#hope the lack of excessive explosives is okay !!

[slimslamflimflam]

hi. i do Not know where i am so have this image i edited a day ago because i thought it was funny

ok bye bye

[punkclowngod]

Micheal Scott has HPD

Here is my irrefutable proof

Before you read, I do have to say: I have HPD and I’m also autistic and this is 100% an infodump. Everything I’m saying about the show is from memory, so sorry if I got quotes or details wrong. Hope this makes sense and honestly if you read through this completely you have my utmost respect bcuz this is going to be long.

What is HPD?

Histrionic Personality Disorder is characterized by a pervasive pattern of excessive emotionality and attention seeking.

Symptoms and Signs of HPD:

Demands to be the center of attention and often becomes depressed when they are not. They are often lively, dramatic, enthusiastic, and flirtatious and sometimes charm new acquaintances.

So already from that, you can see Micheal in those traits if you’ve watched The Office. But lets dive in deeper.

Here are the diagnosis criteria and how Micheal fits in every single one of them:

For a diagnosis, a patient must have: a persistent pattern of excessive emotionality and attention seeking. Micheal’s entire goal in every episode is to receive attention, love and affirmation from his coworkers. Everything he does, he does for approval and attention. He’s very emotional and explosive, very outgoing and social. It’s what makes him such a good salesman. He’s comfortable with people and he’s charismatic.

Here are the patterns of excessive emotionality and attention seeking. For a diagnosis, a patient will need five or more of those:

Discomfort when they are not the center of attention. There’s many proofs of Micheal being like this but I only need one episode to prove my point: the one where Kevin is waiting to see if he has cancer and it falls on the same day of Micheal’s birthday. The entire time, Micheal is uncomfortable, jealous, aggressive and distressed by not being pampered and showered with attention.

Interaction with others that is inappropriately sexually seductive or provocative. Do I really need to put a specific example here? Micheal struggles a lot with lines, when he crosses them he doesn’t realize, he’s very provocative in what he says and struggles with staying “family friendly”. Take any episode and there’s always going to be Micheal saying something inappropriate (like his famous “that’s what she said”)

Rapidly shifting and shallow expression of emotions. Using the Kevin may have cancer episode again as an example, you can see Micheal exaggerates his reaction when he learns Kevin’s situation. He plays more hurt than he is to gain the approval of others, realizing that if he plays more compassionate than he is, more people will be on his side. It happens a few times where he exaggerates his emotions to gain sympathy, like when Ed Truck died and Kelly asks him if he’s okay and at first he didn’t really care but now he sees the opportunity for attention and spirals from there. While he is very genuinely emotional, some of his emotions remain shallow for the simple sake of performing for attention.

Consistent use of physical appearance to call attention to themselves. This one is less blatant. He does work out (or at least tries to, wanting to stay toned), but it’s the only trait that he does not fit in as intensely as the others. Though he does have his jeans, the ones he gets dry cleaned that make him feel super confident. He loves the way he looks in them and makes a show of it whenever he wears them; he started Casual Day solely so he could wear them at work.

Speech that is extremely impressionistic and vague. There are many examples of this. One of my favourites is when he announces that Meredith has been hit by a car and is at the hospital. He’s so vague and uses weird wording, making everyone think for a second or two that she died. There’s also every time he misuses sayings so he sounds more serious, laying heavy on with the exaggeration and lacking details so whenever he speaks it sounds more intense than it really is. He says what he thinks, with no nuance and no reflexion. He believes what he sees and says it as he lived it. Everything he says is controlled by his emotions, he struggles with being objective a lot.

Self-dramatization, theatricality, and extravagant expression of emotion. Once again, do I really need to give a specific example? So much of who he is is described in this. Describing Micheal in three words would literally be: theatrical, dramatic and emotional. Everything is a big deal, everything is bigger than it really is. There are many times where a simple plot will be escalated to something completely off the rails just because Micheal’s imagination and emotions blew everything out of proportion. Herpes that was actually just an ingrown hair? Mob boss was actually just a rude Italian guy? New guy trying to dethrone him and steal all the love and attention was actually just an ex-con that simply wanted to earn a living? So many episodes have been carried by Micheal’s explosiveness and habit to “run out of amok” as he says.

Suggestibility (easily influenced by others or situations). When Dwight says he’s going to the dentist but he’s actually going behind Micheal’s back to go see Jan and steal his job; Jan calls Micheal to say she saw Dwight and Micheal’s first thought was “you were at the dentist too?”. Of course after that it escalates but it still took him a bit to realize he has been lied to. His ignorance is also born of suggestibility, he’s gullible and doesn’t second guess new information so when Todd Packer says misogynistic and racist shit, Micheal won’t question it because he immediately takes it as the truth. He struggles making up his own stance on things and will follow what is more popular. He doesn’t have the instinct to question and second guess the information he’s been fed. He believes people when they lie to him, struggle understanding when people are making fun of him, takes everything first degree because he just believes everything. He trusts people and trusts what they say or what he sees. The new chairs vs new copier plot is also a good example of this, he’s incapable of making a choice because he’s being sweet talked by both sides and can’t make the choice himself. He’s easily swayed and his mind is easily changed - which is why Jan abused him so easily, why he did everything she wanted without fighting. He simply trusted her, he didn’t question her and he was easy to gaslight and lie to.

Interpretation of relationships as more intimate than they are. The whole plot of the [herpes is actually just an ingrown hair] episode is this. Every woman he’s been with he immediately thought was the love of his life. He proposed to Carol on what, their third date? The entire beginning of his relationship with Jan was a train wreck because he thought they were a couple while she considered it to be a one time thing. The girl that washes dogs at the bar, they talked for a few minutes and suddenly he wants her to meet his mom. The entire office he sees as his family which is a plot that drives the episode where Meredith sleeps with a client for discount on supplies. Everyone is his friend, everyone is his family, he gets infatuated with people so easily he loses sense of who he is.

So those are the criteria. The only one I wouldn’t count is the use of physical appearance to call attention to themselves one. So he has 7/8. And even then, I’m not done.

Here are some additional notes:

HPD is born from trauma (like any personality disorders). It’s shown that Micheal has had a rough childhood, notably with his step father Jeff. He felt abandoned and neglected by his mother once she found a new lover, he felt left behind and still needs to compensate for that.

Let’s all remember Micheal’s childhood dog that ran away and since then he refused to go to the park in fear he would find his dog with another kid it liked better. Big HPD moment.

Also, Micheal “the machine knows!” Scott, who “drove [his] car into a fucking lake” just because he trusted the machine and took the right turn literally instead of bearing right. That’s suggestibility right there my guy.

He resents people who actually try to be his friend and struggles with love and attention (Dwight most notably but also Andy when he first arrives in the Scranton branch), because to him it feels overwhelming since he’s not used to it. He chases attention and love and struggles with accepting it because he doesn’t know how to. Of course he also seeks attention from people he sees as “cooler” (aka Jim because in his eyes Jim is the coolest guy in the office), so Dwight’s affection doesn’t feel as fulfilling. It’s hard to explain correctly but it is very relatable, to really do everything for acceptance and then hate it once you get it because it wasn’t from the specific person you had in mind or just because it ends up feeling forced.

To elaborate on the Jan abusing him: the whole sleeping on a bench thing, filming during sex to then improve his form thing, making him wear a schoolgirl uniform thing, and all the other atrocious things she’s done to him, all she had to do to get him to do it was with a smile or simply by staying. She knew Micheal was starved for love and so she used it to her own advantage. She didn’t have to do anything difficult, she knew Micheal would stay no matter what. People with HPD are “easy victims” for abusers because we need love and attention even if it kills us.

How could I forget!!! Micheal’s reckless spending habits!! He buys so many things he doesn’t need, he struggles with saving money and thinking about how his spending affects his life long-term. The condo, the three magic sets, the muppet show (I think that was it), the Burlington coat! He buys things - very expensive things - when he doesn’t have the money for it. He’s irresponsible with his money and that’s something very common amongst people with HPD.

Micheal clearly has a binge eating disorder. He stuffs himself with food he doesn’t even like, forces himself to eat disgusting things, eats tiramisu he found in the trash, mayo and olives because they’re out of ice cream, lemon cake where he’s even asked by Ryan if he likes it and Micheal replies with “it’s not about the enjoyment” or something like this. Taking two brownies and saying he’ll save the second one for later only to end up eating both at once, eating an entire family sized chicken pot pie, bingeing on ice cream cakes, there’s so many examples of Micheal displaying clear signs of having a BED and EDs are also often comorbid with HPD.

This is all I have at the top of my head right now but I know there’s a lot more. Every episode I could quote something he says or describe something he does and link it back to HPD. He’s an accidental perfect representation of the disorder - though that is NO EXCUSE for some things he had said (like slurs, misogynistic comments, racist comments, etc). Of course his HPD is worsened by his privilege, a cishet white man isn’t taught to second guess and question things, he’s encouraged to take what he feels as the truth and to see his emotions as facts. The HPD isn’t what keeps him ignorant, it’s what made it easy for him to stay ignorant. But anyone can grow and learn and no disorders is the cause of bigotry.

