#even training he leaves the room when you're with your choreographer it's so obvious to everyone except u

[theloveinc]

ummm manager!bakugo absolutely cannot handle himself when u perform your sexy songs and literally has to get as far away as possible from the stage to prevent himself from going nuts watching u

[tsukki-rising]

Pairing: Tokoyami Fumikage x Gn!Reader

Genre: fluffy angst, it gets a little emotional

Summary: You meet Tokoyami in the woods directly after the LOV attack at the summer training camp and comfort him.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Reader has an illusion quirk like Camie from Shiketsu 

Extra lessons. You don't necessarily have an issue with taking them, you value you education and understand that this is an important step to raising your grades. You are a little bummed out however that you won't get to accompany any of your closest friends for the nighttime activity being put on by the Wild Wild Pussy Cats. You specifically feel a little anxious that you can't be with Tokoyami right now.

At the beginning of the school year, Tokoyami was a quiet student, but there were a few of his classmates with which he had created friendships. You had the honor of being a close friend to the boy along with Tsu and Shoji. You had found his interest in you slightly ironic due to your quirk. You have an illusion quirk that you often use for disorienting light attacks.

You felt quite overwhelmed by most of your classmates, most having large and often overbearing personalities with goals of being a top pro hero. But Tokoyami was a calming presence and he found you to be the same so you two got along great and a friendship blossomed.

As you sit in the classroom now, staring straight ahead at the whiteboard, you fondly remember your favorite times with Tokoyami. The first time he spoke to you in hero training, the first time he offered you to sit with him at lunch, the times you'd studied together at each other's houses, and of course, the time that you realized that your feelings for your classmate were more than strictly platonic.

You begin to reminisce on a certain memory with the boy that had you falling even deeper. You two were finished with your studying and you were looking around and admiring the décor of Tokoyami's room, noting how he prefers darkness.

"You know, I found it kind of funny when you wanted to be friends with me. You prefer dark conditions due to your quirk yet, with mine, I'm always using light." you noted while looking over some of the book spines on his shelves (classic literature, gothic mysteries, poetry).

"I wouldn't let that get in the way of a friendship. To be honest, I think you're quirk might've only worked to have me all the more interested in you." He was sitting in his desk chair and occasionally telling you stories behind some of the things he had in his room. Suddenly though, it felt like you were the decor being looked at, the story behind you being told. "I remember as everyone was getting to know each other in class and you made that illusion of a light show, it reminded me of all the nightlights I had when I was really young. My parents were cautious of dark shadow so I always had multiple in my room."

You note his words, looking around and observing the numerous small light sources littered around the space. "'had'?", you look over to him with a teasing smile.

He appreciates the jest and chuckles lightly before responding, "Ok, ok. Well, in my defense, I have a lot less now than I used to. I'm trying to feel out my limits with dark shadow and exercise working with him rather than letting him take over completely.", with his finishing statement the atmosphere grows slightly tense. This seems to be a bit of a sore subject for him.

It makes your heart ache to see him upset. "Tokoyami, I haven't known you long but I have seen you in action multiple times now and the way you work with dark shadow is so sinuous it almost seems choreographed.", you compliment.

You see a small smile creep onto his face before he elaborates, "You have seen me in the light. Dark shadow is stronger in deep shadow, much stronger, but also much more difficult for me to control. I want to increase my ability to remain calm while using that strength with precision, so that I can be an asset in the dark rather than a hazard.", he frowns, "It scares me to think of losing control. I want to be a hero but if I lose control...I could hurt someone."

He's looking off now with concern on his face. You really can't stand seeing him like this so you take his hand to gain his attention.

"Then I'm all the more impressed that you continue to follow the path of becoming a hero. What courage you must have to strive for such goals, determination, passion." You look him in the eyes and let your heart speak freely for just a split second, "You are an inspiration Tokoyami.", you quickly shut your heart up the moment after, "It's awesome to be friends with such a person.", you give the most platonic smile you can muster before pretending to receive a message from your parent about needing to leave and doing so.

Now, rather than taking notes, you doodle images of those gothic light fixtures across your notebook's page. You've got nearly half the page filled when Mandalay's message comes in.

The group of students in the room aren't too concerned. There were only two reported villains fighting against two classes of aspiring heroes and four pros. But when a group of students who were out for the activity join the class with Vlad King, they give more details and it's difficult to stay optimistic.

Looking out the windows, you struggle to even make out the shapes of the trees and worry about your friend who is out there somewhere in the night's darkness.

