#dagger is one of the very few with common sense and that is saying something

[cooking-potatoes]

VIGILANTE OC(S) BLURB #4

BUDGIE: . . .

AMBER ROSE: . . .so, you want beer?

BUDGIE: wait really?! :O

DAGGER NEARBY: AMBER- NO!

AMBER ROSE: well, what am I supposed to do?! Give it apple juice?!

[vulpixisananimal]

"So. . ."

(You were lying down on a couch. You were doing woodcarving; it was theraputic. Mirabelle had just come over from cleaning up and sat at the other end of the couch.)

"Hello Mirabelle, got any questions for your friendly star~"

(She tittered at that.) "Hehe, maybe a few. Even if it, might not matter much."

"Talking is still nice, ask away."

"Well. . ." (She thought for a second.) "Well are you, doing ok?"

"???" (That took you by surprise. You were expecting something about how the loops worked, or where they came from.) ". . . I'm, well I'm doing great! We've only been doing this for a few loops and that's practicaly No time at all~"

"W-well, I suppose, but I meant more in general."

(You paused carving.) "Hmm?"

"Well, Siffrin said you showed up soon after we beat the King. And, well, I was wondering, has it been alright? I-I mean, sharing a body with Sif and all. A-and like, since we didn't know you were around did we do something that made you-"

"Oh hush Mirabelle." (You twirl your dagger casually.) "It was a lovely time in Bambouche, really! The beach was just so nice, it was a good way to meet Nille too! No need to explain the whole being a star thing~"

"I guess so. . ."

"I will say, as much as I like Stardust," (You lower your tone to a dramatic one.) "Sharing a head with them is agony sometimes."

(She giggles again.) "Is it really that hard? Or. ."

"It's complicated. So, so complicated." (You thougt for a moment.) "Talking to eachother is like. . . Almost like someone else is having thoughts in your own head. And you have thoughts back. It can be hard to tell whos thoughts are whos, but you can 'talk' very fast."

"Because you're just thinking to eachother?"

"In a way~" (You tap your chin with your knife.) "It's hard to explain, but I might to better a better job next time, tee hee~"

(Another giggle.) "It makes some sense, I think."

"From what I've read it's a very complex disorder." (Odiles voice. You turn, she was finding a place to sit down.) "Each person experiences it differently too."

"Complex doesn't even start to describe it. . ." (You decide to just put away your carving.) "Headaches are almost constant."

"With how Siffrin thinks? Well I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Oh the burdens we must bare."

"What burdens are we bareing today?" (It was Isabeau walking in now.)

"The big furry types of course~"

"Ha! Haha!"

"Well you two have something in common."

"Tee hee~"

(You sat up and made room or Isabeau on the couch. He sat down and talked.) "Bonnie and Nille are just putting some leftovers away." (He looked over at Mirabelle.) "You're sure there's no bruising? Bonnie still has a headache."

(. . .)

"I'm positive, I double and tripple checked."

(For the love of Stars will you just tell me what I missed already?!? CLEARLY something happened you're not telling me.)

(I will not tell you.)

(You are infuriating.)

"Kid probably just needs a lie down." (Isa comments.)

"Once this is over we all do." (You say, you still felt exhausted from all this time craft. Will you at least tell me when we're out of this blinding loop?)

(I can agree to that.)

"Speaking of such. Would you mind if we try talking to Stardust now?" (Odile asked.)

(You nod.) "If ever there was a time for it~"

". . . So how do we do this?" (Asked Mirabelle.)

"Well, first I'll get Siffrin back here. It might get a bit confusing for us but don't worry about that~" (You thought for a moment.) "Although, Isabeau, if that mind craft is still afflicting Siffrin, could you try making sure he doesn't do anything stupid?"

"Uh, alright! I think I can do that."

"I'd like to ask Siffrin the questions if that's alright." (Odile had gotten up from her seat and walked over.)

"Of course, and Mirabelle if you could. . ."

"Morale support?" (She suggested.)

"Morale support!"

"Perfect, moral support it is."

(Alright. . . Siffrin. . .)

(You breath in, and out. Stardust, where just where are you Stardust. You were forced out quite abruptly, but you could come back with. . . The thoughts of Isabeau? No no, something bad maybe? Probaly not. What about his favorite foods? Oh well they did love that Pan Au Chocolate-)

(Huh?)

(You feel a bit dizzy. There you are Stardust~)

(Loop? What happened. I was forced out of front by Mal du Pays, I didn't remember much afterwards. You're here because they want to ask you a few questions. Yes? Why though?)

(They're worried about you. Something happened. So if you don't mind. . .)

(You blink a few times, you had a mild headache but it cleared fast.) "Uh. . ."

"Siffrin?" (Huh? Or Mirabelle was at your side. Isabeau and Odile too.)

(You rub your head.) "Hi uh. . . What happened?"

(Mirabelle glanced over to Odile, who started talking.) "Are you feeling alright, Siffrin?"

"Dazed, headache, confused. Did something happen??"

"I'm getting to that." (Odile continued.) "Do you remember what happened?"

"Uhm. . . I was talking to Ramos? Yeah, yeah Ramos came over to see Isabeau."

(You glance between the three of them. Loop what's going on?)

(Mental check in, Stardust.)

"And what did you talk about."

"It was. . . Right! We were chatting about our adventures, how we met Isabeau, and uh. . ."

(You glance at Isa as Odile continues.) "What else?"

"Well, well, they were curious if Isabeau mentioned them at all." (Why was it so hard to remember?)

"And you said. . ."

(You smiled.) "I said 'of course he did!'"

(. . .Stars.)

(Huh? Did you say something wrong? They all looked worried. Isabeau spoke up.) "Are. . . Are you sure Sif?"

"Positive, right?" (You think hard.) "Because. . . Because you talked about them helping you for the Defenders exams?"

(Isabeau looked. . . Sad? What was going on?!?)

"That, didn't happen, Siffrin." (Odile said.) "I'm, sorry but that's not true."

"Huh?!?"

(You could feel your breathing quicken. What do they mean??? Ramos was, was Isabeaus best friend, right? Hadn't you been excited to see them?!? That's why you came here in the first place right???)

(You have a headache. What was going on?!? No, no Ramos was your friend right?)

"Siffrin?" (You turn to Isabeau, he was holding out a hand. You grab it and squeeze. He doesn't even flinch.) "It's. . . Well, just take a breath first, ok? With me? Just like you showed us, right?"

(Right, right, just breathe. In. . . . and Out. . .)

(Feeling better, Stardust?)

(No, yes, maybe. Just. I'm just confused.) "Alright, alright, please tell me what happened, please."

"Siffrin, well, Ramos isn't really, a good person right now, I think." (You turn to Mirabelle as she continues.) "They, well, Loop told us that they've been effecting people with Mind Craft. You included."

(??????????)

(It's a craft type that effects ones memories, ones mind. Your perception of Ramos has been altered, Stardust.)

(Odile talking now.) "It should be reversable, but from what I know it might be more difficult as it may be powered by a wish. If that's the case it could. . ."

"It would just take a while!" (Mira jumps in.) "But! The good news is Loop isn't effected?"

(Your breathing is getting heavy again. What? But, Ramos was a big figure in Isabeaus life, right? There where all those stories! Like, like.)

(You cannot remember.)

(It's a trick, Stardust~ A nasty one at that.)

(You lean into Isabeau, you feel lightheaded.) "A-are you sure? I, I mean. . ." (It. . . It was really hard to believe. You had this feeling, this instinct, that Ramos was a friend, the best, the. . .)

"Sorry Sif." (Isa gently put a hand on your head. You didnt flinch.) "We'll get this figured out, ok?"

". . . Promise?"

"I promise!"

"Of course I promise!" (Mirabelle chimed in.)

"I don't want to see what happens when your memory gets worse. I promise we'll figure it out." (Odile adds.)

(You nod. And sigh.) ". . . Thank you."

(Your head hurts. Loop, can you, can you please just deal with this?)

(Of course Stardust~ It might be better since-)

(Because Ramos might still be able to effect me. Yeah. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone.)

(You breathe in, and out. And in the future, you can take over in a pinch if needed, ok?)

(Same back to you. stars, even for Mal too. Just in case.)

(Thank you.)

(. . . . .)

[You got the Memory of Switching! When equipped, this will make it easier for you to switch out with your headmates, even durring battle!]

(You pause a second before moving. Isabeau is comfortable, he's got a hand on your head. No need to pull away immediatly.)

(Is now really the time?)

(Hush you. Stardust's gone now, let me have this.)

(You took one more second before getting up and stretching.) "Well! That was quite enlightening~"

"Loop?"

"Yes yes, Stardust decided to go for now, didn't trust themself to act rational."

"Aww. . ." (Isabeau awkwardly rubbed his side.) "I can't imagine how he must be feeling."

"Now where have I heared that before." (Odile adds, going back to her own seat.)

"We miss anything?" (It was Nille, she and Bonnie where walking in.)

"Just checked in on Siffrin." (Odile sighs.) "Unfortunatly, the mind craft stuck."

"Crab" (Nille sat down on the ground.)

"Stupid Crabbing mind crab" (Bonnie stormed over to a chair and sat down.)

"Language."

(You laugh.) "You'll never get Bonbon to stop swearing at this rate."

"Oh I will!" (She replied, rolling her eyes.)

"Nuh uh!" (Bonnie stuck out their tongue.)

"Yuh huh!"

"Nuh uh!!!"

"Yuh huh or you a stupid face."

"YOU'RE a stupid face!"

"Gasp!! Bonnie! How could you! Your own Sister!"

(You fail to hold in your laughter.)

(Why couldn't ever day be this simple.)

[sualne]

Sorry if you're already working on this but with Luffy in Croc dad what's his hobby?? Like he's the biggest ball of energy and I think if wasn't fighting wild animals as a kid he would vibrate into another dimension from lack of stimulation. Does he draw and develop his art skills, has he taken up music or is he invested with the void century with Robin? Croc wants to keep him inside and safe so what did he think would be best to entertain him or does he buy a new thing every week that Luffy says he suddenly wants to do. Yes he looks at books but is that it. Also sorry if you answered this before and I've missed waht you said, I am pretty sure I've seen all your comics on this but I haven't seen all your ask answering questions.

i hadn't gotten these questions and im so glad you ask!! :D

so! luffy doesn't have one specific hobby and croc does end up giving him whatever he wants when he suddenly gets a new obsession, one of the reason he's so excited with finding the jewelry box and getting a dagger is because it's finally something new! after that he gets really into rings and knives until it gets bored of it and switch to something else again.

about him and learning about the void century with robin i actually got a comic later for that so i won't say anything here!

im going to make this a list and explain how it goes, under read more:

Fighting: this luffy doesn't know how to fight, but he still love the concept! he gets really excited hearing stories of fights, duels, martial arts and all the rest! In practice though, since he's been so sheltered and only ever saw one real fight that ended up with people being killed in front of him as a kid, if (haha) he were to witness another real fight he wouldn't be as giddy about it as when he hears stories. he does also learn the tiniest bit of kenpo from bonclay!

Dancing: luffy in canon loves dancing (and partying), here too! he doesn't know/master any specific styles but likes to drag people into dancing with him, if no one is around he'll grab some of the smaller bananawani instead.

Singing: he's still very bad at it.

Music: croc noticed how he'd taps on thing and tried to get him to learn some percussion, unfortunately for him, luffy doesn't care about music theory and just does whatever makes him happy. he also love loud noises and croc has to find a way to stop him from making a racket at any hours of the day, it gets worse when luffy loses some of his hearing and needs to make everything even louder. eventually he gets bored of it too.

Cooking: him and croc cooks together pretty often, if no one is there to supervise him luffy will ignore recipes and common sense, making all kind of abominations. it's a miracle he never set the kitchen on fire.

Bugs: he loves them! he collect them! alive. croc is horrified one day when he finds out baby luffy has been letting some food to rot so he could observes flies and larvae going through their little bug lives cycle. later croc gives him those pinned dead bugs collection boxes thinking luffy will like it, he doesnt.

Board&Cards Games: he mostly has to play them by himself, he doesn't like being alone so he'll often ends up playing it "with" the banawanis. after he loses a few too many times against the banawanis and can't get croc to join in for the millionth time he gives up on them. even when robin joins baroques works he still expect her to be too busy to play with him and doesn't ask (she would have accepted if he had asked).

Art&Craft: he tries a bit of everything, doing it his own way meaning most of it is kind of hideous or about to fall apart, canon luffy is completely fine with that, au luffy though, he's having ton of fun at first but when he gets old enough to see that his dad cant quite fake his enthusiasm or interest towards his disastrous creations he gets frustrated and stops for a while. later, robin finds an old drawing of his and thinks its cute so he start doodling a little again for her.

basically, he struggles keeping a hobby, some like fighting, dancing, bugs and staring at pictures in geography books he keeps through his life but mostly, he's very lonely and bored out of his mind, he's depressed, that's not something that can be helped for as long as he's isolated.

when robin becomes a part of his life everything gets better for him! she spends time with him, read stories for him, helps him get out more often, they even meet bonclay and for a few years he's genuinely happy.

[delusionbound]

“Amanita Szarr, and the two assholes who adopt her”

mild tw for brief mentions of possible sexual trauma and childhood abuse

summary: literally brainrotting over amanita, tav and astarion rn. this is all self indulgent. basically just my thoughts on how tav x astarion would work with amanita as their pseudo kid. found family ensues

you’re in act 1 after learning about astarion and his relation to cazador. a young girl shows up in the middle of the night, awkwardly trying to talk to you. if you pass an insight check, you see that she’s hiding something behind her, she’s nervous, it’s like she hasn’t talked to anyone in a while.

whether you fail the check or not, she fails her attempt. she fails to stake astarion in the chest regardless, and after a series of confusing attempts to talk you learn about who she is.

Her name is Amanita Szarr, and she’s on a mission to kill every vampire she finds despite being one. And she plans to kill a man named Cazador. She’s blunt, she’s honest, and she’s furious.

She’s wearing a crisp and wrinkly old dress, she has blood shot eyes and poorly chopped hair, she looks angry. not just angry, but vengeful.

over the course of a month you learn she’s cazadors fucking niece. although she would keep most of what she’s been through unknown. this would absolutely rock astarions perception of what was already an incredibly traumatic situation. how much was he hiding from him? How the fuck did he miss a kid being locked in an attic being turned into either a true vampire or dhampir due to a wonky transformation.

can you imagine the sheer abuse she went through? the severe isolation, and the possible sexual trauma (due to the type of ppl were dealing with here, although this is just speculation) and neglect for all of her adolescence.

astarion can understand it way more then he’d like to admit.

amanita and tav would start out with a general distrust for their respective reasons, but eventually grow a mentor and student relationship, after all she hasn’t been shown much basic affection. Although she’d be distrusting she’d be quick to latch onto someone…Astarion and her would be a very different story though.

amanita and astarion would hate each other initially. both terrified to confront the memories they want to block out, and both being complete opposites. she’s spent the entirety of her life locked in an attic, she’s shit with people.

she doesn’t know how to manipulate people and she doesn’t want to. Astarion has adopted it out of survival instincts. And needless to say he’s not fond of kids, even if they are over 100 years old. but slowly they both gain a begrudging sense of exasperation for eachother, but it’s fond.

it takes a long time no doubt, but they both share some things in common. They both want one particular asshole dead, and they’re both willing to hurt people to survive.

Id like to think that she’s a witch, a ranger, or a bard, she was incredibly academic due to how much time she had on her own. Maybe the only thing to occupy her time was an instrument and song writing. Maybe she just got really good with daggers and her only contact was with animals outside. But either way, she’s good at what she does and she’s willing to kill to survive.

It’d start with Astarion teaching her a few knife tricks. Slowly they’d start to talk about books. The turning point from a begrudging companionship to actual friendship would be when she shares one of her favorite books with him. he can see the doodles and annotations as he reads and slowly starts to see her as less of an annoying kid and more of an apprentice.

and as months passed, all three of you began to form this odd sort of trust. and that became something neither of you expected

a family. an unconventional and messy one full of people who were working through their problems, but a family nonetheless. after everything is said and done, the epilogue might consist of all three of you or just you and astarion, depending on how the story plays out and depending on whether or not she continues to hunt vampires (she’d also leave if he ascended in my opinion). and it’s the nicest thing she’s had in a long time

[dangermousie]

Their chemistry is epic but also their scenes never go in an expected direction. He asks for a kiss and she slaps him. And then she goes for a second slap and grabs her hand.

When he praises her and tells her to do this if a barbarian tries to get to her...

He leaves (and she's left clutching her arm where he held her; her body is a lot more honest about her feelings towards him than her mind) but what strikes me here is that he is the sole person in this whole village of ideals who is actually trying to equip her, in however limited a fashion, with some measure of survival tips in a world about to go mad.

Look at the scene of the village saying farewell to their men - the women are giving men little presents and everyone is exchanging love tokens and it's all so charming but he gives her a dagger that means business.

It all goes along with the idealism - doesn't it - of course the barbarians will not get to the village so why would a woman, let alone an upper class one, need a weapon - the whole order of the world is their chivalric men protect. But he is a pragmatist, he sees the world the way it is, not the way he wants it to be or the way it is ought to be (once again, I really would love to know of his past) and so, once again, much more strongly now, he gives her means to help survive if the things don't go the way people wish - a weapon, a warning about when to get out etc. If she survives it will be in part because of his approach and not because of all the platitudes about duty mouthed by scholars who will all be far away when the raiders arrive. (Earlier, he pointed out to FL that the man she likes will never marry her because he can't handle a woman with a reputation and she rejoined the man she likes is brave because he's off to fight. Leaving aside the fact that both volunteering for battle and not wanting to marry her are driven by the same root actually - propriety, this statement and its truth point to something else as well - the man she crushes on, like everyone else in the village, cannot see past convention and "things should be this way because they should" - propriety trumps all - potential dating prospects, their own common sense and lives, even lives of their loved ones. They, in a way, cannot conceive of an unjust world and surviving in same, going for essentials, where in survival or love, because that's what truly matters.)

Kind of telling tho her first objection is idealistic and she sounds like anyone else from the village:

Her second is eminently pragmatic and very much not what anyone else would think:

I love him!

I do get the sense he cares for so few people because life has taught him this is the most he can afford.

Btw, I love the SFL who is lovely and is quite suited to SML and is probably the first to notice who it is GC really fancies and it's not the stick in the mud perfect young master.

This killed me. The look on his face!

[ink-and-dagger]

You’re playing Baldur’s Gate 3 right? If Astrid were Tav (hope that makes sense), what would her class and backstory be? Who would she romance? :3c

I love this question – thank you so much for asking. I haven’t been able to play lately because the game keeps crashing on me sob sob so this has helped fill that BG3 shaped hole my my heart <3

So obviously I had to try and make her in the character creator and thankfully the game stayed stable enough for me to make a base even though it took 5 failed launch attempts

None of the character faces or hairstyles were right, so I just picked the closest and fiddled around a bit on procreate.

I’m going to stick the rest of my ramblings under a read more because I don’t to submit any poor unwitting bugger to that if they’re just trying to scroll their dash in peace

*also potential small BG3 spoilers below so read at your own risk*

If we’re staying super loyal to OG Astrid’s character then she’d be a Bard, simply because she doesn’t really have any combat training and she’s highly adept at wielding her wit and her words. But if I were going to give her a fighting style, I think she’d multi-class as Rogue and Cleric. I can imagine her dual-wielding daggers or short swords, taking out her enemies with a wink and a witty one liner, and also having an affinity for light-based spells and divination.

Her set BG3 background would definitely be Entertainer - “You live to sway and subvert your audience, engaging common crowds and high society alike”. From a narrative perspective I’d say that she grew up in the lower city with her mother, and they didn’t have an awful lot of money. Astrid would be Half-Elf, and her mother a Wood Elf (although for some reason likely derived from snobbery she pretends that she’s a High Elf). Astrid wouldn’t know anything about her father other than he’s human. Years later, when she’s around 16 years old, she learns that her mother up and left with her as a baby and moved to Balder’s Gate to ‘avoid her getting too attached to a mortal parent’. This would be the straw on the camels back for Astrid and she cuts ties and moves out. She gets a serving job at The Blushing Mermaid in exchange for room and board - and gradually becomes a skilled mixologist. It’s also where she would learn any fighting skills, given that it isn’t the most salubrious establishment in the city. Gal’s gotta know how to protect herself after all.

