#deadly class spoilers

[yuri-puppies]

One of the reasons I love Kabru so much is how he sits at this intersection between neurodivergence (I personally headcanon him as AuDHD but ymmv), PTSD and C-PTSD.

While it is 100% true that his issues with eating, in the context of the story, are centered around his Big Trauma, we cannot underestimate the impact of the day-to-day damage done by growing up being forced (/forcing yourself) to ignore your own desires.

It's not just that he doesn't like elven sweets. It's him, as a transracial adoptee, having to suppress his actual desires (the sweets from his hometown) to assimilate into his adopted culture in order to avoid upsetting his adopted mother.

Genuine threat or fawn response? Who knows! Either way, it's devastating. Food and eating customs are such an important component of preserving one's cultural identity as diaspora; it's the hardest to loose and the easiest to regain. Without access to Utayan food, music, customs, etc., all that's left for him of his childhood home is "the tragedy of Utaya".

Bringing it back to his broader trend of self-neglect. It's not just that he suppresses/ignores his desires in service of the mission; he was, at best, discouraged from identifying them while growing up. The combination of "you don't have to worry about this because mommy/the staff can take care of it" with AuDHD makes self maintenance as an adult into this dreadful black hole of executive function. Self-maintenance tasks are obscure, never-ending, and infinitely less interesting and important than The Special Interest

In a way, I wonder if Kabru associates discomfort and hunger with freedom, with self-determination. It makes sense as a maladaptive coping mechanism and its gonna be a tricky one to unlearn. But he's in a good place for it, post-canon. He's reconnected with the process of cooking his mother's food, even if it didn't turn out right. He is helping build a kingdom where food security is the foremost policy concern, which will allow him to connect with food through his special interests of Narrative-building and Statecraft. He has friends who want to Share Meals with him (look at those plates!).

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[gothicknightz]

writer’s block and the various

i apologise for not being active recently, 

i’ve had a hard case of writers block / lack of interest to write so i will get back to this blog and the requests hopefully soon

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. it's your final year of UA High, an achievement that should be celebrated and joyous, but you couldn't believe just how much has changed in such a short amount of time. one thing you never thought you'd have to deal with is the potential of losing your best friend and being powerless to stop it.

content // spoilers for ch.362 through 424 of the manga (this is how i'm coping), aged up to 18/19 + end of senior year @ UA, teeny bit of angst mixed with emotional comfort & fluff, reader is in the support department (w/ an unnamed quirk), reader & bakugo are childhood friends, talks of ptsd/trauma/regret and nightmares about death, mentions of medical issues & therapy, emotionally vulnerable and sickly sweet confessions, extremely soft bakugo (maybe ooc? but trauma changes people's outlooks soooo), idiots in love, best friends to lovers. wc // 5.7k + crossposted to ao3 『 k.bakugo masterlist 』

tagging in the beginning to prevent spoilers if you wanted to avoid them; @slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon

War…is over.

For now.

The media wouldn’t stop playing the coverage on repeat, leaving you unable to escape the scene that will haunt you for the rest of your life and forcing you to realize how vulnerable you are as a human being.

((spoilers below the cut))

You knew the second that Bakugo popped out of the shell of UA’s fortress through a grainy livestream that something was wrong. The way he staggered out, covered in blood with a mangled arm…your heart sank. You had no clue what happened moments prior in that bubble, only the heroes inside knew the truth at the time. Watching Midoriya’s awestruck tears flow as they worked together to save All Might from All for One’s grasp didn’t fill you with hope like others around you - it filled you with fear, a deadly reminder of how dangerous hero society is and the sacrifices it entails. How your duty as a support technician, and as a best friend, wasn’t even close to enough to help him in such dire straits.

Your calls and texts to him went unanswered...as expected. He probably doesn't even have his phone on him. Rumors spread over the course of the week following Shigaraki and All for One’s demise about what happened on the field when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Did you hear about that Bakugo kid? How’d he even get up after all that? You mean from being clinically dead? Yeah, I heard Edgeshot saved his life on the fly. His heart exploded! No, he was punched and it ruptured. But he saved All Might’s life! That was so cool to see. Deku helped, too. He wouldn’t have made it in time without him. A lot of the other students went through a lot of shit…and they expect them to go back to school?

UA was 'kind' enough to give all students a two week break from classes with dorms and buildings open for access as needed. Two weeks to recover from everything that's happened...it was a joke.

You lost count of how many nights you woke up sobbing from nightmares about Bakugo’s death within the past week, ranging from surgery complications to being left to die on the battlefield alone, unable to reach him in time. Your therapist reiterated in your session that this is all a normal response, even when the events didn't directly happen to you and resembled a form of survivor's guilt. It only worsened your negative outlook on society as a whole, knowing full well that they’ve saved Japan today, but there will always be evil lurking and stewing in the shadows, waiting for the next greatest hero to bring to their knees.

The hospital barred anyone outside of the immediate family to see patients, no matter how much you begged every front desk associate to let you see him. You didn’t want to resort to sounding desperate, but you gave in by the end of the week, stopping by Bakugo’s family home to talk with his parents. To your surprise, Mitsuki was home and answered the door. Not more than a second passed before she was scooping you up into a hug, her shaky hands clutching the back of your shirt as if you were her own daughter returning home for the first time in months.

“Hi sweetie,” she greets, her voice hushed and somber; an entire 180 from her normal demeanor. She lets you go, moving her hands to your shoulders as she invites you inside.

You spend some time catching up with her before asking the inevitable question lingering in the air. “How’s Katsuki? The hospital wouldn’t let me in to see him.”

Mitsuki’s eyes glisten, tears pooling in her eyes as she shakes her head and swallows harshly. “He’s a tough ass kid. Surgery went as good as it could’ve, but…” she trails off, wiping the lone tear rolling over her cheek. “Why don’t you come with me this afternoon to the hospital?”

You bite your lip, hands curling in on themselves as they rest on your knees. “But they told me—”

“Screw that!” She interrupts, standing to her feet. “You’re comin’ with me. You are family to us.”

Your stomach cartwheels as the hospital comes into view from the backseat of the Bakugo family car, Masaru driving the three of you through the visitor’s parking lot. Mitsuki glances in the rear view mirror, catching the nervous twitch in your lips as you stared out the window.

“Dear, could you give us a minute?” she asks Masaru, motioning him to go on ahead. He nods in acknowledgment and leaves the car to head to the lobby.

“Do you wanna talk before going inside?”

How the hell did she know you were nervous? She’s known you for a good chunk of your live, it’s not too far fetched she’d be able to analyze your emotions like she does for her own son.

“I'm...” you say meekly, fidgeting with your jeans. “...trying to stay positive, but I’ve had so many nasty nightmares and I don’t know what to expect. I've only heard rumors at school about his condition.”

Mitsuki reaches to the backseat and gently takes one of your hands in hers. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. Shit, I’m terrified for him and all the other kids…this isn’t something everyday people experience, so it’s unfair to expect yourself to have standards on how to feel. He's alright, I can promise you that.”

You sigh, her words giving you a sense of comfort. “Thank you.”

“And if I can say one thing,” she adds, squeezing your hand to grab your attention. “That kid adores you, he’s just a stupid boy who doesn’t know how to say it.”

The laugh that bubbles up from your belly is genuine, a thin layer of anxiety dissolving at the thought of him getting embarrassed by his mom’s words. Nodding, you let go of her hand and open the car door, signaling you’re ready to go inside.

“Katsuki! You can’t be up and roaming around!”

Mitsuki’s heels click against the marble flooring as she scampers to Bakugo’s side down the hallway, Masaru trailing behind her when she catches a glimpse of him hobbling into a room that isn’t his own. You stay back, peering from around the corner to avoid being seen if he happened to glance your way. A few minutes pass before you faintly hear Masaru say, "Come on, let's get you back to your room to rest," and the sounds of their footsteps retreating down the hall.

It's almost embarrassing how long it takes you to work up the courage to follow after them - what's the big deal? Your best friend is physically here, not some ghost or a walking corpse from your nightmares. You knew in your heart what it was that kept you frozen in place, a feeling you've long shut away, burying it within the depths of your heart to keep yourself sane.

Love.

And it scared the shit out of you, especially now. 

Retreating back to the lobby, you mindlessly scan the vending machines as a distraction until a hand touches your back. You jump at the contact and turn to see Mitsuki and Masaru standing behind you.

"We're heading home for a few hours to make some dinner and come back with leftovers for Katsuki. I told the nurses you're with us, so keep this pass with you." She hands you a visitors badge and you tuck it in your uniform pocket. "I'll bring you some dinner, too, dear. Don't waste your money on snacks. Now go see him, he could use some time away from us."

You've got a chance to be alone with Bakugo to talk with him about...everything, and you're frozen in the goddamn lobby. It takes a bit of kicking yourself in the ass to get moving, but eventually, you begin to warily make your way back to the patient wing. 

A vague memory of standing at UA’s entrance comes barreling to the front of your mind, the day that the hero courses all left to prepare for the war torn city streets with the pros. You’d stood to the side, passively blessing everyone with good luck and your best wishes as they prepared to depart. When Bakugo shuffles away from his parents, he spots you in the crowd and approaches you with a straight face. Just when you’re about to say something, he grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around and pushes you toward a set of hedges nearby. Not completely out of sight, but enough to hide from the majority of the congregation of friends and families.

“Kats?” You question, confused by him secluding the two of you from everyone else.

“Not another word,” Bakugo warns, cornering you in the darkness of the wall and bushes. He hesitates before reaching for one of your hands, warmth flooding from his palm into yours. His other hand scratches at the back of his neck nervously, eyes upturned to the sky as he speaks lowly. 

“Wanted to say thanks for supporting my dream of bein’ a hero all these years. Don’t go worrying about me while I’m out there, alright?”

Before you could interject, his back was to you and marching over to join the others. 

His words rang in your head every night, repeatedly taunting you about the feelings that rattled your ribs from how fast he made your heart beat.

You should have told him then.

The walk up the stairs to his floor fills you with unexplainable jitters that you've never felt before - were you dreading the conversation? Are you scared he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings, despite Mitsuki's words from earlier? Or...afraid to see the damage in person?

You find his name on one of the patient plaques, taking a deep breath as your knuckles tap on the hollow door. His voice follows soon after, "Yeah, come in."

Your hand lingers on the door handle for a moment before you convince yourself to go inside.

‘Come on, it’s Katsuki. He's your best fucking friend. He knows everything about you and vice versa. Don’t be a damn coward and make it weird.’

The door slides on the track at a snails pace, revealing your face bit by bit to Bakugo as he stares in your direction. Imagine your surprise when his eyes widen upon seeing you, mouth open to say something, but nothing comes out. You shut the door and walk over to the right side of his hospital bed.

“Hey Katsu—”

The words refused to come out as you took in his current condition - a full arm cast, a brace around his waist, oxygen tubes through his nose and multiple bandages covering his pretty face. The window sill is lined with various vases of fresh flowers and 'Get Well Soon!' cards. It's overwhelming, the lump in your throat hardening at the sight, unable to stop the lightning bolts of anxiety zapping the color from your face. Bakugo snaps you out of it when his left hand reaches across the bed and grips your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

“Stop analyzin’ the damage and c’mere already.”

Before you could react, he’s using his free arm to wrap around your shoulders, tucking you against him as tightly as he could manage. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna come visit me.”

The tears are swiftly building on your waterline, threatening to downpour all over your cheeks and stain his hospital gown. It takes every ounce of willpower not to say 'I didn't think I'd ever see you again.'

“They wouldn’t let me, I’ve been trying for a week. Your mom convinced them to let me in,” you explain as you lay one of your hands over his heart, thumbing over the fabric and feeling the freshly raised scar tissue underneath. “I’ve called and texted you, but figured they didn’t let you have your phone.”

“I don’t even know where it is,” he huffs. “Ma probably has it, or it’s dead on my desk in the dorms.”

Bakugo’s fingers run through your hair, playing with it absentmindedly in silence, sighing to himself. “I’ve got so much shit runnin’ through my head that I can’t think straight.”

“Yeah...I thought that would be the case.” You pull yourself away from his embrace, shifting to the opposite side of the bed before settling in to the chair by the window. "What's going on?"

He pouts, extending his left hand in your direction. There’s a hint of pink under his bandages that begins blooming down his neck when he mumbles, “Want you closer.”

You pick up the chair to scoot it forward as Bakugo groans aloud, shaking his head and patting the empty space next to him in the hospital bed.

“Kats, there isn’t enough room for both of us,” you laugh, unable to hide the drag of your lips curling into a smile at his flustered expression. He stares at you for a moment longer, asking 'please?' with those beautiful ruby eyes of his.

How can you not give in to him?

As gingerly as you can, you slide under the thin blanket on the bed and up against his left side, his arm raised to make room for your body to mold into his. You’re terrified to touch him, treating him like a porcelain statue and stiffening in his embrace.

"M'not gonna break if ya touch me," he comments, patting you on the back for assurance. Reluctantly, you lay your head against his chest and drape your arm over his midsection, settling in and getting as comfortable as you could in the confined space, careful to avoid all of the wires and tubes hooked up to him.

"I'm not used to you being touchy-feely for more than a minute at a time," you joke, smiling when you hear the click of his tongue against his teeth in response. 

"My damn parents are the only ones I've been stuck with, gimme a goddamn break!"

A few minutes pass before you two carry on the conversation again, Bakugo clearing his throat awkwardly before letting go of the breath he was holding. "How...are ya holdin' up?"

Truthfully? You weren't, hoping that the light purple pockets forming under your eyes and lifeless hair were not dead giveaways of your mental status.

"I've...been better. What about you?" you reply, blatantly lying through your teeth. It wouldn't be fair to lay out all of the traumatic shit you've thought about over the last week when he's in the hospital recovering from the actual traumatic events.

"It's...lonely here," Bakugo mutters faintly, almost too low to hear. "An' I can't sleep. The nurses are nice, though, same with the therapist they sent in yesterday."

"They made you see a therapist straight out of surgery?"

"Right? S'what I said. Didn't talk much, though. Basically gave me the rundown of UA supplying all the students a therapist next month. Don't think it'll do much for me, not like I can undo all the shit that happened, but Ma talked me into goin' later on."

"Can't hurt, even if it's every once in awhile."

"...Yeah."

You trace some of the creases in his hospital gown idly, savoring his presence and the sound of his voice. Bakugo fidgets with the material of your shirt, wanting to avoid dumping all of his thoughts on your shoulders, but the weight is too much for him to hold onto any longer. 

"Izuku's...quirkless again. I don't know how to feel, but I cried like a damn child when I overheard him talkin' with All Might about it. Gave me a perspective that I never thought about before all this shit went down."

"And what's that?"

"...I robbed him of his dream."

You wish, more than anything, that you could go into Bakugo's head and pluck out all the guilt he still harbors over his and Midoriya's childhood together. It's not like Midoriya held it against him anymore, and Bakugo knew that, but he couldn't shake those demons loose that reminded him of his past self.

"You didn't. He knew the costs of One for All and agreed to it, it's not your fault."

"I know, but I feel so fuckin' shitty for treating him like he's dirt for so long."

"It's not stupid to feel," you say, feeling his body tense and relax beneath you. "But Katsuki, you need to forgive yourself. You can't let this eat away at you forever, it's been over two years since you apologized."

His heart aches at your words, knowing you're right, but he couldn't forgive himself...not yet, anyways. Maybe tomorrow, or next week, even next month, just not right now.

"...thank you," is all Bakugo can say, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from getting choked up about it for a second time. Silence falls upon the room, letting the two of you simply co-exist for a moment of peace. It had been a long fucking week, and being in the same room, let alone touching one another, was a luxury you didn't know if you'd ever have again.

"I'm out of commission for a bit, but that's not a concern to me right now. I know I can come back from this shit and stay on track to bein' number one. There's somethin' else that's been on my mind since..." he trails off, the hand on your back moving to your shoulder to tighten his hold on you. "...I fought Shigaraki in that damn fortress."

You rest your hand atop his on your shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it if it's stressful."

"No, I need'ta tell ya before I chicken out 'cause I didn't say it when I had the chance." He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, twisting the strands in his finger as he bit his lip nervously. He's thankful you aren't currently looking at him, else wise all his cover would be blown before he spoke one word about it.

"The second he broke my arm, I didn't think about the pain, all I could think about was seein' you again. And then some otherworldly shit happened, the weirdest fuckin' out of body experience. I didn't believe in any of that junk until now."

Hearing him recollect the memory of his untimely death resurfaces all of the dormant fears lying in your mind from your nightmares. You screw your eyes shut to keep them away, to shield you a little longer from the pain they inflict upon you. Bakugo was right here, right now, with you. He's not an illusion or a figment of your imagination...he's here.

"...are you shaking?" He asks, hand cascading down your back to calm your nerves. You hadn't noticed that you were trembling, focused on doing your damndest to keep it together and let him spill his guts freely. "Do you want me to stop talkin' about it?"

It's muffled against his hospital gown, but you're able to squeak out a measly 'no.' He pats your head tenderly and shuts his eyes before continuing.

"I remember focusin' on rushing in and getting hit a second time, but this felt...different. There wasn't any pain, and when I came to, All Might's vestige ghost was there. He didn't say anything when I talked to him," Bakugo pauses, inhaling deeply to compose himself. "He led me back to UA and took me to the support wing's workshop. You were testing somethin' with Goggles, giggling away like an idiot with her."

The tears welling up in your eyes were inevitable at this point - was he insinuating that while he was skirting between life and death, he thought about you?

"And then I was outside, lying in the grass at our favorite spot down by the river. You'd dropped your fuckin' popsicle in the dirt, whining about how much you wanted it. I made fun of ya a bit before givin' you mine, but you insisted we share it instead. It was...nice. Everything felt warm and peaceful. When I actually woke up to Jeanist and the others, they kept sayin' I was revived and needed to go to the hospital. That's when I jumped in to help Deku and, well, y'know the rest."

Your body shivers, the hiccup you were desperately holding in coming to the surface in a muted sob. He silently lets a few tears fall, too, the bandages growing saturated with saltiness and stinging the open cuts on his face. His stomach was in knots, but shockingly, he welcomed the foreign feeling. To him, it only confirmed what he felt was true. He didn't know jack shit about love, but was more than confident that he could untangle the complexities of it with you.

"I was knockin' on death's door and you led me back home. Before I left, I was gonna tell ya how important you are to me...now more than ever."

You pray that Bakugo can't feel, or hear, how hard your heart was beating against your sternum, hammering away at his unexpected confession. The whirring of the medical machinery accompanied his words hanging in the air, swirling in tandem with the thoughts in your head.

Do it.

Say it.

Take the chance.

Cautiously, you attempt to sit up and haphazardly slip on the sheets, colliding foreheads with him while trying to catch yourself. Instead of scolding you, Bakugo bursts out laughing, a few stray tears falling from the corners of his eyes. "Y'coulda said something instead of head butting me, brat."

"Like you gave me a chance to say shit!" you scoff, poking him in the chest playfully. When your eyes meet, reflective hearts are bouncing between your gazes, faces lingering dangerously close to one another. "I've...been waiting to tell you something, too."

"Yeah? An' what's that?"

Your vision begins to blur, eyes falling shut as the gravity becomes too much to bare any longer. Your left hand glides up his chest, finding purchase on his collarbone while your lips rest plush against his. Electricity races through your veins and time stands still, all the clichés about love coming to the forefront of your mind and how true they proved to be in the moment. You barely notice when Bakugo's free hand threads through your hair and settles at the nape of your neck, melding the two of you into a deeper first, and definitely not last, kiss. When you part, it's not met with gasps for air, but with breathless sighs of bliss. You're pulling away only to gravitate back into his orbit, unable to resist his advance when he lurches forward to steal a second kiss. Your lips quiver against his as the words in your heart beg to be released, unable to cage the emotions thrashing around in your chest.

"You have no idea how many nightmares…I had about you not coming home…or that it was too late…to bring you back to life in the hospital,” you mutter between delicate kisses, finally having the strength to lean back and lock eyes with him. “I'd be standing at your goddamn grave like a widow whose husband returned from war in a casket, vacantly staring at the ground while the rain soaked through my clothes. The roses always had thorns that cut my hands open. It changed every single night, a new version of losing you before getting the chance to say...," you stop, attempting to swallow the pain long enough to confess, but your voice betrays you and cracks as you blurt out, "that I love you, Katsuki, and—"

He dreamily exclaims, "I love you, too," before the realization hits that he said it out loud and not in his head. It catches you both off guard and sends him into an adorable panic, the previous pink hue to his skin growing deeper by the second.

"S-shit," he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching his nose to hide his lovesick expression. Your run your finger along his jawline, careful not to catch any of the bandaging, and stop at his chin to coax his attention back to you.

"I want to be the loudest person that you can hear cheering for you in a crowd when you save a little kid or capture a villain." Your hand cups the right side of his face while you continue to pour your bruised heart out. "To be your number one fan at signings and promo events that an agency is going to force your grumpy ass to do, the one who picks up your broken pieces when no one else is around. I want to give you everything because you deserve nothing less than that."

For the first time in his short life, Bakugo is speechless. What did he ever do to deserve your endearment? He wasn't one to shy away from expressing what was owed to him through blood, sweat and tears - like working hard on an assignment and deserving nothing short of a 100% passing grade - but this was unlike anything else. He truly didn't know why you were so captivated by his energy, even before these confessions came stumbling out into the open. What about him appealed to you in such a way to make you desire him so deeply?