So here is where I rest my case. I sincerely doubt anyone read through this godawful infodump but I’m posting it anyways because The Office is my comfort show and Micheal is just a character I really enjoy as someone with HPD.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

sum dating pro-hero!bakugou thoughts

- bakugou has an extreme taste for the finer things in life. think nice sweatshirts, soft blankets, good cologne. mans keeps it on the dl, but trust when he goes home he’s wearing silk pjs. it’s his money afterall

- sometimes drops dinner off for u in the middle of his patrol. he thinks ur unaware of how ridiculous a deviation from assigned route ur house is, but u totally kno. u dont tell him tho :)

- doing PR stuff is the bane of his existence. even the thought of an autograph/panel day literally has him throwing a fit. u watch him throw said fit almost constantly.

- loves when u set his uniform out for him. he likes the way it still faintly smells like your lotion when he puts it on the next morning

- the only PR stuff he willingly does is help make PSAs for schools. very much a wooden board when he says his “stay in school, study hard” lines, but by god does he mean it when he says it such a nerd i love him

- a video of him gently petting a cat he saved from a tree goes viral. he swears to you that this is what will finally make him turn to a life of villainy

- very ritualistic ab his day. he gets up at the same time, eats at the same take-out places for his break, calls you at exactly 5:30 PM,,,, villains have to knock him out cold before he’ll deviate from his routine

- bakugou rlly rlly likes when u wait up for him to get home. lies thru his teeth n says he doesnt, but he also sends u an excessive amount of ETA txts hoping u’ll get the hint and be there to greet him

- he gets unreasonably angry at villains who make him late getting home. he’s got a schedule okay!!! n if his dinner needs reheated bc of some extra, jesus christ is it gonna be that villains worst day ever

- has a habit of playing with the wedding band on his finger during interviews. slides it on/off, twists it etc

- constantly watches play-back of his own battles and critiques them mercilessly. if u even try telling him to give himself a break, bakugou will bite ur head off

- incredibly careful when fighting around schools/residential areas. he knows his quirk can be scary/loud and tries to tone down the explosions around small children,,, he can’t remember when he started caring ab that kinda thing, but now he couldn’t imagine not

- rlly grumpy about works trips. usually can’t take u for obvious danger reasons, but u’ll be getting a phone call every night to make up for ur lack of physical presence. of. he lies n says its bc he needs to “vent” ab his mission, but katsuki is entirely see-through when he refuses to talk and only asks ab ur day. falls asleep listening to ur voice,,, n u do it all over again the next night, for his sake pretending u don’t know why he’s calling

- ruthless in his product reviews. PR tries to force him into endorsement deals, but it goes terribly if he doesnt like the product ,,, (he tanked an entire energy drink company once bc he called it “tasteless, embarrassing, empty sugar-water. unfit for even the laziest fuckin’ humming bird)

- only attends galas if u bribe him. btw, the bribe is u promising to wear orange,,,, but he’s not possessive, he’s not, he swears

- surprisingly devoted to his work/life balance. u’d think he’d be a complete workaholic, n for the most part he is, but bakugou actually takes self-care rlly seriously. (“It starts in the body.” said by bakugou in an advert for protein bars. he was so proud bc bby put that line in the script himself. n he lives by those words!!!)

- if he’s ever late coming home, katsuki is def picking up some sort of apology gift,,, its always weird n janky tho. like an ugly, off-brand, shitty figurine of himself or a bouquet of nearly dead flowers (mans has a weird sense of humor what can i say)

- sometimes u’ll go out to your balcony and wave to him as he jets across the sky during patrol. he’s happy it’s dark and you cant see him,, bc if u could, u’d see him grinning like a dork

- spends an entire day off work, w/ u, before going on a rlly dangerous mission. its somber and makes u nervous and sort of breaks ur heart, but the way he looks at u just before he leaves makes it almost worth it

- thinks its hilarious when u send him dating rumor headlines ab himself. was literally in stitches over the one u sent to him supposedly confirming his ‘secret, salacious, relationship with chargebolt” (for reference, the pic was the blurry back of bakugou and denki’s head as they walked into the agency they literally both work at)

[pototters]

Without You

A/N: HEY, OMG, I’M BACK!!

Okay, so, I may have plunged myself into the pit of KiriBaku/BakuKiri and now I’m stuck there. Literally, nearly every idea I have lately is for this ship. I love them. Might be a little obsessed, but hey, I’m happy here.

I fell into quite the writing rut and found it difficult for me to write literally anything. The focus wasn’t there, the inspiration was lacking, and so I wrote the first thing that came to mind and forced myself to follow it.

Thus, this fic was born. THE LONGEST THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN HERE. Except my old collab fic, Strawberry and Cream, but I don’t really count that one. I wrote this piece like an effing madman, tell you what. I think now I’ve kinda gotten through my block, writing will happen a bit easier going forward. I hope.

Anywho, without further ado, here’s the fic~

Summary: Bakugo goes on a mountain hike and realizes that something rather important is missing.

Warnings: it’s Bakugo, there’s swearing.

Bakugo x Kirishima

Words: 4,477

Something was wrong.

Bakugo zipped up his backpack angrily, the last of what he’d need all packed up. Tugging on his hiking boots, he threw the pack over his shoulders and headed out. It was the weekend, and pretty early in the morning, so the dorms were pretty quiet.

He paused in the hallway, but forced himself not to turn down the hall. His back practically burned with the thought of the neighboring rooms, but he gave an annoyed grunt before heading down the stairs. Luckily, no one was in the commons to bother him as he made his way out. He was already in a foul mood and didn’t need anyone to further aggravate him.

Something was wrong.

The walk to the bus stop was short and the wait was even shorter. Just before he could board, there was a shout from down the sidewalk to hold the bus. Bakugo glanced in the direction of the voice, saw a flash of red, and his heart picked up to race furiously within his chest. A second look, however, revealed a stranger wearing a red bandanna and he grunted to himself as he finished boarding the bus.

The ride to the base of the mountain was barely half an hour, then it was a ten minute walk to the start of the trail. Hitching his pack into place on his shoulders, Bakugo began the ascent. He’d been planning this hike for well over a month. It was overdue and the fresh air helped to clear his head. Already, he could feel his stress levels decline the higher he climbed.

He’d been hiking without pause for nearly two hours when he heard a grumbling complaint and dragging footsteps behind him. His ire raised, he turned around to tell the complainer off, but his voice caught in his throat. There was no one there.

Something was wrong.

By midday, the temperature had risen significantly, but the thinning mountain air helped to keep Bakugo from overheating. As he walked, tiny explosions crackled in his palms as he burnt off the excess sweat to prevent any accidents. He understood too well the dangers of his quirk and wasn’t interested in taking any unnecessary risks.

His stomach growled at some point, so he looked for a good spot to stop and sit down for his lunch. A fallen tree served as a place for him to sit as he took off his backpack and dug inside. Pulling out a sandwich, he held it out, but no one took it. He lifted his gaze to glare at his arm as though the muscle memory had offended him, which it most definitely had. He had become much too used to having company.

As he peered within his pack, Bakugo quickly realized that he had packed way too much food. Enough for two people, plus a bit extra. He heaved a sigh, resigning that he’d be taking some home and unwrapped the sandwich for himself. After finishing the sandwich, he gave himself some time to let his food settle before hitting the trail, again.

Something was wrong.

It wasn’t until Bakugo had nearly reached the peak when he thought he heard the sound of a joyous laugh and thought he felt the brush of a shoulder against his own, that he realized what it was. Growing up, he’d always considered himself as independent and introverted. He didn’t need anyone except himself. Over the past couple of years at U.A., however, something had changed. He was barely aware of it happening, but as he stood on top of the mountain all by himself, it was more than the view that was put into clear perspective.

Kirishima was supposed to be with him on this trip. They had planned it out together, albeit somewhat reluctantly on Bakugo’s part. He wasn’t reluctant because he didn’t want to go with his best friend. It was rather out of sheer stubbornness that he would rather go alone. Bakugo had pretended to cave even though he knew from the start that he would agree to the trip. He loved hiking and it wouldn’t be so bad to share that with his best friend.

Best friend; it was a term that had held an odd weight since the end of their first year. Bakugo felt as though it wasn’t an accurate description of what Kirishima was to him. He had never been able to work it out, though, a part of him a bit too nervous to look too closely at it. So, he ignored the part of his heart that flipped at Kirishima’s shark-toothed grin and the easy way in which they touched so casually.

A week ago, however, Bakugo had happened to walk in on Kirishima talking to Sero in the locker room after class. The redhead had said something about finally confessing his feelings at the top of the mountain they were hiking. Rage had filled him as he rounded the corner, seeing the color drain from Kirishima’s face as panic rose to the redhead’s features.

Bakugo had screamed a multitude of obscenities at him. He couldn’t remember all of them, but none of them had been nice. Most of them hadn’t even been true. He definitely remembered telling Kirishima that romance was for idiots with nothing better to do and that he couldn’t be the number one hero if he wasn’t giving it his all. He also remembered saying something along the lines of barely being able to tolerate the idiot’s presence.

