#hope he gets shot

[hotteststar]

hey! did you know that you saying there are only 2 genders doesn't actually make it true? just like if i said "the sky is green" i wouldn't make it green irl??

i thought that was common sense but hey

maybe that doesn't apply to rapists sexists bigots racists homophobes nazis supremacists misogynists with control freaks and anger issues men president trump!!

[datcravat]

pe ru so na

[kizzer55555]

Welcome to the Restraint! (Restaurant)

Imagine Danny runs to Gotham and starts squatting in an abandoned old building in Crime Alley. Slowly putting some ecto into the place to claim it as his haunt (while recovering from the sudden loss of his old one). And he does the normal stuff to survive. Finds some odd jobs, often as a messenger, and is just surviving. Another thing he does is make his own food. It’s cheaper than takeout and he’s gotten pretty good at cooking (out of necessity instead of eating sentient hotdogs). Then he ends up accidentally taking in some street kids. Or more like they follow him home. He can’t just turn them away so he makes a meal for them and lets them stay the night then sends them on their way. And then it happens again. And again. And ok, so maybe he saved a girl from getting molested. And that older guy from getting his only good blanket stolen. And sure, maybe letting that poor pizza delivery guy rant was unnecessary but he looked like he was having a bad day ok? Pretty sure that kid with the scar is a meta too but…he needed a place to stay a few nights alright? It’s not like any of them stay permanently. Danny’s started picking up a few more odd jobs to pay for all the extra food he’s had to buy. Always keeping his place stocked. At least he doesn’t have to pay for water and a fridge, he just makes some ice (or melts it). Sure the water is cold, but it’s probbaly the cleanest water in Gotham. And then some of the people start paying. Like…actually paying in exchange for food. Not sure if it’s because of guilt or pity but Danny won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. And with all the money, he hasn’t had to take as many dangerous jobs. Soon, his little abandoned apartment became what’s essentially the closest thing to a legitimate restaurant in Crime Alley.

It didn’t look normal. The chairs and tables were more like old couches and stools pulled up to coffee tables and cabinets turned on their side. Although with the bulling becoming more like Danny’s haunt, the walls naturally started repairing themselves so at least it didn’t look like it was gonna collapse anymore. And ok…so Danny might have rescued a few feral kids who…weirdly have gold eyes. And possibly stopped a meta trafficking ring on accident. And look, these people didn’t have anywhere to go! And the apartment did have empty rooms. It was already known as a place someone could crash for the night (last winter the entire place was cramped with people. Danny had to break up multiple fights but they usually calmed down when he got there.)

One benefit from controlling a haunt is controlling the temperature inside so it was one of the only buildings with ‘heat’. But back to his…strays. So yeah…most didn’t seem like they could rejoin society…so he let them stay. And…they kind of became employees? Impromptu bodyguards? (Some of the golden eyed people almost felt like he was rangling feral ghosts again.) they came in all ages. A few kids, lots of teens, and a few adults. Same with the metas he rescued. They mostly helped deliver food to costumers. They even got a phone line working and could take orders. (Although the new…employees…also got more protective whenever a fight broke out.) With all the extra money he’s been getting he was even able to afford some medical supplies. A lot of his customers(?) came in injured and he tried his best to patch them up but now he could do more than tie some ripped clothing around the wound and use ice to numb it. He’s got bandages. And pain killers. Plus other medical stuff. He can even give someone stickers now! All that experience as an injured vigilante was paying off. Even Villains and goons start attending this place. The place was unofficially designated as one of the Alley’s ‘safe zones’ where no fighting takes place inside (the body guards make sure of it.) the metas and Talons are getting an identity for themselves, the street kids even get a job and a hideout, random people can go there for help or to pass messages, this place provides food, shelter, and medical care. No one wants it going down.

So yeah, welcome to the restaurant!

(I’m debating whether I want this to be the weirdest restaurant/safe place/truce area in the alley, or whether I want Danny to accidentally become a crime lord. Possibly both.)

Also, this place is called the Restraint because I keep misspelling Restaurant and I think Danny would do the same so the name stuck. (Or one of the kids spelled it when making a sign or passing around messages to spread the word of this safe place.)

So anyways, to add some angst, after Danny adopts a bunch of crime alley kids/villains they find out about Danny’s powers and that he’s a ghost, only they don’t know about Halfas so they think Danny is fully dead and this super kind guy who has been the only person to ever treat them like people…died. He died likely a long time ago and there’s nothing any of them can do to change that.

(And if the GIW dare to come into the alley, they better be prepared for the entire place to turn on them.)