As for who she’d 💜Romance💜 — I’ve pin-balled between several answers because I think there are multiple viable options. Astrid has this wonderful openness about her that means she could potentially forge a connection with a few of the companions…

She’d be very close with Karlach simply because they’re both so similar. They’re both bright and perky, with positive personalities. I think they’d be absolute best buddies and would cause infuriating amounts of trouble together. Sisters from other misters <3

I think she’d grow close to Wyll because of their shared history of Tricky Parents™️. There might even be a spark of attraction between them at the start, but the more they get to know each other, the more they realise that they ultimately aren’t suited to each other in a romantic sense. Wyll needs someone settled and reliable, and Astrid needs someone with an edge that keeps her on her toes.

She’d accept the advances of Lae’zel and Halsin - but these wouldn’t develop beyond casual flings. And she’d definitely have a big whooping fat crush on Raphael (although I don’t think she’d sleep with Haarlep - she’d only be interested in the real-deal devil).

I think she’d have a soft spot for Gale. But I can’t decide whether or not it would develop into something deeper. I think Astrid they’d have good banter and Astrid would absolutely love teasing him. I think she’d offer him a lot of support and advice when it came to Mystra, and she’d be a real source of comfort for him. I can see Gale developing a crush on her, but I think it would be one-sided and he’d eventually move on once he accepts that nothing can come of it.

Ultimately, I think she’d end up fully romancing Astarion surprise surprise. He shares a lot of similarities with Silco’s character that we know Astrid is drawn to - morally grey, tortured soul, sarcastic humour. They’re also both very used to masking their true feelings and avoid getting close to anyone out of a sense of self-protection. I also just think their personalities would mesh together really well, and they’d be best friends as well as lovers. The flirting would be insufferable. They’d definitely end up going down the non-ascended route too <3

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday💛

Ahhhh, Wednesday. And today has been a productive one! Lot of writing done, a lot more to do, and I can say for certain that the next chapter of The Perfect Storm is going to be a bumper one! And to mirror what I posted this morning, if Elyse had a septim for every time she had a poison in her hand with a blade at her neck, she'd have two septims - not a lot, but weird that it happened twice and technically once was in a nightmare but you get the point heh.

I'm not going to tag anyone specific, and instead do an open tag for anyone who wants to say that I tagged them 💛

As Elyse brushed the cobwebs off her hands on her clothes, then scowled as she noticed that there was skeever blood on her boots, she began to feel a cold draught coming from nearby. That meant that she had to be near some sort of exit.

Carefully stepping over the unconscious man, she began to walk towards where the cool air was coming from, resisting the urge to wrap her cloak around herself just in case there were any more surprises which needed her to draw upon her spells once more. There was a slight tunnel, just enough for a person to navigate through, though was particularly dark – unsettlingly so. She had to cast a magelight spell purely to see where she was going.

Soon enough, a gentle light – no doubt that of either a lantern or a handful of candles – began to seep into the darkness and gave her a sense of ease.

Then there was a large, gaping hole leading into a room which looked similar to the basement she had entered that small cave system through. A room adorned with barrel after barrel of mead, though quite a few had obvious bite marks and chipped wood scattered around them, leaving the floor both sticky and wet with the scent of honey and alcohol permeating the air. It looked stagnant and foul, with bugs hovering over the pools of mead. She had but one thought in response to that as she felt the liquid seeping into her boots through the stitching - had Sabjorn honestly not checked on the state of his Meadery once since the skeever problem started?

There was also a door further into the room, which she was very glad to reach as the floor around it was dry and gave her the opportunity to shake off her boots as much as she could just to stop the squelching of each step she took. The door was wide open, though not leading outdoors as she had first anticipated because of just how cold the room was. Instead, it led to a room with yet more barrels, and huge vats of mead. There were also numerous sacks across the borders of the room, and an abandoned satchel in the middle of the floor which looked very much out of place.

She approached it, and went to pick it up, just for something to roll out as she did so... A small bottle with a somewhat viscous liquid of an incredibly off-putting reddish brown colour, almost reminding her of medicine, contained within. The only definitive thing about it that she could discern was that it definitely not mead... But so long as her alchemy skills hadn’t gone to waste during her time in Dragonsreach, she could probably figure out what it was.

She barely had to examine the liquid in the bottle for long after opening it before she could detect the delicate scent of nightshade flowers, and her eyes grew wide as she put the stopper back in place, not wanting nor willing to smell it any longer. Nightshade was a common ingredient for poisons… and that was all she needed to know to conclude what it was. It was almost certainly the poison which Sabjorn claimed that his employee went to collect just for it to ‘not be ready yet’. There was even a handwritten receipt from Arcadia in the satchel, when she checked back inside it.

This wasn’t an out-of-control skeever problem... This was sabotage.

Just as she turned around to go back the way that she had come from, to let Sabjorn and Lydia know about what she had found, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Sabjorn’s employee, and a dagger pointed right at her throat.

[transmissionsfromthebattlefield]

A Roundtable Discussion on Heavy Metal (and Melanie)

A few days ago, my boyfriend sent me a link to Lil Pump’s recent smash hit “Pump Rock x Heavy Metal” saying, and I quote, “DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS.” But it’s hard to not forcefully contaminate myself to music that is atrocious to make the good music all the more worthwhile. That’s how dedicated I am to my love of music.

Besides, I was meaning to explore this on my own anyways after hearing Lil Pump’s glorious, glorious weird scream-grunt noise on an Instagram story. Let’s review whether or not Mr. Gucci Gang is able to elevate two of rock’s most iconic subgenres to the modern age.

“Bob” help us.

The intro is, fittingly, the most stereotypical take on punk rock possible, and is probably most similar to what disconnected old farts think all punk rock sounds like. Mediocre Generica was the title of a (much more sonically interesting, if guilty pleasurable) Leftöver Crack album, and it fits here. Upon further reserach, last.fm tagged this song as rock, metal, nu metal, rap metal, drone metal avant-garde, beatdown hardcore, AND crossover thrash, so maybe my aural analysis is subpar. Maybe all this time I was actually the musical equivalent of one of those people who gets repulsed by eating anything better than McDonald’s and I had no idea. If so, I feel ashamed.

In this striking vein, I’ll give the rest of the song some credit: the production is actually interesting! Sonically, it’s more interesting and attention-grabbing than a lot of the more recent music I’ve heard, with an intense throbbing bass line that I particularly like. Too bad it’s got Lil Pump singing over it. I love having to hear scrawny men with awful hair sing about emo bitches and having a dagger dick, which is extremely disturbing. He calls himself a narcissist in this song, which makes sense with how self-indulgent and oblivious to common sense the lyrics are. As a complete outsider to the whole “emo rap” or whatever scene, I’m kind of fascinated by the repeated motif of wrist-slitting throughout the song - if this song is declaring itself “heavy metal,” does this mean that all those sensational news reports from the eighties about how those poor teens were beckoned to kill themselves because a Judas Priest song told them to, were actually true? It’s hard to overlook lyrical content when someone has such an awful voice.

This song seems to have been created for people who enjoy the concept of punk rock and heavy metal, but don’t have much knowledge in anything beyond the sloganeering and looking like you have street cred. I doubt Lil Pump has much knowledge past that regard either, or has any interest in going beyond it in his music.

I had been meaning to write this post for a short while, but I kept getting busy. But yesterday morning, the Instagram algorithm similarly offered me another current music faux pas that my masochistic brain just had to subject myself to, and I just had to get something about it out there. This time, it was a paragraph Melanie Martinez had written explaining one of the songs on her new album, because her fans are apparently too dumb to be able to come to their own conclusions about the meaning of her songs. She says:

This is obviously the best thing to be reading while you’re preparing breakfast. Funnily enough, Lil Pump also alludes to period sex in his previously mentioned song.

I read the lyrics, which I refuse to link because they’re stupid, and I listened to as much of the song I could stand, which wasn’t very much. It sucked. You know when you only read the lyrics to a song and you come up with your own musical accompaniment in your head? I knew it wasn’t going to be as good as my brain’s assumptions, but I was stunned. You would think that an artist who is supposedly going through some radical image change would make music that similarly pushes boundaries, not just something created solely to be covered on a ukulele. It was one of the most mild mannered, unoffensive sounding songs I’d ever heard.

As for the lyrical content, it is sad to me how Melanie could not even come up with a basic metaphor to convey her idea. Like Little Pumperton, who uses the usual guns-and-cars flexing to communicate masculine hood prowess, Mel resorts to the most basic, blatant concepts to get across her point of being...a woman who exists and does things, I guess. As a cisgender young female, I technically should be on this song’s side, but it only comes off as condescending. I don’t need something that is completely natural and familiar to me explained to me in such, er, explicit terms. (“Womb shedding.” Gag.)

If I’m somewhere near the target audience for Melanie’s music in terms of my age and sex, then I’d say we deserve better. Young women can think for themselves and don’t need to be spoon-fed a fourteen year old’s concept of lyrical depth in order to feel “empowered.” Neither do young men need watered down portrayals of material wealth, hoe-wrangling, and glorified self harm. In today’s world, everyone fears being misunderstood. But the answer to that should not be undermining people’s intelligence and spoon-feeding them lowest common denominator nonsense. People should be allowed to bring their own interpretations to the songs they listen to and not have everything spelled out to them. Nuance and complexity are good things, and they should be present in what we see, read, and listen to. We should be encouraged to think critically about what we consume.

If we don’t, then...well, I guess we let songs like these take the world by storm.

[magickalsapphic]

We were both young (when I first saw you)

A Victorian Romeo and Juliet Snowbaz AU

❀ Chapter 2 Posted (3314 words) -- first meeting gets off on the wrong foot..

❀ Victorian AU, Romeo and Juliet AU, horseback riding, farmerboy!Simon, aristocrat!Baz, Davy sucks, gay people 🙏

❀ pls read it & rb :)))

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59023879/chapters/150538249

Chapter 2: Ballgowns and men down

SIMON

I don’t know who invented waistcoats, or if my body is just incapable of fitting into one well, but I completely despise them, even more than these tight plaid pantaloon that won’t let my buttocks breathe.

The clothes I wore at the cottage were always comfortable. The rips and old fabric were part of what made it special. Clothes used to work, clothes used for something. Ever since I started living with Davy, I’ve had to wear the most uncomfortable clothes. Which doesn’t make any sense to me. I am well aware these are supposed to be expensive clothes, but I have no idea where the money is going since comfort is completely off the table.

I guess another possibility is that I cannot bring myself to think of any of this in a positive way. But I rather blame it on the shit clothes.

Agatha has been properly helpful since I met her a few weeks ago. She’s shown me around the etiquette and hasn’t given up even though it’s useless to teach me. Davy gave up almost immediately. Though he seemed undoubtedly happy when I started spending time with Agatha. He was almost nice to me.

This whole situation just sucks arse, but Ebb wants me to see the good in things. I really am trying. And a party can’t be so bad, can it?

“Hello,” I say to the gentleman in front of me after stepping off the stairs. I’m still holding Agatha’s arm, which I feel pull on me. I glance at her and see her bowing slightly. I realise this must be one of the people I should bow to. I hold in a chuckle and crouch my body slightly. Before straightening completely, I look up with only my eyes and for the first time take the sight of him in. He’s at least 3 inches taller than me, starring daggers at me. Upright I feel myself standing way too close to him. Agatha pulls me back a bit, her arm intertwined with mine pressing a little too hard.

“Lord Basilton,” she says in a very soft voice. I can’t help but smirk at the word Lord. And I also can’t help but stare at him as well. He looks like he really belongs here. Basilton. From the name alone he owns this entire place. But it’s not only that, it’s all of him. The way he’s holding the glass of wine. The way he’s standing, completely straight but laid-back. The way his hair is slicked back, while a strand of hair is hanging and framing his face so effortlessly. The way he holds up his one eyebrow and tilts his head to me.

“Miss Wellbelove,” he says without looking at her. 

I don’t notice I’m holding my breath until he asks me a question directly.

“Pardon?” I exhale. 

He gulps, my eyes follow his throat.

“I asked to whom I owe the pleasure,” he says as if my name wasn’t projected to the entire room a minute ago.

I smile, “Simon. Simon Snow. Salisbury.” 

That last one has been difficult to get used to having, let alone saying out loud. He then bows a bit while keeping his eyes on me. I’m still not sure how any of this works, I assume it’s just common manners. There’s a glint in his eyes. Deep grey eyes. They feel familiar somehow, even though I’m well aware I haven’t personally met anyone other than Agatha in this room before.

I'm suddenly aware of how surrounded we are. The room has gone quiet except for the orchestra playing. (They have a whole orchestra.) There's a perimeter around the three of us and I can hear people whispering. I look around and see multiple people stealing glances at me.

Davy told me that my existence might come as a shock to some people, but I didn't expect this much attention, especially in this weird secretive and indirect way.

Agatha notices my nervousness and pats my arm with her other hand. She smiles at me and I can't believe my luck in finding someone so kind.

"If you'll excuse us, we'll like to have a dance," she tells Basilton (I can't get over that name) and pulls me toward the dance floor. I can't help but look back at him. We left him with his mouth half-open in the middle of the crowd. He looks at me and frowns, I smile.

When we reach a good spot, Agatha pulls away from me and takes my hands in hers.

"I don't know-"

"It's all right, Simon. I'll teach you," she smiles and puts my left hand on her waist and takes my right hand in hers. I think there's a waltz playing. I take a deep breath and try to follow her lead, which leads me to step on her feet twice before the first compass ends.

"Sorry," I say again after I step on her for the third time. 

Her face looks constipated now with her lips pressed tightly together in an attempt at a smile. I'm worried this will be her last straw before abandoning me, which distracts me even more and I end up stepping on my own foot and tripping over, dragging her with me. "Oh damning- bloody hell."

The music stops and I hear the guests gasp around me. I can't bring myself to open my eyes at the mess I've made. I don't know much but I am pretty sure it’s not etiquette to swear or to fall in the middle of a dance. I finally open my eyes and the first thing I see is Lord Basilton giving me the smuggest smirk I've ever seen. That posh bastard is enjoying this for some twisted reason. I want to clear that smirk off his face.

BAZ

Simon Snow will be the death of me.

He and Wellbelove walk together to the dancefloor after sharing pleasantries and I am more and more certain. After all these years of replaying his every movement before falling asleep, I could recognize him in any universe. The golden boy who gave me my mother’s lilies. The boy who saved me without asking for my name or a cent.

I, with everyone in this room, cannot begin to comprehend where the hell he has come from. The rumours must already be flying around. From all the whispering around me, I can count at least twenty different stories. Cadwallader is nowhere to be seen and Simon Snow (what kind of name is Snow?) is being stared down by everyone, including myself, struggling to dance with my one chance at semi-freedom. He couldn’t pick anyone else. I’m not even angry at him for this, instead I consider thanking him right here and now just for allowing me to see him up close. I didn’t think I could miss him more than I already did all these years, but a look at him has made this feeling a million times more intense. No. I’m angry at myself for letting this opportunity with Agatha go to hell because I wasn’t quick enough. I’m mad at Fiona as well for not letting me know about this earlier. I don’t stand a chance against him, even in his complete mediocrity. I should just leave now before I embarrass myself for being alone a second longer. I slowly back away to the hall, but before I can put my glass down on the table I hear a loud crash. 

Simon Snow and Wellbelove have fallen right in the middle of the dancefloor. I have never been more certain of anything more than this public embarrassment being completely Snow’s fault (I’ve seen Agatha dance before, and she’s well above average). It was foolish of me to think this was over, it won’t even be a challenge. Snow is staring at me now with a set jaw and a murderous look. My smirk grows. Our staring contest is interrupted by Wellbelove clearly needing some help getting up.

I don’t think twice before I walk over to them. I extend out my hand to her, leaving him mid-standing and fury steaming off his suit. She hesitates for a second before taking it.

“Thank you, Lord Basilton,” she bows slightly. 

I give Snow a side glance. He’s still half on the floor.

“Please, call me Baz,” I tell Wellbelove before raising her hand slightly and giving it a kiss. She raises both her eyebrows. “Do you need a hand as well, Snow?” I look down at him.

He quickly gets up on his own.

“Not needed, Baz.” His eyes are full of fire. I’m doing that to him.

“Lord Basilton,” I unnecessarily correct him.

I hear him huff through his nose but don’t look his way again. Instead, I lean my mouth to Wellbelove’s side and say clearly, “Lady Agatha, if you wish to have a real dance, you know where to find me.”

I walk away from them while adjusting my sleeve and counting my breaths. What am I getting myself into?

SIMON

I bloody hate him.

I just hate him. I know I’ve known him for less than ten minutes but I want to take apart every single thing that makes Baz perfect, one by one. 

“Is he always such a prat?” I ask Agatha as we walk out of the room to get some air. There’s a beautiful fountain with a cherub at the top. This garden would look a thousand times better if it was surrounded by freesias instead of tulips. I make mental notes of every section I’d change from this short path alone as we sit on a bench.

“I honestly haven’t met him enough times to know.” Her hands are playing with her hair and she’s balancing her legs.

“I’m really sorry about—”

“Don’t worry about it, Simon.” Her voice sounds so sad, I find it difficult to believe her.

“If you want you can go dance with Baz.” She looks up at me then and gives me a small smile.

“I came here with you.” I hold her hand and give it a small squeeze.

“Agatha!” I hear someone call from behind. I turn around and see a curly-haired chubby girl in a puffy purple dress coming our way. Agatha quickly takes back her hand to her lap. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“I was going to say hi, before the whole,” she side-eyes me, “incident.”

The girl is standing right in front of us now. She looks me up and down. She puts her hand up, “Hi! I’m Penelope.”

“Nice to meet you,” I try to politely kiss her hand but she aggressively shakes mine before I can lift it. Then she forcibly sits between us, I almost fall off the side of the bench.

“Penelope, he’s Simon Snow–”

“Oh, I know,” Penelope interrupts Agatha. “Everyone’s talking about you. I mean no offence, Sir.”

“Not taken, I guess,” I say. We stay in silence for a moment. I feel very out of place, but I’m glad she’s not elaborating on that.

“Is it true that you’re the lost Salisbury?”

“Penelope!” Agatha says after hitting her arm.

I let out a chuckle. “‘Lost’ is an overstatement. I wasn’t kidnapped.”

“Then, what happened?”

I open my mouth to answer but find it hard to get the words out. I’m not sure what I’m even allowed to say. I’m not sure I know the whole story either.

“You don’t have to answer,” Penelope says unexpectedly, she probably notices my uneasiness. “It was rude of me to ask.”

“It’s all right,” I say, now feeling less heavy. “I’m just not completely sure either.”

“Well, I’m here if you need anything, honestly.” She smiles and stands up. I feel safe with her, oddly. “And Agatha, my family wanted to see you.”

Agatha looks at me with a question in her eyes. I nod, “I’ll be fine. I want to stay here for a moment anyway.”

“It’ll just be a moment.” She takes Penelope’s hand and starts to walk away.

I’m left alone in the garden. I let out a long sigh. I really am not made for balls. And I say that after being in one for approximately five minutes. 

Davy said he’d be here first and would introduce me properly to his peers. I’m not sure how much I wanted that, but it definitely feels worse to be left without a purpose. At least I’ve got a nice view. I get up and start to explore the garden more. Maybe if I go deep enough I’ll find a way out of here without bringing much attention.

After walking across apple trees for a few minutes, I hear two people arguing and recognize one of the voices. Before I know it, I’m leaning against some tall bushes to overhear the conversation.

BAZ

As soon as I leave Agatha and Snow’s side, my aunt corners me half a metre away from a tea table (I am never letting go of this half-empty glass.)

“What was that about?” she says before taking my glass off my hand. She leans her shoulder against the wall, and I mimic her.

“The lost Salisbury is a lost cause as well,” I say without hesitation.

She gives me a weird look.

“You think that’s really him?”

“What do you mean?” I turn my head to her and furrow my eyebrows. “He’s the spitting image of Cadwallader.”

She shrugs, “I guess so, but he’s nowhere to be around. And this would honestly mess things up for you.” She downs the glass and leaves it on a shelf.

“Because of Wellbelove? I don’t think they’re the right pair. She probably accepted coming with him out of pity.”

She snorts and takes out tobacco to light it right across my face. “Oh, that’s not close to the pinnacle of this.”

I wave at the smoke. “You know I find that disgusting.”

“You smoke, too.”

“Outside and every blue moon.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs my arm. We walk through the main door and to the side of the entrance.

“Happy, now?” She takes another drag. I roll my eyes and she passes me the cigar. I don’t usually smoke, but I do feel stressed tonight, so I slowly take a drag and sit on the floor.

“So what else is Simon Snow fucking up then?” I want to stay hopeful. The boy who I’ve fantasized about all these years shouldn’t bring me and my family doom. But, why would I get anything good in this life?