"I—" he struggles to find the words to say, searching his brain incessantly for something to match your sweet sincerity. "I'd be happy sharin' popsicles with you by the river for the rest of my life if that's what it came down to. I don't need money or fame as a hero, bein' with you is more than enough for me."

In the past, something so sickly sweet would make Bakugo gag and be an immature jackass over the sentimentality, but now? He wouldn't admit that he enjoys the warmth blossoming in his chest and how it gives him stupid ass butterflies, especially when it comes to you. It struck at the most random times; when you'd laugh at his dumb jokes, toss him a smile in the hallway between classes, sit on the countertop while he cooked dinner for you two in the common room kitchen, fall asleep during your movie nights on his shoulder and drool on his shirt...the list kept growing exponentially until it kept him up at night, yearning to be by your side whenever you two were apart. 

He should've known the moment you approached him on the playground over a decade ago, joining him on that rusty swing set out of nowhere and started talking his ear off about the dandelions by the riverbed. 

Fuck, he was smitten as hell for you.

Your eyes well up with crocodile tears, lower lip wobbling and unable to stop the fat droplets coating your lashes, staining your strawberry cheeks and dripping down your neck. 

"T-thank you," you choke out, wiping your palms over your face to erase the tears. Bakugo chuckles under his breath, reaching to cradle your cheek in his hand. 

"So, do I still gotta ask you?" he jokes, smiling awkwardly as his eyes dart to the ceiling. 

You don't know what he's referring to. "Ask me...what?"

"...Seriously?" Bakugo lets his hand fall from your face. The blank expression on your face confirms you are absolutely clueless to what he means.

"Fuck, fine." He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders dramatically before shifting in the bed to re-position himself. He leisurely tilts his head forward and into your space, close enough for his breath to fan over your lips as he speaks. "I want ya to be mine."

"Didn't sound like a question to me," you tease, lovingly nuzzling your nose with his.

"Shut the fuck up...wanna hear ya say it."

Uh oh, gravity is kicking in again.

Your lips part with half-lidded eyes as you purr, "I'm already yours, Katsuki," before melting into him, sealing your promise with another kiss. He tries to control it, but the tiniest moan floods out of him when he experimentally swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, ferociously flaring your cheeks into a deep scarlet flush as you reciprocate. Instinctively, he moves his right arm to cradle you closer and is met with searing pain, jolting away from your lips unexpectedly.

"Fuck!" he shouts, out of breath and wincing at the pain burning into his shoulder. "Sorry, s'my fault for trying to move the damn thing. Wasn't thinkin' and forgot where we are."

The sparkle in his eyes dim as he cast his gaze downward to analyze the cast. His shoulders slump and he shakes his head, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was never good at timin', but dammit, I wish I could hold ya properly."

"No, no, it's alright, we've got plenty of time when you can."

Bakugo exhales while shifting his weight to readjust, making room for you to lay on his chest and tucking you back under his good arm a second time.

"Promise me somethin'," he sighs into your hair. "No matter how awful shit gets in the future, don't lose faith in me or the others over some dumbass villains and let it sour your outlook on the world."

Wow, were your feelings that obvious?

"It's...not that." Guilt trickles down your spine, goosebumps prickling up your arms from pinpointing the negative associations you've built up in your head. "Of course I believe in you, Kats, but it scares the shit out of me that this all happened before any of you had the chance to be pros. I know you said you're not worried about it, but I am."

He knows you're right, you have every reason to be concerned over the state of the world and what that means for the future after everything that's happened this year.

"I have hope," he starts, letting his head fall back against the stack of pillows. "Doc told me my right arm is dead in the water 'cause of all the bone segments they had to join together in the surgery, but the possibility of it healin' isn't out of the question."

Your heart sinks in the pause of conversation. How could he have such a positive outlook after being legally dead?

"I refused a prosthetic and wanna try rehab first. M'not gonna let it ruin my approach to bein' a hero. The real challenge is my heart, but that's not—"

"Wait, what's wrong with your heart? I thought Edgeshot patched it up?" you interrupt, turning up at him with your brows scrunched together. It might be a silly question, all things considered, but Edgeshot was a masterful surgeon with a high success rate in his field...everything should be fine, right? 

His heartbeat kicks up in tempo under your cheek - that can't be a good sign.

"He did...but it's not that simple, sweetheart. I've gotta take it easy for at least six weeks, maybe some meds to keep things stable. Shit sucks, considering I'm used to training daily, but it's not impossible to deal with. I can handle it. Plus, I got you an' your gadgets on my side."

"And you're telling me all this, but are worried about my feelings and Izuku being quirkless instead of yourself?"

Damn, you hit the nail on the head. Bakugo smirks, laughing to himself. "Heh, yeah. Guess so."

"Typical Katsuki, silently caring about everyone else before himself." You snuggle into him, a yawn falling out of you as you pull the blanket up to your shoulders. "Stop making me like you more and go back to grumpy, please."

"Only if ya promise to stick with me." 

"Like you have to ask. I promise."

He places a kiss to the crown of your head. "Good."

Your eyes fall shut, the rhythm of Bakugo's heart beginning to lull you into a tranquil, and much needed, sleep. Before you pass out, you drowsily slur, "Everything's gonna be okay. You're the strongest person I know...love you, Kats."

Pearlescent tears pool at the corners of his eyes, the ones that escape rolling over the gauze on his face and soaking into the material once more. All the pain, worry, and relentless thoughts about failure temporarily fade away into nothingness, offering him peace and a sense of safety to drift off to dreamland. He closes his eyes, lips upturned into a smile as he whispers, "Thank you...love you too, princess. Sweet dreams."

The door to Bakugo's room creaked open a half-hour later, Mitsuki and Masaru returning with dinner as promised. "Hey kid, we're—"

She stops herself, putting a finger to her lips and turning to Masaru, signaling for him to quietly shut the door. They can't help but jointly smile at the sight before them, the two of you are snoring away on the hospital bed together, cozied up under the sheets and out like a light. 

"Reminds you of us, doesn't it? I had a feeling seeing her would help him relax," Masaru says, lightly stroking Mitsuki's back. "Why don't we come back in a bit to see if they're up?"

She nods and hands the containers of mabo tofu for him to take while she approaches the hospital bed. Her palm glides over Bakugo's cast, thumb tracing over his right wrist as her mind wandered back to memories of him as a little firecracker of a child; chasing butterflies in the backyard, playing super heroes with Izuku, and his toothy little grin anytime he was excited about something. Nineteen years flew by, and Mitsuki couldn't be prouder of her bombastic hero. Before turning to leave with Masaru, she affectionately pinches Bakugo's cheek, light enough not wake him from his slumber. She peers over at you, admiring how much you've grown, too.

'If anyone's gonna take care of my brat, it's you...thank you.'

The two of them leave you to enjoy each other's comfort. 

The hurricane has passed and there's sunlight shining on a new future. The will be storms to come, but society has been given a chance to heal, all thanks to the next generation of pro heroes sacrificing their youth to challenge the status quo. Things won't be easy, that's for damn sure, but it's gonna take something stronger than the depths of hell to keep Katsuki Bakugo away from his dream - and you. 

written in a frenzy while listening to epiphany // evermore & semi-proof read through my own tears, so apologies if it's just a bunch of mushy ramble. i have a bunch of other projects to work on, and am shifting back to them, this just was in my head and i needed to get it out. thanks for reading. <3

[jesswritesthat]

Shinsō Hitoshi: Friends?

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.2k, fluff

• U.A. had a rumour that Shinsō was only ever late to (L/n)s’ side once, but he hasn’t let anything touch them since. But just how true is it?

Warnings: Potential spoilers

>>>>——————————>

It was a renowned fact that you were perfectly capable of defending yourself in dangerous situations - as well as dishing out your own dangerous attacks.

In this instance, it made sense that yourself and Shinsō were often paired together since he joined Class 2A as you seemed to compliment one another on the field and during training drills.

Hero course third years naturally had the respect and attention of a majority of their juniors, especially since you were all involved in the war. It became useful for when you assisted in their training lessons though and due to Shinsōs’ connection with Sensei Aizawa, he was requested - and you by proxy if it was a team focused protocol.

The set of five students you were both up against were the cleverest so far, you’d noted that when you’d knocked out two of them only to realise they’d sacrificed themselves as bait so the remaining three -two as Hitoshi wrapped the aerial student up- went all out on a combo attack directed at you.

Now you could take this hit, and then use the debris as a cover to counterattack. However, you never had the chance when you saw a familiar cloth bind your attackers’ limb and derail his trajectory into the dusty floor whilst the other received a swift counterattack on your behalf and it was all over.

“Thanks Hitoshi.” The two of you shared a fist bump to celebrate the victory.

“The tactics you used allowed you to survive the longest against Shinsō and (L/n) at 2 minutes, however exposing yourself to danger should only be a last resort…”

As Aizawa finished his teachings and set the assignment of improving their times for the following weeks session, a few students began their idle chatter regarding the exercise. How they’d seen similar behaviour on various accounts.

On occasions when you were in danger, they’d seen Shinsō use his binding cloth to pull you out of the way or neutralise the attackers. They’d seen him put himself between you and an onslaught or push you out of the way. In every circumstance that he was in your radius, and you on the rare chance were in firing range, he’d protect you over himself at any cost.

That’s what heroes do though right? And Shinsō Hitoshi had a greater determination to prove that than most.

This was… different somehow. You were different.

You were certainly friends as you were seen together fairly commonly, but Shinsō was closer to Izuku and Denki, whilst you associated more with Mina and Kirishima. Maybe they were reading too much into this?

———

It was only when the young group were brainstorming strategies did the topic arise in depth.

“I heard from seniors that Shinsō was late once, and he hasn’t let (L/n) get touched since.” One of the group claimed proudly.

“Late? Like to school?”

“No idiot. Apparently (L/n) was up against a villain last year and put themselves between civilians so I found the footage.” The student quickly fished for her phone, playing the video to her peers.

It displayed you taking a nasty blow when acting as a shield, strong enough to draw blood. Shinsō just managed to catch you in his arms before you hit the floor unconscious - a deadly rage sparking in his violet eyes when taking in your condition and looking back to the villain.

“Biggest mistake of your life.”

“Hah! The mistake was—“

It was over instantly, Brainwash took ahold and the rest was wrapped up undeniably quickly. Then the video ended leaving the students gawking.

“Ouch.” One of them winced. “I’ve never seen Shinsō look so angry. That villain was tied up unconscious quicker than anyone could blink.”

“Yep. (L/n) has never taken major hits with him around since.”

“We could use that to our advantage right?”

“Exactly…”

———

The following week you were called upon once more to evaluate their (hopeful) improvements to their previous strategies. Although it was Present Mic supervising this time so it was far more deafening in comparison.

When facing the top scorers from last week, both yourself and Shinsō noticed the adjustments in their tactics but hadn’t quite deciphered their endgame. It was when they staged an attack for you and minimised Shinsōs’ movements to a point that prevented him from getting to you in time did it come to fruition.

You could dodge though, except when one of their quirks went haywire and lead to an explosion large enough to decimate the rocky terrain into a crumbling landslide.

Naturally you’d used your quirk to get the other student to safety which limited your escape time, but with Shinsō and the others out of harms way you were a little reassured. At least until a desperate cloth bound your abdomen - immediately pulling you from an array of thrashing boulders.

You went crashing into a solid chest, toned fishnetted arms enveloping you as effortlessly as breathing. You felt the racing of his heart, the raggedness of his breath, and the warm sigh of relief when he’d pulled his mask down with one hand.

“Hitoshi?”

“Are you alright?” His tone was slightly lower, angling himself slightly so it was spoken near your ear rather than to anyone else.

“Yes but, why are you always saving me?”

His eyes widened for a moment, pulling back slightly in brief surprise like you’d unravelled a personal secret.

“(L/n)! Shinsō! I’m so sorry I dunno what happened - my quirk just— I didn’t mean for it to—“ The panicked first year came bounding over the rocks frantically issuing apologies which Shinsō was admittedly grateful for.

“What matters is that you’re okay, and so are your friends - uh mostly.” You managed a brief glance at the trio who’d cornered your comrade, all of them groaning and rubbing their heads whilst the perpetrator simply shrugged.

“They prevented me from my objective. I had no choice but to incapacitate them.”

“Alright alright, shows over! You may’ve beat your time but the risk wasn’t worth it. I’m sure Aizawa would agree.” Mic chastised, adjusting his glasses to send a daring glance their way.

“Yes Sensei.” The group bowed in apology, the rest of the class both concerned and amused with the whole ordeal.

“You can all help clean up, you can practice quirk management, and you two can let go of each other now y’know.” Mic pointed at each of his targets, raising a bemused brow when landing on the two of you.

Immediately you’d stepped apart, awkwardly locking gazes and snapping back to Present Mic rather guiltily. Though you soon had a moment to yourselves once clean up began and Mic lectured them on quirk control.

“Hitoshi, you know I can handle myself right?”

“I know. But seeing you get hurt once was bad enough, and knowing I hadn’t arrived in time to save the one person I—“ He shoved his hands in his pockets, deadpan gaze remaining on your figure prior to flicking to the ground. “It doesn’t matter. You know how it is.”

“I do. I’d be upset if I couldn’t save you too.”

A meaningful look was exchanged, one that communicated more than words possibly could, and you pretended you hadn’t seen the heavy scarlet dusting the skin of Hitoshi as he pulled his scarf up.

“Since today has been smashing, shall we have an early dinner at the dorms? Maybe watch a movie too?”

“That was terrible.”

“But you appreciate it~”

“I tolerate it.”

The pair of you left together, you laughing as you spoke with Hitoshis’ admiring gaze never leaving you.

In the midst of clearing the collateral damage, the first year class watched on in awe.

“Huh. Maybe they’re more than just friends.”

“Maybe? Hah yeah right!” Present Mic only laughed, oblivious to the entire glass snapping to him in utter astonishment.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[inaflashimagine]

SINCE LAST TIME

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from. But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 9.4k

tags & warnings: (kinda) friends with benefits, suggestive themes, manga spoilers (sakamoto's past arc & assassination exhibition arc), light angst, reader was Nagumo's former spy classmate, no use of pronouns, instance of harassment/inappropriate behavior

notes: can be read as a standalone fic or the second part of a series found here. crossposted on ao3.

“Those are pretty!”

You can’t help but agree with the excited six-year-old holding your hand, though choosing the right words to voice your thoughts proves difficult. 

Your eyes survey the rest of your apartment. They seem to move quicker than your stiff tongue, less focused on the bouquet of roses on the dining table and more worried about locating the trespasser who put them there in the first place. 

The walk from the school back to the apartment didn’t take more than ten minutes. The television was still left on before you headed out. You didn’t realize how it was still programmed to the assassin channel until the JAA News anchors resumed their discussion of three wanted terrorists, their names when you first heard them a week ago as unexpected as the bloodred flowers currently staring at you.

In hindsight, wondering if you’d be able to find the culprit was a silly thing to fret over. Especially when the type of person to make such a grand gesture rarely decides to remain hidden. 

“I know, right?” exclaims a deep, jubilant voice from behind. “The florist freshly cut them from his garden, too! But how do we feel about the vase? Are the polka dots too flashy?”

The door shuts with a firm click, a sound you had already heard a few seconds ago. Because you closed the door yourself. 

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from.

But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. 

It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

The hand enveloped by yours feels smaller than ever as you turn the curious girl around and shield her from the smiling man leaning forward to wave at her. The action gets her to peek behind your protective stance, her giggles growing louder the more your frown widens. 

“Yumiko,” you say softly, refusing to show the hint of panic beginning to seize your chest. “How about you do your drills first? I’ll review them with you in a bit.” It’s already that time of the school year when her class learns basic kanji. However, you secretly fear all those hours of practice still won’t correct her sloppy penmanship.

“But you said we’d watch Sugar’s Sweet Adventures first!” she whines, the rare protest paired with her doe-like eyes close enough to make you cave in. 

Yet your gaze remains on the smiling man in front of you. 

“We’ll do that after you finish your homework. I promise.” You give her hand two tight squeezes, your voice reedier by the second. “Please.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” he unhelpfully adds as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his white baggy pants, “because the one time I hadn’t was sooo close to being my last day on this planet!”

Yumiko laughs, a melody so light that you can feel your resolve chipping away. “You’re funny, mister!”

“Aw, you think so? Well, at least I have one fan in this household!”

“Wait, if you brought flowers, does that mean you’re staying for dinner, too?” Her black pigtails bounce with the rocking of her feet before she takes a step forward. She tugs on the strap of her limited edition Sugar backpack while you pull her behind you again. “We’re having Chinese tonight.”

“Oh, from that one place around the corner? Their pork dumplings are so delicious!”

As if to prove his point, he pats his stomach a few times and lists a few other of his favorite meals from the restaurant with a satisfied smile, leaving you stunned and Yumiko giggling once again.

“Yes! Please join us, mister!” Her gaze flits back to you, catching your mortified expression reflected in those excited dark brown eyes. “Can he join us, please?”

“Not if you don’t finish those assignments,” you cut in, the anxiety gnawing at you so intensely that you’re able to snap out of your bewilderment. Desperate for any solution that gets her far away from all this. 

But you’re not sure what shocks you more: Yumiko’s disappointed sigh or the ease with which she proceeds to simultaneously slip out her shiny black shoes and shrug off her bag. 

“Fine, I’ll do them. But only after I go to the bathroom.”

The moment you hear the pitter-patter of feet being muffled by the closing of a bathroom door is the instant you push the intruder against the apartment’s front door. The one he somehow managed to picklock without so much as uttering a sound.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Nagumo says cheerfully, his disguise gone within a blink. 

Though that smile hasn’t faltered one bit. If anything, you swear it’s gotten bigger.

“Seems like you’ve lost yours.” The grooves of your apartment key dig deeper into his neck, a tiny bead of red coloring the black spiral inked onto him. It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon achievement that would’ve made you insufferable to be around had it happened during your sparring classes at the JCC.

But when you see his pinned shoulders relax instead of resist, you remember how deftly he can flip himself out of this situation.

And how swiftly he can end yours. 

You snort derisively, trying your best to ignore the way his large eyes only seem interested in taking in the face that’s a hair’s breadth away from his. As much as his talkative nature drives you mad, you’d rather deal with his constantly running mouth over his silent one. “You call yourself a master of disguise but can’t change that obnoxious cologne you wear?”

He seems unfazed, the lazy stretch of his lips as he watches you with mild amusement infuriating you even more. “Obnoxious? How hurtful! And here I was worried that time made you softer.”

“The only thing you need to worry about is that target over your head.” Your eyes glance at the flat screen before returning to a slowly blinking Nagumo.

The tip of your tongue feels heavy with the number of questions you want to ask him. Why is he pictured in between an assassin who has long since retired and another who he swore he would kill? 

And why is he here, of all places? You already have enough on your plate to worry about. Are there others currently on his tail? The idea that more assassins may burst through this door while Yumiko is here terrifies you. 

You want to strangle him. 

“A target?” The confusion that tinges his voice is also seen in the exaggerated tilt of his head, the assassin uncaring that the action causes the key to poke further into his neck. “While I am flattered to be compared to that objectively attractive ‘Wanted’ guy, you’re confusing me for another Nagumo Yoichi. After all, I’m an upstanding JAA employee and obedient member of the Order, thank you very much.”

“Oh, cut the act,” you hiss, the flush of the toilet in the background proving how little time you have left. Leaning forward, you glimpse the silver key between your fingers beginning to turn crimson. “Or I’ll let the JAA know where their Special Class-A Extermination Target is…”

He dares to feign a pained gasp while mirth dances in his eyes. “You’d rat me out, even after I brought you these flowers? You have to admit that they’re an upgrade from last time.”

Despite it being the most inopportune time, his words bring back a rush of memories that you have no shot at ever blocking out.

The faint surprise your face undeniably showed upon opening the apartment door that one night over seven years ago–a shock that wasn’t caused by the all-too-familiar sight of long limbs occupying every corner of your couch but had rather stemmed from the bouquet of bright white roses he tossed between his hands.

White roses speckled with dark red splotches.

His thank-you gift, no doubt. 

At least his suit was clean. 

What remained uncertain was whether the present was for a favor in the past, or for a current one in his unlucky deck of cards.

You had grabbed it from him anyway, heading straight to the kitchen and swallowing a pleased sigh that threatened to leave you when soft lips grazed your neck and long arms wrapped around your waist. Ignoring the warmth in your constricted chest as fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and strands of silky hair tickled your cheek, instead attempting to focus on the scissors in your hands to cut the flower stems at a sharp angle. “But please don’t tell me those dots are bloo–”

“Nah, of course it’s not my blood!” he immediately clarified with a chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through your skin and going straight through your bones. “How was I supposed to know the dude would bleed like some stuck pig?”

“Nagumo!” You hoped he’d surmise your gasp as one of horror over his indifference, but saying his name like that the minute his hand dipped below your pants is not something even the most naive could chalk up to coincidence.

“Now, don’t act all innocent on me,” he whispered into your ear, planting a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Not when you’re the only spy who knows the whereabouts of one of my next targets.”

After placing the stained roses in a black vase, you managed to wiggle in his grasp, turning to pull on his tie before linking your arms around his neck. Unsure why the knot in your stomach seemed to tighten from his admission, one that you already saw coming the moment you opened the door. 

The more you thought about it, Nagumo rarely offered gifts of appreciation for services completed in the past. Perhaps a present of that magnitude could only be received for accomplishing a wish not even a god could grant.

