? Really?”

“Yeah, I do. I’d rather rot in filth.”

His jaw grits and his veneer falls. He puts his hands on his hips.

“We’ll see about that,” he snarls. “I am the father, I get a say.”

“You’re a monster,” you sneer.

He glares at you. He lets out a breath and tilts his head until his neck cracks.

“Only if that’s what you make me be,” he flicks his fingers at you dismissively, “and you have no idea what sort of prick I can really be.”

[heartbrkr]

heyyyy can i request a jungwoo one?

where they both in a relationship, the reader is in college and struggling af with her academics, and jungwoo (with his idol schedule as we know it) as an older and bigger person always supports and is reliable AND OF COURSE always be the one to ease reader's mind/feeling LIKE he really is the one that reader needed no one else because everything feels enough when it comes to him.

sorry if this sounds too desperate im just so deep in the black hole of my academics like it's sucking the soul of mine i know i need to get a life. anywaaaay big big thanks for opening the request bar im praying for your happiness and bright days ahead <3

REQUEST All you need is a shoulder to cry on when college gets tough. Jungwoo's more than willing to be the one you need to feel at ease.

PAIRING kim jungwoo x gender neutral!reader

GENRE established relationship, angst, comfort

WORD COUNT 1.3k

WARNINGS bad eating and working habits, not proofread!

AUTHOR’S NOTE this was requested when i took a break from writing :( i'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it, lovely. i really hope you're doing better now & i'm rooting for you <3

MASTERLIST

The consistent hum from the air conditioning is the only noise you can barely tolerate during your study session; anything above fifty decibels will irritate you. You don’t realize you’ve been scrutinizing the same word— not even a sentence— over and over again until you’ve read it for the seventh time in 10 minutes. Only then do you notice how empty you feel, nothing but acid and anxiety from this morning’s caffeine bubbling in your stomach. It’s irritating how your eyes start drying themselves too. 

You could use a break, but you don't think you deserve it; you didn’t hit your goal for the hour. (In your current capacity, you can’t register that it’s hopeless to juice anything out when there’s nothing to wring in the first place.)

On the right end of your desk are your messily stacked test papers from professors who refuse to hold their quizzes online, something about not being tech-savvy enough to do so. You initially ignored the scores when you tossed them aside. But the mind wishes to blow your final grain of self-esteem away by zeroing on the fact that you had failed your most recent exam by two points. Not shoving them in a random folder to hide them out of sight was your past self’s mistake.

Apparently, you haven’t learned your lesson with curious eyes because you glance over your left shoulder, desperate to distract yourself from your pitiful attempt to survive college. You vaguely see the ever growing pile of laundry that you haven’t had the time to tend to. Has it… always been that tall? Why does it only bother you now when it’s been that way for the whole week?

No tears are coming out, even if you actually want them to. At this moment, there’s nothing more annoying than that.

“Fuck,” you rub your eyes as you shut your laptop closed, “unrealistic goals be damned.” You mumble dryly to yourself before diving into your unmade bed; you can’t recall the last time it was made. It’s second to feeling like heaven when your head hits the softness of your pillow. First is when you’re with your boyfriend. To you, anywhere with Jungwoo is heaven on earth. 

Speaking of which, you could really use his company right now.

Your hand blindly fishes your phone out of the comforter’s creases to check the time. When you finally feel a rectangular block, you lazily turn your head left to face the glowing screen. Looking right back at you is a photo of you and Jungwoo, the latter grinning at you fondly after you surprised him with a bouquet of flowers to commemorate his final emcee gig. 11:39PM. He won’t be home until one in the morning or so.

The hours that pass feel closer to seven than two, your growling stomach and prodding headache not allowing you to get any proper rest. In the distance, you finally hear beeping and buzzing from the front door’s electronic lock followed by socked footfalls towards your room. Your head is telling you to welcome him properly, but your heart is grounding you into the mattress. The hinges on the door squeak.