“Firstly,” she sits down next to me. We’re surrounded by bushes, people keep coming to the party, but no one can hear us from here. “Say he marries Wellbelove—you’re fucked. But mostly… Him alone here can open many wounds. I’m not sure what the truth is, but I can’t imagine it’ll be easy.”

“How complicated can one’s existence be?” I feel like a hypocrite asking that, but this also feels stupid.

“Don’t try to find out,” she eyes me with both eyebrows to her hairline. “I’m serious, stay away from him. And Wellbelove, too, for now.”

“You’re not serious! I’m not letting Simon bloody Snow get in the way of getting the West Watford Slot to our rightful name!”

“Lower your fucking voice kid.” She smacks my head and forcefully pulls the cigar back. “I’m going to dance, come back when you have a better sense of self-preservation and learn to let go.”

She leaves me there. I kick my feet against the floor like a fucking five-year-old whose lollipop fell before he could get a taste. What the fuck happened for her to give up my only chance at liberty with a glance at a boy. Because that’s all he is. He’s just a stupid, ordinary boy. What is he even doing here? He didn’t grow up here, I am very, very positive about that. And why does he look so good? And why–

I hear a rattling from the leaves beside me. I turn to my left and see golden curls shining underneath the moonlight, belonging to a boy very badly hidden behind the bushes. I get up and go around them cursing under my breath. He steps back and crouches. His eyes are all scrunched up.

“I can see you, Snow.”

“Simon,” he sighs and stands up. “Sorry, I’ll just—” He points to the left and tries to walk away.

Before he can get away, I pull at his shoulder. “Were you spying on me? I know you must be new here, but that’s commonly frowned upon—anywhere.”

“Is it also frowned upon to use a girl to get a piece of land?” He’s jutting his jaw forward again. It’s disturbing how much I find that attractive.

“You’d be surprised, Snow.”

“It’s Simon!” He shakes his hands in front of him. 

I ignore him. “Did Wellbelove get tired of you already? It didn’t take long.”

“Are you always this mean to complete strangers?” He takes a step closer to me.

I laugh. “You should know our families are the opposite of strangers, Simon.”

“I disagree.” He takes another step closer to me. I wonder if he’ll punch me. I feel like I deserve it and at the same time, I don’t.

“What do you know about that? I’m all ears.” I cross my arms and wait.

He opens and closes his mouth. I raise my eyebrow and both of his hands form tight fists. I ready myself for what’s to come.

“Forget it,” He pushes past me and goes back through the garden. And I’m left alone for the second time tonight.

SIMON

I quickly find Agatha in the crowd. She’s talking to what appears to be Penelope’s family. I walk over to her, ready to tell her I want to go home (or as close as I can at the moment), whether she comes with me or not (I will beg her to).

I’m stopped by a rough pat on my back and a laugh I’ve quickly come to despise.

“Simon, boy. I was looking for you, everywhere!” Davy says. I know he hasn’t.

“Hello, Sir.”

He grabs me by the back of my neck like a puppy and drags me to a group of people I do not want to meet.

“Malcolm! My good friend. Here’s my promised heir.”

“Nice to meet you,” Malcolm shakes my hand a tad tightly. Something tells me they’re not as good of friends as Davy claims. He’s got grey hair and is putting on a wrinkled smile which I can’t pick out its genuineness. His wife does seem pleased to meet me, though. Their daughter, who’s wearing a black dress and dark twin braids, squints up at me and I’m pretty sure I just got cursed from whatever she mouthed at me instead of hello.

I’m trying to find a polite and correct way to excuse myself when Malcolm says the worst thing he could at the moment: “Basilton! Won’t you join us for a moment?”

Baz steps next to me and if I was actually fuming, the whole room would smell of smoke. He grins at me and nods, “Snow.”

“Baz,” I manage to stop myself from saying everything else that comes to mind after his name.

“You’ve met! Isn’t this wonderful?” Davy hugs my side too enthusiastically. “Simon, won’t you get Lady Agatha?” He whispers to my ear. I nod and am glad to leave the scene for a moment.

Agatha gladly comes with me to the group. She holds my hand as well, which I’m glad—for Baz to witness.

“Simon would be absolutely delighted to do so!” Davy says before he notices I’m back.

I clear my throat. I see Baz wide-eyed and glaring at me.

“Simon! You’ll be joining Basilton at the stables this week. Starting tomorrow morning.”

[the-bau-quinjet]

One Misunderstanding

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You struggle to fix Bucky's first impression of you. Bucky struggles with his own feelings.

Warnings: angst, Hydra things- like brainwashing and torture, a few curse words, panic attacks, anxiety

Word count: 5609

a/n: this idea came to me very suddenly, but I'm in love with it. Hopefully whatever I just wrote does it justice.

Masterlist

"Everyone, meet Y/N. She's the newest member of our little group, bringing in a whole new level of hacking and tech skills. Y/N, meet the team." Tony introduced you to everyone, eager to share your skills.

You turned to the group, getting ready to introduce yourself further, but instead tripped. You shrieked as you fell down the small set of stairs you were at the top of.

Sam, being the closest, caught you. "Good thing you've got tech skills." He chuckled as you righted yourself, firmly planting your feet on the ground.

"Haha, yeah. I'm not a big fan of violence." You winced as you said it, wishing you could take it back. You didn't want to get into the reasons as to why you don't like violence.

To your surprise, nobody asked why. You would have guessed they would have questions, but maybe they weren't interested in your past. They all had their own issues to deal with afterall.

"Eh, we don't need anymore people for fighting anyway. Welcome to the team." Steve greeted you warmly, as you would have expected from America's golden boy.

You gratefully shook his hand, glad to not have to talk about anything yet. Unfortunately, you tripped again when you tried to move back, falling into the one and only Bucky Barnes.

His hands steadied you, dryly laughing at your clumsiness. "You really are clumsy."

You did you best to not show how embarrassed you were. You couldn't deny the claim. Unless you were fighting, something you vowed to yourself to never do again, you were clumsy.

Being abducted and tortured by Hydra may have made you a competent fighter, but your aptitude for tripping over nothing never left.

"Right, sorry!" You greeted everyone else quickly, eager to get situated in your room. "I'm just going to unpack everything." You waved as you backed out of the room, bumping into the wall as you left.

-

You had just finished putting away your stuff when you heard a knock on your door.

"Come in!" You figured someone would have questions for you.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha was the one to step into your room. Of everyone there, you expected her to have learned about your past. It comes with the territory of being a spy.

"Hi, I was hoping to talk to you." Her tone was friendly, but clearly she was skeptical of you. Again, you weren't surprised.

"I thought you might. I'm assuming you read my file? Honestly, I thought everyone would." You laughed gently, shaking your head at yourself.

"I did. Your file is pretty bare bones though. I did some extra digging... Not everyone else is as nosy as me." She grinned, already pleased with your openness. "So, why'd you pretend to be clumsy?"

"Oh, it wasn't pretend. I've always been clumsy. When everything happened, and I learned how to fight, I thought my newfound agility would help. Turns out, it didn't. The only times I'm even the slightest bit coordinated are when I'm fighting or training, but I wasn't lying about that either. When I escaped, I promised myself I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"Why join the Avengers at all then?" She looked curious, still unsure if she could trust you.

"I wanted to help people. I just didn't want to use the skills they gave me to do it. So, I learned how to code, figured I could help behind the scenes."

She smiled, letting down her guard. Clearly it would take some time, but you could easily see the two of you being close friends.

"So, nobody knows about what you went through?" She couldn't help but be curious about your past.

"Nope. I don't talk about it much, but it's not a secret. I'll answer anything you want to know." You smiled, eager to try and make a real friend here.

You spent the next few hours answering every question Natasha could think of. You told her about being abducted and experimented on.

That lead to even more questions, basically boiling down to the fact that you're not a super soldier, but you do have enhanced senses- and seemingly enhanced clumsiness for when you're not using them.

You told her about learning how to fight, and the punishments you would endure if you got it wrong. The two of you bonded over the shared experience.

Finally, you told her about how you escaped. When the Winter Soldier escaped, every Hydra effort possible was made to find him. That included you. Resources were spread thin, trying to cover more areas. It was the perfect opportunity for you to get out.

"Really, I owe my freedom to him. Even if he doesn't know anything about me." You felt the tears in your eyes, too many emotions swirling through you to keep it all in anymore. "Since then, I've learned everything I could about technology and coding, which pretty much brings you up to date."

Before she could ask anymore questions, there was another knock on your door. Quickly wiping the tears from your eyes, you called another "come in!"

Steve poked his head in the door, cautiously looking between you and Nat.

"I've been sent to stop the interrogation." He grinned, stepping farther into the room.

Nat rose from her spot on the bed, kissing him on the cheek while rolling her eyes. "It wasn't an interrogation. We were bonding."

"Yeah, over what?" He chuckled, trying to figure out what the two of you had in common.

Maybe it was the look in your eyes, or maybe Nat just likes knowing more than everyone, but she smiled conspiratorially at you before responding. "Girl stuff, babe. Just girl stuff."

You smiled as the couple left the room, grateful for not having to explain everything again.

-

Over the next few weeks, the team constantly teased you for your clumsiness. Well, not the whole team. Nat knew the truth, so she never said anything. Peter never teased you either, although that is likely due to the teasing he endures as well.

Weirdly enough, you bonded with the kid over it, eventually telling him about your past as well.

Normally you could shake it off. They clearly didn't mean anything by it. Except Bucky.

Whenever he said anything, he stared you down. His eyes felt like they were piercing your soul. You're not sure exactly why, but he didn't seem to like you much.

Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have an embarrassing crush on the man.

Really your infatuation started when you first escaped Hydra. His own escape lead to your freedom, so you admired him. When you found out he was working with the Avengers to help people, you admired him even more.

Watching him on missions is really what caused the infatuation to blossom into a full blown crush.

You, however, would adamantly deny that if anyone ever asked. Which is what just happened.

"What?!" You nearly tripped, again, with how quickly you turned to look at Wanda and Nat.

"You heard me." Nat stared at you, a neutral expression on her face. "When are you going to do something about your crush on Barnes."

"I, I don't- I don't have a crush on Bucky." You stuttered, a lackluster job at denying the truth.

"Please, Y/N. It's so obvious!" Wanda joined in.

The three of you hung out a lot around the compound. It was nice to have a support system to lean on when things got hard.

"Well, even if I did, which I'm not saying I do! He doesn't like me. I don't know what I did, but his eyes feel like daggers whenever we're in the same room." You started out strong, but quickly morphed into a sad resignation. It genuinely upset you that Bucky didn't like you.

"I think I might know what that's about..." Wanda bit her lip, immediately feeling guilty at having said anything.

"What!?" You eagerly turned to her, needing answers. You shuffled your way across the room, never fully rising from your seat on the ground.

"I don't know if I should tell you! I'm not even supposed to know, but sometimes his thoughts are really loud!" Her guilt multiplied.

"You have to tell me now! Then I can fix it!" You were practically begging at her feet from your position on the floor.

She looked at Nat, who just shrugged in return. "Not my place, although I would love to hear it."

"Ugh, fine. But you can't tell anyone I told you!" Wanda glared at the two of you, unable to say no to your pouting face. "The first day we all met you, do you remember what you said?"

Your face scrunched as you tried to remember. "I'm not a big fan of violence?"

She nodded, looking at you as if she just told you everything.

"So?" You asked incredulously, unable to follow her train of thought.

She rolled her eyes, having to spell it out for you. "He kind of took that personally..."

Immediately, you sunk completely to the floor. "Oh, god. Fuck! That's not what I meant at all! I just meant I don't personally like using violence! Shit, shit, shit." You continued to mutter to yourself as Nat and Wanda shared a look.

"Why don't you like using violence?" Wanda asked, intrigued by your reaction.

You thought back to your conversation with Nat the first day you got here. You told her it wasn't a secret, it just wasn't something you brought up.

"Can you just look in my head? I don't really wanna explain it, but I want you to know." You asked, glad to share you past with another friend.

Wanda nodded, seemingly doing nothing until realization dawned on her.

"Oh shit." She whispered, not even realizing she said it out loud.

"Yeah." You huffed out a dry laugh.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry." You smiled at her, having worked through most of the trauma already. "You totally have a crush on Barnes though."

That earned a real laugh. "Hey, that's not what you were in there for!"

"It's not my fault! You were thinking it really loudly!"

The three of you laughed together until you sunk back into a pit of despair.

"What do I do? How do I fix this?" You whined, laying back on the ground like a child.

"I think you just need to talk to him. Explain what you meant." Wanda shrugged, unsure of any other advice to offer you.

"She's right. Just talk to him." Nat nodded along as you whined on the floor.

-

After a few days, you finally worked up enough courage to try and talk to Bucky. He had just finished training, so you knew exactly where he'd be: in the kitchen.

Walking in, you were glad to see him pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"Hey Bucky, can I, um, talk to you for a minute?" You stuttered through the words, nervous about what he would say.

He barely looked at you, nodding his head for you to continue.

"I just, I wanted to apologize." You trailed off when his head snapped up.

"For what?" Well shit. How are you supposed to explain this one without ratting out Wanda.

"Oh, well, um... I just thought maybe I said- I did something that upset you. Uh, you just don't seem to like me very much, which is totally cool, you don't have to like me if you don't want to. I just didn't want it to be my fault... Fuck." That went horribly. Taking a deep breath, you started over. "I didn't mean it."

Bucky is looking at you like you have three heads. "Didn't mean what?"

"That I don't like violence."

"So you do... like violence." He'd somehow grown more confused.

"Well, no." You paused, unsure of how to explain yourself.

"Then you did mean it." His soul piercing stare is back.

"I-"

"It's fine, save it. Some people get to choose not to be violent." And with that, he left the kitchen, abandoning his post workout smoothie.

You stared at the doorway, in shock over how poorly that went. You stood there , unaware of the 25 minutes that had passed, trying to figure out how it could've gone better when Steve found you.

"Y/N? What are you doing?"

You didn't hear him, too lost in the memories. Memories of Hydra, forcing you to do things you never wanted to. This happened from time to time if something triggered you into remembering, otherwise you had a handle on your emotions.

"Y/N?" Steve said your name again, concern evident in his voice. He gently laid a hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

Everything happened so fast after that. The feeling of someone's hand on your shoulder caused you to panic. With all the memories of Hydra in your head, your training kicked in instinctually.

You grabbed Steve's arm, pulling him closer to you for better leverage. Before he could question your moves, you flipped him, pinning him to the ground.

The second you made eye contact, you realized what just happened. Horror and regret flashed in your eyes.

In an effort to get off him, you threw yourself backward, knocking into a cart full of pots and pans. The clanging of metal hitting the ground echoed through the small room.

Steve sat up slowly, trying to register the turn of events. You sat in a ball on the floor, tears pooling in your eyes, mumbling apologies over and over again.

Sam, having heard the commotion from the pots and pans, ran into the kitchen ready to fight.

"What- What happened?" He asked in confusion, lowering his arms from their defensive position.

"I don't know." Steve looked at you, still trying to figure it out.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice was gentle, but it still startled you.

You jumped from the ground, rushing to help Steve get up. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I never wanted to hurt anyone again." Your breathing was picking up, short bursts of air leaving your lungs. Your hands were shaking as you pulled him from the ground.

Your panic increased as you took in their concerned expressions.

"Hey, look at me." Steve's Captain voice, came out, urging you to make eye contact. You followed orders, breathing rapidly, your whole body shaking.

"I'm going to touch you now, is that okay?" His words were gentle, but commanding, causing you to nod in response.

He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You wanted to explain, to tell them what happened, but all that came out was a pitiful "Bucky".

"Do you want me to get Bucky?" Sam asked, trying to understand you.

The idea of Bucky coming back caused your panic to increase. You shook your head rapidly, "No! No no no no no." You kept repeating the word, shaking in Steve's arms.

"Okay! Okay, no Bucky." Sam reassured you, voice calm and soothing.

You’re not sure how long you stood like that. Sam moved around the kitchen, cleaning up the pots and pans you had knocked over.

When your breathing steadied, Steve asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You nodded, leading the two men to the couch in the adjacent common area. You sat for a minute, unsure of where to start.

"Why don't you just lead us through it all?" Steve suggested, still rubbing your back.

You nodded, grateful for the starting point. "I went to the kitchen to apologize to Bucky."

"What for?" Sam interrupted, already confused.

"Sam! Just let her talk." Steve muttered, slightly annoyed.

"Sorry!" He glared back at Steve before turning to you, "Sorry, please continue."

You couldn't help but laugh at their banter.

"Right, I wanted to apologize for what I said the first day I met you all. I realized how it sounded, so I wanted to try and fix it." You paused, waiting for the recognition to hit them.

It didn't take long. The two men nodded, silently urging you to continue.

"Honestly, Wanda told me that was why he always seems mad at me. You have to know, I never meant for it to come across that way! It's more of a personal, 'I don't want to be violent' than shunning others for doing what's necessary." You took a deep breath, not eager to relive the conversation.

"Anyway, I told him I didn't mean it. I just couldn't explain it right, and he got upset, which makes sense!" You turned to look between them, not wanting them to think you were insulting Bucky in any way. "I don't hold what he did against him. It wasn't his choice, and I completely understand that. I just couldn't put that into words when I was talking to him, and I made everything worse."

Tears popped into your eyes again, upset at what he must be going through. You weren't with Hydra for but a tenth of the time he was, and you didn't endure the same level of brainwashing.

"He said something about some people not being able to choose not to be violent, and then he left. I don't know how long I was standing in the kitchen replaying the conversation, but it brought up bad memories for me." You sighed again, working up the nerve to tell them everything.

"Wanda and Nat already know, but I guess it's your guys's turn. This was so much easier to just have Wanda read my mind." You laughed at your own joke, the two men sharing a concerned look.

"I was taken... by Hydra. They experimented on me, gave me enhanced senses, trained me to fight, and punished me when I did something wrong." Again, tears sprung into your eyes, occasionally falling down your cheeks.

"Why wasn't this in your file?" Steve questioned, more to himself than you.

"I haven't got a clue. I guess nobody knew about me? But, I escaped. They didn't brainwash me like they did Bucky, because I don't have the serum. Or, at least, I think that's why." You shook your head, refocusing on the important parts.

"When every available Hydra agent was tasked with searching for the Winter Soldier, I took it as on opportunity. Their resources were spread thin. I was able to getaway."

You went onto explain your reasoning for joining the Avengers as a tech specialist, trying to convey the same earnestness you did with Nat.

"You can ask Nat or Wanda too. Nat found out day one, Wanda a few days ago." You wiped your tears, hoping they believed you. "Actually, Peter knows too."

"I was stuck in all those memories when you came into the kitchen. I didn't even register that you were in the room, so when you touched me I freaked out. I never meant to hurt you!"

You looked at Steve fearful that he would be upset.

"Y/N, I believe you." You cried tears of relief at his statement, genuinely exhausted from the day. "It's not your fault, and you didn't hurt me. Just caught me off guard. You're surprisingly agile when you want to be." He tried to lighten the mood, glad to hear you laugh.

"Well, I train in the middle of the night sometimes. I- I want to be able to get out if I'm ever forced back there." Your voice was quiet, admitting a secret you hadn't even told Nat.

"We won't let that happen." The sternness of Sam's voice surprised you.

"Thank you." You wiped your tears a final time, looking between the two men. "Now, what do I do about Bucky?" You refocused your energy on fixing your relationship with the super soldier.

"He never would have said what he said if he had known." Steve started the conversation, defending his friend.

"I know. I don't hold it against him, I just wish I could explain. I get so nervous when he looks at me like that." You rambled, too tired to filter your thoughts.

"Like what?" Sam asked, eager for more information to tease Bucky with.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Like he can see into my soul." You deadpanned, earning a laugh from both men. "I just want him to like me." You nearly whined, upset by your poor relationship.

"Like you, huh?" Steve grinned. Nat and Wanda chose that exact moment to walk into the room, eagerly joining the conversation.

"Barnes? Did you tell him how you feel?" Wanda squealed with excitement.

You buried your head in your hands, avoiding the knowing looks the four of them were surely sharing. "Not exactly." You gestured to your head, hoping Wanda would figure it out and share with Nat.

"Ooh... It didn't go well, basically Barnes got upset, Y/N flipped Steve and had a panic attack, then told these two everything." Wanda explained to Nat quickly, trying not to make you relive it.

"We need a plan." Nat declared.

"No, I just need to learn how to have a conversation with the man." You rolled your eyes at yourself. "I'll try talking to him again." You went to leave the room, turning around to glare at them. "And none of you can say a word of this to Bucky."