If that was the case, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The latest trail you caught wind of went cold months ago. At the very least, it was likely she was still alive, but providing him any further details would be pure speculation or straight-up lies. Despite all the classes Nagumo skipped when you two were in high school, one particular lesson always stuck with each student in the intelligence-gathering and assassin programs: a stiff body is easier to find than a constantly moving one. 

But if she wasn’t dead, then it was also very likely that she didn’t want to be found. 

Neither of you had ever discussed that last scenario—such hypotheticals were pointless in this profession, after all—but you’re sure he already knew. Even then, he still acted like a stubborn dog that refused to let go of the worn bone, as if hopeful that, maybe, just maybe, he could eventually trade it in for something of higher value. 

Hope was the last thing assassins should hold onto. Civilians who did so were often seen as optimistic or naive. But for those in your field, it got you killed.

Shaking your head, you sent him an unimpressed look. “Contaminated roses in exchange for valuable intel? Talk about unfair exchange.”

He merely blinked, blank eyes staring evenly at you before giving you a boyish smile. “Ah, of course, my bad! So would you prefer red ones next time?”

“You’re ridiculous!” And like last time, you laughed against his lips, closing the distance to push away the sinking feeling that this transaction, along with the previous ones, would never extend beyond that. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyes just as hard as you were then he’d be able to picture the one target that’s never been able to leave his mind.

Upset at Nagumo for evoking such unwelcome thoughts, you tighten your grip against him and repeat those two words.

What favor does he want now? Wasn’t last time enough?

Does he know how much you’ve risked for him? How much is at stake just because he stepped foot into your haven?

“You know, it’s quite rude to treat a friend like this!” he chides, grabbing your wrist with the key before wagging a finger from his other–now free–hand. “Especially one who saw their best friend fake-resurrect from the dead before nearly getting sliced to pieces by a senile man with a sword.”

The key clatters to the floor as your jaw goes slack, attempting to piece together the bomb he so casually dropped.

Akao Rion?

“She’s alive?” you ask, dumbfounded. Even saying it now is a foreign sensation. How? “And that’s made you a wanted man?”

And if Akao Rion is alive, then why is he here?

“Mister, how did you lose so much weight?”

Hearing Yumiko makes you recognize what else you missed amidst the chaos: the creaky sound of the bathroom faucet turning on and off; the echo of the bar soap she always drops into the sink when washing her hands; the shuffling of her feet when she opens the door.

Maybe you are losing your touch.

It doesn’t matter that for the length he was gone, you carried on normally. And it doesn’t matter that in those years you almost forgot how important he was to you. Because it makes no difference now. The time and distance apart lulled you into a false sense of security, and created an illusion that is so painstakingly obvious now– 

Everything is thrown out of orbit whenever he inserts himself into your life.

“That’s a good question! Well, you know how 70% of our bodies are made up of water? Mine is stored in all these mini balloons and your mom just happened to pop a few by accident. Crazy, right?”

“Just because I’m six doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Standing beside you once again, she reaches for a scratched-up MP3 player and a pair of oversized headphones that are all neatly tucked in her bag before peering at you instead of the bleeding man in your apartment. “Can I go to my bedroom instead of the guest room? I forgot that I left my drill book there.”

Your mouth drops momentarily before you come to your senses. The fact that she might be safer alone than with you is pathetically insulting, although that might speak more to her capabilities than yours. Oddly enough, she’s probably the wisest child you know. Not that you run across many children with your career. “Uh, sure. Do you have the spare key?”

She nods wordlessly, opting for a cursory thanks before she excuses herself, puts on her shoes, and politely asks a perplexed Nagumo to step aside. As she opens the door, the small girl cranes her head upward to spare him a plain look before she leaves.

“And my mom won’t be here until dinner. But I’ll be done with homework before then.”

You think it’s one of the few times you’ve seen someone steal Nagumo’s last words. And based on how wide his bemused eyes are, it might be his first as well.

But the pride that swells in your chest is quickly deflated with another realization.

“Wait…you thought Yumiko was my daughter?”

“Not just your daughter,” he mutters as he loosens his hold around your wrist, the action–or rather, the absence of it–reminding you how warm his touch is. 

It’s your turn to be rendered speechless, taking a step back as you fix an incredulous stare at the former-spy-apprentice-turned-rogue-assassin whose blood continues to drip onto your typically spotless floor.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he teases with the corners of his lips tugging into a knowing expression. He looks way too happy at the possibility of being a deadbeat. “You can’t deny that we look alike. Plus, you can do the math. She’s six years old, has my humor and intellect…”

You wonder if he realizes that comparing his intelligence to that of a first-grader isn’t the best demonstration of his mind at ‘its brightest’. Then again, his childish frivolity might also explain why kids seem to cling to him like a magnet.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and direct him to put it over his wounded neck, uncaring for how he winces at your rough treatment. As melodramatic as ever. You swore you had just nicked him, in spite of the mess he’s made with your clothes and apartment. “Just shut up and stay there.” 

“–And then you disappeared a few days after our little spat. I also remember the condom break–”

“What a spot-on analysis, Sherlock,” you spit out, picking up your dirty key before making your way to the kitchen drawers. “But you were the one who disappeared, after that night”–you falter, shaking your head furiously while grabbing a clean rag–“anyway, it’s not my fault I was assigned a two-year mission in Singapore. And you could’ve reached out anytime, especially for work matters. Other Order members have.”

Yet that number seems to be dwindling more with each passing day. You feel your fist slightly curl around the cloth when Hyo pops up in your mind. He always provided updates on how Nagumo was doing, no matter how reluctant he was to deliver them and no matter how awkward you felt receiving them. You think you would happily endure a thousand more of those embarrassing moments if it meant he could still be alive.

You guess that’s why it’s called wishful thinking.

Nagumo takes the rag from you, immediately offering a good-natured grin when he catches your eyes narrowing at how long his fingers linger on yours. “Ah, you’re no fun anymore. I was just kidding about all that!”

Your huff of disbelief is less than flattering. “Well forgive me for not being able to tell the difference between the truth and your shitty jokes after seven years of radio silence.”

His whistle rings far and low. “Wow, seven years? Has it been that long?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Folding your arms, you fling his words right back at him. “You can do the math, right? After all, I’m the one who doesn’t ‘know anything’.”

Nagumo sighs upon seeing your air quotes, scratching the back of his head with one hand while staunching the slower trickle of blood from his neck using the other. “So you are still upset over what happened that night.”

And for every subsequent night that he seemed to forget you exist.

“No, I’m upset that you show up at my home while you’re being hunted by every single assassin and spy in Japan.”

At least it’s not a total lie.

“Well, not every single member.” You can only scoff at the direction of his pointed finger.

“And what makes you think I won’t alert them of your whereabouts?”

“Because you already would’ve done so.” It’s a fact that seems to please him, based on that smirk plastered on his face. “Guess I can still call you a friend, even if you won’t formally invite me into your place.” 

There he goes with that word again. 

“No, don’t think about taking another step. I refuse to be an accomplice to whatever mess you dragged Sakamoto into.”

“Immediately taking his side? I see how it is.” For someone who sounds offended, his carefree laughter indicates otherwise. “I’ll have you know that I was the one trying to stop Sakamoto-kun. Not to mention he was the one with the billion-yen bounty! But you always did have a soft spot for him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you partnered with Uzuki. And after everything he’s done?” Though with Akao allegedly being alive, you’re still not sure what to make of any of this. It feels like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with lost pieces and several wrong ones. 

The smile on his face immediately hardens into a straight line, and like last time, that’s when you know you asked the wrong question.

“You’re missing the full story.”

Aware that you’ll fail, you futilely try to see anything past the void he expertly maintains in those eyes. Eyes that are cleverly hidden by long strands of hair. 

Against your better judgment, you take back the rag from his hand and nod, unable to suppress the tired sigh that leaves you. Or the splitting headache that follows. “I know. So tell me.” 

Once Nagumo reassures you that no one followed him (“Please, I’m a wanted man, not some half-baked assassin!”), you leave him in the living room area, make a pit stop at the laundry basket, and head to the apartment next door after letting him know that you’ll be back in a few.

“Hey there, I’m checking in.” You wonder why you bothered knocking on her bedroom door, considering Yumiko only responds after you remove her headphones, the young girl accepting your greeting with a bored expression on her face. “Are you done with your drills?”

“Hmmm, not yet. Is your strange friend still in your home?” 

You do your best to hide the twitch in your eye with an enthusiastic nod. “He is. We’ll be catching up on a few things but shouldn’t take long. I’ll come back here to review your book when we’re done.”

“And then Sugar’s Sweet Adventures?”

“Only if we have time.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t look too disappointed. “Okay. I also think you should get him a new shirt.”

That makes you pause. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of the stain,” she answers plainly, like you asked her what color the sky was. She must mistake your furrowed brows for bafflement because she elaborates with a small, uncertain smile. “It’s probably more difficult to scrub out blood on a black shirt than a white shirt because it’s harder to see where it ends and begins.”

Her mother is going to kill you.

“Right, thank you, that’s a kind suggestion for you to make. I’ll follow it.” 

“And is…he…coming for dinner?”

Pursing your lips, you search for any signs of anxiety or fear on her face. When her calm expression betrays neither, you sigh wearily. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hasn’t told me. But I can see if he will.”

“If he does?”

“Then we’ll have to order some more dumplings.”

Yumiko smiles widely at that, her delighted laugh contagious. Her adult front tooth has started to fill in the gap of the baby tooth that preceded it, and you briefly wonder if you’ll live long enough to see when they all come in.

“Can some of them be fried then?”

“Sure thing, kid,” you say without hesitation, lightly tugging on one of her pigtails before ruffling the top of her head. “So long as you come up with a story on why we couldn’t get the steamed ones. And it better not involve me or so much mention my name.”

“Deal,” she says just as seriously, throwing in a solemn nod to demonstrate her commitment. But her toothy grin shows no sign of leaving. 

Standing up from your kneeling position you ask her one more question. “Also, can we make sure this conversation just stays between the two of us?”

But she’s already slipped her headphones back on, pop music blaring out as she resumes her writing.

As you return to your living room, you catch him holding a certain photo frame. He wiggles it in front of you with gusto, as if you don’t know what picture you placed there yourself. 

“Wow, you didn’t tell me Yumiko’s mom was a total bab–”

“...”

“I mean, a totally responsible-looking and contributing adult to society!”

“So I’m just going to ignore everything you just said,” is your surprisingly measured response, tossing him a large white shirt that you grab from the pile of clean clothes you thankfully laundered a day ago. “Yumiko thought you might want something cleaner. I’m not washing that black one for you though.”

He catches it with ease, already peeling off his baggy shirt as he puts on the new one. “So she did see the blood. Man, I bet she and Hana would get along swimmingly.”

Who? Your face scrunches in confusion, attempting to ignore the sharp stab you suddenly feel on the side. “Hana?”

“And a non-squeamish six-year-old sounds like the kind of promising candidate the JCC loves. You’re sure she’s not yours?”

You hum absent-mindedly, finding your gaze set on the new ink that accompanies numerous bruises on pale skin. He looks more banged up than normal, a strange sight to behold and one that makes you so unusually queasy that you try to brush the thought aside. Parts of the quote on his torso are blocked by thick bandages, some of which turn redder the more he moves around.

The number of assassins and spies you know with tattoos is so few that you can count them on a single hand. You always wondered why such a mysterious person whose life and career depend on the utmost discretion would willingly paint his body with such permanent identifiers. When you had first seen them–starting with seemingly random numbers on dainty fingers–you figured it would be best to stray away from such an arrogant spy apprentice. If a rookie did the same thing, they wouldn’t last longer than a month past graduation. Yet such concerns always fell on deaf ears–even during the JCC days, professors from the intelligence gathering program would chew him out whenever he walked into class with new ink. (“Oh, this? I must’ve forgotten to wash it off this morning! What a drag. Mind if I go to the bathroom to get it off? I swear I’ll be back in a few!”) 

Maybe that’s why he also transferred to another department.

“You know, you didn’t have to use the bloody shirt as an excuse to see me half naked,” he chirps with a close-eyed smile, a statement that is mortifying to hear alone, much less have it directed at you. Particularly when the new shirt hugs him tighter than you’d like. “If you politely asked, I might’ve even let you take it off me.”

Your face blooms with heat and for some unknown reason, you feel like a clueless teenager again. “Yumiko is not mine,” you reply through gritted teeth, trying to remember his original question before he nearly made your spiral. “But she is my neighbor. Her mom's a nurse with long shifts at the hospital, so I pick Yumiko up after school to make sure she’s not alone.”

“Helping your neighbors, for free?” he asks, unsure how to interpret the slight tilt of his head as he sends you a small smirk. “Maybe you have gone soft.”

“I have not ‘gone soft’,” you say defensively, shoulders taut. “Contrary to what you think, I like to help people.”

Besides, you’ve been told that you’re a nice person. You like to think you’re affable than most. Or at the very least, as approachable as a spy can be in this world. 

“Is that so? Tell me, does helping people also include killing innocent assassins on the run?”

But it doesn’t help that you always feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff whenever you’re around him.

If there were a way to weaponize your glares toward assigned targets you’d be the richest person in the assassin world. And the man cheekily smiling across from you would be dead a million times over.

Because if that’s an innocent assassin, you don’t want to see a guilty one.

“Hey Nagumo, has anyone ever told you that you’re a living oxymoron?”

The loud laugh he barks out sounds so nice that it grates your nerves. “As funny as ever! But on second thought, since the grannies at your last place made quite the snoopy bunch, I so get why you were reluctant to help them out.”

The mention of your previous neighbors gets a begrudging eye roll out of you. Nagumo had become such a frequent visitor at your last apartment that he, unsurprisingly, won the hearts of the two nosy, old ladies sandwiched between your unit. If he wasn’t at your place but you still heard rowdy laughter permeating the walls, you instantly assumed that he was gossiping with them over who knew what. Based on the frequent–and unsolicited–reports those two women provided you, he occasionally felt charitable enough to sort their trash and cross off a few items from their grocery lists. They had promised to not snitch on you for breaking the lease terms of authorized occupants despite your insistence that Nagumo–or as they liked to call him, the pretty boy with way too many tattoos–was not living with you nor was he your boyfriend.

“And after seeing this picture”–he, once again, waves the picture frame you repeatedly told him to return to the end table–“I completely understand your newfound passion for community service. She really is a total babe–”

You wack him in the head, which he smartly knows not to block.

“Anyway,” Nagumo says while nursing the newly formed bump on his head, “speaking of being neighborly, mind if I treat myself to some snacks in your pantry?” 

Squinting, you suspiciously eye the gleam of aluminum poking out of his pant pockets. “Good to know you still follow the values of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’.”

That youthful grin on his face never leaves, his simple shrug providing a sufficient answer when he pairs it with a familiar can of white peaches that he whips out. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a can opener. Couldn’t find it in your drawers. I’d use my handy weapon, but a juvenile delinquent ruined it the other day.”

“Oh no,” you draw out slowly once you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to hurl a chef's knife toward him despite fully knowing where the can opener is. “How will you entertain the masses without your party trick?”

Like a thrown dart, it sticks to the white wall next to him, taking some jet-black strands of hair for company. He sends you a flat look before he uses the heel of the knife to pry open the can. “At least sound a bit more devastated, will you? I doubt I can get my usual weapons maker to make another one for me right now. It truly is a tragedy.”

“The real tragedy is the little remaining time you have to tell me why your face is not only here inhaling all my food but also currently on my TV.” Pointedly peering at the clock hand that gets closer to six with each passing second, your fingers impatiently tap the kitchen island you’re leaning against. 

“So I’m taking the roses didn’t win you over? Was it the vase?”

You can only stare.

Changing into a clean shirt, being fed, and fulfilling the hasty catch-up have all been done. He’s run out of distractions and excuses, a fact he resigns to with an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.” Or at least that’s what you think he says, mouth still stuffed with food. He jumps onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “But trust me that you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

It’s a suggestion you’re glad you heed, unable to mask your shock as he spares no detail in his account of fighting a formidable member of X’s group; of thinking he finally killed Uzuki, only to hear the voice of his deceased friend come out the body of her executioner; of learning that Sakamoto knew about this ‘copy’ Akao since Thailand and deciding to not tell Nagumo about it; of losing his status as an Order member the moment Chairman Asaki placed a hit on the inadvertent trio; and of nearly dying from Takamura’s blade until X copied the old man as well.

It’s too much to take in. This might be the only time you wish that everything the trickster just told you was fabricated lies rather than the cold truth. And there’s no way he’s lied to you about this or even embellished a detail or two. Not when you can’t recall the last time he’s ever looked this grim.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, with you just sitting there, staring at an empty aluminum can on the coffee table. Watching how the mouths of the JAA news anchors on the TV screen move soundlessly, having muted the channel long ago. 

You don’t even know where to start. Everything feels too convoluted to begin to process.

And you can tell Nagumo is feeling the same. This is the most expressive you’ve ever seen him–the way his brow knits furiously as he provides a recap of his conversation with Uzuki’s Rion, almost as if committing each word to memory lest he forgets or misses a major clue. How his eyes harden and knuckles turn paperwhite when mentioning Asaki, who claimed to have seen Rion’s death. How his face seems to lose its tension when he relays some dumb joke that Uzuki’s Rion made about Sakamoto’s weight, only to regain it when he recounts his morning encounter with Oki and the two newest members of the Order.

Meeting X was supposed to solve the biggest question that’s plagued Nagumo’s every waking moment. Yet none of this makes sense. Now, it’s only introduced more cryptic puzzles and an increasingly higher risk of death.

“I fear you’ve told all this to the wrong person,” you admit with a sardonic smile. 

Nagumo’s gaze on you is steady, unwavering. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t know how I can help you with any of this.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale deeply and try to ignore the mind-numbing panic that begins to trickle its way into your chest. “I don’t know anything about Uzuki or X or Slur or whatever the fuck his name is other than what you’ve told me. And I have no idea where he and his lame posse currently are. I don’t even know what you should do next.”

For the amount of stress he’s under, Nagumo sure doesn’t show it with his easygoing smile. “I’m not asking you to do any of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

It comes off more petulant than you’d like, and perhaps if he strained his ears, he might be able to hear the concern tinting your voice. Yet one thing is certain–you’re far from the professionally composed person you typically are during work meetings.

But when has anything ever stayed professional between you two?

He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours so that you can’t avert your gaze.

You don’t.

“The only people who know where Sakamoto and I are hiding include his ragtag group of wannabe pacifists, sweet ol’ Granny Miya, and you.”

You?

“Me?” It comes out as a whisper, and in its meekness, you’re relying on him to understand the implicit message.

Why?

“Yup!” he exclaims with an eager nod. “And hopefully, it stays that way!” Which roughly translates to ‘don’t snitch’. You’ve seen that threatening glint before. You’ve heard the hint of finality in that trademark sprightly tone of his before, his sunny disposition softening the blow that targets would undoubtedly feel just a brief moment later. However, none of that has ever been meant for you.

Until now. 

“But I will say, I’m surprised no one else from the Order has paid you a visit.”

“Well, they have, but no one’s asked for you. Oki-san needed the contacts for the two new members he recruited.” You bite your lip, mulling over your next choice of words. “Unless you’ve blabbered to Shishiba or Osaragi, I think only Hyo knew that we were…acquaintances.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. “Hah! Not the acquaintance card. What will it take for you to say ‘friends’? Do you know how to say it? I can spell it for you.”

Your grimace is far from subtle. “Too bad I don’t have pen and paper,” you weakly joke, trying your best to not roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

He licks his lips, lidded eyes refusing to leave yours when he lets out a low, contemplative hum. “That’s for amateurs, which we are not. There’s other ways to teach you.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you blow out an indignant puff of air to focus on anywhere but that coy smile.

“Switching the subject once again,” you say with a dry laugh, relieved that the only stuttering that’s present is tucked away in the staccato notes of your heartbeat. “That’s when I know you’re hiding something.”

He bows slightly, eyes smoothly blocked by unruly hair. Yet his smile only grows. “Is that so?”

“What’s the other reason you’ve told me all this?” A hesitant pause before your voice lowers. “The real reason.”

You’ve always hated how he can quickly school his expression into a blank canvas when it’s impossible for you to do the same to him. It’s a skill that might be even more frustrating than your inability to read him, to break past the wall he effortlessly puts up. 

And you’re a good spy; deep down, you know this. But when your usually astute perception is impervious to his shield at every single angle, the only viable course of action is to take his next words at face value.

“Because who else will tell the truth once the JAA silences everyone?”

It’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Words said so breezily as if inquiring what day of the week it was.

And all you can picture is his lifeless body.

Another sharp inhale, followed by a shaky breath. Your stomach continues to drop, and you’re uncertain when you’ll be fully sunk. Every fiber in your being knows this is the wrong reaction, a sign of weakness that goes against all the training that’s been ingrained into your body since your family explained what they do for a living.

But the idea of a life without Nagumo in it feels worse than death itself.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Anything that reaches your ears sounds muffled, trapped underwater until two hands grab your face and pull you back to the surface.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently as he softly repeats your name. One. Two. Three times.

“You can’t die,” you finally say. Slowly, quietly. Almost as if you’re reassuring yourself. Your face hardens, a sharp edge to your voice. “You won’t die.”

He meets your stare unabashedly, an amused smile making its way back to his lips. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Nagumo, I’m serious.” You find your breath steadying, only for it to quicken the moment your fingers lock around his wrists. “You can’t leave…leave me.”