When Jungwoo’s eyes drop to your sprawled figure, he thinks you’re asleep. He carefully caresses your arm with his thumb to wake you up quietly, knowing how you feel after a rough, monotonous day of studying and intaking more information than one can humanely process. Your partner fully understands what it’s like to give his all until there’s nothing left for himself; you’re aware he’s doing his best to prevent that from happening to you too. Still face-down on the cushion, you pull your arm away from his touch to hold it properly. He gladly accepts, more than pleased to caress that instead.

“The kitchen looks abandoned. Have you eaten anything?” When he speaks, it’s not abrupt, rather like a cloud drifting into the intimate space you two share.

Your muffled 'no' reaches no one’s ears, not even your own. It’s awkward, and a bit painful on your unstretched joints, to pull you up by the arm so he asks you if you can shift to a sitting position. You don’t want to burden him either with the work of flipping your whole body; he physically exerted himself the whole day, you don’t need to add to that. You push yourself up from your lying position and flop on the edge of the bed.

“Haven’t eaten since…” You pause. You hate that you have to think about it. “Last night. I only had time to grab a bottle of coffee from the fridge earlier.”

Jungwoo hides his exasperated expression as soon as it appears, intertwining both his hands with yours again. “I know it’s not the right time to lecture you because it’s the last thing we want right now. But you really can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You start feeling guilty even though that’s opposite his intention. The idea of accidentally reopening Jungwoo’s old wounds is enough motivation to want to break out of your harmful work ethics. He sighs at your lack of response and attention, but it’s not one of irritation.

Pulling you up to stand, he gives you a proper warm hug. That was the key to release your frustrated teardrops from earlier. They keep going and going, and your blubbering intensifies because you know it’ll be hard to stop. “Why isn’t my best enough?”

He says nothing about how your tears seep into his shirt, just holding you closer. “You’re trying. That is enough.”

Jungwoo lets you cry and cry and cling onto him like your life depends on it; he’s unaware that he’s almost right on the money. You stopped attempting to speak completely because it’ll reset any progress you’ve made trying to manage your crying. His arms feel right cradling you; if you could, you’d stay in them forever. Your lover rubs your back to get those final sobs out of your system.

“How’re we feeling now? Better?” He gently asks, drying the remaining tears on your cheeks with his knuckles. You nod, still wary of using your voice, worried that there are still stray tears somewhere inside of you.

He rests you down back on the bed and joins you this time. Your head drops on his shoulder out of exhaustion. “I’ll order us some food. You want anything in particular?”

“I’m okay with whatever.” You mumble wetly, your vision focused on your interlaced fingers. Jungwoo’s other hand is busy, fiddling on his phone. You nudge him softly with your shoulder, he hums in question.

You rest your chin on the curve of his shoulder to admire his barefaced side profile. “You promised you’d let me pay the next time we order.”

Your boyfriend raises his eyebrow in faux confusion and turns his neck dramatically to face you. The proximity makes his teasing front falter slightly with a peeking grin. “Did I? I don’t remember. Oh well, next time then!” He promises that every time. And every time, he says he means it. (He never does).

Jungwoo attempts to set the table up to the best of his abilities. You tried helping him out but he shooed you away, forcing you on the dining chair. Before the meal, he calls for your attention. “We don’t have to talk about it now. I just wanted to say that breaks aren’t earned, okay? You’re doing great, even if you think otherwise.” 

It’ll take some time to get that through your head, he knows that, but you give him a small smile. “I’ll believe you.”

Over your too-late-to-be-dinner and too-early-to-be-breakfast meal— fully paid for by him, again— Jungwoo tells you how his day went, including his members’ usual shenanigans during rehearsals. He’ll never rush you to talk about what’s been going on because he respects the pace you prefer to go on; he’s confident you’ll tell him when you’re ready, you always do.

Right now, you just need him and he’ll always be there to ease you back on track, every step of the way.