-

Despite you request, Steve still tried to talk to Bucky.

"What's up with you?" Steve questioned, trying to subtly pry into Bucky's thoughts.

"Nothing. Why?" Bucky answered in a questioning tone, trying to figure out Steve's motives.

"I heard you talked to Y/N is all. How'd it go?" He gave up on the subtle approach pretty quickly, knowing Bucky wouldn't answer a question that wasn't asked.

"How did you even hear that, punk?" Bucky deflected.

"Not the point. Answer the question."

"Not great. I messed it up." Bucky sighed, annoyed at himself for barging out of the room. "She said wanted to apologize, that she didn't mean what she said." He ran his hands through his hair, struggling to explain where it all went wrong.

"Would've been fine if I could follow what she was saying. She was rambling about me not liking her, which you and I both know isn't true. Ugh, i've never been mad at her. I'm mad at myself! At Hydra for making me a monster! How could she ever like me if she doesn't like violence? My entire past is violent." He huffed, having worked himself up again.

"You're not a monster, Buck." Steve started gently.

"I know you think that." Steve gave him a pointed glare. "I know, okay? But what does she think?"

"Maybe you should try talking to her. You might be surprised by what you learn." Steve clapped him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him, before leaving the room.

-

Everytime you tried to talk to Bucky, something got in the way. The first time, he was called in for an emergency mission before you even got the word hello out.

The second time, Tony walked into the common area, completely oblivious to the tension, and put on a movie.

The third time, Steve and Nat interrupted you. You were just about to apologize again after an awkward greeting when the elevator doors opened. The sounds of the cheerful laughter and stolen kisses didn't really set the mood for confessing your past with Hydra.

The fourth, and final time, was the most embarrassing.

You walked into the room on a mission. You were going to talk to him, no matter who decided to walk in.

"Bucky, I really need to-" and you tripped on a toy Morgan left out, causing you to tumble to the ground. That would have been embarrassing enough, but there's more.

In your effort to get up, you tripped again, hitting your head on the coffee table, causing you to bleed profusely.

"Shit." You cursed yourself, holding your hand up to your bleeding forehead.

"Are you okay?" Bucky rushed to you from the other side of the table, concerned with the amount of blood spewing from your head.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Unfortunately, you chose that moment to jokingly reference your past.

Some of the people who tortured you had a sick sense of humor. Whenever they would hit you hard enough to make you bleed, they said something about only having one head. A play on words because of the greek serpent with multiple heads.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, I'm lucky I only have one." You froze instantly, unsure if he would have had a similar experience. Slowly, you looked up in an effort to make eye contact.

Bucky was also frozen in place. Clearly he understood the reference.

"Wh- where did you hear that?" Bucky struggled with his sentence, trying not to flashback to his time at Hydra.

"Oh my god. I'm so so sorry." You instantly started apologizing, trying to backtrack. "I really need to learn when to stop fucking talking." You said more to yourself than him.

"Where did you hear it?" He asked again, putting more power behind his words.

"Um, well, i've been trying to tell you for weeks now, but um, I also kind of, have, um, well, you see-"

"Just spit it out." There was the slightly miffed Bucky you were used to.

"I was taken. By Hydra. 9 years ago. Um, they forced me to learn how to fight. Tortured me if I did anything wrong. Forced me to do things..." You trailed off, realizing you didn't need to give him many details. He has first hand experience.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off before he could say anything else.

"That's why I don't like using violence. I only know how to do that stuff because they made me learn it. I didn't want to use the skills they gave me." You took a deep, grounding breath.

"I don't blame you for anything you were forced to do. It wasn't your choice. You're not a violent person, and your past actions don't define who you are. You're here to help people. That's what you chose. That's who you are."

You made eye contact before you continued. "I've actually wanted to thank you for the longest time."

"For what?" He was incredulous, wildly caught off guard by everything you've said.

"The only reason I had an opportunity to escape was because 2 years ago, you escaped. If Hydra's resources hadn't been spread so thin trying to find you, I probably would've never got out. So thank you. For being strong enough to fight back."

You smiled at him, still unsure of how he was feeling.

"I... I'm so sorry." To say you were stunned was an understatement. What the hell could he have to be sorry about? Sure he was a little rude, but from your point of view he was completely justified in hating you.

"Bucky, you have no reason to be sorry. You didn't know, and I couldn't get out of my head enough to tell you. You just make me nervous." You clapped a hand over your mouth, shocked at having said what you just said.

You could see his face fall ever so slightly, causing you to jump back into your explanation.

"Not because I'm scared of you or anything! Hell, I could probably take you in a fight." You winked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, judging by the slight smirk on his face.

"I just, I've looked up to you for so long. Your determination to do good after everything you've been through is really inspiring. It's actually why I wanted to join the Avengers in the first place. I never would have-" You would have kept rambling if he hadn't stopped you.

"Y/N, I am sorry, and I do have reason to be. There's no excuse for what I said to you in the kitchen that day. Even if I didn't know, I threw everything you've been through back in your face. If someone had done that to me, I probably would have had a panic attack." He tried joking, but by the way you froze he could tell he struck a nerve.

"You had a panic attack? I'm so sorry! God, I just left you all alone and-"

It was your turn to cut him off. "Actually, I was kind of frozen in place until Steve touched me and I maybe threw him to the ground... Then I had a panic attack..." You smiled, trying to convey the joke. "So, I wasn't alone. Sam was actually also there. If anything, it made me better friends with both of them because I told them everything. So I have you to thank for that to." You playfully nudged his side.

He ran his hands through his hair, then down his face, clearly trying to deal with his own guilt.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. You didn't know. It happened. We're good now, so we can move on." You smiled, trying to cheer him up.

"How are you so relaxed about all of this? You were tortured for years... I..." He was genuinely curious, trying to find a way to cope with his own pain.

"Well, even before that I always thought therapy could be helpful for me, so I really jumped in full force when I was free. Plus, if you can't joke about something, you haven't really moved on. Some days are harder than others, but I just try to appreciate the people I have now and the good experiences I've been lead to." You kept the tone light, trying not to get too emotional.

He just stared at you for a few minutes, making you questions everything.

"I mean, it's totally different for you though! I was only there for 7 years, you were forced into all that for like 10 times as long. I didn't mean to belittle-"

"I think you inspire me just as much as you say I've inspired you." He cut you off again, a small smile growing on your lips.

"Well, in the spirit of our newfound friendship, can I be totally honest?" You bit your lip, nervous about telling him the truth.

He looked nervous as well, but nodded anyway.

"I kind of, maybe, sort of have a crush on you." You watched his expression carefully, although there was really no need. His face easily gave away his surprise.

"You..." He stuttered, moving his fingers between the two of you. "Me? But, I was so mean!"

"What can I say, I saw through the facade... Well, really Wanda accidentally read your mind and told me why you were so upset around me when her and Nat teamed up to get me to tell you how I feel." You rambled again, realization dawning that you accidentally outed Wanda.

"But you can't tell her I told you that! She didn't mean to! She just said you think really loud sometimes and it's hard not to hear it! She did it to me too actually, I mean I told her she could look in my head so I wouldn't have to explain everything again, I know so lazy, and that's how she confirmed my crush on you." You said it all with wide eyes at a rapid speed, unable to control yourself around Bucky.

You slapped your hands over your mouth, forcing yourself to stop talking. Bucky looked on in amusement, slowly reaching to pull your hands away from your face.

"I won't tell her, if you get dinner with me tonight." He smiled cheekily, relishing in your blush.

"That's a deal I'm willing to make." You reached your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek before running to get ready.

***

Bonus:

Sam whined playfully as he looked at the high scores. "Whose username is 'God is a spoon' and how did they get so good at this game?"

He looked around the room, eying any suspicious candidates. Everyone denied it, throwing out accusations left and right.

It was another of Tony's team bonding nights and he chose VR games on the oculus. Obviously, Beat Saber was a top contender amongst the group.

You walked in with Bucky, unaware of the conversation going on, but immediately joining it.

"Peter! I bet it was him!" You playfully nudged the younger Avenger, having formed a close friendship in the early days. "What am I betting on?" Everyone laughed, happy to see you in a good mood after being so stressed for so long.

"Whose username is 'God is a spoon'." Sam chuckled after filling you in. You and Bucky settled on the couch, cuddling next to each other.

"Oh, that's me. Why?" You looked around curiously, trying to figure out what they wanted. "Is it a weird username? It was actually one of the catchphrase things in Just Dance on the switch, I didn't just think of it." You tried to justify yourself, causing more laughter.

"You?! How did you get all the highscores on this game? I thought you were the clumsy one."

You made an exaggerated face to show how offended you were, playfully swatting at Sam.

"I'll have you know, 7 years of Hydra 'training' and experimentation has its perks." You joked with the room. "One of them being I can beat your ass at pretty much any video game."

"Oh, you're so on." Sam smiled, glad he could joke around with you about it.

Meanwhile, Tony looked incredulously around the room, being the only one in the room who hadn't heard about your history, he was rightfully confused.

"I'm sorry, 7 years of WHAT?"

[plumoh]

from our young days, part one

Rating: G

Wordcount: 5838

Summary: Kacchan isn’t nice, of course. But he doesn’t speak to Izuku the way he used to. ∟ Izuku thinks about the shift in his relationship with Katsuki—and it is scary. / post-chapter 322.

Note: AO3 link. Written as friendship but it can be pre-relationship if you want it to be. My feelings about Bakugou & Midoriya intensified greatly after ch322 and I’m still not over it :’)

Part two

Kacchan is different.

Their classmates say that he hasn’t changed a bit, that he’s still as brash and loud and mean as ever, and this is true. It’s Kacchan, after all—this is who he is, who he has been since they were little and since he’s developed his quirk.

Kacchan is gathering stray papers, water bottles and other containers to sort out their garbage, muttering all the while and shooting daggers at anyone looking his way. He does shout at Kaminari at some point, then threatens Tokoyami to rip off his feathers if he leaves around obscure objects in the common room again, and it seems his yelling is enough to make the two boys believe that things are back to normal.

“Damn, don’t get mad like that!” Kaminari groans.

“I’ll show you mad, Pikachu,” Kacchan snaps back, but his voice is slightly off.

Izuku knows Kacchan is different because he can actually tell what he’s thinking, now. He hasn’t been able to for a long time.

Kacchan isn’t mad—not as mad as he used to be, in any case—and he doesn’t seem to mind cleaning up, contrary to what his impatient words and aggressive gestures might suggest. He carefully separates the garbage, scans the room one last time, then nods to himself, satisfied. Izuku can tell all this in one glance and it has been so, so long that he fully got a grasp on what Kacchan is feeling that it’s leaving him dizzy.

Kacchan catches him staring and narrows his eyes.

“You’ve got something to say?”

Izuku startles and frantically waves his hands, looking somewhere above Kacchan’s head, anywhere that isn’t his fierce red eyes.

“N-No, nothing!” he replies. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “If you’re gonna run your mouth to say dumb shit then you’d better go to fucking bed and pass out.”

Everything feels weird. Izuku has learned to listen to words dripping with venom, disdain or anger, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself when he senses none of it.

Kacchan isn’t nice, of course. But he doesn’t speak to Izuku the way he used to.

And because of that, Izuku simply smiles, then laughs when Kacchan scoffs and turns around to hide whatever expression he’s making. Izuku isn’t sure he’s completely honest with himself, though, when his laugh sounds too shaky to his own ears.

***

It’s not that Izuku misses the screaming and the insults, because Kacchan definitely still yells at him, but it’s disturbing to watch him revert to a distorted version of his childhood friend, the one who claimed he’d become the best hero and help Izuku along the way (because duh, Deku is weaker), the one who shared with him his snacks and poorly drawn designs of hero costumes.

It’s not the attitude that changed. It’s the intention.

“You already ate your breakfast, dipshit! You think I cooked for an entire army or what?”

“But it’s so good! Why are gyoza so good first thing in the morning?”

“That’s because I made them, obviously! Now fuck off!”

“Oh wait, Midoriya hasn’t eaten yet, right? You’re keeping those gyoza for him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Soy Face!”

Izuku remains frozen at the entrance of the kitchen, suddenly very aware of his growling stomach and the imminent teasing of his classmates. Ashido is the first to notice him, a grin splitting her face in two even before she fully faces him. She waves with unnecessary enthusiasm, drawing Kacchan’s and Sero’s attention, and calls him over.

“Midoriya, just in time! A few minutes later and there would be no breakfast left for you.”

“Who said I’d have let you eat everything?” Kacchan growls.

“So you did put a plate aside for Midoriya!” Sero crows.

Explosions resound in the kitchen and both Ashido and Sero laugh, exchanging amused smiles before darting away and escaping the kitchen, fleeing Kacchan’s murderous aura. Ashido winks at Izuku while Sero briefly squeezes his shoulder, like they’re giving him some kind of encouragement or greeting a friend marching to his death, and it leaves Izuku puzzled and mildly worried. Their antics have always been a source of anxiety for anyone involved, due to the fact nobody is able to anticipate the disasters they cause.

Izuku files their strange behaviors away in his mind, and shifts on his feet as he looks at Kacchan. There are still sparks in Kacchan’s palms when he directs his glare at Izuku, who meets his gaze nervously.

“Hey, Kacchan.”

“Shut up and eat.”

Kacchan gestures towards a plate on the counter, filled with some gyoza and a side of vegetables. He doesn’t wait for Izuku’s reply, turning his back on him, occupying his now explosion-free hands with something that looks like a recipe book. Izuku is pretty sure he’s turning the pages for the sole purpose of avoiding looking at him, or engaging in any form of conversation.

That’s fine. Izuku doesn’t know what to say either.

Their days are filled with training, patrolling and planning; eating quickly has become part of their routine. He doesn’t bother taking the plate to sit in the common room, and simply stands at the counter to pick up a gyoza with the chopsticks that were already placed next to the plate. He barely remembers the last time he ate anything Kacchan cooked or baked—what he remembers is the two of them watching his mother push a tray full of cookies into the oven, excited at the idea of bringing their treats to class and boast about the fact Midoriya Inko’s cookies were the softest and the tastiest and the best. Kacchan once claimed he’d bake something even more delicious than mom’s cookies.

Izuku wonders if Kacchan managed to do it. He hasn’t caught him in the kitchen enough times to tell whether the appetizing smells wafting from it match the taste of what he prepared. Knowing Kacchan, though, he most likely mastered every dish he set his eyes on a long time ago.

The gyoza is no exception, and so are the vegetables. Izuku swallows a bite then two, then three with no pause, and doesn’t know if the choked off noises tumbling out of his mouth are the result of his eating too fast or of the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. The stuffing isn’t pork but chicken, there are mushrooms and cabbage and garlic, and it sends Izuku a handful of years back.

“It’s really good,” he says quietly.

“Of course it is, how many times do I have to tell you fuckers that I’m the best?”

“Yeah, you’re amazing.”

Kacchan swivels his head at him, his eyes a blazing red caught between disbelief and fury, like he’s using all his willpower not to set off a series of explosions in Izuku’s face. Maybe Izuku should say more often how cool Kacchan is, if he’s going to react so poorly every time he’s expressing his honest opinion.

Izuku frowns. He’s pretty sure Kacchan knows he thinks he’s amazing. He glances back at him.

“I’m being sincere,” he says.

“I know you are, that’s why it’s unsettling as hell.”

“I mentioned it before, though.”

“Yes, I remember, holy shit.”

Kacchan grits his teeth, the shadow of words forming on his lips but they’re never uttered. He opens and closes his fists several times in a motion reminiscent of his explosions, the muscles of his arms tight, then looks away. He chucks the recipe book somewhere on a shelf with alarming precision, managing not to knock anything over.

Suddenly, Izuku is struck with a disconcerting idea. Is… Is Kacchan not mad, but embarrassed? Kacchan doesn’t get embarrassed, ever. The slight tint of red on his cheeks proves otherwise though, because Izuku knows what rage looks like on Kacchan’s face, all sharp and raw—and this is not it.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku asks, “Kacchan, you’re being weird. I told you you didn’t have to force yourself.”

The reaction is immediate.

“I’m not forcing myself, shitty nerd!” Kacchan yells, twisting around to face him again. “Fuck, I’m not the one acting like someone’s been replaced by some cheap clone! Get your shit together.”

Izuku’s chest constricts at those words, and something rears its ugly head, to be let loose and free to show how unfair all of this is. Kacchan isn’t the one who is having his world turned upside down overnight. He’s not the one who has to witness strange acts of kindness towards him disguised as annoyance, or the one who has to pretend that this is the natural evolution of a relationship that has taken years to take the tiniest steps towards something barely called friendship.

Nothing changed, except it did, somehow, and Izuku is left gathering the pieces of a puzzle he has to rearrange again for it to make sense.

“You have to understand that I need to wrap my head around the fact you’re just being… you,” Izuku says around the thick lump in his throat. “That you’re a lot more friendly even if the others don’t really see it—”

“Stop fucking talking—”

“I mean! I know you’ll deny being nice because of course you’re not really nice, not by regular standards, even if you are in some way—it’s just that I didn’t expect things to change so drastically between us after you… after an apology that I haven’t even responded to.”

Horror settles on Izuku’s face as thousands of thoughts fill his mind. He has no idea what he should do. It’s terrifying.

Kacchan snaps his mouth shut. He looks even more incensed than before and maybe this was a bad idea to bring up this particular topic, even if it was shadowing every single one of their actions and words. His glare does nothing to abate Izuku’s uneasiness and his belief that this is one big hallucination.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say,” Izuku barrels on, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I never imagined that we’d one day have this kind of conversation, because everything sort of felt like we were back to being friends—to being as close as we could be, without making things worse. I’m really happy that you told me how you’ve felt all these years… but…”

Kacchan and him, at night, standing on Ground Beta, Kacchan desperately trying to hold back his tears, both of them overwhelmed with different kinds of guilt—they’ve had their conversation. They’ve had a heart-to-heart, once, a release of pent-up anger and frustration marking the start of their repairing friendship. It feels so long ago.

Izuku knows it’s not the same as last time. Last time was a battle placing them on each side of a scale, maintaining an equilibrium that was beneficial to both of them; it was a necessary step for them to go further and to become stronger. It was an understanding.

This time, Izuku feels like every word uttered in this conversation holds the world’s entire weight. His own reality might crash and burn if he says the wrong thing.

“...But it’s so sudden that I still feel like I dreamed all of this up,” Izuku finishes lamely, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

A voice suspiciously sounding like Kacchan himself is telling him he’s being stupid. The answer to his problem, to the apology, is simple and doesn’t warrant overthinking it to such an extent. People find his mumbling strange or annoying, but it’s even worse in his head where his thoughts keep buzzing and bouncing against each other, like a bad game of guessing.

“De—Izuku.”

Kacchan’s voice is quiet. As quiet as he was when he apologized. Unlike how he acts usually, but somehow still himself all the same.

“I’m fucking bad at this, and you’re bad at this,” he continues, though it sounds like it pains him to say this. “I already said everything I wanted back there. I’m not gonna repeat myself. I wasn’t even expecting you to say shit because I knew you’d be thinking about it like it’s a goddamn problem you have to solve.”

Izuku, for the first time since he woke up today, manages to put a name on the feeling that’s been pulling him down into that spiraling mess of anxiety.

He’s scared of finding out what it will all mean to him, and to Kacchan.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” Kacchan sighs, slightly bitter and angry. “I said what I wanted to because I’m fucking selfish like that, and if you have anything to say back to me then I’ll listen. But I’m not asking for it, so chill the fuck out. Shitty nerd,” he tacks on at the end.

Kacchan called him a ‘shitty nerd’ twice in the same conversation, not even trying to get creative with his usual variations of this insult. Like a token taking root in the past, insisting on its existence that is forever, and it makes Izuku want to cry when he realizes why.

The insults will never be dropped, that much is certain. Kacchan’s ways of calling out to him simply expanded. A derisive laughter bubbles in Izuku’s throat—who the hell gets so happy to still be called names?

Kacchan growls. “If you’re making fun of me—”

“No, never,” Izuku cuts him off, directing his gaze towards Kacchan. Kacchan remains as stiff and uncomfortable as he was earlier. “I’d never make fun of you. It’s just… I guess I really will have to get used to being called by my name, now.”

His lips wobble only a little when they quirk up. He’s gripping the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles are hurting and he’s probably not fooling Kacchan with his pathetic attempt at a smile. He needs to learn how to smile even when he feels he can’t anymore; even Todoroki mentioned it, when the whole class came looking for him.

And Kacchan told him it was alright to share burdens.