A flash of hurt had crossed Kirishima’s face by that point, only to turn into anger as Bakugo kept going, yelling something about how he’d be better off without some fucking extra following at his heels all the time. Angry tears had sprung to Kirishima’s eyes as he’d shoved against Bakugo’s chest and pushed him away.

More angry words were exchanged between the two of them before Kirishima finally stormed out, red-faced and barely holding back tears. Sero said nothing before following the redhead out, leaving Bakugo to seethe in his own anger. He wasn’t even sure why he was really all that pissed off about it.

Breathing in the mountain air, Bakugo reflected on his anger and slowly came to an understanding. Hearing Kirishima’s accidental confession forced Bakugo to look closer at his own feelings. Feelings that he wasn’t ready to analyze that thoroughly, yet. His chest tightened as he looked up to the clear, afternoon sky. The answer was so glaringly obvious that he couldn’t ignore it or cover it with his anger, anymore.

Fuck. He really owed Kirishima an apology. Several apologies. That idiot. His idiot. A frustrated grin spread across his face as he realized he had no idea how to even go about it. He knew, though, that it couldn’t wait, not even another day for his trip to end.

After making sure his pack was secured tightly, sparks flew from his palms as he turned them downwards and propelled himself into the sky. He’d probably get his ass chewed out if his teachers got wind of him using his quirk like this, but fuck it. Bakugo blasted himself to the bottom of the mountain in a matter of minutes to catch the last bus back to U.A..

It was already dark by the time he burst into the commons, panting from running so hard. Everyone was gathered for a game night and several eyes turned to stare at him as he stomped forward. All of them except the only ones that matter. “Hey, Bakugo, weren’t you supposed to be camping this weekend?” He ignored the question as Kirishima finally, slowly, turned to face him.

There was no familiar smile to greet him, no emotion at all as Kirishima leveled Bakugo with a flat look. Bakugo grit his teeth, refusing to back down from the redhead’s expression. His brows drew low over his eyes as he bit out, “I need to talk to you. Now.” Kirishima’s mouth pressed into a hard line and he turned back around.

“No.”

Bakugo saw the telltale blur of rage around the edges of his sight, but he deflated almost immediately. What did he expect, honestly? He’d said horrible things and then ignored Kirishima for the past week. He wouldn’t want to talk to him, either.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he forced his gaze away from the back of Kirishima’s head and huffed with frustration. “Fine.” He shuffled from the commons and punched the button on the elevator, feeling the shocked expressions of their classmates on his back.

Unfamiliar emotions had welled within his chest at Kirishima’s rejection as he rode the elevator. He wondered if this was anything like what the redhead had felt when Bakugo had yelled at him. Fuck, he really was awful if this was even a fraction of what Kirishima had felt. The tightness in his chest was nearly unbearable.

Once in his room, he discarded his backpack and stripped down. He was sweaty and dirty from his hike and he needed a shower. Hopefully, while he got clean, he’d be able to think of some way to get Kirishima to talk to him. His shower was quick, though, and he hadn’t come up with a single idea. It was clear that he really wasn’t made for all this emotional shit, which only served to piss him off.

Wearing clean clothes, he scrubbed his hair dry with a towel as he made his way back to his room. Distracted as he was, Bakugo couldn’t react quickly enough as a pair of hands grabbed him suddenly and pushed him into his room, snapping the door shut behind them. His breath left him in a rush as he was shoved back against the door and angry red eyes met his own.

“Kirishima, what the fu-” Bakugo was cut off as Kirishima’s fist slammed against the door next to his head. Silence stretched between them for a moment as they both breathed heavily.

“You know, for someone who’s constantly calling me an idiot, you can be pretty stupid.” Kirishima finally spoke. Bakugo should have been pissed at that, but he couldn’t bring himself to get even a little mad. All he could do was give Kirishima a hard stare, no heat in his gaze.

“Yeah, I know. I said some pretty shitty things to you. I shouldn’t have. I… didn’t really mean what I said.” Kirishima’s eyes widened at the half apology, then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth, much to Bakugo’s surprise.

“If I really thought you meant any of that, then I never knew you at all.” Bakugo felt like the air had been punched from his lungs as relief washed over him. Of course, Kirishima knew. Kirishima always knew him better than anyone else. With a shaky hand, Bakugo reached out to grab a fistful of Kirishima’s shirt and nodded, lowering his gaze as he suddenly felt weak in the knees. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have to apologize, though, you jerk.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up to face the redhead, again, his fist in the fabric tightening. “Kirishima-”

“Eijirou. Call me by my first name.”

Bakugo blinked, caught somewhat off guard, and he felt his heart speed up rapidly in his chest. A small frown etched onto his face, heat rising in his cheeks. “I- Eijiro, I’m sorry. For all the things I said and didn’t mean. I wasn’t angry at you, not really.” His other hand rose to join the one clutching Kirishima’s shirt, grabbing another fistful of fabric and tugging the redhead closer.

“I know. I forgive you.” Kirishima let himself be pulled closer, leaning into Bakugo until their mouths met in a hesitant kiss. It lasted barely a second before Kirishima was pulling back, looking unsure. “Does this mean… that you accept my feelings? I- I don’t want to burden you, Bakugo.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Idiot. If I’m calling you by your first name, then you’re calling me by mine, too.” His features softened as he pulled Kirishima back to him. “Don’t make me fucking spell it out for you.” Bakugo tugged him back in the rest of the way, kissing him with more confidence. Kirishima let out a soft whimper as their tongues mingled together and Bakugo released his shirt in favor of wrapping his arms around his best friend.

Except Kirishima wasn’t his best friend, he was so much more than that. Bakugo felt as though an empty slot had suddenly filled within himself as Kirishima returned the embrace. The wrong had been righted and a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Finally, breathless from their kisses, they broke apart and grins spread across their faces. Kirishima looked a bit sheepish while Bakugo wore a shit-eating grin. They sat down together on the floor and decided to talk about how they’d handle their new relationship. Many of their friends were already aware of how Kirishima felt, but it was anyone’s guess whether Bakugo actually returned those feelings.

Bakugo didn’t care what anyone thought, but Kirishima was still somewhat hesitant to make their relationship known. After some discussion, they decided the dorms were safe enough to be open, but they wouldn’t engage in any affection at school. They mutually agreed that it was best to appear professional or they could risk expulsion. Their discussion turned to lighter topics after that, and more making out, as they talked late into the night until they both fell asleep on the floor.

Bakugo woke up first the next morning, grumbling over his sore back as he sat up. All complaints were forgotten, however, as his gaze fell on his best- no, his boyfriend’s sleeping face. A soft smile graced his features as he thought that the new term fit Kirishima better than ‘best friend’ ever had. Reaching out, he brushed a bit of flat red hair from his face before catching himself and blushing hard. Thank goodness Kirishima slept like a fucking rock.

Getting up, he grabbed his pillow and propped it under Kirishima’s head and threw a blanket over him before heading downstairs to the kitchen to cook breakfast. While he cooked, Kaminari and Sero walked into the kitchen stretching and yawning. At the sight of Bakugo, Kaminari got a devious grin on his face.

“Isn’t that so sweet, Sero? Bakugo is making breakfast for his new boyfriend. Damn, one night and Kirishima’s already got him domesticated.” Bakugo’s hand froze over the stove at Kaminari’s words before slowly turning to him with a hard glare.

“Hah? The fuck did you just say, dunce face? Pretty early to be wishing to get your ass blasted to smithereens.” Bakugo growled, his hand popping with sparks as he aimed it towards Kaminari. Sero stepped between them, hands raised as he tried to placate their explosive friend.

“C’mon, Bakugo, he’s just teasing. Like you said, it’s too early for this.” Kaminari didn’t back down, though.

“Yeah, Bakugo, come on. Just spill the deets! I know Kirishima didn’t go back to his room last night~” Kaminari barely had time to gloat before Bakugo was in his face with an explosion.

“You fucking pervert! I’ll kill you!” Bakugo knew he was red in the face, which didn’t help his case, but he didn’t have long to chase the idiot around the kitchen as Kirishima showed up. Yawning and scratching the back of his neck, Kirishima took in the scene before him with a frown.

“Seriously, you guys? Can you not rile him up this early in the morning? I’m not awake enough to keep him from actually hurting you.” Bakugo seethed, ready to bark back at the redhead for thinking he could stop him, anyway, but a heavy weight pressed against his back as Kirishima draped his arms over his shoulders from behind. Bakugo nearly staggered under the unexpected weight as Kirishima tiredly leaned onto him.

“Stand on your own, idiot! How am I supposed to cook with you hanging on me like this?!” Bakugo growled as Kirishima pouted. Even so, Kirishima’s weight lessened, but he kept his arms draped over Bakugo’s shoulders. Bakugo felt a slight shiver pass down his spine as Kirishima’s face pressed against the side of his neck to watch him cook. “Seriously? I’m not going to cook for you if you keep this up.”

“But I’m tired, Katsuki, and the food smells good.” The pout in Kirishima’s voice was heavy as more of his weight settled onto Bakugo’s back, again.

“Then lean on the fucking counter!” Bakugo growled, shrugging his shoulders lightly in a lame attempt to get Kirishima off of him. He felt a flush crawling up his neck to his face as he realized he could actually feel Kirishima’s pout against his skin. It also didn’t help that he knew that Kaminari and Sero were staring at them. He ducked his head and lowered his voice. “The eggs are gonna burn.”