“I never left,” he says decisively, and right before you can get a retort in, he won’t stop talking.

“Your mission in Singapore was not only two years but two years, seven months, and twenty-nine nights. You went back to your old place but immediately found and moved into this one. Maybe because you wanted to get away from those annoying grannies, or maybe because you were afraid of me breaking in again–which I didn’t, by the way!–but I think it’s because you wanted to be closer to that used bookstore, which you visit every Saturday and only after ordering your tea latte and a chocolate croissant from the cafe next door. 

“You say you only pick up Yumiko after school, but I’ve seen you take her to each of her soccer games and sometimes to the Science Museum in Ueno whenever it’s rainy. Assassins and spies of all levels seek your intel, but you only let Order members and the Chairman into your place. Not that you have much say in that, I guess. Though what you do have control over is who you go on dates with and boy, do you go on a lot more shitty dates than good ones. That Ren was a character.”

You can’t tell if the urge to slap him is stronger than your desire to smash his lips with yours.

“Are you done?” is all you can muster. Yet in the time between you find yourself inching closer toward him, noses brushing as you take in his overwhelming presence. The smell of Granny Miya’s arnica tincture with the heady scent of smoky amber makes your head feel light and your clammy hands all tingly. 

But you can’t stop smiling.

“Hmmm, that depends,” he muses, a glance to your lips causing your stomach to flutter. “How much more time do I have before you kick me out?”

“You’re ridiculous.” More like insane.

You kiss him anyway. 

It starts slowly, hesitantly. Like you’re back to being clumsy teenagers, curious to explore what it means to carry out a mission of seduction.

Then his tongue swipes over your lips before parting them, and hunger takes over.

His mouth tastes sweet, and addicting, a warmth wholly inviting and so easy to get lost in that you can’t stop your content sigh. It’s all-consuming, and you pull him down with you, grabbing onto the front of his shirt as you sink into the couch together. 

His arms keep you trapped, though you don’t think you mind, legs wrapped around him as you indulge in a stolen moment.

Until a flash of bright blue hair pops into your mind.

You open your eyes, unclenching your fist from his shirt and recoiling like you’ve touched a hot stove. And all of sudden something that felt good feels so incredibly off.

“What?” He’s as breathless as you are, though his body still hovers over you, long hair tickling your forehead while you’re surprised to see the worried crease form on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Us,” you blurt out, cheeks hot from shame. “I can’t be her. I never will be.”

Dark eyes study your face as you feel his hands drift to your back. He lifts you with him until you’re back to sitting across from one another, and for a second you think he might leave right then and there.

And then he captures your lips again.

This kiss is fleeting, but softer, a tenderness that you didn’t think he had. A gentleness you don’t deserve.

He parts to look at you once more, a lone finger tracing your cheek with the caress of a lover.

“You don’t need to be her,” he murmurs against your lips, feeling the flutter of his eyelashes and his unyielding gaze. “I don’t want you to be her.”   There’s a gradual levity in your chest, a foreign sensation that makes you realize how weighed down you were.

You want to bask in it, drink in more of the giddiness he seems to get out of you so easily. And when he leans in to gently nip at your bottom lip, you find yourself caving in.

A feeling short-lived when the timer in your phone goes off. 

Nagumo doesn’t take the interruption to heart, a breathy laugh fanning your neck as you reluctantly peel away from him to stop the alarm. “So you did set a time limit.”

The grin you send as consolation is half sheepish, half nervous. “Didn’t think we would go past it if I’m being honest.”

He raises a brow, hands back to sliding all over you. “Ouch! Sounds like I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Your thighs press uncomfortably when feather-like touches brush over your hip.

“As much as I’d love to, we’ll have to take a rain check,” you mutter, quite begrudgingly. Struggling out of his iron-clad grip is a challenge enough, legs wobbly as you stand abruptly. When you lick your swollen lips you can instantly taste the faint sweetness of white peaches. “I have to stop by the restaurant with Yumiko before her mother arrives.”

Yet your attention keeps finding itself on the clock, the incessant ticking of the big hand seeming to mock you as you realize how little time you have left.

“So what’s actually rushing you?”

Your shoulders tense, but you shoot him a casual smile that you’re confident could rival his. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, his scrutiny intense as he stands up to observe you. “I don’t know, you tell me. I thought we were done with giving each other the cold shoulder.”

Your eyes narrow. “Maybe lay off? Sorry if I don’t want Yumiko’s mother walking in on us going at it like some horny teenagers.”

Based on the way he purses his lips, he doesn’t seem convinced. You feel like you’re being examined under a magnifying glass, an unpleasant sensation that makes your body itch all over.

And then all your ears can hear is his boisterous laughter. 

Nagumo slaps your back, hard, right before he doubles over. Pretending to wipe a fake tear, he airily says, “Civilians see us killing from left to right every day without fuss, and you think she’s gonna bat an eye at two consenting adults kissing? Gee, maybe you’re more of a prude than Sakamoto-kun!”

“Oh, shut up!” You shove him near the edge of the step to the genkan, wondering if your chuckling sounds as nervous at you think it does. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, don’t you think?”

“Ah shoot–did I just fumble my shot at a date?”

You open the door for him, trying to ignore your embarrassment with how your stomach flips from that question. Your small smile will have to be enough for him. “Yes. Yet if you focus on staying alive then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Good to see you’re still a terrible liar. But sounds like we have a deal,” says a larger man who bears no resemblance to one of JAA’s most wanted men. His voice is gruffer, but the lips that chastely brush yours hold a softness you already find yourself craving.

Then he’s gone in a blink. 

—

After making sure Nagumo didn’t swipe your phone or other valuables as he sped off, you take a few extra minutes to regain your composure before visiting Yumiko. Resting your head against her bedroom door doesn’t subside your pounding headache, and when Yumiko’s stomach begins to grumble in the middle of reviewing her homework, you finally think it’s time to eat.

“But why are we going back to your place?” she inquires, exasperation evident.

“Because I forgot my wallet,” you reply with a weary sigh. Your hands feel aimless, afraid that Nagumo’s one-liner on repaying Sakamoto for eating Hana’s ruined birthday cake was more than just a foolish joke. 

“Forgot, or lost?” 

You look up from your bent position near the coffee table. “I don’t appreciate the sass, kid.”  

“You seemed to like it when your friend acted that way.”

Mouth agape, you’re ready to rescind your offer of fried dumplings when you hear a familiar voice.

“Didn’t anyone teach you ladies how to close the front door?”

“Mother!” Yumiko calls out as she hugs the older woman’s leg. “You’re home early!”

“Wanted to make sure I made it in time for dinner. Chinese, right? Were you two about to head there?”

“Yes!” you answer with a triumphant smile as you shake the wallet in your hands. “And tonight’s on me!”

“That’s not necessary, I don’t mind paying our share…”

“I know, which is why I insist.” Just as you make your way toward the front entrance, the door still ajar, Yumiko drags her mother to the vibrant roses on the table. “Wait, what are you–?”

“I want mother to see the flowers!” The child looks at you before gazing back at the woman beside her. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, smoothing Yumiko’s hair as she sends you a wink. “A gift from your boyfriend?”

Your heart nervously skips a beat. A white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

“–while the red roses are a classic option, that vase is too garish for my taste. Should I have to worry about a secret admirer?”

A shiver wracks through your spine the moment you feel his hand on the small of your back. Cold fingers linger around your waist, and it takes all your strength to look up at him and not suffocate under his bloodlust. There’s so much of it that you wonder how fast he can masterfully hide it without raising any alarms.

“Well?”

“Of course not,” you quickly assure with a shaky smile, your cheeks hurting from how wide your lips stretch.

“The flowers are from my secret admirer, Asaki-san,” Yumiko pipes up, her voice tiny among the adults. “They were too heavy to carry back home so I had some help. He told me that the florist freshly cut them from the garden, too.”

“Your what now?” gasps her mother, though Yumiko’s innocent gaze remains on you.

Is…he…coming for dinner?

You wish your eyes could convey how apologetic you are. How guilty you are for involving two completely innocent civilians into this.

Yet only adrenaline and fear course through your veins, preventing any other flood of emotions from rushing in.

“Being outdone by a child? That won’t do,” Asaki says after an impatient click of his tongue, his long earrings dangling with a slight shake of his head. He offers you a smile, but it appears more like a grimace. “I’ll have Watarai deliver a fresh bouquet of my preferred arrangement to both this apartment and my office tomorrow.”

You should change the door lock sometime soon.

You blink instead, opening your mouth before shutting it promptly. “Sure. Thank you.” Entirely cognizant of the arm snaked around you, you look at the bag in his other hand and do your best to not think about the cage you’re currently in. “What do you have there?”

“Ah, yes! I know you mentioned Chinese, but that place you go to looks pretty dismal, not to mention dirty. So I got tapas from a restaurant that just so happens to have a Michelin-star. Their food is exquisite. Watarai, you can prepare the table now, thank you.” 

The smug smile Asaki boasts seems more genuine this time, especially as his assistant–who, to no one’s surprise, materializes out of nowhere–carefully grabs the bag from his boss and begins to set the table. 

The roses are nowhere to be found. 

“You’re too kind, Asaki-san,” Yumiko’s mother says after an uncomfortable silence, the overt wringing of her hands making you wince. “But perhaps this dinner is best left to the couple?”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” are words he’s probably never uttered until now. 

Despite her appreciative bow, she exchanges a wary look with you before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Well, thank you very much for thinking to include us. If you may excuse us, Yumiko and I will wash our hands.”

“But I wanted dumplings…”

“Yumiko, hurry along now!”

Once that door closes you pry his hands off you, uncaring for the disgruntled frown that tugs his thin lips downward.

“I’ve grown quite wearisome of your antics.”

“How did you know we were getting Chinese?” you focus instead, distress churning in your stomach. 

Asaki gives you an unimpressed look, like you’re roadkill that the tires of his car had the misfortune of running over. “Now, we’ve gone over this before,” he sighs despondently, already trying some of the cured meat on the plate Watarai had placed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper, finding it harder to breathe while he appraises you chillingly.

Two times a day. That’s how often you check each corner and room of your apartment for anything amiss, how often you look through each gap and crevice for a camera, and how often you run your finger along each smooth surface for any hidden microphone that might’ve been placed in the time between those two moments you check daily.

The first time you removed the small mics placed in your rooms was his last attempt at bugging your house. Or at least, to your knowledge. 

Your phone rests in the back pocket of your jeans, the device feeling particularly heavy. You take it out and think of all the conversations he’s heard. All the messages he’s read. 

How silly of you.

Despite the urge to chuck it against a wall you remain frozen, save for the slight tremble of your fingers that can also be heard in your voice.

“I don’t know anything.”

Asaki walks, the click-clack from his Italian leather derby shoes reminiscent of a clock ticking away the last precious seconds of a bomb about to go off. You watch him through the mirror that faces him, but his eyes only look forward. He adjusts his black tie and wrangles a loose dark streak of his hair back into place. 

“Now might serve as a perfect reminder that lying to the Chairman is a JAA violation punishable by death.”

Clearing your throat makes the dryness in your mouth worse. “And what if I’m speaking to my…boyfriend?”

Black eyes shift to meet yours, examining you with a coldness that makes winter seem like summer. 

“Then perhaps I’ve far overestimated your abilities, and your use to me.”

You’re fine with dying. Ever since you were a student, all the training you’ve received was concentrated on preventing it. But you’ve experienced far too many brushes with death to sincerely believe that the job you love won’t be what kills you. If anything, the JCC only taught you how to delay death, not avoid it entirely. 

And so you’re fine with dying. With each close call, you update your will. Yumiko and her mother will receive the majority of your assets because you don’t really have other friends and family to give it to. Maybe some assassins and spies you’ve worked with will take a second to say your name when they hear the news in some passing conversation. Have it linger on their tongue as they maybe recall a foggy memory of you before they continue with their day. Death is simply a sped-up inevitability for you all, so you’ve long accepted that it can happen today. Tomorrow. Or now.

But he can’t die. Losing him once was enough.

“Is everything alright?”

You want to tell Yumiko it will be but as he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression, you figure it might be best to stop lying to the child.

“Sir,” Watarai interrupts, standing behind Asaki and bowing curtly, “I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is requested by the executive board.”

A sigh of instantaneous relief bubbles up in your throat until you glance down at your phone and spot the alert that appears on the screen.

JAA NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK ON JAA-OWNED WEAPONS FACTORY

Your heart drops.

A lax smile rests on Asaki’s passive face. “I see. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our visit short.”

“You won’t be taking the food with you, right?”

“Yumiko!”

He tilts his head toward the young girl and her scandalized mother, his closed-eye smile an off-kilter sight to see. “Well, aren’t you…precocious. Treat yourself to whatever! You’ll find the taste is much better than those greasy dumplings. Watarai, let’s hurry along now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yet his smooth strides don’t betray any urgency, eyes focused on the prey he approaches.

He kisses your cheek, your skin burning from the contact. It’s a clever position he’s placed himself in, the tall man blocking your figure and preventing others from seeing the exchange. Mere seconds feel like an eternity as a horrible combination of shame and cold dread wash over you.

“Next time, tell our friend to stop wearing that obnoxious cologne,” he whispers into your ear, his disgust ringing loud and clear. “I can smell him all over you.”

You can’t breathe.

He straightens and pats your tense shoulder. And then he leaves, the door finally locking with a short click.

Your head is spinning, panicked and scattered thoughts leaking out the tiny box you thought you could contain. You think you hear your name being called but your body seems to have lost all function, knees striking the floor. And that’s when you see it, just an arm’s distance away. 

A fallen rose petal.

end notes: me struggling to come up with a name for this fic: [insert preposition here] + last time. and you can bet i'll do it for the next one

i was rereading the manga and nagumo's comment about the chairman–"he does whatever he wants. and he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals"–inspired me to include that horrible man here. idk it just felt fitting :)

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

The short adventure's of Bonten's no4: airport anarchy

Bonten x f reader

Warnings: Slight manga spoilers, suggestive content, Kakucho deserving the world

Summary: Y/N is Bonten's first female member, she's their skilled and deadly No4. So why can't she just go home!? Seriously guys it was a long trip, stop messing around!

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

Airport anarchy

"Thank you for flying with air Tokyo we hope you had a pleasant trip!"

Vaguely nodding at the flight attendant's you stretch your legs and prepare to leave the plane. Ah Tokyo, it's been a while. But working abroad and getting those international links for bonten was necessary. Not always easy but you got the job done and you know from your extensive phone calls and texts with the guys that Mikey was pleased with your work.

The guys. That was the other great thing about this trip, you got a bunch of time away from them! No crazy antics, no weird romances and definitely no conflicting feelings, a paradise. But unfortunately all good things must to come to an end and now you're back.

Yawning, you slowly shuffle through the airport, dodging and weaving through other tired travellers. You were offered a private plane for all your trips but preferred to stick with public first class for now, wanting a full break from all things bonten. And now you can't wait to just get to whatever car they sent to pick you up, get home and sleep. Dealing with seeing them again and all the work can wait for tomorrow. Glancing around you look for a driver with a sign but fail to find anything. You're about to call a taxi instead when you hear it, the worst thing you could possibly hear right now.

"Y/N WE'RE OVER HERE!!!!"

No.

No  no no no no no no. Please let that not be what you think that is. Not them, not now, don't let it be them. 

You walk faster, not turning around. Desperately trying to convince yourself that you're just tired of course they didn't come all the way out here to get you. They wouldn't do that.....right?

The next thing you know your arm is being grabbed and you're being pulled back into someone's tight embrace.

"We missed you so much".

"Ran stopping hogging her I want a turn!"

You find yourself being suddenly tugged into Rindou's grasp instead. Before Sanzu pulls you away into his waiting arms.

"Oh the fun we're going to have now you're back ♡".

Shivering lightly after hearing his words,  you don't expect to suddenly be pushed away from him. You stumble slightly before falling into Mikey's warm arms. He still smells the same, like taiyaki and treats and still hugs the same, tight and almost smothering, like he's afraid if he lets go he'll lose you. 

Nobody says anything for a few minutes, you just stand there being tightly hugged by Mikey as the three others watch. Mikey himself seems entirely unwilling to let you go, instead happy to just hold you close to him. 

"Hey Mikey....."

You trail off, not entirely sure what to say in this situation or what to do. You're about to try again when his voice interrupts your thoughts.

"You're home."

Humming, you reply "I'm home".

Maybe just maybe this isn't as bad as you previously thought, things might be different now or maybe you just imagined all the craziness from before. Things are finally looking up for you.

"What souvenirs did you bring me?"

"Huh!?"

Aaaand normal Mikey is back, nevermind those previous thoughts. Mentally panicking you wonder what to do, you didn't get any souvenirs! No one told you, you were supposed to do that! Nervously laughing it off you just reply that they're definitely in your suitcase, totally there and that you'll give them to him later.

Unfortunately for you, your boss is Sano Manjiro and when he says he wants something he gets it immediately. Mikey just stares at you and holds his hand out, clearly expecting you to hand over his souvenirs (that totally exist). You gulp, trying to figure out what to do here.

Meanwhile at the other end of the airport

"Are you sure this is the right way to her terminal?"

Koko complains for what feels like the 100th time as Takeomi firmly nods. Takeomi's been leading them in the completely wrong direction to the wrong end of the airport ever since they got here. Mochi follows along behind them dragging a gigantic banner he made saying "welcome back y/n". 

"Look i know where I'm going and this is definitely the correct way, just keep following me and we'll get to her in time to surprise her!"

"We better, i spent all of last night working on this banner, i hope she likes it".

Koko once again sighs, wondering why he had the bad luck to be stuck in the car with Takeomi driving. Surely Kakucho's car with all the others would've been the more efficient choice out of the two. He starts zoning out as they continue to walk through the crowded airport, instead choosing to think of you and how you'd look when he finally saw you again. Would you be happy to see him? Have you changed your look in any way while you've been gone? He can't wait to see you again. He won't admit it but he's been lonely without you. 

Mochi turns around, sensing something had changed and then shouts ahead to Takeomi when he realises they lost Koko. Takeomi groans but they both go back the way they had just came to find Koko just standing there, spacing out. 

"He's too slow, we'll never reach her in time. Even without the spacing out. Why did he choose to wear heels here!? Mochi, carry him"

"No way I'm carrying my banner, I'm not letting it go"

Takeomi pinches the bridge of his nose and groans again. Fuck it, if it means he can see you again faster then he'll just carry Koko himself. Throwing Koko over his shoulder and ignoring the man's complaints, they continue walking in the wrong direction throughout the airport with Mochi and his banner walking behind.

Back to the Mikey drama

You sit on an uncomfortable airport chair as you dig through your suitcase, looking for anything you could give to Mikey as a souvenir. Mikey sits next to you, just calmly watching and waiting as Sanzu, Rindou and Ran stand around the two of you, also eagerly waiting to see what you come up with.

You're starting to get desperate. A t shirt you bought for yourself? No way that would fit him. A pocket mirror? No he wouldn't be happy with that. Your hairbrush? No way. There really is nothing you can give him. You turn to Mikey, getting ready to start apologising. Instead he suddenly moves, impatiently going through your suitcase himself. He really wants his souvenir. You just watch him, unsure of what else to do.

Suddenly a grin appears on his face before it's quickly replaced with his usual neutral expression. 

"This is my souvenir"

You frown, trying to figure out what he's looking at. Mikey then happily pulls it out and holds it up for everyone to see. 

A pair of your panties. 

"Mikey!?"

He can't just take that right? That's definitely not a souvenir! And that's your favourite pair too! 

Mikey possessively holds them to his chest, repeating that they're his souvenir. He then quickly stuffs them into his pocket, completely claiming them as now belonging to him.

Damn. You're going to need to go shopping again after this.

"Heyyy y/n you brought souvenirs for us too right?" 

Ran grins down at you as Sanzu and Rindou waste no time in going through your suitcase and taking "souvenirs" of their own. There's not much you can do about it with Mikey watching but you still plan on taking revenge for this later.

Ran throws his arm around you, leaning in closer to quietly talk as the other's are preoccupied. 

"So why didn't you do the cute run and jump thing like they do in the movies huh?"

"What?"

You have no idea what Ran's going on about but whatever it is he seems lightly upset about it judging from the pout on his face.

"Come on you know it. The thing where once the lovers reunite one runs and jumps into the others arms and then gets spun around."

You look at Ran completely baffled, did he seriously want to do a movie trope with you? That's what's got him pouting? Because you didn't do it? 

"It's ok though because we can do it now"

"Huh?"

You suddenly find yourself being lifted from your seat, now being held by Ran. 

"Ran put me do-"

You don't get a chance to finish before he's spinning you around. All you can do is grip into his arms, hoping he doesn't accidentally drop you or fling you off somewhere. You're helpless as Ran happily spins you around, getting the reunion he'd been dreaming of. Ok....maybe it wasn't so bad. It was surprising at first and the fear element of being dropped is still there but in a way it is kind of fun. You don't even care when your shoe flies off and hits some guy in the head. Ran even manages to catch a glimpse of a small smile on your face before he puts you down. 

"See that wasn't so bad!"

"Never do that again".

You frown at him, trying to make your point clear but instead Ran just grins back at you, with that annoyingly charming smile. Well until Rindou practically shoves him out of the way.

"Hey did he make you sick? You feeling nauseous or something?"

Rindou sticks his hand out, feeling your forehead and then humming. He then shifts his posture slightly to look into your eyes. Staring at you deeply and making you gulp.