“Your hero name is still the fucking same, last I checked,” Kacchan retorts.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll always be Deku, in one way or another.”

“And it’s still a boring ass hero name.”

“Okay, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s eye twitches, the beginning of a snarl marring his face, but he huffs and settles on crossing his arms over his chest. He’s thinking deeply about something. Izuku has always been able to tell when Kacchan retreated into his mind to weigh all the available options presented to him to give the best answer. There isn’t a single thing that Izuku hasn’t admired about his childhood friend, despite his terrible personality and tendency to resort to violence to solve his problems. Despite everything he made him go through, to Izuku’s eyes, Kacchan shines.

“Do you really want to keep talking about this dumb shit?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku admits.

He finds that it’s surprisingly easy to say it. He doesn’t know what he wants. He has a broad idea of what he thinks he wants—upcoming days of relative peace, filled with casual chatter and the feeling of being supported through and through, laughter in people’s eyes. He’s wishing for the best future, of course, and wants everyone to come out of this battle alive and well. But this is what most people want, to survive as a society and not as a crumbling castle whose foundations are unsalvageable.

The years that are awaiting them look grim. Painful and difficult. They will always stick together, Izuku hopes.

“I don’t think we will ever stop having this conversation,” Izuku says under his breath. “Not—not after everything that happened between us.”

Izuku relaxes his grip on the counter to curl his hands into loose fists, slowly rubbing his phalanges with his thumbs. Kacchan’s gaze is burning a hole in his neck.

“I need to think.”

“You’re always thinking,” Kacchan accuses.

“Well, I need to think more.”

Kacchan remains silent, once again, leveling Izuku with a stare that might have made him shrink on himself once upon a time. Then, as if sapped of his energy, exhausted, he lets out a long sigh and shoulders past Izuku to leave the kitchen.

“Get your shit together,” he repeats.

Izuku keeps his eyes rooted on the gyoza, filled with his favorite stuffing.

***

He spends the day in a daze. His classmates all express how glad and grateful they are that he’s back with them, even though they’re being a little bit too overbearing. Izuku can’t blame them for that, but his head is still full of cotton and the thoughts about Kacchan keep playing on repeat, like a curse or a prayer or whatever it is that makes someone lose their mind.

He still hasn’t thanked Uraraka for what she did, and he still hasn’t checked up on Todoroki after what happened with Dabi. He has yet to see how Aizawa is doing. Everything is going both too fast and too slow to his liking, pulling him in one direction and then curving in another without letting him process what he has been doing for the past hour.

“Head out of the clouds, dipshit!”

Izuku snaps back to attention just in time to avoid a frankly alarming fast strip of tape rushing past him, centimeters away from his face. His heartbeat climbs up in his throat and he blinks, stunned.

"Crap, sorry Midoriya!" Sero calls out, waving his hands above his head. "I didn't think it would go that far and that fast!"

Sero has been training to control the speed and the precision of his tape. Next to him, Kirishima is lifting a hand in apology, even though he isn't the one who almost poked Izuku’s eye out, and Kaminari is grinning. Kacchan, for his part, is scowling and glaring at Izuku.

That, at least, feels familiar.

"Ah, I was the one who was distracted, don't worry about it Sero-kun!" Izuku shouts back.

"If you're not feeling well, you should go rest more," comes a monotone voice behind Izuku.

Izuku whirls around and looks up at Todoroki's blank face. Though it isn't as blank as it usually is, pinched with a slight frown conveying his worry. Izuku is well acquainted with this expression, after being on the receiving end of it for the past twenty-four hours. He smiles and shakes his head.

"It's okay, I just have a lot of thinking to do."

Todoroki cants his head to the side, eyes searching. Izuku knows that despite how unaffected Todoroki seems to be, his mind is racing with a million thoughts—and in this case, it might be best to put an end to whatever he’s thinking about Izuku before it delves into something too far-fetched.

“Are you okay?” Izuku asks quickly. “How are you holding up?”

Todoroki simply blinks at his question and shrugs.

“Fine. I’ve also had time to think things over. Still not sure if what I’m thinking is sane or not considering the situation we are in, but this is what feels right to me.”

“Huh.”

Izuku honestly didn’t expect to receive such a sincere and spontaneous answer. It feels kind of strange to hear Todoroki pour out his heart so freely when Izuku himself is struggling to get his own into order. How the tables have turned.

“That’s great,” Izuku says, reaching out and patting Todoroki’s arm. “But things are still difficult, so if I can help, don’t hesitate to come to me. Even if you just want to… vent or watch something or drink tea.”

Todoroki’s lips quirk upwards, an amused light dancing in his eyes. “Thanks, Midoriya. I just have a lot of free time on my hands to think about the events of the past few weeks.” His gaze then shifts, looking at a point behind Izuku, and asks, “Is everything alright between you and Bakugou? He keeps looking this way.”

So much for trying to direct the conversation into safe territory.

“...Yes, it’s complicated but it’s alright,” Izuku replies, glancing back at Kacchan too. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot. Just now, and to Sero, and to the whole class yesterday.”

“Because you really don’t need to worry, I’ll figure things out.”

Todoroki looks like he doesn’t believe him. Izuku wouldn’t believe himself either.

“You know I’m not good with words,” Todoroki starts, voice low and almost hesitant. “But I’m glad you and Bakugou are talking. It sounded like you both were in pain, before. When we confronted you.”

Todoroki marks a pause, probably searching for his words, while Izuku stares at him, speechless. Izuku almost forgot that Kacchan’s apology was public, and that everyone witnessed it. He suddenly feels the need to lie down.

“Is… Is that so?”

“Bakugou really wanted to tell you all of these things, I think. I’m not the best at judging how anyone is feeling, but I can tell that’s something you needed. Both of you. So I hope you will feel better soon.”

Then, as if catching on that this is not a topic that Izuku is equipped to deal with right now, Todoroki’s face twists into a small grimace and he inclines his head, before making a hasty exit and heading towards Iida.

(Izuku is almost tempted to hysterically laugh at the fact Todoroki recognized an awkward situation and removed himself from the scene before it gets worse. God, what happened in those few weeks he was gone?)

***

Throughout the day, Izuku is given snacks and listens to kind words passing as a pep talk.

His classmates spar with him and tell him how cool his quirks are, even if they casually mention they’re terrified at the idea of going up against him during their next quirk training lesson.

He’s ushered into a room with Iida and Yaoyorozu to discuss plans about maintaining a healthy routine for everyone.

Uraraka smiles at him and offers more training to help him master his float quirk.

“Oh Midoriya, good to have you train with us! The black thing was so sick!”

“Hey, you alright in here Midoriya? Looked like you were lost in thought.”

“Midoriya-kun, let us know if you need anything! It’s a shame you can’t walk around campus freely for now.”

“How do you feel today?”

“Here is a snack for you, Midoriya-san.”

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, and lets out a long exhale.

***

“That’s what fucking Dek—Izuku did last time and he tripped to his death, but be my guest to try that again.”

“That’s useful training for when we are restrained and can’t move freely.”

“So that excuses the stupid idea of tying your feet with a fucking rope and jump around like a dumb rabbit?”

"Like I said, it's good training."

"Go the fuck away, Icyhot."

Todoroki shrugs and proceeds to ignore Kacchan, sitting down on the hard ground of the gym and tying, with meticulous care, a short rope around his ankles. They’ve all spent hours doing various tasks and training all afternoon, and are most likely tired by this point. Izuku has a bad feeling about this.

"Uh…"

Both gazes zero in on him, while he’s standing at the entrance of the gym, and if Todoroki simply nods in acknowledgment, Kacchan narrows his eyes and looks kind of… intense. Izuku doesn't have a better word for it. Kacchan always looks intense but this is definitely on the far end of the intensity spectrum.

"What?" Kacchan barks.

"I think that Kacchan is right, Todoroki-kun," Izuku says.

"Of course I'm right."

"It's good training," Todoroki repeats on the same toneless inflection.

"Maybe, but I don't want you to get unnecessarily hurt."

Todoroki frowns. Izuku sometimes forgets he's as stubborn as Kacchan or himself.

“Why are you here, nerd? Thought you’d be stuck outside with the other extras,” Kacchan asks, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and looking detached from what is happening around him.

Perhaps Izuku is truly the one who is making things weird, if Kacchan is able to keep talking to him like yesterday and the day before didn’t shift Izuku’s world two inches to the left. Having someone else present during their conversations makes it easier to pretend that nothing changed, and somehow the easy banter between Kacchan and Todoroki soothes Izuku’s nerves.

“I… appreciate their concern, but it got a bit overwhelming,” Izuku admits, biting the inside of his cheek.

Kacchan snorts. “Figures. So your solution was to go hang out with dumbass over there who will likely need medical assistance in five seconds?”

“Your lack of faith wounds me, Bakugou,” Todoroki interrupts.

“Good. I don’t care.”

“I didn’t know you two were in the gym,” Izuku mutters.

Todoroki glances at him, frown still in place and eyes assessing.

“Do you want to try walking around with your feet bound?” Todoroki calmly asks.

“He just told you it was a bad idea, fucking idiot—”

“You’ll never know unless you try—”

“You’re so fucking stupid, why am I wasting my time talking sense into your brain that’s clearly empty—”

Kacchan makes a move towards the rope while Todoroki backs away as fast as his bound feet allow him to, and it quickly devolves into arms slapping at each other and kicks that look half-hearted, given how weak they are. Insults are muttered and at least one bad word leaving Todoroki’s mouth makes Kacchan want to wring his neck.

It reminds Izuku of petty fights breaking out in the classroom over a stupid topic, or a food war starting in the cafeteria because someone stole the last tempura in the plate. It’s harmless and sort of normal, and Todoroki and Kacchan have started to get into weird spats seemingly for the sake of it, since their remedial classes. Well, to be more accurate, Kacchan blows up and Todoroki defends himself with varying degrees of energy.

Izuku watches all of this unfold before his eyes, and he can’t help it. He bursts out laughing, unbridled joy bubbling in his throat and coming out in a full-blown laugh that makes him bend over like he’s not in control of his body anymore. His voice carries over the entire gym, and he’s dimly aware of the fact Kacchan and Todoroki stopped their scuffle in favor of staring at him with wide eyes.

“S-Sorry! It’s just… You guys never change,” Izuku explains through peals of laughter. “It’s nice to see.”

“Did you seriously think we’d become new people?” Kacchan grunts. “You were gone for a couple of weeks, not for years, Izuku.”

The syllables of Izuku’s name sound so clear and confident, when pronounced by Kacchan. It sounds completely different from the other times Izuku has heard him say it in the past few days, almost like there is now a triumphant ring to it. Like something was conquered and uttering the name was the prize.

If in the morning he only felt confusion and dread, scared of what is going to happen in the immediate future, Izuku feels much more relieved and warm now. He did make things more complicated for himself than they really were.

“No,” Izuku answers, wiping at his eyes. “Yeah, I wasn’t thinking. Well, I was thinking, but my logic went a bit astray.”

Kacchan scoffs, but doesn’t add anything else. He keeps his eyes locked on Izuku, and if Izuku looks carefully, if he pays attention to the details that matter, he notices that Kacchan is less hunched over himself and doesn’t display his usual sneer meant to scare away the weaklings (his words, not Izuku’s). And if Izuku wants to feel even bolder, he’d consider the slight twitch of Kacchan’s lips a smile.

Izuku doesn’t comment on it. He watches, analyzes and catalogs all these small adjustments that seem inconsequential but also grander than they are, all these glaring changes that should have turned his world upside down but in the end didn’t make any ripples.

Todoroki’s eyes go from Izuku to Kacchan, and back again. The corner of his lips quirk upwards.

***

At dinner, everyone chatters about the day’s events and how impatient they are to hear from the pro heroes. Waiting for news while being kept in the dark is probably the most infuriating thing in existence; Izuku understands how his classmates felt and how desperate they were to do something, to occupy their mind and not to stay idle.

Everyone is keeping a strict schedule to stay healthy and to plan group activities better. Going to bed early is a challenge for some of them, but for the most part, Izuku sees that exhaustion is what prompts them to turn in for the night. They’re all working hard—nobody wants to be left behind.

When Kacchan gets up to go back to his room, Izuku jumps on his feet and crosses the common room in three leaps and grabs his wrist. Kacchan casts him a nasty glare.

“Let’s go outside,” Izuku says before Kacchan gets the chance to shout. “We didn’t finish this morning’s conversation, so…”

Kacchan’s face loses its sharpness the slightest bit, then he raises an eyebrow. “You said we’ll never finish that conversation.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean we can’t resume it once in a while.”

“I dunno how much progress we can make when all you’ve done is think for a single fucking day.”

Izuku smiles sheepishly. “Sometimes that’s all I need to do.”

“Ain’t that a fucking first.”

“Come on, Kacchan. You’re being difficult on purpose.”

Izuku tugs at the wrist, and he expects Kacchan to wrench it away or to yell at him for treating him like a child. Instead, Kacchan curls his own fingers around Izuku’s wrist, and gently pushes it away. His fingers are warm and solid and strong against Izuku’s skin.

“When have I ever made life easy for you?” Kacchan smirks. “Let’s fucking go, then, shitty Izuku.”

There he is, Izuku thinks, feeling his eyes fill with stars and wonder. There his Kacchan is, the one that’s not from the past but also not the one that he has been going to UA with all this time. It’s the Kacchan of the present, all rough edges and no soft apparent openings, put together from different points in time of their relationship that shape who he is, without pretenses and weak reasonings. Izuku understands and he’s immensely glad that he finally does.

They bypass some of their classmates who shoot them curious or worried glances, but Izuku simply waves at them with a smile, and follows Kacchan outside the dorms. They can’t go too far from the building, so Izuku elects a patch of grass as a good place to stand and to talk. It seems they’re not really good at sitting down and remaining still.

“This morning was weird and I don’t think my brain was fully awake,” Izuku says softly. “But it’s all good now. I got a clearer idea on everything.”

Kacchan is fixing him with a stare that is not quite a glare, but he looks mildly out of his comfort zone. He probably has nothing else to add to the conversation, but he’s still willing to listen, like he promised, and for that Izuku is extremely grateful.

“I was… afraid of things changing,” he continues. “Which is a bit silly since we’ve known each other our whole lives but… I didn’t know what to expect, I guess. Like you said, I was overthinking it.”

Kacchan snorts. “Of course you were.”

Izuku smiles. “Things did change before, when you found out about One for All. And it turned out alright, so this time isn’t any different.” Izuku pauses, searching for his words. He should be honest too. “I won’t lie to you, though. It was kind of a shock when you apologized.”

Something on Kacchan’s face twitches violently and Izuku doesn’t know if it’s anger or guilt, so he keeps talking to wipe that expression off Kacchan. He shakes his head.

“My own reaction scared me, and this was what took me so long to just… accept whatever development happened. Sorry, Kacchan.”

“I knew you were going to give me a goddamn apology when that’s completely unnecessary,” Kacchan mutters, scrunching up his nose. “Don’t fucking apologize, I’ll explode your face, you bastard.”

“You said you were selfish for saying all these things, so I’m selfish too for apologizing!”

“That’s not even remotely close to what I meant!”

“Yes, it is! Hey, you said you’d listen if I wanted to answer you, right?”

“You’re such an annoying piece of shit, De—Izu—D—Fuck you!”

Kacchan is glowering and setting off small explosions in his hands, teeth bared, but his aggressivity is rendered null by his reddening cheeks and ears. Izuku’s lips are stretching into a grin so wide his face is going to stay stuck like this for the rest of his life.

“It’s okay, Kacchan. Take your time.”

“Do you want me to kick your ass so bad or what? Shut up!”

Izuku laughs, unrestrained, ducking his head when Kacchan tries to grab his head and waltzing away.

“My hero name is still ‘Deku’, I don’t mind if you keep calling me that.”

“You don’t listen to people when they talk, huh?! Don’t tell me what to call you! Fucking Deku! Shitty Izuku!”

“See? That’s totally fine!”

“You’re really fucking with me—”

Kacchan makes a noise that hasn’t been recorded as human yet, and throws his arms up in the air, clearly exasperated. Exasperated, but not angry. The sharpness of his eyes always burns but at this moment, Izuku recognizes as well the gentle glint in them—Kacchan isn’t only jagged edges and unpolished gemstone meant to be refined. And the both of them are alright, for now, despite their unfinished conversation and the unspoken expectations of the path their friendship is going to take. It will be a topic for another day.

“Don’t think I’ll start going easy on you,” Kacchan remarks.

“I’d never entertain that idea. You always give your best.”

“Damn right I do.”

A lull. They stand together, staring at each other, like they’re cataloging every detail on a face displaying new resolve and understanding previously incomplete.

“I’m really glad we talked and cleared things up,” Izuku says.

Kacchan pulls a face, like he doesn’t want to answer. Then, “Yeah, whatever. That was long overdue. I’m going to bed.”

And Izuku doesn’t stop him, doesn’t point out the awkwardness, just waits for him to start heading back before falling into step beside him. They remain silent, but it’s not suffocating; it’s quiet, the tranquility enveloping them in a sense of safety they haven’t had the chance to bask in in a while.

Izuku is content. His mind isn’t racing with thousands of thoughts anymore, and his body still tingles with pleasant warmth that is synonymous to plain, simple happiness.

Kacchan is here, walking with him, and they have a long way to go still, but for now Izuku feels at peace, in the new chapter of his life.

[tiamatsan]

It's February when Damien gets his first fact. He's not sure when exactly it happened, only that it's after patrol when he first finds it. The words scrawled on the inside of his right wrist.

Damien is nine, but he'll be turning ten in August.

Even the annoyance in knowing that he is younger than his intended soulmate does nothing to diminish the warmth growing in his chest as he traces the childish words so newly formed on his skin.

I want to be an astronaut when I grow up!

Damien doesn't even realize he's smiling until Richard brings it up. A quick dagger thrown at Richard's head swiftly distracts everyone. Damien knows it's only a matter of time before the rest of his inquisitive family finds out, but until then this little piece of his soulmate is for him alone.

The following year finds Damien checking his wrist nearly every hour of the day. His actions do not go unnoticed by his family. Damien has been fielding probing questions and teasing remarks from his family for days.

So what Todd, if Damien developed an interest in graphology and spent a few hours copying his intended's handwriting into his good sketchbook? It's only practical that Damien start a file of everything he knows about his intended. Father has files about each of them and Drake kept photos about each of his soulmate's facts.

Obviously, Richard, getting Father to invest in cleaning up Gotham's pollution is mutually beneficial in keeping Poison Ivy from staging another Eco-raged induced terrorist attack, and helps improve the overall health of Gotham's citizen. It has nothing at all to do with the new observatory and space program being funded by the Wayne's Science and Tech grants that designed specifically to offer a wider range of scholarship programs for people across the country.

Drake, with the exception of Pennyworth, has been the most tolerable of Damien's family members in that he's the only one to not bother Damien about it yet. It doesn't mean that Damien hasn't notice how often Drake has been to the manor for the past few days, or the slight smile he tries to hide behind that monstrosity that Drake calls coffee that he never stops drinking.

Damien knows it's Drake's doing that somehow, on this particular day, none of the bats are doing their normal patrol. Instead, here they are in the manor having a "family dinner" that would normally have happened later in the month.

So there's nothing Damien can do when in the middle of reaching for a serving of roasted vegetables that the words on his wrist squirms.

Brown's over exaggerated gasp snaps the entire family focus onto him.

"What's it say Dami??"

"Yeah, is your soulmate a vegetarian like you are?"

"Psh, this is the Demon brat's soulmate. It probably says something like, "I like knives" knowing our luck."

"Oh hush, you boys are so unimaginative. I bet it says something like how Damien's soul mate is a prince!"

"How would that even make any sense? I bet it says something dumb like, "I like chocolate"."

"Father."

"Yes son?"

"We will need to adopt more dogs."

Damien can't help the warmth growing in his chest as he leaves the table. Mind already going over which shelter dogs were available for adoption as he absentmindedly ran his thumb over the new words on his wrist. It seems his soulmate had more in common with him than Damien thought.

I love dogs!

Learning from the mistakes from the past two years. Damien resolves himself to spending the day in his room. Pennyworth has been very accommodating and has been helping Damien turn down the increasingly obvious attempts by his family to get him to leave his room. It's only thanks to Pennyworth that Damien even has this little moment of peace.

Exactly as Damien had expected. He watched as the words on his wrist squirm. He felt the anticipate build as he wonder what he would learn this time.

Was his soulmate a vegetarian like he was? Did his soulmate have siblings? Was there a particular season that they liked best?