With a heavy sigh, Kirishima straightened himself and practically rolled his body away from Bakugo to lean on the counter right next to the stove. Bakugo frowned as Kirishima folded his arms on top of the counter and rested his head on top of them to watch him cook with a wide yawn. His ungelled hair fell softly to frame his face and Bakugo couldn’t help but think that it was cute.

Reaching over, he gently pushed some of the red hair back from Kirishima’s face, stroking his cheek a little as he did. “You shouldn’t lean next to the hot stove like that, idiot.” Kirishima only grinned back at him, not budging an inch.

“That’s okay. I can handle the heat.” He snickered as Bakugo’s jaw dropped and his face nearly went atomic.

“You guys sure nothing happened last night? I mean, no one would blame you…” Kaminari’s voice came from behind them where he and Sero had taken a seat at the kitchen island. Kirishima lifted his head to shoot him a disapproving frown.

“Kaminari, that’s-”

Kirishima was quickly cut off as sparks flew from Bakugo’s palm in Kaminari’s direction. “None of your fucking business, dunce face! So shut the hell up about it!” Kaminari lifted his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay! I’ll drop it, sheesh!” Kaminari rolled his eyes, slumping to rest his chin in his hand on the counter. “Damn, to think Bakugo would lose it, first. Didn’t see that one coming.” Sero glanced over at Bakugo nervously, who was now shaking with anger.

Kirishima placed a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder and squeezed gently before turning a deep frown on Kaminari. “Dude, not cool. Seriously, though, nothing happened. We just had a really long talk, okay?” Bakugo lightly shrugged off Kirishima’s hand so that he could plate their breakfast.

Kaminari huffed. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it, then.” His eyes immediately lit up, however, as Bakugo nearly slammed an omelette in front of him. “Oh, nice, a rice omelette! What’s the occasion?” Another one was set in front of Sero, who gave his thanks to the chef.

Kirishima was given two omelettes and Bakugo took one for himself before heading to the commons to eat, yelling something about how Kaminari didn’t even deserve one. Kirishima beamed as he began to follow Bakugo. “They’re my favorite breakfast,” he told Kaminari as he slipped from the kitchen.

As the two of them ate together, they found themselves falling back into their normal, easy companionship. Kirishima chatted between bites at times while Bakugo would answer occasionally in his short, gruff way. The only difference was their thighs pressed together and the soft smiles that passed between them in the silence while they chewed.

Just as they had finished eating, standing up to clean their dishes, Aizawa came into the dorms. “Bakugo. I need you to come with me to my office. I got a complaint about the misuse of quirks outside of the school.” Bakugo let out an annoyed ‘tsk’, but didn’t argue. Kirishima took his plate from him with a worried expression. Without a word of reassurance, Bakugo turned to follow their teacher, hands shoved into his pockets, and left the cleaning up to the redhead.

It was nearly lunch by the time Bakugo returned to the dorms and most of their class was gathered in the commons, including Kirishima. His entrance had gone unnoticed and Bakugo paused behind the couch, staring at the back of Kirishima’s head with a small frown. His gaze traced the soft strands of red hair and the way that it rested against the curve of Kirishima’s neck, admiring how it moved subtly with every movement of his head.

With sudden realization, Bakugo found that it was all familiar to him, but he’d never really taken the time to appreciate the view. His boyfriend was manly, sure, but he was also damn gorgeous. As though driven by some unknown force, Bakugo approached Kirishima from behind and wrapped his arms around him.

Kirishima went completely still, rigid with surprise as Bakugo pressed an open mouthed kiss against his jaw, just below the ear. “Go get dressed.” He whispered huskily into Kirishima’s ear. “I’m gonna shower and then we’re going on a date.” Bakugo grinned, ignoring the stares of their classmates as Kirishima’s skin darkened to match his hair color. Without waiting for an answer, Bakugo straightened and headed for the showers.

Twenty minutes later, they met in the foyer. When Bakugo came down in his jeans and a black button down with the top two buttons undone, he came up short as his breath left him at the sight of Kirishima. The redhead had finally spiked up his hair and was speaking casually with Pink Cheeks. With jeans that hugged him in all the right places and his favorite Crimson Riot t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, Kirishima was drool-worthy in his leather jacket.

He didn’t have enough time to catch his breath as he approached Kirishima. A curt look was all it took to shut up Uraraka and send her on her way as she turned even pinker. Kirishima turned towards Bakugo and blushed brightly, reaching up to rub the back of his own neck nervously.

“You, um, you look nice, Katsuki.” Kirishima shot him a nervous smile that Bakugo returned in confidence.

“Of course, I do. You look fucking hot, though.” Bakugo snickered as Kirishima’s blush deepened while his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. The redhead immediately became too flustered at the unexpected compliment to do anything but stand there in a mild panic, so Bakugo shoved him out the door. “C’mon. I’m fucking starving. You can gay panic later, idiot.”

This seemed to snap Kirishima out of it as his steps turned from barely a shuffle to full strides. “I wasn’t- I- You never say stuff like that! How am I supposed to react?!” Bakugo barked out a laugh at that.

“You say ‘thank you’ and move the fuck on.” Kirishima pouted a little, but still muttered his thanks as the two of them left school grounds for the nearby shopping district. Bakugo led them to one of his favorite places to eat where Kirishima could get a meat dish and he could still get himself something that was plenty spicy to suit his own tastes.

While they waited for their food, Kirishima asked about what happened with Aizawa and Bakugo explained how he’d used his quirk to blast himself down the mountainside. Kirishima laughed, delighted that he was important enough to risk getting in trouble for. Bakugo shrugged it off, though. 

He’d barely gotten a slap on the wrist since there was minimal damage to the environment. Just some minor scorch marks on the ground where he’d launched himself and a few near where he landed. Bakugo explained the reason he’d taken so long was because, as punishment, Aizawa had made him run laps and do fifty push ups between each one. This made Kirishima cringe slightly as he expressed his sympathy, but Bakugo shrugged that off as well.

After they’d eaten, they decided to take a walk around the district and look at the different shops as they strolled by. Kirishima spoke excitedly about a few of the shops, Bakugo quietly giving special attention to the things the redhead expressed interest in. After a while, though, Kirishima fell silent.

A block and a half later, when Kirishima still hadn’t spoken, Bakugo glanced over to see him plucking nervously at his jacket. Letting out a huff, he bumped his shoulder against the redhead’s to get his attention. “Spit it out, Ei. What’s on your mind?” Kirishima spluttered a bit at the nickname, his steps slowing until he finally stopped. Bakugo stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around to wait patiently for Kirishima to say what was on his mind.

“Eijirou.” Kirishima’s gaze snapped up at Bakugo calling his name, his arms pressing against his sides as he stopped fidgeting with his jacket.

“Sorry, um, it’s just…,” Kirishima hesitated, “I know we’re on a date, right now. It’s just that… you haven’t actually said how you feel. We didn’t bring it up, really, when we talked about our relationship last night. I feel like I’ve just been assuming and that maybe you’re humoring me so that we can just be friends, again.” Bakugo blinked at him as a long silence stretched between them.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Kirishima flinched at Bakugo’s harsh words, then ducked his head as his face flushed. Bakugo crossed the distance between them and grabbed a fistful of Kirishima’s shirt, nearly snarling. “What did you say yesterday about knowing me? Tell me, would I go to the trouble if we were just going to be friends? What part of our friendship made you think that I was a liar?” Kirishima’s gaze snapped up to Bakugo’s in a panic.

Firm hands met the fist on Kirishima’s shirt. “No! No, that’s not what I meant! I’m sorry, I’m not always good with my words. I just… It’s just that you’re acting so differently than you usually do and, and I’m so surprised. I really thought you were going to turn me down.” Bakugo eased his hold on Kirishima’s shirt, finally letting go as he stepped back and glanced away.

“Oh. That.” Bakugo chewed his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to figure out what to say. “I’m not good at this whole… feeling thing, but…,” His gaze lifted to meet Kirishima’s, “Up on that mountain, I realized a lot of things. You were supposed to be there with me, and you weren’t. It felt wrong, and it just- it wasn’t the same without you.” He barely got the words out before strong arms were embracing him and Bakugo closed his eyes, finally feeling as though everything was right as he hugged Kirishima back.

[alkae]

Little Criminals

“Hugo?”

Hugo jolted awake at the sound of his boyfriend calling him from the other side of the library. “Huh, what?”

He glanced around, glasses askew on his face and quickly righted them. “Vari? Darling?”

“Over here, Hugh!”

Hugo looked to his left and saw Varian carrying a large stack of books that was so high that he couldn’t see his face. And that couldn’t happen. Hugo stood and took some of the books from him. “Thank you, my sweet,” Varian said gratefully. With the excess books gone, Hugo noticed an addition to his boyfriend: Ruddiger the raccoon, curled up on his boyfriend’s neck. The second the two made eye contact, they glared at each other.

Neither were particularly fond of one another. Both got a lot of Varian’s attention, so naturally there was animosity between them whenever one of them got said attention.

“Hugh?”