"Hey you're going all red, are you sure you're ok?"

Of course he doesn't seem to realise that he is the reason you're now turning red. You push him lightly to get some distance between the two of you before repeating that you're perfectly fine.

"Oh really? Hey we could check with this thermometer I found!"

Of course Sanzu picks that moment to join the conversation, proudly holding up the thermometer. You sigh and ask him where the hell he found that thing.

"Well me and Rindou got bored waiting for you to get off the plane so we went to the free bag carousel and took a bunch."

You stare at him completely baffled for a moment...

Free bag carousel? Surely he couldn't mean the baggage carousel? Surely they didn't just take a bunch of other people's stuff?

"Look these sunglasses are cool right?"

Sanzu and Rindou continue messing around with all the bags that you've only just noticed. 

Oh fuck.

You hurriedly tell the group that you all have to leave right now. You only just got back in the country, you're not going down for theft already. Urging them along, you grab Sanzu's wrist with one hand and are about to grab Rindou's with the other when Mikey snatches your hand instead, wanting to hold it. You sigh, fine it's not like you have time to argue this anyway. Hopefully Ran can make sure his brother moves along too. 

All five of you start speed walking towards the exit, just trying to get out of the airport before someone complains and security comes after you.

The door is in sight when you suddenly hear it.

"Hey you! Stop right there! Hey I'm talking to you!"

Not even glancing back, you all break into a sprint, running from security and the airport. 

"Where's the car!? Where's the car!?"

You frantically look around but can't see anything which looks like a typical bonten car. But with the security guys now right behind you all, you really don't have time for this. As you scramble around looking a shiny black car suddenly pulls up beside you all and you're suddenly being dragged into the car with the others.

"Hey y/n long time no see"

You breathe out a sigh of relief, it's just Takeomi driving, with Koko next to him and Mochi pulling everyone into the back with him.

Unfortunately theres definitely not enough seats so you end up stuck on Sanzu's lap. You try to ignore the wink he gives you. At least you're not Rindou who had to sit on his brother's lap.

Takeomi and Koko bicker for a second, something about Takeomi always being right with directions and "see i told you I'd get us to her". Before Mikey snaps at them to get going. Takeomi puts the car into gear and you all speed off, far away from the yelling security guards. Less then an hour back and you're already caught up in the chaos again. But at least you guys didn't forget anything.....

Bonus

Kakucho paces around the gift shop, eagerly looking for the right gift. It has to be perfect, something you'd adore and always think of him when looking at it. He'd already spent a long time looking at flowers, chocolates and stuffed animals before deciding against all of them. Kakucho was so caught up in his gift buying that he hadn't realised hours had already gone by. The sales people all watch him curiously as he continues picking up random items before shaking his head and putting them back. They wonder if he'll ever actually buy something. 

More time goes by before Kakucho finally lets out a triumphant shout. He found it. He settles on a bottle of perfume that he thinks you would like and makes his way to the check out.

As he leaves the store with a big grin on his face he fails to realise that you and the rest of bonten had already gone home ages ago, completely forgetting about him. 

Thanks for reading!!!!

Next chapter

[bittenbyyou]

Smitten

High School!AU | Peter Parker x Reader

genre: fluff

description: Just Peter Parker falling for you and coming up with the silliest plan to talk to you more.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: some Spider-Man Homecoming spoilers, Peter being a dork lol

a/n: Hello! This is my first time writing for Peter and I’m such nervous posting it, but I adore him and thought the origin story of how my bf and I got together suited Peter so well. Lol. So enjoy! 

The first time Peter heard about you was in freshman year when you were ranked number one in academics, earning jealous stares from everyone. But not from him; he was rather impressed.

Sophomore year was when your name came up again through his ex-girlfriend, Liz. Turns out you were her partner for an English project, which he didn’t think much of. He was happy with Liz… until he defeated her dad, who turned out to be a villain called “The Vulture”, and she and her mom moved to Oregon afterwards…

Anyway, it was now junior year and for the first time ever, he had a class with you—good ol’ AP U.S. History. 

“Dude, over here,” Ned called out from the first row of seats near the back corner. Peter smiled at his best friend and made his way over, taking the seat behind him.

“Hey Ned.”

“So glad we have another class together.”

“You said it.”

The two made small talk until you arrived, taking the seat next to Ned. He was mutual friends with a lot of your friends, so you felt comfortable sitting next to someone you were at least acquainted with rather than a stranger.

“Hi Ned,” you said sweetly.

“Oh [Y/N], you’re in this class too? Nice!” Ned gestured a hand towards Peter. “This is my best friend, Peter.”

“Peter… Parker, right?” you asked. Peter was surprised you knew his full name, but then remembered Liz. He nodded his head a few too many times, but you found it endearing. 

“Y-Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m [Y/N].”

Wow. You were cute.

“Sup losers,” a deadpanned voice said from behind you. You turned around to see MJ, jumping out of your seat to give her a big hug. 

“MJ! We’re in the same class, yay!”

“I know you’re not hugging me this early in the morning,” she said with her index finger raised. 

“You know you love me.”

“Ew.”

She gave you two pats on the back and you let go, giggling at her expression of faux disgust. You returned to your seat, which was in the middle of MJ and Ned. MJ then quickly whipped her head around to look at Peter.

“Sup Parker,” MJ said with a salute of two fingers.

“Hey MJ.”

“You met [Y/N] yet?”

“Yeah, Ned introduced us… you know her too?”

“Met her in an elective. She looked lonely.”

“You make me sound like a loser with no friends,” you said, pouting your lips. 

“I have no friends either.”

“You have me!” you chirped.

“And what about us?” Ned asked, gesturing back and forth to him and Peter.

“Whatever,” MJ brushed off. The three of you laughed while Peter watched, feeling somewhat left out even though he was mentioned. 

“I’m a bit jealous. You all already know each other,” you said. Wow, you said exactly what he was thinking. They knew you, but he didn’t.

“Well the only person you don’t know is Peter and I only met him because of the decathlon. He’s really not all that interesting,” MJ said, smirking in his direction. 

“Are you serious? Peter’s the coolest,” Ned said, hyping him up like a true best friend. “Peter knows Sp—”

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed, hinting at him to shut up with his deadly glare. 

Ned chuckled nervously. “I mean… you’ll get to know him, [Y/N]. And he’ll get to know you.”

*Ding!*

Saved by the bell.

From that day on, the four of you grew closer. Group work was always in teams of four in that class which worked out perfectly. Peter quickly learned you hated presentations because you would freeze up and trip on your words, so he volunteered to present instead just to hear you thank him and flash that sweet smile.

At lunch, Ned always invited you and MJ to join him and that’s when Peter learned how passionate you were about food. Specifically the school’s chicken alfredo. 

“It’s delicious!” you said, doing a little happy dance after eating a forkful of pasta. 

“It’s gross, processed food. Do we even know if it’s chicken?” MJ asked, eyeing the meat on her fork suspiciously. 

“I don’t care, I’m still eating it,” you said, enjoying the noms. 

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant?” Ned asked.

“That’s not stopping me.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Peter said without thinking. Everyone stared at him with a variety of expressions. MJ was skeptical, Ned was confused, and you were surprised. 

“I literally saw you eating ice cream yesterday,” MJ pointed out. 

“And his bowels paid for it,” Ned lied. Peter let out a nervous laugh.

“Hah, yeah, I was on the toilet… for hours.” You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your best not to laugh. “But I’m fine now!”

“Are you sure you should be eating lunch today then?” you asked. “Wouldn’t want your bowels to hurt again. I’ll do the honors of reducing food waste and eat it for you.”

MJ and Ned stared at Peter. Well, MJ was daring him to eat it with her piercing eyes while Ned gave him a knowing look.

“You can have it,” Peter said warmly, sliding his tray of food over to you.

“Yay!” you cheered. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Because honestly seeing you eat and doing that happy dance again filled him up more than any food could. You were too cute.

Peter was sure of it. He definitely had a crush on you. It took him until almost the end of first semester to realize it, but he knew now. 

He liked how smart you were. The way you answered any question the teacher threw at you so flawlessly was a mystery to him because history bored him. 

He liked how funny you were. The way you were passionately defending why mayo was the superior condiment against MJ and her love for ketchup made him die of laughter. 

He liked how kind you were. The way you helped another girl plan a dance for her quinceanera despite having so much homework. 

He liked how cute you were. The way you fell asleep in class after being the first to finish your test. 

He even liked how clueless you were. The way you knew absolutely nothing about Star Wars but still allowed him to ramble on and on about it in class and listen to him with a caring heart. 

Yup. He definitely liked you. 

A lot.

But he didn’t know how to tell you. You two didn’t hang out outside of school at all and he was so darn shy. It wasn’t until he and MJ hung out at Ned’s place one day when an opportunity arose. You were invited to his house as well, but you declined because of some projects you left till the last minute. 

The trio were building Legos and at one point Ned had to go downstairs and help his lola cook dinner while MJ and Peter remained upstairs. She was sitting on Ned’s bed while Peter was on the floor continuing to build the Lego Death Star. 

“I’m going to give you some advice, Pete,” MJ started to say. Peter looked up at her in confusion.

“About what?”

“About [Y/N].”

His eyes started to wander around the room. “W-What about [Y/N]?”

“What do you think about her?”

“What do I think a-about her? What’s not to think, she’s sweet. She’s nice. She’s kind.”

“Those are synonyms.”

“She’s smart. God, she is so smart, and she gets my jokes and actually laughs at them and—”

“Yup. You like her.”

His face fell. “No… No… No~.”

“So should I call her for you?” She whipped out her phone and Peter panicked.

“Don’t!”

“Why not? You have got to talk to her.”

“I do talk to her.”

“Outside of school,” MJ specified. “I have her number if you want it.”

“No, she’ll find it weird if I text her out of nowhere.”

“So you’re going to continue staring at her when she’s not looking like a total creep?”

“I don’t… I don’t stare,” Peter mumbled. MJ rolled her eyes at his denial.

“You do,” she teased. “Look, I’m going to the restroom. Here’s my phone. Do whatever you’d like with it.”

If Peter was a creep, then MJ was a psychopath because who would let anyone use their phone so freely? He still took the device from her hands and waited until he was alone to tap your name in MJ’s messages. His heart was racing at the thought of having your number, but he didn’t feel ready for it. 

So… he did something else.

5:44 PM | MJ🖤: Hey 🙂

Yikes. He really was a creep.

5:45 PM | You 😇: Hi MJ! What’s up? Did y’all finish building the Legos?

Peter smiled to himself at your enthusiastic greeting. 

5:45 PM | MJ🖤: No, not yet. Ned left us to help with dinner. How are you?

Your next reply didn’t come as fast this time. Peter panicked, wondering if he said something weird. Then again, this whole situation was borderline crazy.

5:49 PM | You 😇: I’m doing my homework. It’s so boring. Wish I was with you all. 🥺

5:50 PM | MJ🖤: We wish you were here too. 💖

Peter saw the thought bubble with three dots pop up, eagerly waiting for your reply. 

5:50 PM | You 😇: Hey MJ… I have a question.

5:50 PM | MJ🖤: Go for it.

5:50 PM | You 😇: Who are you? Lol.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You knew. Oh my god, Peter’s life was over. He got up off the floor and started pacing around the room in panic. 

5:51 PM | You 😇: I know you’re not MJ… so either you stole her phone and I’m going to have to report you for identity theft or she let you use her phone. 

5:53 PM | MJ🖤 : Okay, it’s Peter. Don’t report me. 🥺

He held his breath for your next response, facepalming himself for getting caught so fast.

5:53 PM | You 😇: Peter, why are you pretending to be MJ? If you wanted to text me, I could’ve just given you my number. Haha.

5:53 PM | MJ🖤 : Wait, really? I’m sorry. Idk why I did that.😅

5:53 PM | You 😇: Yeah. Here’s my number XXX-XXX-XXXX. Please text me as yourself. Lolol. 

Peter had the biggest grin spread across his face as he fell onto Ned’s bed in relief. He couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. By some miracle he did it. He got your number… he actually got your number. 

“Why are you staring at my phone like a creepy serial killer?” He looked up to see MJ leaning against Ned’s door frame. 

“Uh… I got her number?”

“How?”

“... You’re going to kill me.”

[fanaticsnail]

Tobiuo 飛魚 (トビウオ)

Snail's One Piece OC.

Overview

Extended

Name: Tobiuo “Flying Fish” (Pronunciation: “To-bi-yo”)

Race: Fishman Class: Fighter Crew: Heart-Pirates

Pronouns: She/Her Age: 28 Height: 7’2

Appearance: Skin is a cool blue palette, accents of teal and pastel pink in sunlight. Her hair is a dark navy colour, almost like squid ink. Under unnatural UV, raised spots and diamond-shaped scales glow like bioluminescent coral.

Peculiarities: Has gills on her face and neck, her eyes have no pupils, her tongue is barbed, and her teeth are pointed. Has webbed hands and feet, has webbed ears that triangulate out like fins of a flying fish. She cannot speak above water, her voice was not made to carry in air (her kin are of greater depths: Down Under). She uses sign language (Auslan), and will whistle to bring attention to her so she can communicate. Her voice can be heard under water, but it is far easier to communicate through sign. She is also amphibious.

Love interest: Heat (Kid-Pirate Crew Member)

Heart-Pirate History: Was found by Trafalgar Law, Bepo, Shachi and Penguin entangled in barbed nets close to Sabaody Archipelago in a state of panic, frantically attempting to claw herself free. She was heavily injured as she fought her way off a courier vessel bound for the auction house, but has no memory of how it occurred. A slash mark of a blade on her outer thigh was the only remaining injury that healed over in a raised welt of silver. The courier vessel was destroyed, Tobiuo was the sole survivor of both manned crew and slaves for auction. Most of the Heart-Pirates understand her sign after a few months, and use it to their advantage to communicate at greater distance, or in silence while attempting to remain stealthy in covert operations.

Role: She is Law’s security officer, hand to hand and tridents are her specialties. Considering Law is a Devil-Fruit user, she is on retrieve duty if he falls overboard.

Fighting: Fishmen are stronger, faster, and tougher than humans: Tobiuo is no different. She much faster under water, more deadly and lethal. May become worked up into a battle-like frenzy and overcome with rage (Berserker) in the heat of fight. This numbs her to pain until after the battle is over.

Personality: Physically quiet due to her mutism above water, but has a bright sense of humor and is highly expressive with her body language and sign. Is very much akin to a older sister to the crew, and will scold with an arched brow and purse of her lips if she witnesses them behaving recklessly. Loves to laugh, dance and tease with the crew. However, if the crew tease and prod too much, she will pick them up as if they weigh nothing and confine them to quarters until they apologise - or simply hover them over the side of the Polar Tang and threaten to drop them in the ocean while they flail wildly.

Notes: I love Auslan (Australian Sign Language). I learnt Auslan "key sign" for work, and have used it since with my family. Tobiuo is a reflection of my love and respect for sign, and I adore her.

Art, Fics & Chats:

Lost in Translation

First Meeting

Heat and Feet

Height with the Heart Pirates

Tobiuo's colour palette

Between the Tang and the Victoria

In a bit of a pickle

Dialogue about Tobiuo

Searching (part 2: writing one-piece spoilers)

Ten questions

Four more questions

Don't be shy

Attraction

Pool Day

Please

Heat (just Heat)

Dance Night

Digital Art

Perfection (fic)

Beach Day

Wano

Security Drill

Grinning

Wanted poster

Retractable shoulder wings

Wings expanded

Shower

Heat's Beer

"Kid Pirate" Tobiuo

Tobiuo's Glare: semi-realism

Tobiuo gets a present

Teat: Tobiuo x Heat ship dynamic

Kisses

Meme

Reunited (fic)

Tobiuo By Others

It was an accident

He's never going to let her go

Moodboard: Art by @/skullfacedlady (centre image), @/thenotsofantasticlifestory (Kiki [OC] x Tobiuo x Heat). The other images are stock photos or found on Pinterest.

[callsign-rogueone]

love at first fight - r.g.

Ridoc Gamlyn x marked!reader the first post of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 words: 668 🏷: no book spoilers this time! sparring and some blood. no mention of reader’s gender / pronouns. I just have a feeling that Ridoc would be super attracted to someone who's dangerous and can handle themself in combat. this will be part one of a mini-series I have planned, hehe update: sequel is out, read here!

Ridoc commits your entire being to memory the moment he sees you step out of the crowd.

How had he not noticed you before? Everything about you is stunning; the muscle packed onto your legs, the way the rider’s black looks on your skin, and your unruffled demeanor -- you’re looking Jack Barlowe straight in the eye, unflinching. You might be one of three people in the class who aren’t terrified of the guy, who is itching to fight with you.

You strip off your jacket, handing it to the tall blonde beside you whose name he can’t remember, and Ridoc’s heart nearly stops at the sight of the swirling tattoo trailing up your left arm: you’re marked.

If you’re as strong as the rest of your friends -- and you certainly look to be -- this is going to be a good matchup, but he’s still on edge. Barlowe has already garnered a reputation for fighting dirty; he’s tried to kill every one of his opponents thus far in the term, and judging by his visible disgust at your rebellion relic, you won’t be an exception.

Your friend says something to you quietly, advice or a soft reassurance, and you take your place on the mat, shaking out your limbs.

Barlowe lunges at you the second the professor says go, and you make no move to stop him. Do you have a death wish or something?

Evidently not. You kick out at the last second, catching him in the stomach, and he skids back a few feet. He quickly pushes forward again, and you land a punch directly to his jaw and another to his ribs. If he wasn’t mad already, he definitely is now. 

He tackles you to the floor, his fist catching the side of your mouth, and you hiss in pain. You grab the hilt of the dagger at his side and pull, yanking it from its sheath and pointing it at him in warning.

He wraps a hand around your wrist, twisting and pushing back at an awkward angle. Rather than struggle over the dagger, you let it fall and kick it aside, sending it spinning across the floor. If you can’t have it, he can’t either.

You kick out again, hitting him where it hurts and shoving him back onto the mat, rising onto your knees. You pull two more blades from the leather straps that circle your thighs, pressing one to his throat and the other to his side.

He yields, but everyone can tell he’s pissed, and that he won’t be letting this go anytime soon. He retreats to the other side of the gym, still smoldering.

Ridoc picks up the short blade that had landed at his feet, extending the hilt to you silently -- by the rules of the Codex, it’s yours to keep as a trophy.

You smile at him with a split lip, the only wound you’d sustained in the fight, taking it and tucking it at your thigh alongside the ones you’d threatened Jack with. “Thanks.”

He nearly falls over at the sound of your voice, soft and sweet in contrast to the hardened soldier persona you’d displayed on the mat.

You return to your squad, leaning against the wall to watch the next match. Blonde guy -- Liam? Lucas, maybe? No, definitely Liam. -- hands you your jacket, but you don’t put it back on, draping it over one arm instead.

Liam holds up five fingers, and you shake your head, holding up four: it had taken you four blows to bring Barlowe down. “New record,” you mouth, smug.

Ridoc’s eyes still don’t leave you even as two cadets start throwing punches directly in front of him. 

“I smell a crush,” Rhiannon says slyly. 

“We need to unpack why you’re only attracted to people who could kill you, dude,” Sawyer adds. “I’m legitimately concerned.”

His friends’ comments go in one ear and out the other. Deadly or not, he’d do anything to have you smile at him like that again.

[meganooooooooooooooo]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard mage armour sets, ranked

I've managed to compile the starter and aspirational armour sets for each class, starting with mage. Mage definitely has the least consistent looks across all the factions - the ones I like, I really like, the ones I do not like, I REALLY do not like.

As we like to credit, these screenshots are also courtesy of @kalaelizabeth's character creator deep dive video.

Unranked - Starting armour

The starting armour sets appear to be the same for all factions and only differ slightly by class. It's not the worst starting armour Dragon Age has ever had (I really hate the one you get in Inquisition that makes it look like the Herald doesn't have a neck), but it's not the best either. There are definitely story reasons for why it looks the way it does, but as I'm keeping this spoiler-free that's all I'm going to say on the matter.

6. Mourn Watch

Unfortunately Mourn Watch comes in last again, and y'all, I absolutely HATE this. I know what people who want to play Mourn Watch are looking for, and "Victorian mortician at the end of a long shift" is NOT it. The worst part is, I think there is probably something not as bad under there, and I have no idea why on earth they decided to cover it up with a dirty, dingy sheet. I hate this so much I am never going to play this faction and class.

5. Grey Wardens

Snooze, boring! Past Dragon Ages have had better Warden sets, imo. (I'm thinking 2 and Inquisition here).

4. Veil Jumpers

I actually don't hate this, and Veil Jumper is pretty consistent across all the classes in terms of having a defined look, but it's still too much brown. How nice would a little pop of green look here? It needs SOMETHING.

3. Shadow Dragons

I'll be honest - the top three are really tied here. I think they're all really great and establish a defined aesthetic for the faction, class, and are visually interesting. I love the pattern here, and I think these shades of red and blue are unexpected but look great together. And it's just the right level of flash for a Tevinter mage.

2. Antivan Crows

It's sleek, it's chic, it's deadly. Exactly what I want for an Antivan Crow. I LOVE the feathers and how they have a slight iridescence. It also does what I wish the casual look did and has silver detailing instead of gold. Gold should belong to Lords of Fortune ONLY.