[justaz]

im a slut for post magic reveal arthur (& knights) thinking merlin has like. a smidge of magic. like he can get stains out of clothes or warm food and baths but OBVIOUSLY merlin can’t fight. that’s ridiculous. merlin doesn’t correct this notion for whatever reason - perhaps it’s best that people think that so when they’re all in danger, he isn’t registered as a threat so he can protect his silly lil guys. ofc his silly lil guys realize that they were wrong bc the bad guys get a lil too close to hurting arthur and merlin is like “nope! fights over!!” and annihilates them

[dootznbootz]

I currently have writer's block and fucked around and made Iliad and Odyssey memes :'D Some look like "repeats" but aren't. Just different scenarios/people. Enjoy!

There's... A LOT. I don't care if you pick out your favorites! I put this all in one post as I don't want to spam the tags! :D

[thatstoomanysausages]

In all seriousness, if we want to get introspective and dramatic about Grian’s reactions to Skizz and Mumbo’s deaths, then the implications are completely devastating.

Grian’s loud sobbing for Mumbo because he knew it was the third time he been (at least partially) at fault for Mumbo’s final deaths. Everyone knew about Grian and Mumbo’s closeness, and Grian was alone and out of earshot for anyone to hear him mourn so viciously.

However, in complete juxtaposition, Grian’s calm acceptance of Skizz’s death could’ve been because Martyn was right there, and he would’ve been seen as weak. And this is a common theme for Grian, playing off his loyalties as flippant and temporary when he is in actual fact one of the most loyal teammates. He’d been preparing for Skizz’s death the whole season, having spent many episodes helping Skizz stay alive, but the one in which he doesn’t help him as much and instead Mumbo, Skizz dies.

Mumbo’s death was the first sign for Grian’s team, once again, falling apart with him left behind to gather their pale corpses and place them underneath the ground under a bland headstone. Skizz’s was the expected and inevitable confirmation, something Grian had accepted was coming.

Mumbo’s death was loud and explosive, while Skizz’s was expected and underwhelming. Just like Grian’s reactions.

[saltpepperbeard]

gnawing on my arm because i think there's something to be said about how stede not only dreams about himself with a beard, but ed with his full beard back too. like, the dream seems to be riddled with imagery that he thinks ed would want.

and i say this especially because of how stede reacted when ed had to shave his beard. he freaked out on his behalf. he shrieked in horror whereas ed was entirely unbothered. he feared he had ruined him, had dragged him down to some despicable level, when in actuality, ed was completely content to shed that part of his persona.

and then there he is dreaming about ed with that part right on back.

so there's very clearly still a part of his mind that's convinced that's what ed wants. because why wouldn't he? everyone else seems to. and why would he want the softness and femininity stede had been bullied for his entire life?

which in turn plays into his own imagery too. bearded, masculine, fiercesome, rugged...

because how could someone love what everyone has hated him for? how could someone want what everyone has tried to quite literally beat out of him?

[sirgawainofgalifrey]

Gumworth Week Day 1: Injury

This one's called "Not Again."

[thebramblewood]

Everyone say congratulations to the new uncle! Thank you @itcrescentcrow for your lovely Veronica Aurelius, whose story inspired me to have Vlad start a vampire family of his own (for entirely unspiteful reasons, I'm sure).

P.S. Join the fan club if you haven't already!

Previous / Next

Caleb: [startled] Jesus Christ!

Vlad: [wryly] Guess again. I couldn’t help noticing you’ve acquired a new… houseguest. That girl is freshly turned. She has all the grace of a newborn colt. Your sister’s latest plaything, I presume?

Caleb: How many times have I told you I’m not interested in indulging your desire for gossip? Anyone with a modicum of social grace would have taken the hint by now.

Vlad: [continues, unruffled] The curious thing is I’ve seen her before, the girl, at your insipid little gathering of hedonists in the spring. Her cheeks were much rosier then, as I recall. I’m surprised Lilith offered her the dark gift so soon — or at all. Does she not expect to grow bored of this one? Or, I wonder, did something not go precisely according to plan?

Caleb: [defensively] Lilith didn’t turn her. She nearly killed her. I did it to save her life.

Vlad: [amused] Always the humanitarian, you — though it is strange you would choose to burden another with an existence you clearly detest. But I must admit I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you had it in you. Frankly, I rather thought you’d be dead or driven to madness by now. [sighs stagily] At any rate, I wish you luck. If you’re hoping to raise her in your image, you’ll need it. I can’t imagine Lilith will surrender her easily. Alas, I must go. There are other matters-

Veronica: [snarls aggressively]

Caleb: Who are you?

Vlad: Manners, darling.

Veronica: Sorry, Uncle Vlad. My dinner almost got away from me.

Vlad: [strangely paternalistic] Isn’t she a marvel?