Hugo turned his attention away from the raccoon and instead focused on his lovely boyfriend. “Yes, Hummingbird?”

“I’m going out for the day. Corona is in desperate need of their royal engineer. Something happened with the hot water machines, I think. Eugene probably used the water all up again.” Varian laughed. “He does that. A lot.”

Hugo’s face soured. He wasn’t particularly fond of “Eugene” either. He knew him as Flynn Ryder and the guy was a hack. “Well, you’d better get on that Vari. Don’t want his majesty to get pissy about taking a cold shower. How will he ever cope?”

Varian laughed and nudged Hugo lightly. “Don’t be mean. You’d be equally upset if the same happened to you.” He set the books on the table and Hugo followed suit. Ruddiger continued to glare at him from Varian’s shoulder. Hugo glared back. Stupid raccoon. Wait, Varian was still talking. “...need you to watch Ruddiger.”

What. “What?”

“Oh, well, I don’t want Ruddiger near the machines if they’re unstable. Wouldn’t want him getting hurt right?”

“Yes. That would be a shame,” Hugo replied dryly.

Varian glared at him. “Anyway, he’s going to stay with you, here. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.” He leveled his glare at both Hugo and Ruddiger. “Both of you. Please don’t break or touch anything when I’m gone.” Now he just glared at Hugo. “I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Last time was when Hugo moved one of Varian’s experiments, resulting in a pretty nasty explosion. Varian had yelled at Hugo for some time and Ruddiger had watched, amused, in the background. Smug bastard.

“Don’t worry, Var Bear.” He always warmed up when Hugo used a nickname. “There will be no incidents this time. I promise.” He smiled in what he hoped was a charming grin. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

Varian looked uncertain for a second before he softened and kissed Hugo, gently and chastely. “I’ll hopefully be back soon.” He took Ruddiger off of his shoulders and held him out for Hugo to take. Both’s stare was as if the other was a venomous viper. But, just to make his little alchemist happy, Hugo reached over and took him, holding the raccoon under its arms and dangling it in the air. Varian made an unhappy noise. “He’s not a doll, sweetheart.”

Hugo plopped Ruddiger down on the table. The raccoon chittered angrily at him. “There. Happy?”

Varian huffed. “Please be nice to each other. For me, okay?” His gaze was so sweet and innocent that Hugo couldn’t help but give in. He had grown weak.

He kissed Varian again. He could feel Varian smiling. “Anything for you,” he said.

Varian pulled away. “I have to go now. Goodbye, my Golden Dove.”

“Goodbye, my Hummingbird.”

Hugo watched as Varian packed up his stuff and waved goodbye as he disappeared through the gold doors leading to the outside world. A world Hugo hardly visited of his own volition anymore. He was gone for all of two minutes before there was a crash. Hugo turned to see Ruddiger rummaging through their food crates. “Raccoon!” Hugo snapped. “Get out of there.” When Varian realized that he and Hugo would be spending most of their time in the Eternal Library, he had filled several crates with food and stocked up on apples for Ruddiger. But he told Hugo that the apples were for special occasions.

“I don’t want him to eat all the apples,” Varian had said. “He needs to leave some for us, right?”

So of course, when Hugo saw said raccoon rummaging through the food crates, he responded kind of negatively. He rushed over to the crates and plucked Ruddiger out of them. “You’re not allowed to have any.” Hugo stomped away and set him down not too gently. In response, Ruddiger chittered at him in annoyance.

“Come on, raccoon, there has to be something for you to do that isn’t eating our resources.” He shooed him away. “Now get.”

Ruddiger shot him one last glare before vanishing around the shelves. Hugo huffed and leaned against the table. “Good. Let’s hope he stays out of trouble so I don’t have to deal with him,” he muttered to himself. He pushed off the table and stalked off, thinking that he would have the day to himself. After all, he reasoned, Ruddiger was smart for a raccoon. Surely he wouldn’t be that much trouble.

An hour later, Hugo was roaming one of the aisles. It was the spell section, which is probably where Ulla got all of her information on possession and tying yourself to a library for 20 years.

He wasn’t really looking for anything, simply in the aisle for browsing. He slid one book with a silvery green cover off the shelf and opened it to a random page. Lucky for him, he was able to read most languages but sometimes he’d come across something that completely stumped him and caused him to call for Varian.

This was not one of those times. He could easily decipher the text and identify it as Saporian. They did have a memory wand so it wasn’t surprising that they had an entire spellbook written. He flipped through the book halfheartedly, eyes glazed. He could never find a spell that actually intrigued him enough to use it. Plus, Varian would kill him.

Unfortunately, Varian wasn’t there that day.

Hugo landed on a page where the top read “A spell for removing pests.” His eyes moved across the words, saving it to his memory. Just in case. It said it would take the pest to another location, somewhere not near where the user was. He was about to read more when suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder and grunted as Ruddiger launched off of him to jump onto the bookshelf across from him. “Raccoon!” he exclaimed. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. What do you even want?”

Ruddiger didn’t answer, simply nestling in a spot above a row of books, resting his head on his paws. Hugo glowered at him.

“Raccoon, those are incredibly old and important books. You can’t just use them as a bed,” Hugo scolded.

The look he got was one of skepticism. He suddenly was reminded of the time he used a book as a coaster. He felt his cheeks heat up slightly. “That was one time! Plus, the book was fine.”

The look didn’t go away. He felt his annoyance rise. “Okay. If you’re the epitome of sainthood, you would stop digging through the apples when Varian tells you not to.”

Now Ruddiger looked embarrassed. Hugo grew smug. “Thought so. Now, if you would please extract yourself from my premise and find another place to sleep, that would be nice.” Ruddiger’s embarrassment replaced itself with agitation. He chittered at Hugo, who rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if you normally sleep here. I’m here now, which, therefore, means you can’t sleep here.”

In response, Ruddiger stood as much as he could crammed in between the books and the shelf and knocked one of the books to the ground. Hugo stared at it. “You did not just do that.”

Ruddiger’s next chitter was gleeful. The sadistic little cretin. Another book fell. “Stop that, raccoon!” 2 more books this time. “Raccoon, you better stop this right now or… or…” No threats came to his mind.

Ruddiger chittered. It sounded like he was saying, “Or what?”

Hugo looked around. What could he do for a punishment. His eye caught the book in his hand that he left open to the spell that removed pests. He scanned it again. “Or I’ll remove you! You pest.”

Ruddiger made a movement that was clearly mocking. How dare he mock Hugo? “Fine! You asked for it!”

In hindsight, Hugo wasn’t using his head. He was annoyed and aggravated and he hadn’t read the page fully. He thought the spell was going to take Ruddiger to another part of the library. He thought it would be completely harmless.

When he read the words, he felt the air around him thicken and, despite the lack of open windows in the library, his hair began to blow like there was wind. Ruddiger’s eyes widened as a glowy pink portal opened to the right of him, growing to about the size of Hugo. Hugo stopped speaking when he saw the portal. “Wait! Shit! Go back, go back.” But it was too late. The suction of the portal was too strong and Ruddiger had little to no grip on the shelf. Hugo watched in horror as the portal pulled the raccoon in and promptly vanished without a trace.

He stared at the place where the portal was and then at where Ruddiger had just sat. Then he said, “Fuck.”

He ran around the library calling for Ruddiger, desperately clinging to the hope that he was just in another part of the library.

After 20 minutes of screaming “Raccoon!”, Hugo admitted to himself that Ruddiger wasn’t there and sank to the ground. His panic caused him to continue holding the book in his hand, clutching to it like it was a precious jewel. He sat against the shelf and tried to steady his breathing.

Varian was going to kill him. Varian was going to break up with him if he came back and found out that his raccoon, his best friend, was missing.

Hugo had to get him back. He couldn’t lose the best thing that ever happened to him because of a stupid mistake.

“It’s okay Hugo,” he murmured to himself. “It’s gonna be okay. Deep breaths.” He inhaled deeply, exhaling through the nose. “Alright. Okay. Let’s figure this out. How do I get the raccoon back?”

Something silvery caught his eye. He looked down and gasped. “Stupid Hugo! Of course! The book!” He flipped it open and quickly found the page. He read it outloud. “Warning: if you aren’t careful, you’ll be sucked into the portal as well. Note that the spell is only temporary if the pest is close to where the portal first opened and if it’s undone within 2 hours.” Well. That was just fantastic. “If you wish to undo the spell, say these words. If the pest is not close to the portal, it may be possible to journey into the portal while keeping it open. Such a thing has never been done before.” Then a crossed out word. Hugo squinted and adjusted his glasses. “Impossible? No, no no no. I will make it possible.”

He quickly set to work making a machine that pulled him out of the portal when he needed to leave while simultaneously keeping it open. He went back to where Ruddiger first disappeared and reread the spell. The portal reopened and Hugo wrapped the rope connected to the machine around his waist. He took a deep breath.

“This is for Varian,” he muttered to himself. He leapt in.

The place was basically a junkyard.

Things, random objects, were strewn everywhere. There were also creatures of varying size and color, some bugs, some mammals like Ruddiger. “This place is massive,” Hugo said out loud. “How am I ever going to find that raccoon?”