Lords of Fortune

I expect this look will be EXTREMELY divisive among fans, but personally I think "mage who loves gold and the beach" is an incredible concept for the class. I could even stand MORE stacked bracelets. More is more!

You can also find posts about the casual looks here. Rogue and warrior will be coming out over the weekend!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[hyper-fixated-princess]

there are SO MANY similarities between The Empyrean Series and How To Train Your Dragon

***IRON FLAME SPOILERS AHEAD***

Both Violet and Hiccup are seen as weaker because of their poor physical abilities and strength, even though they are BRILLIANT

Both have one “dead” parent, and the other is the Chief/Commander of the place they call home

Both Lilith and Stoick don’t realize how actually incredible their child is and are constantly disappointed in them because they don’t follow their steps (giving them both major mommy/daddy issues)

Hiccup and Violent bond very powerful, deadly and legendary black dragons

Violet sees herself in Andarna, which is why she decides to protect her and Hiccup sees himself in Toothless, which is why he sets him free

Major characters who are thought to be dead (Valka and Brennan), happen to be very much alive and leading a rebellious life against what they were told was the truth their entire lives

Hiccup becomes the first ever dragon rider in Berk and Violet is the first know human to bond two dragons

Hiccup builds himsef a saddle to be able to ride Toothless and Xaden has one made for Violet so she can ride Tairn

Toothless can summon lightning and camouflage himself, Violet can weild lightning and Andarna can camouflage herself.

Both Stoick and Lilith sacrifice themselves trying to save their child in the middle of a battle

Dragons in both worlds have a place where no humans are allowed and they also have an established leadership system

Enemies to lovers story (kind of) where they become an unstoppable power couple who work amazing together in battle

Astrid and Xaden (love interests) are both strong, top of their class and amazing fighters

Character who rides a dragon looses his leg

Both religious systems have multiple deities and characters use the exclamation “Gods!” a lot

Those are the ones I can think of right now but I’m sure there’s a lot more.

[vibrantbirdy]

Helllloooooo~ your writing is fab! May I please request some Cal Kestis x Reader fiction???? Could the scenario please be that the reader was once a jedi padawan along with Cal and they were best friends and maybe have a little child crush on each other and they got separated due to order 66? Then, you guessed it, they find each other after all these years and it's all fluffy and they realise their true feelings and everything adorable?? Please and thank you! Have a lovely day/night!

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your kind words and thank you for this request! I really love writing for Cal!

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Familiarity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor games Setting: Prior to the events of Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Action/adventure; Fluff; Angst; Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Canon typical combat violence; canon typical death/angst/survivor's guilt relating to Order 66; mild sexuality; one claustrophobic scene due to ruined temple adventuring; SPOILERS for Jedi: Fallen Order and minor ones for the set up to Survivor. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.8k (this one got away from me!) Author's note: I couldn't write about Order 66 without a little angst but hopefully there's still plenty of fluff and romance and adventure to be found here! Summary: Believing each other lost to the brutal purge of the Emperor's Order 66, ten years after you were separated from your childhood best friend during the systematic eradication of the Jedi Order, you and Cal Kestis are finally reunited amid the strange Temple ruins of an ancient civilisation.

10 years ago

"Run!" Jedi Master Rena Daylum commands as the Clone Troopers who were once your trusted comrades turn their blasters towards you.

Master Daylum dispatches them quickly as you ignore her instruction and ignite your own lightsaber. The purple blade hums into life and you ready yourself for the next squad of Troopers.

But before your saber is even fully extended, a burst of energy hits you squarely in the chest and you fly backwards, skidding across the hard durasteel floor on your backside.

As you look up in surprise, you can't help the childish dart of hurt that stings your pride as you see Master Daylum, her palm extended towards you, and realise that she has pushed you away. She's never used the Force on you like that before.

"For once in your life, Padawan, do as you are told!"

Daylum extends her hand again and the control panels on the open blast door between you explode in a shower of sparks. Even as you run back towards her, the heavy metal doors hiss closed and lock shut in front of you.

With little other choice, you carry out the instruction you've been given and run. You are more frightened than you've ever been in your young life. As you sprint down the Venator-class Destroyer's corridors, you reach out for your Master in the Force. You sense only a dark void where her comforting, consistent presence had always been and in that moment, you know that she is gone forever.

The Albedo Brave, despite her rather sterile appearance with her harsh florescent lighting, her heavy, threatening blast doors and cold metal walls, had seemed homely to you only this morning.

Now the ship feels almost alien. The emergency lighting flashes intermittently, illuminating the corridors with an eerie crimson glow, and the mournful wail of the alarm seems to all but scream in your head.

You hide in a maintenance closet as another squad of Clones pass by. The once familiar voices of the Troopers now sparks a deep dread within you. Over the past month you've been aboard the Brave, you had started to recognise the individual Clones from their personal intonations and patterns of speech, even with their helmets on. Now, their tone is uniform, cold and robotic. And deadly. And this ship is teeming with them.

You think you are heading in the right direction towards the escape pods, but you are far from certain. Upon embarking, you'd been so thrilled about your first assignment to a Venator and the fact that your fellow Padawan and best friend, Cal Kestis, was already onboard. But this excitement meant that you hadn't really paid all that much attention to the safety drill with Master Daylum.

You always thought she'd be here to guide you if anything happened...

As you continue to stumble lost and alone through the gargantuan ship you once called home, you halt abruptly as you think you hear someone shout your name over the blaring alarm.

You look up towards the source of the sound and see Cal peering down at you through the grated walkway of the maintenance corridor above. There is a screech of metal as he removes the heavy durasteel access panel.

"Cal? The Clones ... they killed Master Daylum. She's ... dead," you manage to stammer, "What's happening?"

You feel your face crumple as fresh tears begin to fall. You wipe them away and Cal can only look at you with an expression of sympathy and grief on his kind, honest face.

You both jump as you hear blaster fire nearby. You need to move.

Cal lays himself flat on his stomach and reaches his arm down towards you.

"Come on!"

He stretches out a hand. It hangs agonisingly close, just out of your reach. Your fingertips barely brush against his.

"Jump!"

You try to centre yourself in the Force, but in your panic and confusion, you are completely closed off from it. All you can manage is a pitiful little hop.

"I can't Cal, I can't... I can't feel anything!"

The boy shuffles further off the ledge. He obviously has his feet hooked round the durasteel support struts as anchor points. Still, it looks impossible, but you bend your knees and spring up and off the metal floor.

Somehow, Cal grabs your hand.

Cal is the same age as you - thirteen - but due to a recent growth spurt you are a good few inches taller than him now. You've been teasing him mercilessly about it recently and he has been taking it with his characteristic good nature, biting back with quick witted retorts.

Neither of you are laughing about it now.

You are dangling just inches off the ground and, despite his best efforts, Cal simply doesn't have the strength to pull you up from this angle. He has no leverage. Eventually his grip slips and you fall away from him, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

You look up at Cal, his expression of alarm mirroring what you assume your own must looks like.

“Try again," he whispers urgently, his green eyes wide and desperate.

He extends his arm with all his might, splaying his palm as if the extra few millimetres will make any difference to your predicament.

You twist around from your position on the floor as a new sound carries down the Venator's passageways. Voices. There are voices now. Clones just beyond the nearest blast door. You took your lightsaber to the control panel, sealing it shut as best you could, but it won't take them long to get through.

You lift your gaze back to Cal - your friend, your best friend - and shake your head.

"I'll meet you there," you say, trying to sound brave and reassuring.

Cal hisses your name as you take off down the corridor away from him. You can't bear to turn around and see the lost, pleading expression on his face so you run around the corner out of his sight and you don't look back.

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

Present day

This is not going well, Cal Kestis thinks wryly to himself as spins his lightsaber in his hand, the blue laser blocking blaster bolts and sending them ricocheting back towards the Stormtroopers firing them his way.

The fire from the Troopers is relentless and more and more units in white clad armour continue to pour in through the great ceremonial entrance of the Temple to the ancient Spori civilization.

It is clear to the Jedi now that he has severely underestimated the scale of the Empire's presence on Spori, and their interest in the ruined Temple.

As he raises his saber above his head to parry a strike from a Scout Trooper with a stun baton, he groans inwardly as he remembers the misplaced confidence with which he'd bid farewell to the rest of the crew of the Mantis as they dropped him off and set out on a supply run.

"In and out," he'd quipped. "Easy."

Idiot.

Cal's constant companion, the small bipedal droid, BD-1, is crouched low atop his usual resting place on the Jedi's shoulder. He peeks out every so often to analyse the increasingly desperate situation beeping and whirring unsolicited combat advice in binary.

"Yeah buddy, I know, I know, I know..." Cal mutters through gritted teeth as he is forced to swing his lightsaber in what has become a series of exclusively defensive manoeuvres.

The pace is unsustainable.

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

You are perched on the shoulder of a gargantuan stone statue, a grand monument to a respected Spori High Priestess. You gaze down at swathes of Stormtroopers as they pour into the ruined Temple.

You've just retrieved a data archive from the inner sanctum of the Temple. The Spori were an ancient civilization who, above all else valued knowledge and spent hundreds if not thousands of years collating information on other peoples, some now lost to the mists of time or ravages of war, including the Jedi.

When you'd heard about the Imperial invasion of Spori, you knew you needed to retrieve the archive in order to preserve any surviving ancient knowledge of the Jedi Order before the Empire could either destroy it or use it for some nefarious purpose...

When you first arrived, although you'd had to evade the occasional Imperial patrol on your trek from the Spori capital across the planet's rugged landscape, there was not the slightest hint of Imperial presence around the Temple itself. It was practically peaceful.

Now, it looked like the Empire had deployed an entire kriffing garrison to the ancient ruin.

From the safety of your high vantage point you watch the chaos unfold below. Or, more accurately, you stare in disbelief at the shockingly familiar figure wielding a blue lightsaber at the very eye of the storm.

"Cal," you breathe out his name.

He's older of course, but it's unquestionably Cal Kestis. You'd recognise that flaming red hair anywhere. He has a short beard to match now and, annoyingly, you come to the conclusion that he has undergone a considerable growth spurt in the last decade or so and he now looks to be much taller than you.

He has a little red and white droid with him. It clings to the Jedi's back, swaying perfectly in tune with its master's movements, never finding itself unbalanced. It's as if the BD unit is an extension of Cal's anatomy.

Cal moves with determination and confidence, striking and parrying with alarming accuracy and speed. It is the fighting form of a competent and experienced warrior, his physicality at once both elegant and deadly. It's a far cry from the stilted and unsure combat stance of the young boy who used to pull his punches in training.

Still, the Troopers just keep on coming and Cal is obviously tiring. He is now on the back foot and will soon be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Imperial soldiers.

You need to do something.

Scanning your surroundings, your eyes clock the huge, monolithic stone lintel slab hanging above the ceremonial entrance to the Temple. There's a weakness in the left side pillar. If you brought it down with the Force, you could seal off the Imp's only ingress point. Then you would only have to dispatch of the Stormtroopers already inside.

You'll have to find another way out of the ruin itself of course, but that's a problem for later. The situation is becoming dire and this is the thing you can think of to do.

Suddenly, a Rocket Trooper dives at great velocity and collides into Cal, slamming his boots into the trunk of the Jedi's body and sending the him sprawling across the floor where he curls into a ball,. His lightsaber rolls across the flagstones with a mournful clinking sound.

You stand up, using the Force to balance and centre yourself, to find strength. You puff out your cheeks and exhale sharply through your lips. Then, you jump.

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

Cal writhes on the ground clutching his abdomen at the agonising point of impact where the Trooper had barrelled feet into him feet first.

Didn't see that one coming.

He gasps in deep lungfuls of air as he desperately tries to regulate his breathing through the pain.

Another broken rib? No. Thank the Force. But he's severely winded and there'll be bruising for sure. He knows he needs to move but kriff it hurts.

BD-1, who was thrown from his shoulder on impact, is now dancing from foot to little metallic foot next to him, urging him to get up.

Suddenly, he hears the unmistakable song of another lightsaber and he looks up in awe to see a stranger standing in front of him, purple blade cutting through the air and deflecting the continuing onslaught of blaster bolts.

The figure is hooded, and even when they are forced to turn towards him as they wheel around to interrupt the advance of a Scout Trooper attempting to flank them, he can't see the face hidden behind the folds of material.

Something in the Force nags at him. There is a strange familiarity in the presence of this mysterious warrior who has come to his aid.

Spurred on by curiosity, Cal steels himself and tries to rise, extending out a hand to bring his lightsaber into his hand with the Force. Too late, he registers a flash of white in his peripheral vision as a Stormtrooper's boot collides with his temple and everything snaps into blackness.

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

You've been stood watch beside an unconscious Cal for almost ten minutes. The dust is still settling from the avalanche of rock you brought tumbling down to the ancient Temple floor. The plan worked. Tonnes of rubble now separate you and Cal from the Empire.

You look down at your childhood friend. Blacked out from a kick to the head or not, you can't believe he slept though that noise. You're just starting to get worried when he finally stirs and groans. His little droid, who has since introduced himself as BD-1, boops hopefully.

"Cal?"

His green eyes, still shockingly familiar despite the passage of time, flicker open. When they finally focus and lock on to yours, they widen in alarm.

Cal leaps clumsily to his feet and stumbles backwards away from you. Disoriented and in pain, he staggers, one hand clutching at his side with the movement, the other held out in from of him. His mouth is agape, and he stares at you as if he's seen a ghost.

Cal says your name as if it's a question. It's barely a whisper.

“Yes,”

“You're...here?" His voice is faltering, unsure. "You're not...?”

Dead? You think he's going to say.

"...not a dream?

“It's me Cal," you reply and your voice is hushed with emotion, "it's really me.”

Cal drops heavily to his knees and you dart forwards to catch him, fearing he's about to pass out again. Instead, when you are kneeling face to face, he grasps your hands in his.

“I can't believe it,” he says breathlessly.

You bring your forehead to rest against his for a moment until he pulls you in a hug so tight you can barely breathe. You return it anyway, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as if to prove to him that you are not an illusion or some cruel trick of the Force.

He winces and it breaks the spell. You let him go and cast your eyes over him, examining for wounds.

"Force, sorry," you apologise, "Anything broken?"

Cal gingerly lifts up his dark grey shirt which is filthy with dust and grime but no visible blood. He reveals one side of his bruised torso and you can't help but notice how, under the welts, the muscles there are sculpted and strong. Even on this small part of his body, his skin is littered with scars. Like you, it seems, Cal is living the life of a warrior.

"Not this time..." he quips, letting the material fall back into place.

BD-1 jumps up onto Cal's shoulder and gives him a little butt with his flat, rectangular head. The droid ejects a small cannister from one of his compartments and Cal catches it, injecting green liquid into his chest. A healing stim.

"Thanks buddy."

Cautiously, Cal pushes himself to his feet where he stands with his hands on his hips, inspecting the huge pile of rubble covering what was once the grand and sacred entrance to the Spori Temple.

"That got anything to do with you?" he asks, gesturing casually at the mess.

You dust off your hands as you rise to stand beside him.

"Someone had to save your ass. Thought I might as well make an impression on the Empire at the same time."

He looks at you and for the first time since you've reunited with him, he smiles properly. Your heart soars. It's the same boyish grin you remember so well.

"Could be a problem."

"Maybe not..." you reply as you pull out the data pad you'd loaded up with an Old Republic era holo map of the Temple. The technological backflips you'd had to do to get that thing to run on your device...

BD-1 boops indignantly.

That's my job.

"Look at these tunnels," you continue, placating the little droid with a gentle pat to the head as you speak, "they connect to various ceremonial chambers, some functional rooms too, and then out the other side. I think they were once service passageways. It's the long way round, it'll take us a couple of days but..."

"Why are you here?" Cal asks suddenly, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.

He's looking at you questioningly. It's not suspicion. It's a sort of sharp curiosity, and you suddenly become aware of the obvious. That you and Cal are here for the same purpose.

Nevertheless, you trust him implicitly. You bend down and reach into your small knapsack which is currently resting by your feet. You rummage around until you find the tiny golden data sphere which holds the Spori culture archive.

"Why are you here?" You counter, although you suspect your theory must be correct.

Sure enough, Cal raises his eyebrows and nods towards the object in your palm.

"Figures," you say.

You are interrupted by the unmistakable din of a laser firing through rock. The Empire have obviously brought in heavy duty cutting equipment. They must want the Spori archive more than you thought.

"Work it out later?" Cal suggests.

You nod in agreement, before stuffing the data sphere back into your bag and grabbing Cal's hand, leading him briskly towards the nearest service tunnel marked on your map.

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

You and Cal follow the old passageways for miles. The two of you fall back into your old, easy way of conversation as if no time has passed at all. Your laughter echoes through the ruin, filling up forgotten rooms and dormant chambers where the ring of voices has not been heard in centuries.

Finally, the tunnel you are following leads out to a cavernous ceremonial chamber. It is an extravagantly long hall and all the way down there are huge pillars, inset with hundreds of alcoves where candles must once have been placed for illumination. You try to imagine a grand feast being held here, priests and dignitaries and attendants all floating across the chamber in their opulent ceremonial garb.

Cal nudges you, starting you out of your reverie. You look at him and he nods down the long room towards the furthest two pillars in the distance.

"Race ya."

"Oh, you are so on, Kestis," You accept and crouch into a starting position, welcoming a chance to properly stretch your legs. "On three...One..."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Cal suddenly exclaims, holding up his hands. "Not so fast. On three or after three?"

You turn to him and roll eyes as you register the mischievous smirk on his face. You've had this argument so many times.

"Remember that race with Kya and Mez?" He snorts with laughter, "You were so mad!"

"That's because you all cheated!" You argue and you can't believe that over a decade later, that particular defeat still riles you. "Everybody knows when you say on three, that means you go after three."

"No, that's what after three means!" Cal protests, your seriousness surrounding the situation only causing his mirth to increase.

You know he's right, but you were always so competitive back then. You always wanted, needed to win. Master Daylum had tried to temper and hone that determined spirit into something more refined but, even now, you aren't sure that you've even been able to tame that particular fault in your nature.

You remember once in sparring training, you'd thrown down your training saber in annoyance.

"Why are you doing that?!" You yelled at Cal, who was partnering you, storming across to him and shoving him hard in the chest.

You were convinced that he was holding back with his strikes and it was making you irate. You wanted a proper fight otherwise your victory would be hollow.

"Just because you are scared of everything doesn't mean I am!"

You'd stalked off, leaving him with an expression of shock and hurt on his face. Within five minutes, you'd regained your composure and your insides squirmed with the shame and guilt of unjustly embarrassing your friend.

Later that night, you'd snuck into Cal's quarters to apologise. He accepted with his usual good grace and, as you left, you'd placed a chaste peck on his cheek which made his face turn almost as red as his hair.

Cal was always quick to forgive you after that.

"Ok, ok, fine," you concede, bringing your mind back to the present.

You are unable to stop a smile spreading across your face as Cal struggles to stop his chuckling beside you. You'd always found his laughter infectious and nothing seemed to have changed there. Maybe, maybe you can see the funny side now.

"After three then," you say.

You both adopt a low stance in preparation to dart forwards and get the best start possible. You look at each other and grin and Cal starts to count.

"One...two...three..."

Before Cal can say go!, you set off at a blistering pace. You hear a scrabble of boots on loose stones and an indignant shout of hey! behind you as he scrambles into a run after you. From his perch on Cal's shoulder, BD-1 trills a similar reproval.

You laugh, exhilarated. The wind rushes in your face and through your hair as you pump your arms and legs as fast as you can. You feel like a child again. You feel free.

As you push your body harder, you reach into the Force and you sense the strength of Cal's presence, both familiar and new, in tune with yours. Something warm blooms inside you. It's as if a piece of you has been missing all these years.

It's meant to be like this, you think.

Cal is fast but you've always been quicker than him, your nimble frame allowing you to cover the ground like something feline. Even with his new advantage of height and longer legs, there's no way he'll catch you now as you speed towards the pillars and victory.

You raise your arms in triumph as you cross the makeshift finish line. You turn and Cal is right on your tail, BD-1 crouched low on his shoulder as if to be the cause of the least wind resistance possible.

Cal barely slows as he swoops behind you, grabbing you by the waist. You shriek with laughter and he picks you up and spins you around before setting your feet back down on the crumbling flagstones.

"Cheat!" He accuses, but his expression is joyful and his eyes sparkle with glee.

He puts his hands on his knees and folds over in an exaggerated gesture of catching his breath.

"Now you know what it feels like," you counter, and you slump down against the nearest pillar, enjoying the sensation of the cool stone against your back.

Cal joins you so that you are sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"Force, you're still so competitive," he says.

"And you're still such a sore loser."

You stick your tongue out at him and you both laugh.

You suddenly realise how tired you are. You and Cal have been walking and scrambling and clambering across miles of difficult, dangerous terrain for hours. The Temple is mostly in ruin now and so many parts of it have collapsed or caved in, placing obstacle after unexpected obstacle in your path.

"Rest?"

Cal takes a swig of water from his canteen pouch and grins.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

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

10 years ago

"Padawan, your lightsaber!" Master Tapal admonishes as Cal's weapon skids across the floor and plummets into the oblivion of the turbo-lift shaft.

There is an uncharacteristic note of panic in his Master's voice. It causes a spike of fear to pierce through the young Padawan's very soul and makes him more afraid than even the betrayal of the once friendly Clones, the onslaught of blaster fire that seems to come at him from every direction, and the screeching, disorienting cacophony of the Venator's blaring alarms put together.