Caleb: Uncle Vlad?

Vlad: This is my niece, Veronica. Well, cousin several times removed, but that’s such a mouthful. I’ve been trying to introduce her for some time.

Caleb: I must have mistaken that for your usual garden variety creeping.

Vlad: We have a common ancestor in my maker, though the bloodlines diverged centuries ago and hers was thought to be quite diluted. You see, after generations of tamping down their vampiric nature, their powers had largely grown dormant. But Veronica is special. She tells me her dreams led her to me. Can you believe it? [chuckles] I haven’t dreamed since I was mortal. At any rate, I’ve taken her under my wing. I have much to teach her, and she is an eager pupil.

Caleb: Good… for you.

Lilith, looking out on them from the window: He has a WHAT?!?

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Courtney: Take a right here. Oscar: Absolutely not. Courtney: C’mon! I have an idea. Oscar: Getting arrested for kidnapping is a terrible idea. [Oscar rolled his eyes as Courtney grinned and raised her hand threateningly; snorting, he threw the indicator on and pulled over with acquiescence, lest she get any ideas and grab the steering wheel herself] … Courtney: Is Levi ready? Nadia: For? Courtney: Camping. Nadia: He’s not going. Courtney: Oh-.. we’ve already booked a spot for him. Nadia: Hm. Courtney: It’d be easier if he were out of your hair for a week though-.. right? [Nadia squinted at the slightly unkempt woman before her; she was clearly mistaken in her previous assumptions that Courtney was a simple, feebleminded housewife] Nadia: Don’t take me for a fool. Courtney: Alright, what’s it gonna be then? Nadia: LEVI! Nadia: Do you want to go camping with these.. people? Levi: I thought you said-… Nadia: Do. You. Want. To. Go? … Nadia: That was quick-.. you won’t bring any bad habits back, will you? Levi: I’ll try not to. Nadia: I’ll miss you, sweetheart. [Levi clenched his bag tightly and ignored his mother’s outstretched arms, knowing full well they’d remain firmly plastered to her waist were there not a car full of Finch’s right next to them] Levi: Hey-.. scootch over, losers. Ava: Hi, Levi’s mommy! [Levi shut the door before Nadia could respond, catching naught but a glimpse of her upturned nose as Oscar sped off]

[evilkaeya]

I still can't believe americans chose an actual criminal over a woman

[cillyscribbles]

here's to many more for mr gruber himself!!!!! >:D

[mimikip4744]

episode 16 was wild

Like, that was the best episode this far

but also WHAT THE FUCK!!!

[wundrousarts]

Kinda wish Nevermoor could have been written 20 years ago so we could have a movie adaption in the early 2000s that’s not plot accurate but by god does it have the vibes down

[nightwolf14292]

As much as I love TimKon, I prefer TimBern and it's mainly because of this:

“Bernard says I sacrifice myself like it's a bad thing.”

“But it's all I've ever known.”

“All that my family has ever been taught.”

Tim, out of all of the BatFamily members is the one that never really had a choice.

Bruce had a choice to become Batman. He almost retired, until things went badly again and he realized how much more awful Gotham would be if he did.

Dick had a choice to become Robin. When Bruce fired him he could've finished college and lived a normal life, but he chose to continue on as Nightwing.

Jason had a choice to become Robin. And while his mind had been messed with after being dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he had a choice to become Red Hood, too.

Damian had a choice to become Robin. He fought hard for the role, and seems to genuinely enjoy doing it.

Tim didn't have a choice to become Robin. Yes, no one actually forced him into the role, but he saw what had happened to Bruce after Jason's death (such as how he became more violent), and knew that Bruce needed a Robin to keep himself sane. He tried going to Dick, but Dick said the best he could do was help as Nightwing as he wasn't willing to be Robin again. So Tim felt like he had to take up the role, because Batman, his greatest hero, would lose it if he didn't.

Tim also didn't have a choice to give up being a vigilante, unlike the others. When he got replaced as Robin, Bruce was trapped in time and everyone but him thought he was dead. He didn't have Dick's experience of going out soul searching and deciding that being a hero was what he wanted in life, he had to almost immediately take up a new secret identity and start going on missions so he could find out what happened to Bruce.

I love TimBern so much, because Bernard is Tim's connection to civilian life. If you're a hero dating a hero, even when you're being civilians and doing civilian things, there's always going to be the knowledge of who you both are really, and the missions you've been on together (Such as Tim looking at Kon and remembering things like when he tried to clone him because he was ‘dead’). I feel like with Bernard, Tim can be a full on civilian and forget about the hero life for a while, and that makes it special.

Also I just think Bernard is neat :3

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)