All of the facts that Damien had gotten so far hadn't help all that much in narrowing down who exactly his soulmate is. It was incredibly frustrating that the facts could cover something as small as what his soulmate's favorite color is. To something as important, like their name. As far as Damien could tell, no one had figured out why certain facts where shared over others. Whatever he got, Damien wasn't a trained detective for nothing. He would find his soulmate no matter what.

I hate Christmas.

.... Perhaps it would be wise to ask his equally trained detective family for help on this one.

By the time February rolls around this year, most of the family are too distracted by their own cases to really bother Damien about his soulmate. They still made it a point to ask about it, but they're not hovering like they did in the past.

Damien is glad for the change as the only people in the house is himself, Pennyworth, and Father. There's no need to hide away in his room, so Damien finds himself painting. He's been painting landscapes lately. The view of the manor's ground, as seen at night. So far away from the city, the sky above the manor is the clearest it gets in Gotham.

It's challenging, to keep his wrists clean while he mixes so many different shades of black. Damien's having trouble finding one with a cool enough tone that matches the way the moonlight reflects off the manor windows without making the painting as a whole feel gloomy.

When the words start squirming on Damien's wrist, he's calm as he sets if palette down. Damien's hoping that this time he gets something a little more helpful in tracking his soulmate down.

When the words settle Damien feels like the ground has dropped out from beneath his feet. It's only years of training that forces his feet to move. He's running for the study while his mind races. There are protocols that he's been forced to memorize, but none of them will help. Because, even though Damien had 4 years to find his soulmate, Damien still didn't even know what his soulmate's name even is. He doesn't even know if his soulmate is a boy or a girl. He doesn't know!

The elevator dings open and Damien all but sprints towards the bat computer. Father is there, not on active patrol due to a twisted ankle from a fight earlier that week. He's supposed to be resting, but it had been a fight to get him to even agree to sit and act as support to Oracle for the night.

It is only because Father had moved automatically to make space for Damien that Damien didn't shove him to the side.

"Father," Damien hates how his voice trembles. Hates how the words he wants to say gets stuck in his throat. He doesn't have time, so instead Damien simply raises his wrist and turns it so that Father can read the words easily. He watches as Father reads the words, watches as he pales, lips turning down even as his eye sharpens with a focus and intensity that impressed even the Demon head.

"Damien," Father sounds as grave as Damien feels.

"Help."

I'm going to die soon

Soulmate au where after you and your soulmate both turn 10, you get a fact about your soulmate somewhere on your body in their handwriting and most commonly used language (ie if someone primarily speak French, their fact could be ‘Ma couleur préférée est le violet.’, which could appear on their soulmate) Every year, a new fact takes the place of the first one, in updated handwriting, all written in black. When you meet your soulmate, the color changes to their eye color.

[mammonshuman92]

- It Takes Two - Pt. 2

(Mammon x Gn!MC)

Genre: angst to fluff (the fluff is coming I promise lol)

Warnings: cheating, not proof read , if i missed any TW’s I apologize

“We’re a little busy right now.” A familiar voice, biting and arrogant, came from his lap. His eyes widened, whipping his head around to look at you in his lap. Except it wasn’t you. It was her. His heartbeat accelerated as panic began to set in.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He chanted, standing up in an instant, causing the succubus to fall to the floor with a thud and a few profanities. As events began to unfold and the puzzle pieces started fitting together; when it was already too late, he realized what he’d done. A hard lump instantaneously forming in his throat. He turned to you, eyes wide with terror, hands on either side of his head tangling in his hair.

“MC..I..I-It’s not wh- I thought-” He choked out.

He followed your line of sight, which was glued to his undone pants and obvious arousal. With shaky hands and fingers unwilling to cooperate, he fumbled with his zipper, struggling to get it up. Arms from behind snaked around his middle, gently clawing at his chest. 

“Shall we finish what we started?” She hummed seductively, staring daggers directly at you.

You shook your head, a sob escaping your lips as a fresh wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. You brushed past Asmo, disappearing out the doorway.

What’s goin’ on..? ...This can’t be happenin’..

He shoved the girl’s arms off of him without saying a word, a scowl spreading across her face. He made a beeline for the door, Asmo quickly stepping in front of him to block his way. “Don’t. You’ve done enough..” With venom lacing his tone, he looked the succubus up and down. He turned his glare on his brother for just a moment, the utter disgust they held was evident, before running out the door after you. As his figure disappeared, Mammon could feel the reality, the weight of the situation setting in.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage, breathing becoming erratic. The lump in his throat was unwavering, choking him as tears streamed down his cheeks. The gravity of it all bringing him to his knees.

“How moving.” The voice behind him scoffed, reminding him of her presence, “It almost seems like you love them.”

His head whipped around to see her, lounging casually on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

“You.” He growled, harshly wiping his face with the back of his hand as he stood up.

 “Stay the fuck away from me!” He snarled.

She laughed lightly as she stood from the couch, crossing the floor until she was right in front of him. “Don’t be like that. Ten minutes ago you were ready to nail me on that couch.” She purred, her finger trailing down his chest, quickly moving lower. Like a flash, he grabbed her wrists and held her hands up in the air in front of her.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you right now. I don’t want ya. I only made out with you and shit because I thought ya were MC. I would never willingly do anything to hurt them.” He glared at her, making sure she caught that emphasis, before dropping her hands. “Your jealousy bullshit, and making moves on me while I’m drunk just made me lose the one thing that has ever been good about me..” He trailed off, releasing his grip in her.

She rolled her eyes, “Why are you getting so worked up over a human? There’s nothing special about-”

“Excuse me?” He growled. 

Mammon has always been the level-headed one when it comes to altercations, believe it or not. He never usually lets his anger get the best of him. After thousands of years of being the scummy brother, the thief, the loser, he got used to just letting people’s words fall upon deaf ears, so to say. But, that was not the case this time. You see, anyone could say whatever they wanted to about him, he didn’t care. He could handle whatever was thrown at him. 

You, on the other hand? Well, you’re flawless. In every miniscule way, you were perfect. That’s not saying that you don’t make mistakes, or drive him crazy sometimes, but to him there was absolutely not a thing about you he would change. Everything you did, everything you were, was absolutely immaculate.

Rage bubbled in his gut.

Leaning in closely, he towered over her, radiating ire. “I’m not gonna sit here and discuss why you’re wrong, seein’ as how it’d take all day, but what I am gonna to say is for a lesser demon, ya might wanna reconsider who you’re talking to. He spat, “Say one more thing about MC, and it’ll be the last time ya speak..” He whispered, glaring at her for a moment before taking a step back.

“Stay away from me and MC.” He warned once more, daggers in his eyes as he turned and bolted through the door.

If he had any shred of hope left, it was that you would talk to him and let him explain everything. He knew it was shitty, after everything that just went down, to even consider the possibility of you forgiving him, but he held onto that little shred of hope. Had he been in the right state of mind, had she not taken advantage of the situation and the state he was in, he would’ve never even stayed in the same room with that girl, much less go as far as he had.

He felt awful. Whether he was so drunk he was convinced it was you on his lap or not, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. After seeing the horror, the heartbreak on your face; the tears that stained your cheeks because of something he’d done, he kinda didn’t want you to forgive him. He didn’t want to lose you, couldn’t imagine continuing on without you in his life, by his side. But if you hated him now, he wouldn’t blame you. He deserved it. And he would live with it for the rest of his existence, knowing that he messed up his only chance at true happiness; at spending his life with his soulmate.

-

You bobbed and weaved as quickly as you could through the crowd of club patrons, needing to get far away from here as fast as you could, as your impending breakdown was sure to be a sight to see.

You were already so out of it; physically present but mentally, your brain had already shut off. Not quite sure how to handle the current situation. All the faces in the club were just a blur; you could feel the bass of the music reverberating inside your chest, but you couldn’t hear anything. Kind of like when you’re somewhere so quiet, the absence of sound feels so heavy, deafening.

You had to get out of here. Heart hammering wildly, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe; like the walls were closing in on you. A panic attack was setting in. Finally free of the sea of people, you darted out the front door of the establishment, running as fast as your legs would take you back to the House of Lamentation. Hoping that no one else would be home to see you; becoming witness to your unraveling.

-

*bing*

*bing, bing* *bing*

Your D.D.D. continued going off with near constant notifications well into the night. You could’ve just put it on silent, but you just couldn’t seem to move, frozen by heartbreak. Apparently several pictures were going viral on Devilgram, leaking this rumor and that regarding the second born and the succubus. Further making you look and feel like a complete fool.

Mammon had also been blowing up your phone since you made it back to the HOL. He had even come by your room in an attempt to talk to you but once he realized the door was locked, which had never happened the entire time you’ve lived here, he sat outside the door begging you to open it as loud sobs escaped him. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t budge.

Of course you still love him. How could you not? Hearing his desperate pleas and heartbroken sobs was almost too much for you. Although you were the one who had been betrayed, you wanted nothing more than to fling the door open, latch yourself onto him and never let go. But you couldn’t. Cheating is a dealbreaker. It’d happened before, in previous relationships, but shit this one hurt so bad, worse than any other heartbreak you’d had.

He had his faults, much like everyone, but he was so perfect for you, and treated you like you’d always dreamed. This couldn’t really be the end could it? Over, just like that? Completely smitten and in love two days ago, to heartbroken, crying on the bathroom floor. 

How are you supposed to move on from this? He’s your best friend. Or, was. How are you supposed to pass him in the hall, or eat dinner, or have House movie nights in the common room? How are you supposed to act like you're not still in love with him..?

-

The next week was pretty rough, to say the least.

You stayed locked away in your room when you weren’t at RAD; replaying the moment you saw them together, crying until the tears no longer fell; effectively torturing yourself. They’d all come knocking at your door countless times, trying their best to make you feel better. And while you appreciated it wholly, it didn’t help.

Avoiding Mammon was probably one of the hardest things you’d ever done, seeing as how you kinda live together. While it was extremely hard not to just run up to him and latch onto him like you always did, it seemed harder to just avoid him in general. 

During the first few days, he left small presents outside your door, had a couple of his brothers slip you notes, and waited for you after class a few times. After using every ounce of your willpower to avoid him, he left you alone. He still messaged you several times a day though, apologizing profusely, begging you to talk to him.

But, it was better this way right? Like ripping off a band-aid? 

That’s what you’d always heard anyway. Instead of asking questions and demanding answers as to why someone else chose to hurt you, you just cut it off right there, ghosting them; removing yourself completely from their life. Because if they truly cared, really loved you, they wouldn’t make the conscious decision to do something that they know would hurt you, that stepped outside the boundaries of your relationship. Their reasoning doesn’t matter. Aside from living in the same house and attending the same school, you had pretty much ghosted him.

In public anyway. In the privacy of your room, where you could feel everything to its fullest, you’d spend hours going through pictures, skimming Devilgram for any new gossip about the two of them. Re-reading your old text messages, finger hovering over the send button of the text you’d typed out a hundred times before deleting it and tossing your phone, a new wave of tears pricking your eyes.

-

Unable to sleep, he’d tossed and turned in his bed so much that his body ached and one of the corners of his sheet had popped off the bed. With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and grabbed his D.D.D. off the nightstand. Squinting his eyes harshly when he unlocked the phone.

“3:41am” He groaned, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand. He turned back over, facing the empty side of his bed. Sure, he didn’t often share it before you, but once you started sleeping together, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever slept before you came along. It just felt right. Your body molded against his, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

His hand trailed down the cold, empty sheets; the slight disruption releasing your smell. A hard lump formed in his throat as tears pooled behind his lash line. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and grabbed a pair of pajama pants, making his way to the door. If he had any hope of being able to fall asleep again, he’d need some help drowning his thoughts.

He quietly made his way to the kitchen, fully intending to turn up the bottle of Demonus Lucifer kept hidden in the dark recesses of the pantry. As soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen, he froze.

It had only been seven days, but it felt like a lifetime. Seven days without being in the same room as you for more than just a moment before you ran in any direction as long as it was away from him. Not that he could blame you. He wanted to run away from himself..

Which is exactly what he was determined to do with Demonus, had he not stumbled upon you sitting with your back to the fridge, crying into a half eaten container of chocolate frosting. 

Immediately alerted to the figure in the doorway, you jumped up, attempting to wipe at your face as you muttered an apology, but paled when you saw who it was that disturbed you. You slowly sat the container on the counter, keeping your eyes fixed on the man in the doorway.

What was left of his heart, shattered at the sight of you. Your eyes were puffy and red with dark bags underneath them. The same eyes that looked at him with such deep burning love, were now dull and lifeless as you stared at him. You were visibly broken, anyone could see that. He was the reason you looked like this; like an abandoned puppy, beaten and abused. He hated it. Hated himself.

He moved out of the doorway and into the kitchen, freeing up the only way out in case you wanted to run. Not that he blamed you. If he could run from himself right now, he would.

But, now you were in the same room together for the first time in a week and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Maybe if he just started talking you would listen, even just a tiny bit to what he had to say.

“MC, I-”

“Don’t.” Your voice trembled slightly as your eyes began to sting.

“Please, just hear me-”

“And what are you going to say, hm? That you’re sorry? Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught?” You hissed with tears in your eyes. Mammon slightly recoiled from the tone of your voice, a tone he’d never heard from you. You hated being this way; angry and bitter, wanting him to hurt like you did. It was surely petty, but you didn’t care.

“MC, listen, I swear I didn’t do anythin’, okay? I was still goin’ strong from an all night drinkin’ binge, an-and she just showed up in the VIP lounge. I told her to fuck off but she didn’t listen. I was already pretty out of it when things started happenin’ and I thought it was you. I thought it was you the whole time! I-I didn’t know it was her till I heard you and Asmo and realized what happened! She took advantage of the situation, of me bein’ way too drunk..” He was talking so fast, trying to get out the words he’d been wanting to say to you. 

Narrowing your eyes, you stared at him suspiciously.

What if he really didn’t do it on purpose..? If all of that is true, it would explain why he looks so rough..

Having barely stayed in the same room as one another for several days and not wanting to look at him, wanting to remain strong and now cry in front of everyone, you hadn’t noticed but how awful he looked as well. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping well, judging by the giant bags under his eyes. Not to mention that he is also currently awake at 4am, looking just as much like shit as you did.

“Then why is it all over Devilgram that it’s been an ongoing fling?” You questioned, a few tears escaping.

“I would never do anythin’ like that, MC! She’s just jealous or somethin’, I don’t know what her issue is.. But, I-I love ya, more than anythin’ in the three realms. Even Goldie!”

You could feel yourself caving in with every word he said. It made sense, judging by how she’d randomly confronted you after school that day after whispering about you with her friends all day, it seemed like jealousy could be plausible. But what proof did you have? It was his word against what you saw with your own eyes. Not to mention everything on Devilgram.

“Funny, from where I was standing, it sure looked like I was the last thing on your mind.” You hissed, causing him to flinch; but he wasn’t backing down yet.

“Just let me prove it to ya, okay? I-I’ll do whatever I gotta do. Please, MC?” His deep, sapphire blue eyes bore deep into yours; the sorrow, the agony they held was immense. The crack in your armour deepened.

He could see that you were wavering, but that you were hesitant, scared to believe him; to trust him. He couldn’t blame you. If he were on the other side of all this, he wouldn’t believe his words either. He didn’t expect you to just hear him out then jump into his arms and ride away into the sunset. He knew better. He knew he’d have to prove it. He was more than willing to do whatever it would take for you to trust him again, to believe that he’d never hurt you intentionally.

He took a step toward you, careful and anxious, as if you would bolt if he moved too suddenly. He reached out for your hand slowly, reluctant at first but upon realizing how much you’d missed his touch as his warm, much larger hand enveloped yours, you caved so easily.

He squeezed your hand lightly, looking down at your entwined fingers, gently rubbing the side of your thumb. You felt something wet hit your hand a couple times, realizing quickly that they were tears, you attempted to swallow the lump in your throat that was quickly forming.

“Please? I’m miserable without ya..” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Even after everything that’s happened the last week, you couldn’t stand to see him in such pain; miserable and broken. Just like you.

Sure, he was always stand-offish about his feelings and the like before you got together, but once it was all official, that was it; the walls came down. There had never been a single time that he lied to you or went behind your back with anything. He lasted exactly twelve minutes after buying your birthday present before he couldn’t take it anymore and spilled the beans. 

He’s always a goofball, sometimes has bad timing and isn’t always the best with words, but he’s never given you a reason not to trust him before; he’s never been anything but an amazing boyfriend that genuinely tries his hardest to make you happy.

“One.” You whispered, barely audible. His head snapped up, deep blue eyes scanning yours. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, yet shaky breath.

“One chance. That’s it.”

No sooner than the words left your lips, Mammon was pulling you flush to his chest in a bone crushing hug. Had you not been utterly craving his touch, to be held by him, you would’ve pushed him away. That’s what you told yourself anyway.

“I won’t make ya regret it, MC.” He earnestly swore, squeezing you gently.

For the sake of your heart, you hoped he was right.

~ taglist ~

@ithinkimdekubutreallyimdenki

@maybe-nott

@bandaged-despair

@bokuto7stan

@aliackerman

- part three coming soon -

[midnightscxre]

The trained mask of indifference she had perfected for years cracked like fragile porcelain, exposing a reaction angry and envious, irritated and frustrated, for just a second. . . but according to her rules, a second too long.The very idea that has now blossomed into a shattering scene, colorful sickening picture of female bodies happily grinning around Vince while their fake nails scratched the broad shoulders, brought a rush of disgust from the stomach all the way to the mouth, the heartburn of anger and jealousy devoured the soft walls of the throat like acid. She had never experienced this sensation before, a strong emotion that bordered on hatred but had sharper daggers, aimed more at the heart and less at the stomach, centered somewhere in the middle of the chest, where they say is the center of the soul and the node of the emotional network.

Woman with crimson locks wanted to scoff at his question, to laugh, to eat him alive with an answer full of indifference, but not a sound left her otherwise hasty tongue. The only thing she could imagine were scenes of breaking bones, when this time she was the star of the fight where every female who dared even to blink with their plastic eyelashes at him ended up limping away. " Does it bother you that I don't? " Forcing it out, storm over the green fields of her irises raged further. " Not used to being the one left in the room without even a 'bye, thanks for the quickie ' ? Must have been quite a shock not having your phone filled with missed calls the morning after. Did that ego of yours finally take a hit that knocked it out? " Every single word a filthy lie to secure the survival of the most important thing she nurtured -- the fatal pride.

Being the last one standing had a very different meaning when it came to Clare, it was literal, crucial -- something as holy to her as ten commandments were to believers. However, the bits and pieces of hope in her tried to sing to the common sense, scanning the tone and words of the man along with the direct look of his cornflower irises. They didn't seem dishonest, corrupted by the same pride, fraudulent . . . Clare felt the sting of regret for the hostile behavior, that made the confusion rise like a tide. This was a game where the rules were unknown to her, every move seemed to be as wrong as she believed it was right, and silent whispers about following sorrow and loneliness raised the hairs on her neck. And above all . . . bite of his ego was not flavoursome, it was sour, dry, like ash that stuck to the razor sharp teeth. There was no joy in hurting him. Not even a crumb of it.

Wrinkled circles around the small button nose on his second try to vindicate himself from blame, one she believed even less. There was no secret in the fact Castello favored the ashy blond male, Vince was the golden goose, the seemingly indestructible soldier, the money making machine that was brilliant in what he did, and loved it openly, however, Clare was certain the older male would never turn him into a boy scout, delivering ' cookies of concern 'to her doorstep. If Castello wanted Vince somewhere, it was in the makeshift ring, breaking jaws and causing severe concussions. And if he wanted to know where she is, well, a call as usual would be enough. Avoiding to reveal the true agenda drove the ruby haired woman close to the edge of the abyss of madness. Patience never her strong trait.

Just when she was about to strike again, the male moved, and with it, caused the muscles in the hourglass shape to turn to stone. Oxygen escaped the lungs that didn't draw another portion of that life-important chemical element. Jade green orbs fell to the lips that were the key of her prison for past few weeks. Not even being aware that the show white teeth captured the lower lip and abused it nervously, Clare recalled every dream that covered her mind like a veil of necessity in the last twenty one days from the day she tasted his kisses. The dreams were progressing with each night, adding more nectar of seduction. It was not solely his body that she craved, it was his soul and mind. Imagination forging scenarios to answer her deepest, hidden interest. So many questions she had for him, so much of what she was dying to know, and yet interdicted herself the privilege to ask. Expanding the canvas and paint of knowledge about him only would result in more unjustified longing. . . or so she believed it was, baseless.