A low growl surprised him and he turned to see a full sized dinosaur prowling around the junkyard land. His jaw dropped. “No fucking way.” Why was there a dinosaur in here? He watched, stunned, as it glanced around, uninterestedly, and then clomped off. He released a gasp of air. “Alright, I need to get that raccoon, now.”

He untied the rope and then retied it around a particularly heavy object so it wouldn’t go anywhere. Then, he took out the spellbook he decided to bring with him, just in case, and tried to search for a searching spell. Hugo figured that there must be one somewhere. After all, there was this spell, which caused nothing but trouble for Hugo.

There! A spell for finding. He skimmed it and then read it, quietly, so as not to summon the dinosaur. A glowing gray beacon rose in the air, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, and began to float away. Hugo followed it, stepping over broken pieces of metal and junk. He glanced around at the world, hoping he didn’t spot a human. That would be awful. It was already bad that he saw animals that looked like pets. He didn’t need to see a child or something.

That brought another question out of him: did time pass at all in here? Because there were dinosaurs, living breathing dinosaurs, here. So time must not pass.

Wow. What an intriguing spell. If he wasn’t so annoyed by it, he’d be fascinated.

He began to call for Ruddiger, but he kept his voice quiet. And he called Ruddiger “raccoon”, which probably didn’t inspire Ruddiger to come out.

There was a rustling to his left. He and the beacon stopped and he turned. Lo and behold, scurrying out of a pile of trash, there was Ruddiger, holding an apple in his paws. Hugo was both relieved and annoyed. “There you are! You’re coming with me, raccoon.”

Ruddiger glared at him. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t need to. His point was clear. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry I sucked you into a portal. Happy?”

Ruddiger shook his head. “I won’t suck you in another one. And, uh you can have apples when we get back.” Ruddiger pointedly showed Hugo his own apple. “I know, I know. But come on, isn’t an apple from Varian better than some random apple?”

The expression on his face clearly stated that he didn’t care either way. Hugo huffed. “What will it take you to come back, raccoon?”

‘Leave,’ is what Ruddiger’s face said.

Hugo threw his hands up. “You’re impossible. I’m not leaving Varian. You’re gonna have to get used to my presence.”

‘I’m not leaving either,’ Ruddiger seemed to reply.

The two glared at each other. “Raccoon,” Hugo said slowly. “I will drag you back home if I have to.”

Before Ruddiger could react, a screech interrupted their staring contest. They looked up to see a real life pterodactyl or some other flying dinosaur circling them. Even though Hugo couldn’t see that far up, he could tell that he was aiming for Ruddiger.

He wouldn’t let that prehistoric bastard get him.

So when the dinosaur bolted down to grab at him, Hugo pushed Ruddiger back into hiding and felt sharp claws latch around his waist. He was lifted into the air and he saw Ruddiger peek up at him from his hiding place. “Run!” he screamed to Ruddiger. “Go to the portal!”

If both of them couldn’t make it back, at least one of them should. For Varian. Hugo closed his eyes as the dinosaur took him away to some cave. He wished that he could see Varian again before he was eaten. What he wouldn’t give to redo everything that he did.

As he was dropped into a nest, he realized with shocking clarity how big of a brat he was. All it took was being abducted by a dinosaur to make him see that this was all him. He put his face in his hands. Look at me, he thought miserably. Ready to be eaten by a supposedly extinct creature because I was jealous of a raccoon.

The dinosaur surprisingly didn’t eat him immediately. Instead, it decided to go out hunting again, probably looking for Ruddiger. Hugo curled into a ball. How would he escape? Even if he did leave the cave, he had no idea where he was. And he dropped the spellbook during his flight. Maybe this place was like a circle. Maybe he could get out easily.

He wished he wasn’t so jealous. He wished he realized that Varian had a big heart. He wished he wasn’t so horrible to Ruddiger.

There was a chitter to his left. “Oh great, now I’m going insane,” he muttered. Something hard smacked into the side of his head. “Ow! Hey!” He turned and saw Ruddiger, clutching the spellbook and looking up at him with big round eyes.

He was shocked. “Raccoon? You came back for me?”

Ruddiger shrugged. Hugo decided to take it. “Thank you.” Ruddiger tilted his head in a flippant gesture. “No really. Thank you. You know, I think that all this time, we’ve just been misunderstanding each other and we should-” He cut off when he caught Ruddiger’s annoyed face. “Yeah, you’re right. We should go.”

He stood and Ruddiger made his way onto his shoulders. He decided not to complain about this. While they were heading to the exit, a low growl stopped them. “Shit.” The dinosaur was back. Hugo and Ruddiger exchanged a look. How were they going to get the dinosaur away from them? Hugo hid along the wall and thought to himself. There was nothing in the cave but bones, which was incredibly troubling. He didn’t think to bring his alchemy belt with him.

Ruddiger tapped his neck. He glanced over at him and saw him pointing to the spell book. That’s right! But they had to be smart about this. He couldn’t just spit out spells willy nilly. Ruddiger signaled his plan to Hugo quickly: he would distract the dinosaur while Hugo searched for the right spell to get the dinosaur permanently off their back.

“Will you be alright, though?” Hugo whispered. Ruddiger’s face said he was hopeful yet unsure. Hugo took a deep breath in. “Alright. Just… be safe okay? If not for me then for Varian.”

Ruddiger nodded in affirmation. This was for Varian.

Ruddiger scampered off as Hugo hid behind a rock. The dinosaur crawled back into the cave and scanned the room. When he didn’t see his dinner, he roared and hit the wall, causing the cave to rumble. Hugo stumbled and he opened the spell book. What spell would beat a dinosaur?

As he searched, he heard Ruddiger distracting the dinosaur. Or at least he thought it was Ruddiger. He heard something spit and then the dinosaur roar louder. Just that caused the cave to shake. He flipped through the book as Ruddiger led the dinosaur around the cave.

Teleportation spell… no, because what if Ruddiger was teleported with the dinosaur? Deaging spell? Maybe. But it would take awhile and they might not have awhile.

He landed on the spell that caused him so much trouble in the past. He groaned. No, this wouldn’t help him at all.

The second he went to turn the page, there was a huge slamming noise that caused him to turn. He saw the dinosaur with a wiggling Ruddiger in its claws.

He acted on instinct. He ran out of his hiding place, picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could at the dinosaur. Hugo was never the strongest person. He was flexible and clever and intelligent but in a heated brawl, he would always come out on the bottom.

But he couldn’t just watch Varian’s first and closest friend be eaten.

The dinosaur turned, growling low. Hugo mustered up all the bravery he learned from Varian and screamed, “Drop him you overgrown, extinct, prehistoric bird creature!”

Of course the dinosaur didn’t drop him but it was very intrigued by Hugo. It eyed him as Hugo tried to stand his ground. He didn’t know if he could distract him enough to read the spell he was on: the spell that got them into this mess.

He had caught the words underneath the spell that said that the world generated was randomized each time. The only reason he got the world Ruddiger was in was because he specialized the portal. If he could summon the spell again, he could suck the dinosaur into the portal. Hugo picked up another rock and aimed it at the claw that held Ruddiger. “Put him down!” he repeated.

The dinosaur did, in fact, put him down. However, it wasn’t in surrender. Hugo was simply a bigger, tastier dinner in its eyes. Ruddiger disappeared out of view as Hugo backed up to avoid the dinosaur. He needed time to read.

And that wonderful raccoon gave him that chance as an apple splattered onto the dinosaur’s eye. Coming from experience, juice in the eye wasn’t pleasant. The dinosaur screeched and reared back. Hugo looked around and saw Ruddiger hurrying over to him and leaping onto his shoulders. He took the chance and, in a loud, confident voice, he read the spell.

The portal was huge and the two watched as the dinosaur grabbed at the ground to hold his place. But it was no use; the dinosaur was sucked into the portal and vanished from sight.

They were silent for all of 2 seconds before Hugo whooped. “He’s gone! We did it, Ruddiger!” He swung him around in celebration, book tucked under his arm. Then he remembered himself and put him back on his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Uh, thank you. Really. For saving me back there.”

Ruddiger patted his face as if to say ‘thank you, too.’ Hugo smiled despite himself. “We’ll call it even. Now how about we get out of here?”

Hugo was grateful that he tied the rope to a big hunk of junk because it hadn’t moved an inch since he left it there.

The two exited the portal, Ruddiger clinging to Hugo’s neck. They were more or less spit out and Hugo collided with the machine, breaking it. In response, Hugo broke it further. “Let’s hope we never have to use that again,” he said to Ruddiger. Ruddiger chittered in agreement.

In a show of comradery, Hugo snuck Ruddiger an apple from the crate and one for himself too. “If Varian asks, I ate both.” He winked.

When Varian returned,the two relaxing on a chair at a desk, Ruddiger curled up on Hugo. “Vari!”

“Hugh!” Varian leaned over Ruddiger’s now awake form to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “How was today? Did you two have fun?” Ruddiger crawled up onto Varian’s neck.

Hugo repressed a smile. “We had tons of fun.” He shared a look with Ruddiger.

Varian beamed. “I’m so glad you two are getting along.” He kissed Hugo again. “Thank you for watching him today. I’m so grateful.”