Time passes slowly as you try to distract yourself with small illusions in the palm of your hand. When the fuss breaks out in the classroom over whether or not to fight when Aizawa's permission is given, you stay back. You're antsy to find out how Fumikage is doing but you lean towards agreeing with Vlad King that Aizawa meant the message to apply only for self-defense. When Aizawa himself comes in to deal with the fake fiery villain it's only solidified and you must wait oh so impatiently. Worrying about your closest friend, somewhere out in the trees.

When the emergency vehicles begin to arrive after Vlad King's call, students are let out of the building as the area surrounding is found clear of villains and many go out to search for the students littered throughout the forest. Koda is a big help in this effort, communicating with the animals of the area and locating groups of students. He is a quiet boy, but an observant one. He tells you which direction Tokoyami is in hopes to calm your nerves, as soon as you get the information though, you run off to find him immediately and ignore the yelling of the officers telling you that the scene is unclear past the trees.

You run and dodge the obstacles in your path and run faster, you pass Midoriya quickly and find Tokoyami not far from him.

He is quite clearly in shock, standing still with his back to a tree and breathing shallowly. You approach him slowly and announce yourself so you don't scare him. When his sharp gaze makes contact with yours he seems to be broken from his overthinking trance and falls to his knees. You rush over and meet him in the dirt, placing your hands on his shoulders and assessing his body for any big injuries. There doesn't appear to be any so you look back to his face, he looks like a child who just woke up from a nightmare, like he lost everything.

"Tokoyami, breathe.", you realize you need to help him calm down, rubbing your hands up and down his upper arms, longing to hold him as close as possible to reassure yourself as well as him that he is ok.

You remember his words - "It scares me to think of losing control." -

"I did it...I let go. It was so dark and I let him take over." He's not looking you in the eye, shivering, though it's not cold out in the summer evening.

You remember his room, the lights. Using your quirk you recreate the candles and crystal balls, placing them all around the two of you and illuminating the space with a soft purple glow. You slowly surround yourself and him with the light as you continue gently rubbing his arms.

"You're ok though. You're here and you're ok. I'm here with you." Maybe your words served to console yourself slightly more than they worked to console him but you did grab his attention, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "Breathe. You're ok."

He caves into your steady form, hugging you tightly, his arms under yours and head tucked into your chest. His breathing seems more intentional at this point, relieving you. You move your hands from his shoulders to stroke at the feathers on the top of his head.

"I just- it was so fast and Shoji- He- and I couldn't-" He starts rambling, constantly stumbling over his words. You knew he didn't talk much, he preferred only to speak when it was necessary or directly useful for conversation.

"Tell me about it.", you rub up and down his back with one hand.

He takes a few deep, shaky breaths to steady himself before he pours out the story of him losing control to dark shadow. How he was trapped, enveloped in the darkness and at it's mercy as he watched it chase down Shoji and then Midoriya with lethal intent. How he figured out their plan to lure dark shadow over to others who could help and how he prayed to the gods it would work and no one would get hurt in the process. How bright and hot the flashes were next to him as Bakugo and Todoroki blasted their quirks on either side of his body to stop dark shadow. How he was shaking, walking with the others on the way to the summer camp's building before he got captured with Bakugo by a masked villain. The feeling of being trapped in the tiny marble of the villain's quirk. He was almost kidnapped himself along with Bakugo.

He's been talking for some time now, crying into your shirt and holding onto you tightly. He looks up at you then. You're also crying but there's a shakey smile on your lips. The furrow between his brows deepens as he looks at you.

You bring your hands to the sides of his head. "And you're ok?" You look over him again looking for any obvious wounds. "You're ok." You pull him back into a hug with his head on your shoulder and you cry, embracing him as tightly as you can manage. "I was so worried."

You realized as he was talking just how deeply you were in love with him, how much care you had in your aching heart for his safety. It surprised you how well you had been avoiding your feelings, concealing the full extent from even yourself and now you were a wreck. He could have been hurt, he could have hurt others and been unable to deal with the guilt of it, he could have been kidnapped. You held onto him now as if you were attempting to keep him safe from the dangers that were really gone for the time being.

With your arms around him he feels safe. With the lights around the both of you he feels at home. Hearing your heart beat slows his own down to a more healthy pace and he realizes too how much you mean to him. You've always been there for him, you've listened to his concerns, helped him in hero training and regular studying. You had become a part of what home meant to him and you grounded him. These feelings over came him and he reached up to pull your hands from his body to hold them in his own. Pulling away from you just far enough to look you in the eye.