" I think th -- "

Thump, thump, thump. . .

Sharp knock echoed through the dimly lit hallway and ate the woman's words away. Swiftly turning the head, Clare glared at the shadows from where the sound came. Rarely she had visitors, never actually, so two in one night was not likely. There was only one logical explanation.

" Another note Susan? I told you where it will end if I find it on my door again. Right where the sun does not shine!"

Susan Lee, middle aged Asian woman with thin nerves and overwhelming hatred for anything that produces sound. The war started when Clare moved in, and naturally, the electric guitar released its thunderous sound penetrating the thick concrete walls -- instantly making Susan's blood to boil. Ironically, for such a noise-despiser, Susan owned three Siamese cats that meowed non-stop, sound also hearable to the neighbors, but of course, that could not possible be an issue. However, like any hypocrite, Susan demanded peace and quiet from everyone else, leading her to Clare's door one night . . . at that was a big mistake. Susan never ran so fast in her life like she did that night, learning the fiery redhead was far more disturbing than the notes she played on that electric instrument. So, Susan decided to staple a note to her door instead, knocking and running away -- like every other ' brave ' person would. Clare was ready to unleash her growing wrath when an unexpected answer came from the other side of the door -- husky voice that definitely didn't belong to the Asian woman.

" Would like to keep that virgin part of me intact, if ya' don't mind much. "

Pleasant, unique mix of Irish and Texan accent traveled to her ear canal.

Oh hell no . . . You must be shitting me. . .

Clare swallowed in utter disbelief while raising herself up. Jace?! From all the nights, all the damn days in the week, he chose tonight to do one of his ' worried visits '. No, she will not open the door. No way in hell.

Rattling of the keys followed.

" C'mn Clare, didn't have no candy today, just opened the door will, ya? I really don't want nothin' come flying in my head if I unlock them myself. "

Fantastic choice of words, just magnificent . . . So easily misinterpreted. . . when it's quite literal -- that man was addicted to butterscotch candy even more than his cancer sticks.

Clare wasn't even aware that she gazed back at Vince, almost as she was about to utter an explanation, reassuring him that it is not as it sounds like and who is Jace, just. . . the problem was. . . why did she had the need to do such a thing? If he didn't mean nothing to her as she was so desperately trying to prove just a moment ago? Liar liar, pants on fire. . .

Sound of the lock turning and a few heavy, careful footsteps followed.

" If another book comes flying towards my head, I swear to God. . . at least pick the one with soft covers. "

Before she could stop it, a tall man with worn-out leather jacket with a patch that said ' President ' on the left side of the chest, walked in with his hands protecting his head. Stopping dead in his tracks, the male's eyes widen, mouth slightly opened when the grey irises spotted another life form in the room. Sheer surprise, slight shock and a hefty dose of amusement evident on his facial expression. One blink, then another, almost as if he was trying to make sure this isn't some comical dream. Oh, but it was real, and as soon as Jace was certain of it, corner of the lips curled in a devilish grin while his eyes bounced from Clare to the unknown man.

" Well, you could have just called Clare, if you had company. "

Jace was fully aware of the way Clare led her life. The non-commitment, avoiding anything even similar to a relationship, quick one-night-stands. . . but he was also completely certain that her place was off limits to that kind of stuff. In fact, he would with no hesitation bet his candy, cigarettes and beloved Harley Davidson that only visitors were him and his crew, and even those tries often ended with doors remaining locked. Spare key he head was a though thing to obtain, but he managed, swore he would use it only in emergences -- which he thought it was, because Clare missing her gig in Mad dog Maddox was something that would only happen if her legs and arms were broken, and she was probably stabbed. . . or, in this highly unexpected case -- had a guy over.

" What are you doing here Jace? "

Clare had a feeling this question is endless tonight. Not sparing the ashy blond man the venom in the tone nor the murdering glare, she took a step forward, although, the man was totally unfazed, calm, not bothered at all by the approaching ' predator '.

" Hand over the key. Now. "

Opening her palm, Clare demanded the thing she didn't give willingly in the first place.

" Hay hay, we said emergencies, you not coming to Mad dog Maddox to play counts as one, I dare you to say otherwise. "

Raising the hand up to dodge hers, Jace explained.

" No, you said that, I said -- return my damn key ! "

Nearly she reached for the blasted iron thing hidden in Jace's balled fist, but decided against it. The scene was chaotic as it is, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she has absolutely no control.

" Hello there mate. "

Oh no. . .

" First time seeing you around. You play at the bar too? "

Knowing every face in that joint, mostly since he supplied them with cheap alcohol under the radar, Jace already knew the answer to the asked question. The man was no musician, but it entertained him greatly to poke at this given delight. For a moment, the president of Devil's stranglers tilted his head. ' Wait. . . is this the guy Clare tried to talk about? Hell. . . he actually survived three weeks after that conversation and is still in the game? This is a first. A damn first. ' Flash of absolutely enjoyed entertainment in his eyes. . . one that Clare didn't miss.

" No, he does not. He is. . . He. . "

She interrupted, head empty for decent explanations and thoughts like a hurricane.

" No? So I guess you are coming with to watch her play, ya? "

Jace took the opportunity he thought he would never witness in his lifetime - a speechless Clare.

" Name's Jace Catto, mate. Forgive the intrusion, but she don't miss her gigs. . . nor did I see a guy here yet either, except me and my crew.

Clare felt the ground under her feet shaking, breaking, swallowing her whole. Cheeks turned pale, jaw fell to the floor.

Vince had grimaced at the abrupt removal of her touch, no matter how much he’d try to claim he was made of stone; the human body made sure to give a harsh reminder that wasn’t always the case. And upon seeing the fire he’d ignited in her irises, indicating he should tread very carefully, that wasn’t something he was going to abide to. Watching her every move from head to toe with intensity as she closed the distance between the two, and as much as he wanted to find it intimidating; he couldn't bring himself to do so. He found it more alluring. Tantalizing. He could pick up on her scent, an unlabeled fragrant perfume, the main component that wouldn't leave his brain.

At the mention of his promiscuous nature, his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth, slowly sliding across his lower lip. “Is that a problem?” He questioned with a mischievous tone, next words picking at the way she was non-committal, just like him. “Didn't think you’d mind, since you’re not interested.” He tuts, head cocking to a certain degree while canines shown, a shit-eating grin etched his features. He was toying with her. Why else would that be thrown back in his face if it didn’t hold some connotation behind it.

Well, shit. He shrugged lazily, enough where his shoulders hardly rose at all upon realizing he’d backed himself into a corner. Confidence diminishing for a second. Is there any possibility he could put up the charade any longer? Either he’ll have to spill the truth, or at least find some way around it. Trying to get under her skin being the latter as some sort of defensive reaction. He wanted to pick up on some sign that she felt similar about that night, at least he'd hoped to, but the chances were relatively slim. The way her fingers dug into his clothing, nearly turning white with the vice like grip while staring daggers into him for some form of answer. Pondering the thought, trying to come up with something that would be at least somewhat convincing. To buy him enough time.

What’d been said was true, having a higher pain tolerance that is. Being able to take more damage compared to some. Brushing it off as if it weren’t a big deal, thinking it’ll heal on its own without the assistance of a medical professional. Paul would chastise him about it if severe enough, calling him a ‘stupid kid’ in the process and having to almost threaten him to seek help. “Alright, alright. I didn't come here for just for that. Paulie asked about you." He retorted plainly. That wasn’t necessarily a lie, the older man did happen to question the absence of Clare but in a formal matter and didn't mention it much after. “Wanted me to check in and make sure you were still kicking." How badly he wanted to just spill it right then and there yet refused.

Tipping his head slightly, his body leaned forward as if he were about to go in for something more. “Relax.” He interrupted before she had the opportunity to react, mere inches from her face while calloused fingers reached into his jacket pocket swiftly to retrieve a pack of Newport’s. Leaning back to his normal position on the couch and putting some space between them, he reached up to tap the small carton on the tip of her nose gently. “Just retrieving some smokes.” He affirmed, a sense of playfulness behind his actions as if the fiery woman wouldn't hesitate to wring his neck right then and there. “You mind? Unless I'm not permitted then I'll be on my way, it was nice to see you again, Clare."

[the-obelisk]

Source - Fae Collection

Loki x Reader

Summary: The one where he helps you to channel your powers with patience, while pissing off Tony Stark in the process 

You felt utterly useless. 

Here you were, standing in front of Earth’s mightiest heroes unable to conjure up your magic like many of your cousins had with ease as children. 

Magic, for you, never came easy.

When you had left your realm that floated right above earth’s visible plane, you fell in love with the mundane and the ordinary. You found beauty in the ease of things and small bursts of excitement because humans only remained on their plane for a short lived while, while you would age among various generations of humankind slowly. 

When Thor had found you seated in a SHIELD interrogation room, eyes closed simply breathing deeply, he looked to Coulson-- a high ranking agent at the time. “How long has she been indoors?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders, “About a month or so. She refused at first and then they stopped asking.” 

“She is of Fae. Her people are connected to nature. She has lost her energy.”

Thor was cleared to bring you to the Avengers compound where you met the rest of the team. They welcomed you but you had seemed to lose the small amount of practice you had accumulated before your time of confinement. 

Your powers were bounded at birth in protection from the dark elves that reigned terror on Alfheim now, it was why you were sent to the invisible plane above Midgard. Outcasts, refugees, and runaways— your history was erased. With that, hope was lost and the understanding of why your power were bounded remained unknown. 

“Wanda, I don’t think I can do it.” 

The redheaded was enlisted by Tony to help mentor you. It had seemed Wanda and you shared one common trait, the ability to tap into others minds. It was something that came of ease for you, however, they already had a mind reader, a witch with the ability of telepathy, they wouldn’t need you. 

“Yes, you can. Feel your energy. Where is the source?” Her voice was calm but you were growing increasingly frustrated. 

Tony, Steve, Natasha, Thor and Loki stood watching as Sam and Bucky waited for Rhodey to return with their snacks. Clearly it had been forever, and they were growing impatient. Thor every so often would give you an encouraging nod. He believed in you. 

In a way they all did, but in that moment you didn’t feel it. Or specifically, hear that. 

“How long is she going to take? I should start my training.” 

“I have dinner with Pepper at 5. She’s gonna kick my ass if I hold her up.”

You closed your eyes again but knew you had no idea what source she was even talking about. All you felt was annoyed, tired of standing, and hungry.

Sensing this, Loki rolled his eyes and glided over to you, passing Wanda who stood off to the side of you. Tony and Steve immediately tensed up at the quick movement, while Rhodey entered at the moment already suspicious of why Steve’s fist was clenched. Thor looked over and spoke in a low voice, “Trust him. I think he may have an idea.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes and offered him a pointed look, “Let’s hope it isn’t anything harmful.” 

Loki smiled softly at you, “You feel no source, do you?” 

You bit your lip and looked down, “No.” You looked at Wanda and shrugged, “I’m sorry. Maybe I just don’t have anything else to offer other than telepathy.” 

The raven-haired man bowed his head catching your eyes, “But you do. I can feel it.” You looked up at him with questioning eyes only to see he had turned around and stared at Tony and Steve, “If you had let me help her originally, you would know that unlike the witch, her power isn’t sourced in her, it is in nature.” 

“Well, how do you expect us to trust you, Reindeer Games? You are here because Thor gave us his word that you meant no harm.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He never cared what Tony Stark’s perceptions were of him. He turned back to look at you and caught your eye, “Do you trust me?” 

You looked into his eyes and nodded. Of course you did.

While you both never spent time together in front of the other members on account that Loki always hid in the library. So when you weren’t buzzing around the building, and walked in to see him sitting in his usual chair— you would smile and begin talking.

Many times for extended hours, and with the exception of a few nights, your conversation often remained light.

But there were nights when vulnerability would seep in. And so, a blossoming interest in one another and a friendship developed in the quietness of late night conversations in your library.

“Very well.” He smirked and looked back at the group, “Being surrounded by this Midgardian garbage of concrete and rubber mats will do nothing for her. We shall take this outside.” 

Tony glared daggers into Loki’s head as the group followed Loki and you to the courtyard. “Midgardian trash? This cost me a fortune. What the hell is he talking ab--” 

You pushed his thoughts out as he projected them loudly. You giggled softly, Loki had looked down at you while holding the door. “You heard it too. Glad you find his anger equally as comical as I do.” 

“I don’t think he will let that one go.” 

“Good, I hope not.”

Loki smirked at you as you walked on the grass. He stopped soon after, and you followed. The rest of the group stopped at a distance. Wanda joined the spot next to Natasha and Thor, they all watched intently. 

You looked at all of them until you heard Loki call your name softly. “Y/N, focus on me.” You met his eyes and inhaled deeply before nodding. “Sorry, I can’t focus with all of their eyes on me.” 

He blew out a short breath in acknowledgement.  “The redhead witch keeps trying to enter my barriers. Quiet annoying, I will say.”  You smiled as you peeped a quick look at Wanda who seemed extremely focused on the man standing in front of you. 

You heard him speak again, “May I?” Hands held out, he waited for your answer. You looked down and slid your gloves off. Your eyes drew back up to his and you slid your hands into his, feeling his cool hand wrap around your warm ones. 

Normally, you hated touching but once you held his hands it felt as though the world slipped away. All you felt was energy, all that surrounded you. You basked in its soft hum.

He continued, “Now, I want you close your eyes and take a deep breath in with me, little one, and clear your mind.” 

You closed you eyes in response, and smiled sweetly at the pet name subconsciously. To which Loki caught and smiled in return, knowing you couldn’t see. 

“You are one with the world around you. Feel the warmth of the sun on this brisk day. You are at peace— the very center of the world around you. Everything here has energy. Nature holds memory of the past and present. You are here, darling. You are safe.” His voice was soft and smooth.

It would be a lie if you didn’t feel yourself melting into his words. They were slick and entrancing. “What do you hear, Y/N?” He asked in his soft lulls.

“The trees. The wind is blowing...” You spoke to him in a quiet voice. 

Loki nodded, “Tell me, dove. How does the wind on your skin make you feel?” 

“It’s soft and slightly warm after the initial cold.” You stated once again causing him to observe you curiously. He turned your hands to face each other slowly in hopes he wouldn’t sever the connection you found. 

His hand cupped against the back of yours as if you were holding an invisible ball. “Gods, she is intoxicating.” Immediately you were pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his voice, “You aren’t supposed to be intruding in my mind, little one.” 

You smiled tightly embarrassed of getting caught, you heard him chuckle. “Do you feel all the tethers connecting through you? They flow in and out of you. Concentrate them between our hands. 

“I don’t know how.”

“Just feel and trust. Visualize it.”

Slowly you felt warmth gathering closer and closer to your hands. It was forming and growing, you projected a thought to him fearing you would break concentration if you spoke. “It feels like the sun.”

He smiled, “Open your eyes slowly and take a look.”

You opened your eyes to his eyes staring at you. He smiled at you endearingly.

Holding his gaze for a bit, you then followed his eyes down to the ball of light in between both of your hands. Inside it was white with several revolving colors that interchanged. Hues of purples, red, green, and blue shone with gold shimmering around the outside. 

“We did that?” She looked at him with surprise. 

“You did.” He spoke softly. “You are harnessing the world around you. Its energy.”

A smile grew on your lips out of excitement. He moved around you stopping behind you shoulder. You felt his hands slide down your arm, resting them on your elbow and back. “Now throw it.”

You gave a little push it forward and was greeted with a cloud of smoke and Tony yelling. “Not the tree! Come on.” He threw up his hands as Sam, Bucky, and Rhodey laughed throwing popcorn at one another. 

“That was awesome.” You looked at Loki in pure amusement. You couldn’t explain the feeling that coursed through your body. 

He smiled at you and nodded, “I told you that you held power. Come, I have a few books to show you.” 

You nodded eagerly and followed him as Tony yelled at Thor. The blonde smirked at his brother knowing he found joy in pissing Tony off even more. However, he was even more amused at the the scene they had all watched. He noted Loki’s softness, one that the team didn’t get to see. It was shocking to them, but to Thor, it was an emotion he know Loki rarely let others know of. 

It was the quality of a small effort towards redemption. 

“Thank you, Loki. Really.” You said walking alongside him.

The raven-haired man smiled, “No need to thank me, little one. Now, let us go before he combusts out of anger.” 

“You got it, Trickster.” You said acknowledging that he full well enjoyed getting to Tony once more. 

[phykios]

this one is dedicated to mi amor mari @perseannabeth, who is a beautiful bird and a wonderful friend and i am v v vvvvv grateful to have crossed the airwaves with her :”)

Today Was A Fairytale [read on ao3] T, modern royalty, fun at disneyland!

She stares at him. 

He stares back. “What?”

“Really?”

“What?”

“You really think this is going to be enough?” Annabeth points at her head, the blue Yankees cap squishing her curls. 

“Of course! It’s the Clark Kent effect.” As if to underline his point, Percy slips on his fake hipster glasses, except that stupid grin of his is too bright not to draw attention. 

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is. Studies show that glasses are actually good enough to alter your appearance if someone doesn’t know you well.”

“Then why didn’t you bring a pair of glasses for me?”

“Because your hair is definitely the prettiest thing about you,” he says, automatically tugging an unruly curl which peeks out from under the brim, a gesture so practiced she almost doesn’t register it--until he blinks, dropping his hand, blushing lightly. “I mean--the most noticeable thing. You know. A hat should be fine.”

He looks away. Heat rises to her face, too. Because it’s so hot out, obviously. 

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “um. No--no one’s going to give you a second look if your hair is hidden.”

Chewing her lip, Annabeth can’t help but worry. Percy’s face is extremely well-known, possibly more than hers, and they’ve both spent the better part of three weeks with their faces plastered all over the media on their diplomatic trip. This is probably a really, really bad idea. Then, a thought occurs to her. “How about,” she says, perking up, “you give me your glasses, and I’ll give you mine.” From her backpack, she fishes out a pair of sunglasses, big and nondescript. He’ll practically be wearing a superhero mask with these.

Percy smiles again, and Annabeth thinks she might fly. “Perfect.”

Which is how Her Royal Highness Anna Elisabeth Ingrid Irene of Sweden and His Serene Highness Perseus Alexandros Ioannis of Thera play hooky from their day of boring meetings, insufferable dignitaries, and stuffy security guards, to go see the eighth wonder of the world: Disneyland Resort in California.

And how Annabeth eats her words as they make it past the security gate unchecked. “Eh?” He beams, nudging her with his elbow. “Eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shoves him back. “Shut up.”

***

[description: a tiktok video which depicts a line at Disneyland. the op, a black girl with braids, covers her mouth and looking into the camera, turning the camera to focus on the two people behind her. one is a tall boy with black hair and sunglasses, and the other is a blonde girl with a yankees hat and glasses. both are white. video text reads: “p sure the people behind me are prince percy and princess annabeth??? um?????”. background audio is a dubstep remix of the fight theme from undertale. end ID]

***

Maybe it’s a little weird, on account of her being actual royalty and all, but Annabeth has always been interested in princesses, both as a matter of historical record (history is awesome) and in the general sense. Like millions of other people, she, too, was raised on Disney movies and tales of princesses and true love, and she was just as captivated as the rest of them. She and Percy used to watch the Disney catalogue whenever their families held state visits for each other, staying up into the small hours of the morning, sharing some popcorn and singing along. 

Luckily for Annabeth, her favorite princess is holding a meet and greet at the Royal Hall.

“Excuse me,” Percy says, approaching Princess Ariel. Well, her cast member, anyway. “Could I get a photo for my friend?”

“Of course!” she trills, her blue eyes sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.” Holding her hand out, perfectly poised and graceful in a way that would impress even Annabeth’s stodgy etiquette instructor, she smiles, warm and welcoming, pivoting to bring Annabeth in for one of those weird, semi-awkward half-hugs. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” says Annabeth. Hey, it’s not untrue. She’s a little leery of using any of her names, but Anna is common enough. Annabeth? Not so much. Even with her glasses and hat disguise, a little paranoia is justified, she thinks.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Anna,” she says, cheerful, with all the grace and charm of someone who doesn’t spend hours saying the same thing over and over again to excitable, temperamental children. What a trooper, she thinks.

“Don’t you recognize a fellow princess when you see one, your highness?” Percy says, grinning that stupid, smarmy grin of his. 

Annabeth glares. Oh, he thinks he’s so damn clever. 

“Oh, of course,” says Ariel, smoothly. “How could I have thought otherwise? Your highness.” And she curtsies to Annabeth, a short dip, her hand placed delicately against her chest. “Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend Anna, princess of Arendelle?”