"Sorry Master!" Cal exclaims as he scrambles onwards and upwards, towards the escape pods feeling vulnerable and helpless without his weapon.

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

His Master lies dead on the floor before him. As the escape pod gives a terrifying shudder as it disengages from the Venator, Cal throws himself into one of the vessel's seats, fumbling to secure his safety belt.

He wonders what's become of you. The guilt and shame of his failure washes over him anew as he remembers your stricken face as you fell away from his grasp. He wasn't strong enough to help you. If you're dead, it'll be all his fault. Just like his Master.

The young Padawan clutches his Tapal's lightsaber tightly to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. Finally, he allows himself to let out a wail of despair as he hurtles through space alone towards the planet of Bracca and the unknown.

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

Present Day

Cal is still asleep. You're not sure how - he can't possibly be comfortable. He's lying flat on his back, arms folded across his chest, using a low stone slab as a makeshift pillow.

You have no idea whether the Empire have been successful in their efforts to break through into the Temple and you know you really should get going. But Cal looks so peaceful, you don't want to wake him. Not yet.

Fondly, you examine his face, reacquainting yourself with the constellations of freckles that sit on his nose and cheeks. You still can't get over how grown up he looks. How handsome he's become. The beard gives him a rather dashing appearance.

You wonder how he got that scar across his nose which disappears as it reaches his right cheek then reappears again on his neck. You don't doubt he's got many such marks from his scrapper's life on Bracca.

Deftly, you reach out with the Force. You smile. Elements of his presence feel so familiar to you - Earnest, honest, kind-hearted Cal.

But there is also determinedness, a level headedness, and a self-assuredness you've never felt from him before. You feel a rush of emotion as you realise it reminds you of the steady, secure feeling you used to sense from Master Tapal once you'd stopped being scared of the purple Lasat's outwardly stern demeanour and truly giagantic size.

Whenever you and Cal got into trouble - or, perhaps more accurately, whenever you got Cal into trouble - by sneaking out into the Gardens of the Jedi Temple after hours or some such similar escapade, Master Daylum would almost always lead the reprimand, while Master Tapal would merely observe, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

As an adult, you understand now that the Lasat considered your independent spirit and rebellious nature to be a good balancer for his sometimes overly cautious and uncertain Padawan.

You retrain your mind on Cal. There's something else, something he hides, deep within himself. You realise it's the same bitter collection of feelings that you have struggled with every day since the violent extermination of your Order.

Doubt. Grief. Fear.

You pull back, realising you are teetering on the edge between curiosity and trespass. As if the you have summoned these unpleasant notions to the surface of the sleeping young man's psyche, Cal starts to mumble in his sleep. He twists and jerks as if he's having a terrible nightmare.

You crouch beside him and shake him gently by the shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake him. It takes longer than you would like and as he catapults back into consciousness, he sits bolt upright, his broad shoulders heaving up and down as his breath comes in short, sharp pants.

His eyes flash wildly as he reorients himself and when they finally lock on to yours they blaze with the intensity of green kyber. It's as if he's relieved all over again to see that you are alive.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, "I left you there. I left you on that ship."

"No, Cal" you say softly and you place a hand on his bearded cheek.

You've never blamed him. Not once.

Over the years, you've been unable to quash a secretly harboured shard of resentment towards the Jedi, despite your love for the Order you once called home, your family. As an adult, you started to find yourself doubting the morality and the wisdom of training young children to be weapons and sending them off to war.

Nowadays, for the most part, you are able to reconcile your loyalty to the Order with these criticisms, but the realisation that Cal still perceives what happened on the Venator as some kind of personal failing makes these feelings flare up within you all over again.

"No," you repeat and your tone is firmer now, "we were kids, Cal. We both did what we had to to survive in a situation we should never have had to face.”

Cal shakes his head and looks away.

“Do you ever dream of it? Of the Venator?” he asks, staring into the distance.

“All the time,” you answer truthfully and you smile sadly.

You are relieved to see that when Cal trains his gaze back onto your face, his expression, while still sombre, is less feverish.

"How did you escape?"

"I commandeered a shuttle," you explain, then smirk, "Crashed it, of course. Into a field on Pelka-4."

"That sounds like you," Cal quips, and you are glad when the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I was lucky. A family of farmers found me. They kept me safe, hidden while I healed. I stayed with them for a few years until I managed to find a Rebel cell to join. Been sticking it to the Empire ever since."

You suddenly realise that neither of you have spoken about your lives after the purge until now. You don't know anything about the last ten years of Cal's existence.

"What about you?" You ask.

"Ended up on Bracca," Cal says and he lifts the sleeve of his shirt to display a tattoo on the underside of his right forearm.

It's a worker identification tag and you feel a surge of sympathy for him. Force what a hard life for a kid.

"Scrapper," he continues, "Until, one day, I used the Force to save a friend from a fall. He died anyway when the Inquisitors came for me."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too..." Cal rubs the back of his neck as he continues, "I was working with a team including another Jedi for a while. It's complicated, but we went our separate ways and I've been part of Saw Guerra's operation since."

"You're working for Saw Gerrera?"

"I'm working with Saw Gerrera."

You both look at each other and burst into laughter, knowing that the formidable Rebel warlord himself certainly wouldn't see it that way.

"What does Gerrera want with a Spori data archive?"

"He doesn't," Cal says, "but intel picked up a lot of Imperial activity in the area and I knew that's what they were after. I wanted to take it out the game before they could get to it."

You take the Spori data sphere out of your knapsack again and hold it out towards Cal in your open hand.

"What do we do with it now?"

Cal reaches out and closes your palm around the device.

"If you have somewhere safe for it," he says, his emerald gaze earnest, his voice low and sincere, "You get it there."

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

Cal doesn't need to wonder if he's made the right decision in suggesting you take custody of the Spori archive. He's not ready to visit Cere on Jedha, and Saw Gerrera's numerous bases of operations are constantly at risk of Imperial attack. Smaller cells, like yours, are easier to hide, easier to move. More than that, he trusts you completely to keep the sphere safe.

Even as a child, you were the most capable, determined, head-strong person he's ever met. Nothing's changed. You still make him laugh until he cries and he can't believe quite how much he's missed being relentlessly teased by you.

Having you near him again is enchanting. He feels drawn to you, like the invisible chord that has tied you together all of your lives has suddenly been pulled taut and you are being pulled inexorably towards each other.

Despite the circumstances you find yourselves in, Cal is happier with you down here in the dark with you than he's been in years.

And it really is dark down here. And damp. And cold. Squeezing through the Spori service tunnels which seem to be in more and more disrepair the further you go, it is as if there are unnamed things skittering about in the blackness.

Cal tries to put this down to the loose pebbles and stones you both kick up as you make your way through the ruined passageways, but he's not convinced.

He doesn't much like small spaces, but as you make progress down the increasingly narrowing passage in front of him, BD-1 on your shoulder lighting the way, Cal can feel your panic rising in the Force.

He suddenly remembers that you are severely claustrophobic and he scolds himself for forgetting. How could he not remember the night he sat up for hours holding your trembling hand in the Jedi Temple's med bay after your experience on Ilum.

Master Yoda had taken you and Cal with your peers to the ice planet for the ceremonial Gathering, the traditional rite of passage where young Padawans explore the great ice caves to source the kyber crystals with which to construct their lightsabers.

The ritual was always somewhat dangerous, but you'd had a particularly fraught time, falling down an ice crevasse and almost getting stuck between the tightly packed sheets of ice. You were forced to crawl and squeeze your way out in the dark all alone.

You were hours later than everybody else. Cal remembers how he came the closest he'd ever been to disobedient, sneaking away from the pack of Padawans and Master Yoda himself who were waiting by the transport ship outside the caves for your return.

Determined to try and find you himself, Cal made it halfway to the entrance unseen - or so he liked to think - when you finally emerged from the caves, hunched over and limping, but your kyber crystal firmly in hand.

The Jedi Council had been impressed with your perseverance and bravery, but Cal had never quite forgiven them for allowing you to suffer like that.

"This is only getting narrower, Cal," you say, jolting him out of his memories. He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, "Maybe we should go back."

BD-1 lets out a little boop which is almost a scoffing sound.

"It's ok for you, buddy," Cal reminds him patiently, "You're very small."

He hears the droid trill a bashful apology in your ear.

"That's ok, BD-1," you say and the genuine warmth in your voice makes Cal smile. You always had a weakness for cute droids, even when they were cheeky.

"Kriff," you swear softly in front of him as you come to a halt so abrupt he almost crashes into you.

In the dim light, Cal can see that part of the tunnel has collapsed. He watches as BD-1 hops off your back, and scurries into the small opening on the ground. Glad of something to do, the droid proudly scans the terrain and projects the way ahead. It's not blocked and it's not far, but it'll be tight. You'll have to crawl.

Cal places a hand on your shoulder and has to resist the urge to recoil as your fear arcs through the Force and passes through his own body so acutely that it feels like a bolt of electricity.

"I'll go first," he says.

The narrow corridor is barely wide enough for two people. You press yourself as flat as you can against the damp stone wall so that Cal can squeeze past. He raises his arms and rests his palms against the rock either side of your head for balance as he steps cautiously in between and around your feet and legs.

It's intimate, almost awkwardly so. Cal hopes you don't notice the blush he can feel creeping up his neck as he is forced to press his body into yours as he climbs over you. He looks down into your eyes as he passes, raising his eyebrows and tilting his chin upwards in mock flirtation in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He is relieved when you giggle and jab him playfully in the ribs. He can't help but notice that your cheeks have turned a rather fetching shade of pink, no doubt mirroring his own, as BD's torch lamp passes over your face.

Something inside him glows as he realises you feel it too - the ember of something new between you smouldering into life as your shared past collides with the present.

But now, he needs to concentrate. Reluctantly, he brushes aside the giddy feeling you've awakened within him and he reaches into the Force. He inhales then exhales deeply, slowing his racing heart as he focuses on the task in hand. Then, following BD-1's lead, he crouches down and crawls head first into the gap in the stone work.

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

If your lungs didn't feel so constricted, so full of dust and musty, cloying air, you'd probably scream. When you'd squeezed yourself into the collapsed passageway after Cal, at first you'd been able to crawl on your hands and knees. That was almost tolerable but now... Now you are now flat on your stomach, making painstaking progress by clutching at the rough, stony ground in front of you with your fingers and pulling yourself along like some undead creature in a horror holo novel.

You try to ground yourself in the Force, but just like when you were a child, your panic has severed your connection to it, cut you off from it, leaving you adrift in the painful void of its absence.

Suddenly, you hear the scrabbling of Cal's body and boots against the ground ahead. Before you can register what's happening you are plummeted into darkness, BD-1's headlamp extinguishing without warning.

Oh Force, they've fallen down some crack in the ancient structure, plummeting into oblivion where the earth has swallowed them whole and now you're stuck here in the dark alone with no way forward and no chance of turning around...

The sharp, solid ice - no, this isn't Ilum - rock bites through your clothing, stony shards pressing into your body as your chest expands with your panicked breathing.

"Cal?" You gasp out, then, in a shout that's almost a scream, "Cal?!"

Abruptly, your eyes are assaulted with a white light so bright it dazzles you. You jump and hit your head painfully on the stone ceiling above you. A pair of hands, Cal's hands you realise, reach through the blinding light of BD's torch and you snatch at them wildly as if he might withdraw them and leave you there alone in the dark.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. With ease, he pulls you gently through the last little length of the tunnel and up onto your feet where you emerge gasping and wheezing as if you've been held under water.

You throw your arms around Cal's neck in relief, launching yourself at him with such force that he staggers backwards. Once he's regained his footing, he places a hand at the small of your back, drawing you close to him and cradles your head to his chest with the other. His heart beats out a sonorous, steady rhythm and resonates through your own body, slowing your breathing and calming your rattled nerves.

Funny, you always used to be the one to comfort him when you were children.

"I've got you," he whispers gently into your ear, "I've got you."

A passing thought that maybe you should be embarrassed for allowing your fear to overwhelm you like this is discarded almost immediately as Cal places a soft kiss gently on the top of your head.

A feeling of warmth rushes through you. You suddenly realise how safe you feel with him as you press into the warmth of his strong, solid body. You breathe in his old familiar smell which has a new, heady quality to it like clean leather mixed with the oddly pleasant scent of his physical exertions.

"Sorry..." you mumble, finally, into his chest, hoping he can't feel where your panicked tears have rolled unbidden down your cheeks and soaked into the fabric of his shirt, "I was thinking about..."

"Ilum," Cal finishes for you, "I know."

"You remember?" you say, pulling back to look at him.

He smiles kindly.

"I remember."

You shiver. Is it the memory of that icy planet that still chills your bones? No, you decide, it really is cold in here. Although, you realise, the air feels and smells different somehow. Fresher. Sweeter.

Reluctantly, you extricate yourself from Cal's arms and take a look around the Spori chamber you've just put yourself through hell to get to.

Except...you're not in a chamber at all. You're not even inside.

You look upwards and see stars twinkling above you, a million points of light in the darkness. Around you, the roofless, crumbling remains of the Spori Temple stretch raggedly into the inky sky like skeletal fingers.

You think back to when you'd studied the climate of planet and the geographical position of the Temple before setting off on your mission. The ancient structure would certainly be exposed to harsh winds on this northern side, especially in the formidable Spori winter. This part of the Temple has simply not weathered the ravages of time.

In the twilight, you take in the shadowy treeline of a great forest which lays across a meadow of high, fragrant grass which sways gently in the breeze. The tops of far away mountains are illuminated by the ethereal blue light of Spori's twin moons. The natural beauty of the place is magical.

You fill your lungs with beautiful, clean air. You can breathe again. You let out a joyful whoop, throwing your head back and laughing, stretching your hands up into the night sky and spinning round and round in the glorious open landscape.

When you finally stop, you notice that Cal is watching you with an expression of pure delight.

"We did it!" You say breathlessly, coming to rest in front of him and he laughs.

BD-1 hops from foot to foot in front of you, wanting to join in your celebration. You crouch down and scoop the little droid into a tight embrace where he purrs like a Loth cat. After a minute, he hops out of your arms and across to his usual spot on Cal's shoulder.

Cal's face is covered in dirt which runs in dark streaks down his cheeks where rivulets of sweat have trickled their path. You imagine you look similar. Automatically, you reach up and rub at the patch of grime caked above his left eyebrow with your thumb.

Cal brings his hand up to rest against yours as he leans into your touch. His expression is soft and there is a longing in his face so intense that he almost looks lost. You burn with a sudden yearning for him as his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips.

Something chirps, breaking the spell. Cal reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small data pad.

"The Mantis can pick us up here in the morning," he says, inserting coordinates into the device and transmitting them to his crew, "We can drop you back wherever you need to be if you want a ride?"

Your heart sinks and you can tell by Cal's regretful expression that your face has fallen with it. In your euphoria, you'd almost forgotten that your reunion was probably only temporary.

Cal looks crestfallen by your reaction and you know he must realise that, however unintended, the abrupt shift in tone would have seemed callous to you. You can tell that he is searching for the words to repair the damage - he still has this need to say the right thing.

But it's too late.

"Sure," you reply, and you hate the coldness in your tone.

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

Cal is lying on his side in the grass, somewhat sheltered in the corner of the part of the ruin you'd chosen for your camp. It's little more than a cluster of decaying stones, but it's better than nothing and it keeps the wind at bay. You've built a fire for warmth and placed yourselves at either side of it.

As Cal studies your peaceful face through the leaping, crackling flames, he smiles to himself. You look so beautiful to him, as you always had. Even on your worst days when your temper or your hard-headedness won out, he'd always likened you to a force of nature - a tempest or a forest fire. Something elemental.

The thought of going through another separation from you is unbearable. He curses his thoughtlessness earlier. He was certain that he had just about plucked up the courage to kiss you. Sensing your own feelings through the Force, he was almost sure that you wouldn't have rejected him and he'd certainly been willing to take that chance.

Wallowing in self-pity for this missed opportunity made it impossible to even think about sleep. If only that blasted device hadn't interrupted the moment.

And besides all that inner turmoil, Cal's teeth are chattering so loud in his skull that he's certain they could wake the dead, never mind himself. While softer than the solid rock that had been serving as his bedding recently, the turf beneath him is damp and the chill is seeping through his clothing and into his skin. He is so uncomfortable.

"Cal?"

Just as his eyelids start to droop, he hears you speak his name in a soft, sleepy voice. When he looks across at you, you are sitting up, the firelight dancing across the bright, glassy orbs of your eyes, your hair wild.

Force you look ethereal.

"Are you cold?" You ask.

"Freezing," Cal admits.

"Me too," you pause before saying in a hushed tone that makes Cal's stomach flip, "Come here."

He hesitates for a moment before he does as as he's bid, standing and making his way over to you. Wordlessly, you reach up to him and he takes you hand in his as you guide him to lie at your back and return to your position on your side. He feels a heady thrill when you press yourself into him as he curls his body around your smaller frame.

Cal laces one arm underneath you while the other wraps around your waist, holding you flush against him. You clasp the hand the hand that rests against your stomach in your own. Cal wonders if you can feel his heart slamming against his chest.

"I've missed you," he hears himself blurt out suddenly and he curses inwardly, feeling stupid.

But the temporary embarrassment fades quickly and is replaced by certainty and desire as you bring his hand up to your mouth and trace a trail of kisses across his knuckles with your soft lips.

"I can't lose you again," he continues ardently, "I can't."

Cal brushes a strand of stray hair away from your ear, as if that might allow you to heed his words more clearly.

"You won't," you say firmly, and a new sense of hope blooms inside him for the first time in a long time.

You twist towards him and onto your back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up into his open, sincere face. Unable to resist any longer, Cal places a hand at the nape of your neck and draws you up into a deep, passionate kiss. His heart sings as your hands fly up to twist in his hair as you move your lips urgently against his.

As you embrace, Cal feels your familiar presence in the Force blossom with something new, something which glows incandescent like a beacon guiding him towards you and only you. Suddenly, every nerve in his body is on fire and, as you move together, he feels as if you are two flames blazing through the very heart of the Galaxy itself.

Only in his dreams did he ever imagine that he would see you again after that awful day on the Venator so long ago. Now, as you lie down together beneath the stars amid the mysterious ruins of the Spori Temple, Cal Kestis promises himself that whatever the future holds, he'll never let you go again.

[lysreadsbookssometimes]

My favorite Riordanverse Headcanon

Is the GROUP CHAT (TM)

You have greek, roman, norse and egyptian thingys just running around and getting tangled up more and more, so I imagine them just having a big group chat between all the main guys to figure stuff out.

Spoilers

Percy: *picture* I just saw this guy while waiting in line at starbucks, what is it and can anyone else deal with it I'm running late for school Magnus: Yeah that would be a [Name] Samirah: I'm in the Area gimme a sec

Sadie: We just found this thing, it's not ours but probably deadly, please come pick it up Thalia: I'm sending over some huntresses, that stuff needs capable hands

Alex: @ Annabeth something is wrong with the stuff you left at Chase Space and the thing swirling around it is yelling in greek so that is not my problem, come take care of it Annabeth: I'm in class. In San Francisco. I can't come to Boston, deal with it yourself. Alex: Nope, I dealt with that dwarf in your dads garden last week its your turn Nico: If you stop spamming my phone I'll take a look

Hazel: A few of my people are being held hostage by something covered in hieroglyphs, we'd like assistance please Carter: Ah yeah thats been happening lately, we'll send someone over

[dw-flagler]

In this post, I will attempt to calmly, reasonably, and in-a-good-faith-manner argue all the points raised by tumblr user @library-bat-girl in the following posts. I am starting a new thread so as not to further destroy the original poster, @skitterenjoyer's, tumblr notifications. Worm (+MHA) spoilers ahead. This will be a long post.

Firstly, I would like to apologize on the worm fandom's behalf. We will not engage in ableism of any kind. I sincerely hope that this was a singular incident and @skittersdrippygirlcock will be better about this in the future.

"MHA has better characters,"

My Hero Academia's primary achievement, I think, is managing to make many decently well rounded characters in a fairly short time-span. It certainly has very good visual character design, with easily memorable character designs, like Mina Ashido or Tsuyu Asui. Most of Class 1A is shown to be more than single-note gimmick characters. For a story with such a tight schedule, and only so much page real-estate, that's impressive! For instance, a character decidedly outside of the main cast, Fumikage Tokoyami, is shown to have more to his personality than "is an edgelord," showing a humility and friendliness that is highly against-type. This is very different than a lot of its peers, especially in Shonen manga, where side characters (and sometimes even main characters) are never more than their tropes (see Fairy Tale, One Punch Man*, The Seven Deadly Sins, or Black Clover). My Hero Academia does clear that bar, by making side characters little more than their tropes. This is to say nothing of the primary cast, who, again, is largely defined by tropes and easily slotted into standardized interchangeable Shonen roles. Rival, Love Interest, Rival but Nice About It. Additionally, MHA has an uncomfortably sexualized main cast, for one composed primarily of minors.

This is compared to Worm, in which many characters are fully realized and could have been the protagonist (and often were in older drafts of the story, due to Worm's 10-year development hell). Every character that gets an interlude, and most that don't, all have fully realized interiority, traumas, and wants. In fact, this is one of the major themes of Worm. Every character, from the protagonist Taylor, to characters so minor they're seen only once (see Damsel of Distress, Dauntless), to major antagonists and monsters (see Jack Slash, Bonesaw) all have their own story, even if this is never shown on-screen. There are no "side characters" in the same manner as in My Hero Academia, because every character is a protagonist of their own story, and not in a trite "life is so beautiful" way.