You sat there with him on the forest floor, bodies pressed close and hearts beating loud. He looks you in the eyes for a second before bowing his head to rest his forehead against yours. You close your eyes to soak in the moment while you can.

"Thank you.", he says.

You separate from him by an inch to look questioningly into his eyes.

"You- You being here, the lights. Thank you Y/n. You mean so much to me and this,", he looks around "this is perfect. Thank you." He smiles and huffs out a small laugh, you really made things perfect in your little bubble of light in the woods even after all that's happened, he's calm now with you here.

You're speechless at this. He misses being as close to you as possible and surges forward with a bit too much force, capturing you in his arms before you both hit the soft dirt. You both share a little laugh at this that almost sounds like a sigh of relief and he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

"You won't have to worry in the future. I want to be with you all the time Y/n, we'll stay close and when the next attack comes we'll fighting side by side."

He says it like no big deal but you hug him back that much tighter. "Close?" You don't want to get your hopes up.

"Close" He turns his head to nudge your cheek and you smile because he's safe and in your arms. Because he's with you and you're with him.

[servesorlais]

tell me about michel being picked as celene's champion! how and why did she pick him, how did he react or feel about it, all of that! meta or drabble, whatever you're feeling!

I have to compile a bunch of different headcanon posts into a general reference sheet, but in the meantime ... have a little ficlet of a scene I’ve been imagining for them. It’s not as detailed as it could have been, and I cheated and wrote this one from her POV, so I’ll have to go back and do some more from Michel’s POV another time  ( I have another ficlet in mind for that that I’ve been meaning to write, so hopefully this will serve as inspiration ) ... but in the meantime, have this. 

Marquis Etienne de Chevin had been Celene’s ally since before she took the throne; he had been sympathetic when her parents had been murdered, and sympathetic when she had hinted at her ambitions to him. There was a saying about how having a common rival could bring people together, and maybe that was where their alliance found its inception: Etienne had no fondness for Grand Duke Gaspard, not wanting to see Val Chevin targeted and overrun by Nevarrans in the event of a war.

The Marquis was a small man, dark in hair and eye, and though his complexion ran pale, he was prone to tan lines around the edges of his mask when the warm summers hit the north of the empire. It bore consideration now for the stark contrast of the chevalier that shared his name – a young man by the name of Ser Michel.

He had arrived promptly at the appointed hour, neatly armored in the blue gambeson and silver plate that the chevaliers adopted as one of their uniforms. In place of the visored helm, however, he wore a simple mask, unadorned by gems or other fanciful ornamentations – save, of course, for the bright yellow feather they all wore, angled modestly but not sloppily. At Celene’s entrance, he had introduced himself and then bowed appropriately.

A boring greeting, in other words.

That was not necessarily a point of fault, but it did leave her the time to gauge his apparent difference from her friend the Marquis. The yellow feather at least made a nice complement to Ser Michel’s blond; beneath his mask, she could see wide blue eyes and long lashes, and an angular face. Pretty, then, as far as boys came. Idly, Celene wondered if her own mask with its delicate lines and feminine details would improve the chevalier’s countenance at all. They had needed to make some adjustments to the design for her previous champion, whose strong jaw and shadow of stubble had offset it too gravely.

It was drawing on the third month since that man had gurgled out his final breath with a harlequin’s dagger in his throat. Celene had needed to make do with her guards and a number of other chevaliers who had been in her personal service already. Oh, one of them might have made a suitable replacement; but they had built up their lives already, just as Briala had warned might be a problem, taking lovers and spouses and pretty villas around Val Royeaux.

“I am happy to welcome you back from Nevarra,” Celene said to Ser Michel as they strolled through one of the long galleries in the palace interior. It was not entirely a private meeting; a few paces behind, two of her regular guards followed, and the bustle of servants around them was choreographed more than the chevalier would know. He was being watched – this was a performance, as everything in the imperial court had to be. “Is Val Royeaux home for you, Ser?”

“No,” Michel answered after a pause that didn’t seem wholly like a hesitation, but was curious nonetheless. “I was raised in Montfort, Your Majesty.”

“You have family there?”