Still smirking, Percy takes some more pictures, trapping Annabeth into smiling for the camera. She can’t be glaring daggers in her pictures, nor can there be video evidence of her kicking him--no matter how much she wants to.

And she definitely doesn’t miss the way Ariel not-so-subtly checks Percy out, eyeing him up and down.

“You fucking asshole,” she hisses as they leave the photo area, swatting him lightly, and he giggles. 

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, though she definitely tries as they enter back out into the park proper, giving him just the barest hint of a cold shoulder. 

“Aw, come on,” Percy says. “I was just teasing.”

“You shouldn’t go around tempting fate like that,” Annabeth says. “Do you want to cause another international incident?”

Percy winces, no doubt remembering the Gateway Arch incident of 2008. 

“If someone recognizes us, we don’t have Zoe or any of her team to protect us,” Annabeth goes on. “Not that I think anyone here would try to hurt us, but…” But it’s a little nerve-wracking, being on her own like this. She hasn’t been alone like this for a really long time.

Wincing, Percy rubs the back of his head. “I guess I forgot you’re a little higher profile than me. Sorry.”

She doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Percy, by his nature as the younger son of a largely defunct royal house, doesn’t have quite the same number of… issues… that someone like Annabeth might have.

Deflating, she uncrosses her arms. “It’s okay.”

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s really okay,” she says. “No harm no foul.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, entirely serious. “I can call someone up.”

She knows just how long they’ve planned this, how many favors he’s called in and policies he’s sidestepped. Backing out now would just be a waste of a day. She shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just… feeling a little exposed, I guess. But, I don’t want to ruin all our plans. Let’s keep going.” She grabs his hand, squeezing a little.

“...Okay,” Percy says. “But say the word, and we’ll call it a day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Like he doesn’t have any other expression today, he smiles at her again.

It hits her, suddenly. He’s so much taller than she remembers. Once upon a time she used to be taller than him; now, he’s basically a whole head above her. 

It’s annoying. But also… not.

Spying something over her shoulder, his eyes light up, and he practically gasps. “Cinderella!” he points with his free hand, like a five-year old. “Come on!” And he takes off to one of the park corners, dragging Annabeth along with him. 

He has to wait in line behind a pair of twin girls, six or seven years old by the looks of it, in identical Cinderella dresses for a photo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and when it’s finally his turn, he nearly trips over himself to go up and ask for a photo. 

Cinderella agrees, and now Annabeth is relegated to the job of cameraperson. Percy slides in next to the princess, his hand on her waist, but, ever the respectful gentleman, loosely held, so the cast member can slide out of his grasp without any difficulty at all.

Taking a few shots, it does look kind of strange to have Cinderella’s beautiful, shining face, and Percy’s enormous sunglasses blocking his. “Take off your glasses?” she says, lowering her phone for a second. 

Dutifully, Percy slips them off, smiling again for the camera. 

Cinderella’s smile doesn’t falter, a credit to her professionalism, but Annabeth can see her eyes widen, just a touch.

Annabeth snaps off a few more photos, “Got ‘em!” and Percy once again gushes over the princess, thanking her for her time. Grabbing Annabeth’s hand again, he practically skips off, leading them in the direction of a nearby candy shop. 

***

me: IM SHAKING GUESS WHO I JUST TOOK A PICTURE WITH????

sis: prince percy?

me: HOW TF DID YOU KNOW

sis: its on twitter already

***

They’re walking along, Annabeth slurping up a Dole whip, when she suddenly stops in her tracks, outside of one of the many, many gift shops. “Wait up a second.”

“Hm?” Percy says, around the giant lollipop in his mouth. 

“I want to get some Mickey ears.” 

Very quickly they get lost in the sea of Disney merchandise, walking the labyrinth of Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar goods. There’s a surprising amount of black for the so-called happiest place on Earth, but things do brighten up when Annabeth finally turns a corner and finds the enormous selection of Mickey ears. It’s a wash of sparkles, flowers, bows, and occasionally characters, for children and adults alike. Annabeth eyes a pair designed like Baby Yoda, eyes wide and ears adorably huge, before she fingers a pair of white Mickey ears that have a bridal veil attached to them, contemplating its counterpart, the black ears for the groom, each ear emblazoned with a sparkling silver “Happily Ever After.”

She looks around. Where did Percy wander off to, anyway? 

Well, wherever he is, hopefully he hasn’t gotten mobbed by a horde of excitable fangirls. Given that she can’t hear any screaming--well, any unusual, non-Disneyland-relevant screaming--that’s probably a good sign. 

Running her fingers over the ear selections, she finally picks out a pair of silver sequined earrings with a shiny gold bow, a tiny, rhinestone Cinderella’s castle placed delicately in the middle. 

Yeah. This one. 

Percy finds her as she is paying for her ears, a pair of his own already on his head, red balloons inside of plastic circles. The sunglasses, she notes with a tinge of nervousness, are tucked in his shirt, and not on his face, protecting his identity. “Oh, check mine out--they light up!” he says, giddy, pressing the button on the side, not that she can tell in the brightly lit shop.

“That’s not why I was looking.”

Walking out of the store, ears firmly in her possession, she looks around again. Percy’s face is out there for the world to see, and no one is giving them a hard time. 

And her hat is really sweaty. 

Ah, fuck it.

She removes the Yankees cap, shaking out her sweaty curls, sliding the ears on in its place.

And the glasses, for good measure.

“Cinderella?” Percy asks.

“I thought you’d approve.”

Outside the shop, next to a corn dog cart, Percy pulls her aside, out of the way of a whole classroom’s worth of children, holding up a plastic plag. “So, confession.”

“Percy…” He didn’t. “We said no gifts!” They had agreed to it that morning!

“Well, see,” he says, fumbling around in the bag, pulling out a black t-shirt. “I saw this, and I thought--I thought you might like it.”

He unfolds it, and Annabeth frowns at the shirt design. 

It’s… a drawing of a man in a purple mask against a solid black background, glaring at the viewer. Circling him, in distressed, white-grey military font, are the words “BARON ZEMO,” and the logo for the show he must star in, Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. She doesn’t really watch superhero shows, though, and she’s pretty sure Percy doesn’t, either. Maybe he’s started this one and he really likes it? “Thanks,” she says, confusion coloring her voice despite her best efforts. 

But he doesn’t look too disappointed. “I was looking through their pride merch, and they didn’t have any stuff with the ace flag, which totally sucks, but then I thought that maybe you might like something a little more subtle? So, yeah.” He shakes it. “Ace pride!”

Oh. Oh, this boy. 

She remembers, so vividly, visiting his father’s summer home on Kalymnos, a few years ago, the summer she turned nineteen, waking up to a banging in the kitchen, noisy pots and pans making a real racket. Granted, it had been one in the afternoon, and Annabeth probably should have been awake sooner, but she had stumbled out of the guest room into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, to the sight of Percy wrestling with the standmixer, making bright, neon purple frosting. The night before, sometime around three or four AM, that weird, liminal hour where the shadow of night just starts to recede, the sky a sweet, soft, dusky blue, she had come out as demisexual to her best friend, saying the words aloud for the first time ever. Loopy from lack of sleep, the moment had passed without much fanfare.

But Percy, dark-circled and still yawning, had woken up early to make her a chocolate cake. By the time she had woken up, he had baked the cake, chilled it, and made two out of the three frosting colors, a beautiful, moist, dark chocolate cake which ended up being frosted with a marbled mix of purple, black, and white, all folding into each other into a kind of colorless, grey sugar. 

Here, now, in Disneyland, she throws herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His arms automatically come up to circle her, hugging her tight. 

She had been worried it had been some kind of defense mechanism. A young girl with an alarmingly high profile, Annabeth had been the subject of intense scrutiny with regards to any romantic entanglements, with critics, tabloid reporters, and fans alike attempting to invent gossip-worthy relationships with every boy she ever talked to--most usually Percy. They did grow up in the public eye together, attending all kinds of events and functions together over the last fifteen or so years. And they did tweet at each other. Like, a lot. They even had their own portmanteau hashtag. But no relationship ever materialized.

She thought maybe she was just being stubborn, unwilling to play the media game. But it hadn’t been stubbornness. It wasn’t about shyness or inexperience. It was real, and it was her.

And Percy hadn’t even blinked.

“I love it,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, swaying her from side to side, just a little. “It was my pleasure.”

***

What’s happening: #percabeth (Entertainment • trending)

@kndrck__ STREAM CHROMATICA: um @TheraUS @SwedenRoyals i think i found your sick royals? #percabeth #disneyland

@wasabiviking: omg werent they supposed to be at some hospital opening today #percabeth

@ChampionSno brando he/him: LMAOOO NOT #PERCABETH PLAYING HOOKY LIKE IT’S ROMAN HOLIDAY

***

“Holy shit,” Percy moans, his mouth full of food. “Oh my God. Dear God in Heaven.”

Annabeth kicks his ankle under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Oh my God, Annabeth. Holy shit. This is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“A monte cristo?”

“A deep-fried monte cristo! In sweet batter!” Taking another bite, he moans again, just this side of indecent. “Oh my God I love Americans. They are absolute culinary geniuses.”

“Better than Bistrot Chez Rémy?” They had both been to Disneyland Paris, separately, sadly, and Percy had recommended the restaurant to her with great enthusiasm for her upcoming trip. As usual, he was spot on with his food recs. 

He nods, eyes closed in rapture. “By a mile.”

“You’ll have to learn to make your own when we get back home, then.”

He jolts, straightening up, cheeks full of food. Roughly, he swallows. “You’re right! I need to take notes.” And he takes out his phone, hurriedly typing down whatever scent and flavor notes he must be able to discern. “This is definitely challah…”

Plucking another piece of chicken with her fork out of her jambalaya, Annabeth lets her attention wander a little, content to watch the passengers on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride as they float on beside them, down in the artificially constructed bayou river. 

Truth be told, she’s kind of tired. They’ve been walking around all day, and even with the brief reprieve of rides, her shoes really aren’t the kind that deal well with huge amounts of walking. She can already tell that she’s going to crash, and crash hard, whenever they get back to their hotel. You know, if their security detail doesn’t eviscerate them first. 

When Percy had first presented his idea to her, she had agreed without hesitation. They had had a long, dense schedule of public appearances planned for their excursions to the states, and the days had begun to seriously wear them out. Together, they had worked out the kinks, coming up with contingencies, negotiating things to do, all over Discord so no one else would get wind of what they were doing. Prior to this trip, she hadn’t seen him in… probably almost a year. She knows his father had been keeping him close to home for whatever reason, and Annabeth had had a handful of official functions to deal with. Their paths just never managed to cross, up until now. 

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him. 

It’s lonely, growing up in the public eye. It’s cliche, but it’s true. And while Annabeth is afforded a metric ton of various intersecting privileges, she thinks she’d probably give it up in a heartbeat. It kind of sucks being a living, breathing tourist attraction. 

Growing up, she had her cousin Magnus, and a handful of other assorted children to play with, but she would never say that she had a best friend, or even a good friend, until she’d met Percy. Her mother and his father, famous for their mutual dislike, had put aside their differences to host some kind of charitable dinner for the disgustingly wealthy, and had trotted out their respective children in all their finery. Annabeth, being all of twelve years old, hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the event, and had gotten into an itty bitty little food fight with the then-unknown Prince Perseus, the result of an extramarital affair whom his father had so graciously decided to acknowledge and adopt. 

After that night, they became fast friends, and she decided that, if she ever left the royal life, she’d make sure to take Percy with her. He’s one of the few things that makes her life bearable. 

She thinks about it, sometimes. Renouncing her title. It wouldn’t exactly be hard. There was Magnus, just in line behind her. And it’s not like her family held any executive power anyway. They’re just fancy, historically interesting celebrities. 

Would Percy give up his, she wonders?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looks at her oddly over their dessert, two vanilla-bourbon creme brulees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired. Long day.”

“You want to call it a night?”

She frowns. “What’s left?”

“Well, we did Space Mountain, Rise of the Resistance, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, a few others,” he counts off his fingers, “saw the princesses, got Mickey ears, ate at Blue Bayou… I guess all that’s left is walking around the pier, if you want.”

“Sounds like you two had a full day.”

As one, they almost leap out of their seats, Annabeth choking on her spit. “Jesus, Zoe,” Percy pants, his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh?” says Zoe Nightshade, the head of their security detail, who had just apparently materialized out of thin air. “Funny. I could say the same about you, sir.”

Coughing, Annabeth eventually manages to get her air back. “Hey, Zoe,” she wheezes. “How was your day?”

“Eventful. Let me tell you about it in the car.”

Annabeth glances at Percy, who’s looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. Honestly, she’s surprised they even made it this far without one of their own tracking them down. Still, it looks like their game is up. 

...Or is it?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a large tour group, approaching on the horizon.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, getting up. Luckily, they’ve already paid, so they can just head out; they don’t need to wait for another big group of people to cross their paths. “Will you let us go to the bathroom, first?”

Zoe squints. She’s always been able to see through Annabeth’s bullshit. But Annabeth has her best, Percy-patented baby seal eyes on, perfectly innocent. Surely, Zoe wouldn’t deny them a physical need such as relieving themselves?

After a moment, she nods. “Make it quick, if you please.”

“Of course,” Annabeth says, looking over at Percy, hoping he gets the message. He stands up, slow and stiff, eyes darting between the two of them. “We’ll be right back.”

They wander through tables and chairs towards the bathroom, her eyes always on the tour group as it just starts to pass by. Reaching out, Annabeth grabs Percy’s hand, and with a turn that would make her track coach proud, sprints out of the restaurant, using the throng of people as cover. 

She thinks she hears Zoe yelling behind them, but maybe it’s just her own laughter. “Come on!” she shrieks, breathless, as Percy’s long legs keep pace with her. “To California Adventure!”

***

darthbingus said: the monarchy are fucking parasites but percabeth is pretty cute i guess :/

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: it’s obviously a publicity thing lmao, also prince Percy is gay???

eowynning reblogged and said: he’s dating rachel dare, right? he can’t be gay 

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: That was a publicity thing too obvs, and Annabeth hasn’t ever been linked to a guy. The king of thera is hardline greek orthodox, there’s no way he’d let his son come out publicly. They’re both gay and pretending to date because homophobia

lardoftheprks reblogged and said: people can be bi and ace and pan and all sorts of things you know

batgirlcock reblogged and said: can you animals leave them alone fr

***

Zoe only spots them after the ferris wheel starts moving. Sprinting over to them, they’re still a full forty feet off the ground by the time she reaches the operator. “Sorry!” she yells down to her, hands cupping her mouth. “We’ll be down in ten minutes!”

“Ananbeth!” he chokes, giggles still escaping him. 

“What?” she laughs. 

“We’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“Exactly,” she says, settling back on the ride. “You’ll probably be grounded for life.”

“Me?” he squawks, playfully offended. “What about you?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ll just pin it all on you.”

Leaning back, he pouts, arms crossed. “Wow. I plan this amazing day, violate a few embassorial rules, and probably put both of our countries on a massive red alert, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I helped plan it, too.” But he does have a point. “Thank you,” she says. “I had a lot of fun today.”

He turns his head to her, a grin stretching across his face. “Me too.” 

His voice is so soft, so fond. They share a look, a moment, no words between them, only the silence of a true, deep companionship. They don’t need to say anything else, because they already know what the other would say. 

As one, they break away, looking back out into the California evening. 

They don’t talk much as the ferris wheel climbs higher and higher. Honestly, Annabeth is kind of impressed with how well he’s handling himself--she knows heights are a bit of a weakness of his. He grabs the edges of their gondola every once in a while as it drops a few feet, knuckles white and face a little green, but he manages to keep his dinner down, even as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt, Percy and Annabeth at the top of the world. The swing back and forth a little, hot faces against the cool evening breeze. 

And they stay there. 

And stay there. 

And… stay there. 

Annabeth checks her watch. How long have they been up here?

Percy taps his feet, a little too frantic just to be ADHD. 

Finally, there’s a burst of noise from below them, garbled and static. “Uh, yes, excuse me--” the voice says, amplified through a megaphone. “Yeah, um, it appears we are having some… uh, technical difficulties with the Pixar Pal-A-Round. Please remain calm, as we have our best technicians on it, and we are working on evacuating the ride in a calm and efficient manner.” Then the voice cuts out. 

Annabeth glances towards Percy. He has his hands in his lap, fists clenching and unclenching, over and over again. “Uh… you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Percy says, “just fine. Peachy keen.” He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly blowing out his breath through his mouth. 

“Hey.” She reaches over, and takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. After a long day of holding hands, somehow it still manages to surprise her, how well they fit together, how her skin tingles as she rubs her thumb against his finger. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to get us off this ride, and then we’ll fly home and be grounded for life.”

“I thought,” he wheezes, “you’d blame it all on me?”

“As if you could come up with a plan as genius as hiding from our guard in It's A Small World.”

He nods, shakily. “Right. All you. Definitely not my idea. Everyone knows I’d have looped back to Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer. “Just breathe with me a little, okay?”

They breathe together, slowly and evenly. At some point, Percy takes her hand in both of his, running his thumbs over her palm, tracing her lifelines like a map. His hands are big, and warm, and it seems to calm him down a little, so she doesn’t mind all that much. 

Twilight darkens, stars twinkling against the grey, dusky sky, and still they are holding hands. Eventually, Percy relaxes, slumping against his seat.

“You good?” 

He nods. He still doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Just…” he sighs, stretching his arms up, taking Annabeth’s hand with him. “Not super looking forward to the dressing down I’m going to get.”

She winces. Annabeth’s dad is a little more flexible than Percy’s when it comes to breaches of protocol. The king of Thera is somewhat famous for his paranoia. “I hope it was worth it.”

He whips his head to her, eyes wide. “Of course it was worth it!” he says, as though the opposite were even fathomable. “You kidding? This was the best day of my life.”

“Better than your sixteenth?” His father had officially acknowledged him that day. Annabeth had spotted him in a deserted hallway with his mother, the two of them fighting off a few happy tears. She knows just how special that day was for him. 

“Not even close.” Squeezing her hand, he smiles again, that smile she knows almost better than her own by now. That smile she grew up with, a quiet oasis in a whirlwind of ancient tradition and modern media coverage. That smile is safety, familiarity. That smile was there to greet her when her mother chose to leave her family, when her uncle died without heirs, thrusting the position of heiress on her, whenever she had a rotten day or a bad grade or a lonely night, just on the other end of a phone, or down the hall, or in the kitchen. 

Whatever happens, she knows, Percy will be her best friend. Her anchor. 

Her…

She swallows. “Thank you,” she says again. “I needed this.” A day without an agenda. A day just for them. 

His eyes are dark, and soft, like the water beneath them. One hundred and fifty feet in the air in a broken ferris wheel, there’s nowhere safer she can be. “Me too.”

So she’s not really surprised at herself when she says, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Eyes widening, just a hair, he opens his mouth, momentarily speechless. “You--are you sure?”

She nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Cool. Uh, me too.”

“Cool.”

Neither of them move. 

“So, do--do you want to--”

Annabeth leans in, her other hand cupping his cheek, and kisses him. 

His lips are soft. His mouth tastes like vanilla and bourbon. They are trapped in a metal box, one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, about to get the punishment of their lives when they get down, and it is absolutely, utterly perfect. 

And when Annabeth pulls back, there are fireworks. 

Quite literally.

Percy’s face glows with pink and green and purple, and a little fire in his eyes that’s all him. The pops of the fireworks, loud and brassy, and muted, completely overshadowed by the pounding of her heart in her chest. 

They rest their heads against each other, breathing each other’s air, quiet and intimate, the calm before the storm that is surely coming. But that’s fine. Let it come, she thinks. She’ll be safe with Percy.

When the park technicians eventually get the ferris wheel moving again, Percy and Annabeth disembark from the gondola like nothing’s even gone wrong, waving to the crowd of people, fans, and reporters alike, who have swarmed the pier, phones and cameras held aloft in a constellation of light, before being quickly hurried away by Zoe and her crew, ushered to the end of the pier where Annabeth’s embassy’s car is waiting. 

Percy doesn’t let go of her hand once. 

***

KALYMNOS, GREECE--Prince Percy has arrived on the island for his family’s annual summer retreat, bringing his girlfriend, Princess Annabeth of Sweden, with him for the fifth year in a row, and the third as his official partner. Lifelong friends, the couple were most recently seen at Disneyland Tokyo, continuing something of a tradition for the two royals where they visit Disneyland parks across the globe. Our sources inside the castle are hinting that the family is planning something big this year. Could we see a proposal by the end of summer? Be sure to subscribe for more updates!