Taylor isn't the center of the universe, there's an entire world outside of her 3-block bubble. The mechanism by which all characters get their superpowers means that the mere fact of having powers implies this about them. Even the seeming exceptions, aren't (see Alexandria, Garotte). Taylor is a good character. I don't even know how to elaborate on that. She just is. Worm does not have the character Minoru Mineta.

"a better plot,"

What... what is the plot of My Hero Academia? For the life of me, I can't seem to recall. I can tell you the general formula of most of the arcs for the first ~2/3rds of the story. Class 1A goes to do a hero high school thing, like do rescue training, or on-the-job training, or on-the-job-training, or on-the-job-training (they do it like 4 times for some reason), the League Of Villains shows up (even when it's seemingly not the league of villains it actually is the league of villains) they fight about it, the class beats all the villains, and Deku beats up strongest bad guy and also breaks his bones. Repeat step 1. But like. What's... the plot? The League of Villains is evil and wants to kill people and do bad stuff. They explicitly do not have greater motivations. There's generally themes of passing-on-to-the-new-generation, so there's Tomura Shigaraki as the arch nemesis to Izuku Midoriya, just as All Might's Nemesis is All For One. Eventually they fight a big fight about it and I stop reading because I find out about Worm. From what I understand (I have not read the conclusion) the series ends without addressing any long-running questions, wrapping up any character arcs, or concluding anything in a narratively satisfying manner. As if severely rushed.

Worm, there are maybe 15 main stories going on simultaneously, which are all tied into the final confrontation with Scion. The most obvious is Taylor's and the Undersiders' story, about taking over Brockton Bay and defeating Coil, which is a smaller part of Coil's story about taking over the bay, until their confrontation with him in arc 17, when it supersedes Coil's story, and then intersects with Cauldron's story, the Traveler's story, the Case 53s' stories, the Wards' story, all of it, in arcs 18-19. This is one example. A great deal of attention is spent making sure the reader knows that Taylor, the Undersiders, Coil, all of them, are bit players in a very large game. Despite this, it's never hard to follow, because Wildbow, while lacking some of the more flowery prose, manages extremely well at making his stories easy to understand.

"I feel like even people who like Worm can agree that Worm is not the most consistent piece of fiction ever written. The disjointed way it was written meant that emphasis was primarily put on 'What Wildbow thought was cool in the moment', [sic] and the story RADICALLY shifts gears every time a new arc starts."

What? Huh? Worm is extremely consistent. Like. 1.1 to E.x. It's, like. Not disjointed? Oh my god, are you talking about interludes? Is that what you mean? The interludes shift gears? Because that makes sense. It's one of the hardest things about worm, yeah. It's gripping! The interludes are a great idea to expand the world of worm, but the problem is that taylor's story is so intriguing that stepping away from it to focus on something else is hard, no matter how individually interesting. I want to read about taylor's escalation spiral, not the travelers! (As opposed to My Hero Academia having random escalation and de-escalation between arcs with no real explanation. We're reading about lives-on-the-line battles with child-slavers and then move to playing on a playground with little kids? Best I can think of is that this whiplash is intentional, but this is never communicated to the reader. Worm does not do this. Any de-escalation is met with the explicit understanding that this is merely a period of calm before things get even worse). Taylor's story wraps up in an extremely narratively satisfying fashion, following her story to its logical conclusion. There were so many ways it could have been avoided, but there was really only one way that it could have ended.

"better worldbuilding,"

This actually offends me. MHA could have had great world-building. It doesn't. Every potentially interesting bit of world-building is backpedaled out of or stopped before it could get anywhere. Or it's just never elaborated or expanded upon. Everyone having a superpower could have been cool, but the implications of this are nonexistent. The reasons for this having no real implications, that being the banning of quirks, also has implications that are also immediately backpedaled out of. It's been hundreds of years since our time, yet life is exactly the same. Nothing ever happens. Endeavor is a cool concept. I like Endeavor. his existence implies such interesting things about the world, how important hero ranking is to these people's lives, that he would create this horrific system of domestic abuse to try and get to the #1 spot. What does this say about this system of heroes that operates like a popularity contest? It could have said a lot. It says nothing. What does the League of Villains, a league of people who call themselves out-and-out villains, who base their ideology in opposing this system of heroes, say about society? Nothing. On purpose. Worm does something with this. One Punch Man does something with this. My Hero Academia puts it in the story, and lets it sit, unused, for a decade.

Worm has... unique world-building. Because it's both good and bad at the same time. Worm's #1 feature is its world. It's brilliant, full stop. Triggers, The Birdcage, the PRT, Exclusion Zones! Why does the status quo exist? what does it say about that society? What does it say about our society? Why hasn't society radically changed from how it is in our world? This is explained. This plays into the themes. The story wants to say something about this world, and so it does. There are characters whose stories explicitly delve into these themes that are set up in the worldbuilding, like Armsmaster, or Battery, or Bonesaw, or Coil, or Piggot or Alexandria or Taylor herself or Brian or Lisa or ANY OF THEM THEY ALL DO THIS. Sorry.

Anyway, the bad part is that the actual world is not well built (and is kind of racist). What's going on in Europe? There's a 3 blasphemies! a 3 what? never explained. What's going on in Asia, aside from Japan? China is a monarchy for some reason. Why? It's never elaborated on. India gets a little bit of elaboration, we're told its different but not how it's different. Wildbow uses machine translation wrong and names some guy caliph of dogs. This is like worm's #2 problem honestly (#1 is Amy). Wildbow tries to make the implication of a well thought out globe without actually making a well thought out globe.

"stronger themes,"

It really doesn't. As I said in the worldbuilding section, MHA makes a point out of not saying or doing anything. I don't know if editors made Horikoshi walk back the more ambitious story beats or what, but there are multiple points in the story where the author pretty much looks you directly in the eye and goes "This Story Isn't Saying Anything At All Even Though It Looked Like It Would. Lmao."

Worm has lots of themes. I think Armsmaster/Defiant's story is my favorite. His entire character arc (which is fully realized despite him being a background character for nearly the entire story) has a point to it. It says something. It's misanthropic and uplifting simultaneously, and manages to feel like it earns both. It's a shared theme with Bonesaw/Riley's story, explored in two different ways.

"Meanwhile MHA establishes an actual overall theme/message right from the start that expands and develops throughout the story. The worldbuilding is informed by the message, which informs the characters arcs and the people they become by the end of the story."

I notice that you never actually say what that message is. What is it? Like, for real. I'm not being confrontational or anything, like what is the message? Cuz' I can't think of one. My Hero Academia, at its very core, is a defense of the status quo. Much like its world-building, but much less forgivable, because it does do something new and unique with its world-building. MHA could have done some extremely interesting stuff with its early implicit critique of heroic society as shown with characters like Bakugo, or Shigaraki, or Endeavor, or Overhaul, or Midoriya himself! It just doesn't! It doesn't do stuff that Worm does do!

Worm does have a message. It has a lot of messages, actually, some that the author disagrees with somehow. Prison abolition, for one. We know Wildbow loves prison. Anyway, the big one is in the subtitle: doing the wrong things for the right reasons. Taylor's constant spiral of escalation, her dwindling attachments to her friends and greater focus on treating herself like a soldier is prevalent, and it is to be avoided. Taylor isn't a sin-eater. They don't exist. From what I remember, this is sort of explored in Deku's character arc for a short period of time, but much like everything else in MHA, it is backpedaled out of.

The funniest is "don't text and drive" though.

"Just on a basic level the way that the audience is meant to feel about Taylor oscillates wildly between being directed to think of her as a misunderstood victim of circumstance, or history's greatest monster."

That's kind of the point. Like. the audience isn't meant to look at Taylor the same way throughout the entire story. It's meant to change as she changes. Taylor's opinion of Taylor changes. The mistake here is saying it "oscillates wildly." it doesn't. It's a slow and steady change for the worse, as Taylor gets more violent and starts throwing away greater and greater parts of herself to become more like a robot and less like a person.

"But a bigger issue in general is tone. It's very focused on being dark and gritty and edgy, and it makes the mistake a lot of consciously edgy media does. IE: it thinks that all it has to do to be smart is be bleak and/or graphic. It doesn't really try to say anything, in fact it contradicts itself throughout the book as I mentioned before, it just throws in extremely graphic scenes and content periodically to remind the audience how fucked everything is."

Did you read the boys and think it was worm? What? It's not being smart when it's bleak or graphic? I actually personally like the endbringers or the slaughterhouse 9, and not because I like watching people suffer. These things exist for a reason. It's not being dark for the sake of being dark. The heroes could stop the slaughterhouse 9. We see that, when they almost stop the slaughterhouse 9 (it's explicitly shown that they are stopped from destroying the slaughterhouse 9). The question then becomes why don't they? It's a grim, brutal calculus, and one that wasn't worth it. That's the point. The Endbringers are different. It's not until arc 27 that they're really explained. You could either read them as a criticism of Eidolon or of ableism, honestly. I mean, it wasn't intentional, he didn't create them on purpose, he needed something to fight, because without that he's nothing. His powers are all he has.

"Worm spends so much time trying to be edgy that as with a lot of edgy media the edginess loses all impact quite quickly and becomes sort of cringe."

I don't really think so, but like. Okay. I don't think this is a reconcilable viewpoint (none of this is really but this especially), so like we're probably gonna have to agree to disagree. The only thing I can really think of as edgy for the sake of edginess is Amy's arc. But even that's not really true. It's meant to be an utterly avoidable tragedy that could never have been stopped because of the people involved. Much like Taylor, actually. Amy could have stepped back from the brink, but she didn't, because Amy could never have done that, and nobody else was willing/able to help. It's supposed to be a thing where you sit back and think of all the tiny ways this could have easily been avoided, but wasn't.

"When body horror happens it still has impact because it's not happening constantly."

I mean, I guess. But like. I never got desensitized to the body horror in Worm. It hit pretty consistently for me throughout. As opposed to MHA, where it was usually walked back by the end of every arc. I never felt much tension or suspense because it felt as if there weren't actual consequences. In Worm, when Brian was strung up on his nerves, it felt disgusting because I was fully aware Worm would explore the ripple effects of this. It felt entirely possible he would die there, or never recover, because Worm didn't pull its punches. MHA did. This is a matter of opinion. We'll just have to agree to disagree about it.

"But most importantly - you root for the heroes because the world actually seems like it's worth saving."

that's just, um. sorry. I'm really trying here. That's just. Uh. Dumb. Do you root for Batman cause Gotham is a nice city? Everything's worth saving, that's, like, at its most basic what the concept of a superhero is about.

"Not only that but MHA simply does villain protagonists objectively better than Worm."

um. No? There straight up aren't villain protagonists in MHA. The villains are the POV characters for, like, one arc? You know what, here's a good spot for it. It's stated throughout the story that Shigaraki and the League of Villains have a goal, beyond just death and destruction. They're here to stop the corrupt society of heroes (that MHA hints at the existence of before backpedaling away from), and bring about a fairer society. But then, and this part pissed me off, one of the characters, I think Bakugo, says: "you're just using that as cover! you just want to kill people, you have no noble goal!" and shigaraki's like "dang you caught me." and then it happens again with Deku! Because My Hero Academia is allergic to saying something. Nope! They're villains! No moral depth here! They're Villains, We're Heroes, Go Put Them In Jail.

This is opposed to Worm, where- "The characters of the villains and their origins are used to highlight the flaws in the Superhuman society"

"Most of the villains are only villains because society failed them in some way, and the specific ways in which that happened become big plot points that then play into the future arc of our heroic characters."

I had to walk away from my computer for this one. It's hard to be civil. It's really hard. Polite and reasonable.

So Worm is about this. To even say this without a shred of irony makes me thing you've never once read a single word of Worm and are doing this purely as bait. Or you've read all of Worm and are doing this purely as bait.

"They're actually extremely complex in a way that ends up being fundamentally important to the overall story - where in Worm the villains are either based heroes fighting a corrupt system or they're histories [sic] greatest monsters... until they're presented as heroes again."

I think I get it now. I really think I do. You're not supposed to agree with all the characters. Like. Worm is inconsistent, in that it follows the perspectives of inconsistent people. Of course Triumph and Armsmaster don't agree on what is right! They're different people, they have different perspectives!

"See. Worm fans keep saying "This is Bait." It's not Bait, you all are simply ridiculous and obsessed with this series to such a degree that you feel compelled to say "This is Bait" instead of just... ignoring it, because you have no actual counterargument."

Perhaps worm fans are inclined to believe you posted rage bait because you brazenly walked into another fandom's post and wholeheartedly proclaimed that the thing they liked was Stupid Idiot Bullshit For Fucking Morons, and refused to elaborate until prompted, at which point you said several things that are demonstrably false about Worm.

"Your only response to anything I've said is pedantry, bigotry, and deflection. If it was obviously just bait why are you engaging?"

Well, I'm engaging because I've been in a foul mood since I woke up this morning. Also because you, again, said some very rude and patently false statements about a story that I really enjoy and find narratively rich, even in its faults.

"MHA's characters do fall into archetypal shounen character roles - but they are all given a solid amount of focus explaining why they are like that and developing them into something bigger."

Again, as I said, it's a genuinely impressive feat to have an ensemble cast like what My Hero Academia has, and give so many of the characters a degree of depth, with such little manga to work with. I think worm does it better, but worm doesn't have to be economical about it. MHA does. The problem I have with this statement is that it becomes a question of scale. How much bigger? They're no longer defined by their tropes, instead defined by their opposition to their tropes. It's still a one-note character, you've merely changed the note from C to C sharp.

"so almost every member of the cast has an arc that either develops them past the person they initially seemed to be or explains why they're like that."

This is probably my favorite part about MHA. They do have arcs! I love ensemble casts! it does a much better job in this than all of its contemporaries, even One Piece. However, they are comparatively simplistic arcs that all follow a similar formula.

"I've heard people say MHA is neocon or pro-establishment but the story literally concludes by showing that society HAS TO FUNDAMENTALLY CHANGE or the same problems that created the villains in the first place will keep happening. The entire time skip specifically focuses on the fact that for eight years the main characters have been forcing change in the world and addressing the issues the villains brought up."

Now, I'm going to be clear. I stopped reading My Hero Academia around chapter 275. I don't know the exact number, but it was the latest chapter in ~mid 2020. I would occasionally attempt to reread, in an attempt to catch up, but give up around chapter 200 out of boredom. I don't know exactly how the story ends, but I have read ~2/3rds of the story. I feel this gives me a pretty good understanding of the general tone of the story, unless it wildly changes tone at the 3/4ths mark, which you have explicitly said it does not, as it is extremely coherent and consistent. Therefore, I believe I can state with some degree of confidence that MHA does not do that.

I would certainly believe that it tries (and fails) to SFP it, but SFP does not promote a fundamental societal change. That's the problem. Strong Female Protagonist was willing to come up and say that Alison lived in a fundamentally unjust world, even if it was never willing or able to offer real change. And hey. You do what you can. I sincerely doubt My Hero Academia is even willing to call its world fundamentally unjust, from the 200+ chapters that I did read.

"In the case of the actual main characters, they have extremely comprehensive character arcs."

Adding this behind the last point just so that I don't have to reiterate I haven't finished the book. I am, however, very much not inclined to believe the actual main characters had extremely comprehensive character arcs.

Which plays back into the initial theory that ANYONE CAN BE A HERO.

man, spider-man did that better (not a real argument, but like, spider-man totally did that better). Not least because midoriya specifically could not become a hero were it not for all might giving him a power.

No, the Villains don't get happy endings,

Why not? Why do they go to jail, even the ones who changed and wanted to redeem themselves? Endeavor never goes to jail. He did some horrible stuff. He's redeemed himself in the eyes of the story, right? Anyone can be a hero, right? So why not them? Why haven't they redeemed themselves in the eyes of the story?

You may wish to turn this back on me and ask why doesn't Armsmaster go to prison? Because he's similar in some respects. But worm never calls prison justice. (for some reason, even though wildbow totally loves prison). Prison is punitive, a tool for those in charge to control those it manages to capture. Maybe some deserve life in the birdcage. Many don't. It doesn't matter. Because the birdcage isn't a tool of justice. It's not meant to be. it's a box to put the uncontrollable capes in, until they can be used as meat shields. So Armsmaster doesn't go to prison because the story says explicitly there is no point to it. But MHA? MHA says there is a point to it. Endeavor needs to go to prison if he wants to atone. He's escaping justice every second he's outside.

I have actually read Worm, and for the first half to two thirds I loved it.

Weird. That's exactly how long I really enjoyed MHA. Not, like relevant, to anything. Just odd. I mean, I don't actually dislike MHA. I think it's fine, actually. It feels like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade to me. Funny (when Mineta isn't around), bombastic, and a good time, even if I don't think it's super thematically rich.

I'm not coming at this from the perspective of someone who has never seen any of the merits of Worm, I'm coming at it from the perspective of someone who really liked it, gave it a fair shot, and was eventually disappointed when it ended up not tying together right.

See, this makes me more inclined to think it's bait, actually. since you said "Oh yeah. MHA is published. MHA's been an ongoing publication with a large following for ten years, in a notoriously competitive industry. Now this might seem kind of unimpressive, it's a very low bar to clear I know. But it's one Worm hasn't, so. I dunno, I'd say that's fairly objective. Now you may think "Yeah, but Trash fiction gets published all the time." And that's true but again - Worm hasn't. The worst piece of fiction you can think of got published and Worm didn't. You wanna be an asshole about this? The thing you love is so mid that it was self published in 2013, couldn't get picked up for professional publishing until 2019 and as far as I can see has stayed in development hell since then." in your previous post. Sure, perhaps we can say you were pissed at the time, but "the thing you love is worse than trash fiction, an altogether nothing piece of literature that isn't even worth the paper it would hypothetically be printed on" does not strike me as the words of someone who "really liked it, gave it a fair shot, and was eventually disappointed when it ended up not tying together right." In fact, going back through your other statements on the story, you seem to have genuinely disliked it from the very beginning, on grounds of being too edgy (which I can fully understand the logic of): "IE: it thinks that all it has to do to be smart is be bleak and/or graphic," thematically incoherent: "It doesn't really try to say anything, in fact it contradicts itself throughout the book as I mentioned before, it just throws in extremely graphic scenes and content periodically to remind the audience how fucked everything is," and utterly devoid of purpose or meaning. "When it does introduce new lore that new lore is almost always overly convoluted and acts as a catalyst for things happening, but not really things happening that play into a wider theme or message. It's just "Oh and here's this team of god-level serial killers who are gonna string a dude up by his nervous system." Like yeah, cool visual, but what is any of this actually saying?" This does not sound like a ringing endorsement of the first half of Worm to me. In fact, this sounds like you hated every second of it.

"And frankly given the number of comments that are just people saying "Bait" - I don't think any of y'all have engaged with this in a fair or honest way"

I'm going to reiterate on my previous statement. I like my hero academia. Capeshit is my favorite genre, it probably always will be. They're my favorite genre of story. While I find the themes—or lack thereof—extremely frustrating, I still think of it as fun. I gave it a fair shake. I would probably really enjoy the ending if I didn't have a reading list that was 300 books long.

[vampiric-succulent]

OUAW EP 41:

Spoilers below cut

WHY. WHY THROW THEM INTO THE FROG. WHY WOULD YOU ASSUME THAT WAS A SAFE IDEA

LEAVE YOUR FUCKING HAT YOU MISERABLE REPTILE

This is the most grimfrost qpr solidifying moment for me it’s worrying but still—- GIDEON AND KREMY SHUT THE FUCK UP

How is this goddamn shadow so deadly to these idiots

Also Kremy having his “ive doomed everyone” panic moment is something I’m gonna file away to write about later

This episode started off so deceptively. So connivingly normal.

FUCK!!!! THE CANE

This is it this is how they die

I am so stressed rn holy fuck

DO NOT BREAK THE FROG IT MIGHT ALL DISSAPEAR

Can Torbek still use dimension door???????? How many people can he use that on at once??????????

Mace I love your commitment but please reroll

Bane coming kind of in clutch rn

I am literally pacing rn

Would Dimension Door even work because it’s technically infinite space oh my god

Wait wait wait what the fuck why is Kremy’s patronal image basically Gideon filing that away to write about later!!!!!!!!!

OH FUCK THEYRE IN THE ASTRAL PLANE

OH THANK GOD THERES A WAY OUT

Torbek’s gonna drop hes just gonna go unconscious

Y’all. Better party build. Someone multi class. PLEASE.

OH THANK FUCKING GOD shadows gone

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh no no no Bavlorna knows.

TWIG

TWIG NO

SHES JUST LYING THERE

HER EYES ARE OPEN

“my veins are only but burning” goes so hard

Fuck she’s really dead. Fuck. Twig is dead.

One adventure. That’s all she got. Nearly.

Everyone’s reactions just making this worse

What did Torbek just see?!?!?!?!?

Holy fuck I’m going to implode

Also it’s so fucking cute and heartbreaking how Gricko sings to Torbek

Wow. Wow. Wow.

MACE

GUYS WHAT THE FUCK

You all were right.

I’m. I’m in shock. She’s dead. Everyone else nearly died. And now they might have to fight Bavlorna. Or worse— make a deal. So either they fight and die or they make a deal and lose some vital part of themselves or some core memory or the crucial time they need to complete the King of Hearts’ quest or some other such horrific thing.

Good session.