Celene anticipated the answer. She had not gone into this meeting without making an attempt at some research; there had not been time to write to Etienne and ask about this distant cousin of his, but she had been able to ask her chevaliers about the young man. She’d known he was a recent graduate of the Academie – only last spring, she had accepted his oath of service at their graduation ceremony, his name among those of the top graduates. But the group had stood at a distance from her, helms covering their heads, and she had not needed to speak to any of them on a personal basis despite their oaths.

“Not anymore.” To his credit, Ser Michel kept his composure well, but Celene watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Nervous, then. Where he walked at her side, pace controlled so his long stride wouldn’t outmatch her careful, slippered steps, he might have been like one of the purebred stallions spoiling in the stables, all pricked and alert and perhaps wishing they could bolt. 

“Had you planned to return?” Celene asked.

The matter of where Michel’s family had gone was not the main point. Maybe it had been a plague that killed them, or a duel, or a hunting accident; evidently they were long dead. That was hardly uncommon, however. For her purposes, she only hoped that now would be the time for Michel to bring to mention any inheritances he planned to take up, humble though they might have been.

The young man must have known why he’d been summoned here, for whatever effect that might have on his honesty. Celene had neither asked nor stated it directly, but she knew it was a topic of gossip around Val Royeaux that she hoped to replace her lost champion … and what was gossiped about in the capital was gossiped about all around the empire, in the end. Even a dull man wouldn’t have been wholly immune to gossip. 

The smile she gave him was almost expectant, in any case. 

“To Montfort, or Nevarra?”

A deflection, meeting her question with one of his own. So he could navigate the Game if he wished to, then. With a little training, that might be drawn out and enhanced to better effect.  

“Does the answer differ?” Celene returned as she motioned for them to turn the corner into the next room.

It was habit that made her stall as they reached the arched doorway. Her old champion had known his cues to check the other side for her and make sure that no assassins’ blades lay in wait in the shadows, ready to spring on her as she made her entrance. The palace might have been hers, but that did not always mean it was safe; she trusted her servants, but there were always machinations at work, and the rules of the Game could shift suddenly to endanger her.

Ser Michel, deferentially, had stalled to wait. That was when the assailant chose to jump.

From their small frame, they were clearly elven, and had the lithe quickness to show for it. Their face was obscured by a cowl, but it did not affect their vision or their aim as they lunged towards the empress, daggers unsheathed and directed at her throat.

They never made contact.

Celene reacted in time to step aside, but the tangle of silver plate and leather armor spilled onto the marble floors in front of her, forcing her back further. A clatter of metal accompanied one dagger as it skittered sideways and out of the assailant’s reach, landing just in front of Celene’s feet, but another one flashed in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the wide glass windows.

“-- Stop!”

At the sound of her voice, the scene in front of Celene stilled, and allowed her to see what had happened. Even the shocked gasps from their small retinue halted at the sound of her voice, one of the pleasant perks of her station.  

The elven assailant had yielded, one hand thrown up in a signal that any chevalier should have recognised. An elf should not have known that … but Ser Michel, perhaps more to the point, had. He had managed to pull a dagger of his own at some point, one that Celene had guessed he would be wearing and chosen not to disarm him of, despite the obvious risk it presented; it hovered just above the elf’s throat, while he kneeled above them, one knee pressing down on their chest.

“Your Majesty,” he breathed in acknowledgement.

Despite herself, Celene’s heartbeat pounded more forcefully than usual. Had she been fortunate that Michel had seen the threat coming and reacted accordingly? It would have been an ignoble end to be caught by an elven blade in her own gallery while making an interview for a new guardian. But the elf had yielded without a fight, and by the look of it had not even drawn a spot of the chevalier’s blood in the scuffle.

Celene glanced down at the dagger that had fallen next to her, and suddenly, it made sense.

That belonged to Briala.

To admit before the few present courtiers that her handmaiden had arranged this as a test for her would have been a wound in and of itself, however, and so Celene gave a curt nod, and straightened her shoulders to indicate this was nothing she had not expected. For all anyone would know, it was by her orders that this attack had played itself out. 

“Admirable, Ser Michel,” she said, avoiding the trap of sounding genuinely impressed. “Release your grip. Ainna, thank you for playing your part perfectly.”

It was not really the elf’s name; Celene had chosen one at random from the names of the servants she knew. But as the two of them disengaged, the chevalier and the elf, they bowed regardless, cowl pulled low once again to disguise their face. 

Even with his mask on, the look of surprise and confusion was clearly written on Ser Michel’s features.

They might need to work on that. But he’d proven himself capable, and that was something to work with.