Hugo released his smile. “You’re very welcome, my dear.”

Varian sighed. “Now. I could go for a treat after the day I had.” He took Hugo’s hand and helped him stand. “Who wants an apple?”

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #18

Borderlands - #18 - Phobias

*

Tim stood in Jack’s office with Nisha and Wilhelm. He felt jittery and anxious, although that could very well have to do with the four cups of coffee he’d already had today.

“Bets on what he’ll bitch about this time?” Wilhelm said.

“The profit loss from that explosion, whoever stole the donuts out of the breakroom, the increased Crimson Raider presence near Hyperion facilities,” Nisha said, ticking them off on her fingers. “And then he’ll bitch that I’m not stopping their supply lines in the Dust, you’re not keeping the employees on Helios in line, and not-Jack isn’t getting his reports done fast enough. Same old. I don’t even know why we all bother to show up anymore.”

Wilhelm shuffled closer to Tim, eyeing him. “Did you finally give up booze for drugs, not-Jack?”

Tim jerked away from him. “What? No. Jack would strangle me. Literally.”

“You are acting off,” Nisha said, and now her eyes were sweeping him.

Anger sparked in his already on-edge mind. “Fuck off, both of you. First rule of Helios: Mind your own damn business if you want to live.”

“I’m begging you to try and kill me,” Wilhelm said. “It would give me an excuse to punch Jack’s face.”

Before Tim could respond, the office door opened and Jack stormed in. He had that terrifying grin that said something had pissed him off.

And he looked right to Tim.

Tim straightened up, digging his nails into his palms. He was too wound up to stand still, though, and shifted from foot to foot.

Jack came right up to him, gripping the front of his jacket and dragging him close. “You didn’t submit those reports.”

“One down, two to go,” Nisha muttered.

“What reports?” Tim said, and then his eyes widened. “Oh, hell. I forgot about that. The, uh, the ones from...from...there were three of them, right?”

Jack shoved him against the wall. “We’re going to take a little trip to the doctor’s, and you damn well better hope we don’t get bad news, kiddo.”

“Doctor’s?” Tim said in alarm. He hated being dragged to the medical wing. He never knew when it would end with another surgery, another alteration, another piece of him stripped away.

“Oh, this is new,” Nisha said, elbowing Wilhelm attentively. 

“You two, wait here,” Jack ordered. He turned back to Tim. “I just came from your room. You’re apparently drinking away your paychecks in coffee, energy drinks, and booze. I don’t pay you to be a drunk. We’ve talked about this before.”

And by talk, Jack meant he’d strangled Tim into unconsciousness, then woke him up by stabbing him three times. He’d then locked Tim up to suffer withdrawals.

But Tim had gone right back to the booze. He had to. He couldn’t face his nightmares.

So much blood and death. He’d killed so many people. He was scared and he was angry and he was so, so tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore. But the only escape was death, and he didn’t want to die, either.

Jack gripped Tim’s wrist, and Tim was dragged out of the office. He could fight; he was strong enough to kill Jack. But if he failed, if Wilhelm or Nisha came to Jack’s aid in time, then Tim would wish he’d chosen death.

He had to walk the line. Punishment was better than the endless torture he’d suffer for crossing the precarious line Jack had set for him.

So he allowed himself to be dragged to the medical wing, and thrown into the private room meant only for him and Jack. The doctor was waiting for them, and he scowled at the sight of Tim.

“I’ll be back in a little. You better find out what the hell is going on with him by the time I get back,” Jack warned, and left.

And so it began.

Tim slipped into a numb state as he was tested and questioned relentlessly. Blood samples, scans, physical tests, and even their best psychologist befell Tim.

When Tim refused to talk to the psychologist, the doctor injected him with something that made him lightheaded enough to forget his stubbornness. And maybe it was the gentle way the psychologist spoke, but Tim found himself eventually spilling everything.

He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to be this. He missed his mom, his few friends from home. He saw death every time he closed his eyes. Every victim of his reached for him in the dark, determined to drag him into the torture he’d put them through. Their voices and screams rang in his ears. 

It was all too much. He was going to break if something didn’t change.

He confessed all of this and more, sinking into that lightheaded feeling. But as he began to slip off to sleep, he jerked away with a terrified yell, pinching his own arm desperately to keep himself awake.

“Rest,” the psychologist urged. “You need sleep. I think a lot of what you’re experiencing can be explained by a lack of sleep.”

“No,” Tim whispered, his whole body trembling. “No, I can’t. I won’t. I’ll kill you if you try to inject anything else into me. I swear it.”

“Okay,” she said calmly. “We won’t. Will you tell me the last time you slept more than an hour?”

He couldn’t remember. When he got so tired that he couldn’t keep himself awake anymore, he succumbed to little ten minute naps, and even those left him shaken.

The psychologist tapped her pen on her clipboard. “Your records indicate you suffer from acrophobia. Given how often you’re sent to fight, have you ever overcome that?”

“No,” Tim whispered. Jack used it to punish him sometimes. 

“Wait here until Handsome Jack returns,” the psychologist said, standing up.

Tim did as he was instructed, getting up and pacing the room, pinching his arms when he got too tired. He’d embraced the lightheaded feeling before, but now he tried to shake it. 

The door slid open sometime later, and Jack came in, followed by the doctor and the psychologist. One look from Jack had Tim sitting down, though he bounced his leg anxiously as he waited.

“Well? What the hell’s got him acting like a deprived junkie?” Jack narrowed his eyes. “His tests?”

“No drugs in his system, sir,” the doctor assured. “He has been drinking again, but from what I can tell, it’s not as excessive as before.”

“I can shed light on this situation, sir,” the psychologist said. “His drinking, his memory lapses, and his irritation can be explained by one thing: Somniphobia.”

“Somni-what?” Jack said in confusion.

“Somniphobia. It’s a fear of sleeping,” she said.

Jack let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, no, you’re not telling me my most expensive doppelganger is afraid of freaking sleep.”

She looked to Tim, who cringed back. “You fear your nightmares, don’t you? You’re terrified to sleep. You lose all control when you’re asleep. Your nightmares consume you, and you’re vulnerable. You’d never sleep again if you could find a way. And when the nightmares follow you into the waking world, you fight them off with booze.”

Tim put his face in his hands, trembling. He couldn’t answer; his mouth had gone dry. 

Because she was right. He was scared of heights, sure, but the thing he feared more than heights nowadays was sleep. 

“Son of a taint,” Jack groaned. “Fix him. I want him fixed by the end of the week. I can’t have a double who sucks because he’s too much of a baby to sleep. And training a new one to do his jobs would be a hassle.”

“For now, this will have to do,” the psychologist said.

Before Tim could lift his head, something jabbed into his arm. He cried out in horror and despair, jerking his head up to look at the needle she’d just stuck in his arm.

“Sleep well, other-me,” Jack said with a grin that sent Tim’s stomach churning. “I’ll be back for you, and you better be back up to shape.”

He left, and Tim felt an unbearable wave of exhaustion come over him. Tears pooled in his eyes as he looked at the psychologist.

“Don’t make me sleep,” he begged. “You don’t know what I- They’re all there! They’re all in my head! I can’t do it! I can’t do this anymore!”

She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him so he was lying down. “I’m sorry. But either I get you to sleep, or Jack will take it into his own hands. This is for the best.”

Tim grasped weakly at her arm. “I can’t. Please, don’t make me. Don’t make me.”

She picked up another needle, looking at him with sad eyes. “I’ve seen Handsome Jack drive a lot of men to insanity. This is for the best. It’ll look like an accident. You won’t have to do this anymore.” She looked down at the needle and nodded to herself. “It’ll look just like an accident if I’m careful. You won’t have to be afraid anymore. It’s all I can do for you. I can’t fix you in a week, and he’ll try to torture the phobia out of you. I’m sorry.”

The exhaustion was too much. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

He shut his eyes, well aware she was going to make sure he’d never open them again. She thought she was showing him mercy.

But just before everything went dark, he wondered if all she was doing was eternally damning him to his nightmares.

[dwtsfun]

Dancing with the Stars Season 29: Pandemic Premiere

We are back! Things are looking real different. New host. New judge. New ballroom. Two new pros. It’s was an interesting night with so many couples. So let’s get into it.

AJ and Cheryl- Jive (Score=18)- This was such a great opener for the season. I didn’t even realize that there was no big audience there (there was some crowd up in the rafters). AJ and Cheryl’s energy was so explosive and what was needed to make up for the lack of an audience. AJ was on time. And he kept up super well with a difficult routine. A couple of things. First off, Derek was a perfect judge and was able to pick out one specific thing from each couple that they needed to work on. And I agreed with all of it. AJ’s feet need to be pointed and he needed more bounce for the jive. 

Chrishell and Gleb- Tango (Score=13)- While I don’t think this dance was necessarily terrible, it was definitely one of the weaker dances of the night. Chrishell’s posture was not strong at all. And in a dance like the tango, that is so important. She also seems to be a bit stiff. It wasn’t as much of a problem tonight, but it will be if Gleb doesn’t work on that with her. She is having a good though and I like that positive light that she radiates. Chrishell has tons of potential and I just hope Gleb actually tries this season and doesn’t check out like he typically does when he has to really work.

Vernon and Peta- Foxtrot (Score=17)- First of all, Vernon has such a pretty smile. As for the dance, it was really good. Like Derek said, he needs to pay more attention to his arms. They kinda were just there. I also feel like he can let go some more and just really go for it. I’m not gonna harp too much on that because it was the first week and everybody is nervous. But it is something I noticed and it might be his biggest obstacle moving forward.

Anne and Keo- Cha-cha (Score=18)- This was the first shock of the season for me. I was intrigued by Anne mostly because she seemed like such a wild card in the preseason. People were underestimating her but as time went on, I started to feel like she might actually be a decent dancer. And tonight, she was way better than I expected. She was on time and her technique was really crisp and precise. And she was just so much fun! I do believe that she needs to loosen up a little more and get those hips moving. But otherwise, this is definitely a couple to watch out for. They have the ability to go all the way for sure.

Jeannie and Brandon- Salsa (Score=18)- Brandon looked really good in that lime green. That color really complements his skin tone. Okay so Jeannie was better than I expected too. Y’all know I love when people are real grounded in Latin dances (not the jive). There’s a different kind of power that you have when you drive through the floor versus dancing on top of the floor (I’ll get to that a little later). And Jeannie was really driving through the floor. There were some chaotic moments where things almost went awry. But it’s easier to rein in excess energy than it is to try and pull more energy out of someone. I think this dance could have gotten at least one 7, but an 18 is still good.

Jesse and Sharna- Quickstep (Score=18)- This dance was slightly overscored. It was good, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think it was in the same league as the other 18s. His shoulders were too high and his movements were a little stiff and jerky. However, I was impressed with his timing and his partnering skills. That will come in handy as the weeks go on.

Skai and Alan- Tango (Score=21)- Super Bass for a tango is awful. I was talking with @forevertrueblue and we talked about how this would be a great song for a freestyle. Not a tango. Now that that’s out the way, this was the second surprise for me. Now I know you may be asking why. Well, I’ll tell you. I typically don’t think of Disney kids to be as technically sound as Skai was. That was the technique that I expect from a gymnast. I saw shades of Simone Biles/Shawn Johnson/Nastia Liukin in that dance. That split and her lines, especially with her legs, were gorgeous. Now I agree with both Derek and CAI here. Skai’s legs weren’t as bent as they needed to be. However, considering the height difference (I knew it would be a problem), I understood that for this week, something had to give to make it work until they find a way to keep the technique and still have Skai reach Alan. 

Kaitlyn and Artem- Cha-cha (Score=20)- So remember how I was talking about the difference between dancing on top of the floor and dancing through the floor? Yeah, this was what I meant by dancing on top of it. What Kaitlyn did was good. But it left me wanting more. She dances very pretty just like Hannah and Melissa Rycroft (why is this a Bachelorette thing). But it’s just soft and not impactful.

Nev and Jenna- Foxtrot (Score=20)- Okay. So this dance was actually pretty good. Nev was awkward, but just the right amount of awkward that made it charming. He is definitely a competent dancer and might be the dark horse this season. As Derek said, he stuck his butt so far out that I’m surprised that he wasn’t lagging behind the music. That definitely needs to be tucked back under. With all of that said, I’m nervous for how his Latin dances are going to look. He strikes me as someone who is great at ballroom and very meh with Latin. He might surprise me again though, so who knows.

Johnny and Britt- Cha-cha (Score=18)- I am so glad that Britt is a pro this season and that she lucked out and got Johnny. I’m thinking this will be a great season for them. Now while I do think this dance was underscored by 2 points, I also saw some issues. Johnny did get in his head once the actual cha cha started. You could tell by the difference in how he attacked the moves at the beginning versus the middle and end. He was a little more hesitant. Also, there were a few times that Johnny’s legs got too far away from him. It didn’t really hinder him, but it was something I noticed. It might be a habit from figure skating.

Justina and Sasha- Cha-cha (Score=21)- You all were right to hype up Justina the way that you did. She was amazing. The energy was high, she had really great technique and she was just so much fun.

Charles and Emma- Salsa (Score=12)- Whew. Okay so first Charles had fun. At least we can say that and that he looks like he wants to be there. He also did a great job with the lifts. Now the dance was a struggle. He got behind the music and his technique was just not good. I hope he can come back next week with a much better dance. I hope he gets a ballroom dance like a foxtrot.

Monica and Val- Foxtrot (Score=19)- This was a very pretty dance. As the music swelled, she got better and more comfortable. Her turns need some more work and I would like for her hands to pay more attention to her hands and making sure the energy continues through them for the whole dance. With that said, I think Monica is in an interesting spot. I liked her dance and I think she’s a pretty good dancer. I think she’s going to start getting lost in the shuffle as the weeks go on if Val doesn’t take it up a notch. I think she’s safe for now. B weeks 3, 4 and 5 could spell trouble. I especially think this because we are for sure going to have at least 2 double eliminations and that’s what dancers like Monica tend to get swept up in.

Nelly and Daniella- Salsa (Score=16)- I really liked this dance. I actually thought Nelly was not going to embrace the experience as much as he should. And on top of that, I was thinking he was just going to be too scared to move and maybe look ridiculous. But he really embraced it. And I’m happy about that. The shoes definitely got in the way and made his footwork more clunky than they would have been. But I honestly feel like that was probably a creative choice and not Nelly pulling a Master P. He can dance and his technique was decent. My one critique, besides the shoes, is that he throws his arms away. But otherwise, it was a competent dance and I was shocked by that backflip. Also hate that they used this song for a salsa.

Carole and Pasha- Paso Doble (Score=11)- Ummm. Well this was hard to watch. Everything from the package, to the dance, to her non-interaction with Tyra was cringeworthy. But at least she had fun.

So that’s it. Derek was a great addition to the judges’ table. Tyra was nowhere near as bad as people were expecting her to be. This is a pretty good group of celebs. And with the year that 2020 has been, I think everyone just wants to have a good time. I don’t really see egos or anything this time around. As for next week’s elimination, I think Charles, Monica, Carole and Chrishell need to be worried. With that said, let me know your thoughts and I will talk to you all soon!

[cloudbattrolls]

The Tithe

TW: bugs, worms, mild body horror (nothing heavily described).

Wasps buzzed along the winding rock path.

A solitary figure trudged along it, surrounded on both sides by thick clouds of yellow and black. The insects darted among the yarrow and monkshood, the bluebells and sego lilies, antennae and eyes alert as a stranger to their land passed by.

Nestled in a valley between two peaks, the path led to a town so old it was almost part of the land itself. All its signs were weathered and worn with sun and rain, replaced only when they began to crumble.

The traveler paid the fluttering wasps no mind. They didn’t see the few white ones hidden among the yellow, black, and gold. The white ones saw them instead, faceted gazes following them without pause. These few creatures waited, buzzing among the flowers that braved the growing alpine chill.

The traveler looked over the town before they walked down into it - even the buildings were shaped like wasp nests, roundish wooden structures with hexagonal windows. 

Someone certainly had picked a theme and run with it. Maybe the place belonged to some wacky entomologist. 

People in the town spoke with accents the traveler hadn’t ever heard, and they had traveled quite a while. The townsfolk said it was because few of them ever left. They never felt the need; they were well taken care of, anything they could want brought to them.

By who? The traveler asked.

The people only smiled. Stay, and you’ll meet her, they assured them.

Golden wasps adorned the doors, gleaming under the light of old-fashioned street lamps. The traveler didn’t ask, hoping to figure it out themself. It was more fun that way. Perhaps this caretaker kept the living ones to defend the place from the rest of the world.

Everyone in town always seemed to have as much food and comforts as they wanted, lacking for very little. Everyone seemed to have someone for company, and as much as they needed without excess. No trash blew in the wind, no houses were abandoned. 

Everyone wouldn’t answer any further questions about their caretaker. It was waved away with a smile, with an indifferent shrug. She’d come eventually. End of the month at the latest. No rush.

The traveler was pretty sure something really weird was going on by this point, because they weren’t a complete idiot. 

They also felt bad after discreetly drinking blood from a lot of these people (it wasn’t like there was anyone else for miles, and they preferred that to going feral from hunger, thanks). It would be nice to maybe see if there was anything they could do in return for using them as snacks (assuming they weren’t all in some kind of evil bug cult).

If everyone turned out to be too cuckoo to bother with, well, they could always leave.

So, what do you folks most enjoy?

They’d asked one night, feet up on the table. They leaned back in their chair, arms bent and hands cupped behind their head.

Getting piss drunk, one man had said. Another person elbowed him, and a few people laughed. Then a young woman piped up, fingers running over a beautiful amber necklace she wore.

It’s always nice after the tithe. We celebrate, and she brings us presents. It’s a little festival.

A few older townsfolk sighed at that.

It’s not about presents! One scolded. Yes, she’s very kind about it, but it’s our most important duty. 

Yeah, yeah, grumbled the young woman good-naturedly. You see how righteous you are when she brings your new stuff.

Their ears pricked, the traveler said nothing, hoping to hear more about the tithe. But no one spoke of it further, the conversation turning to other things.

Well, that didn’t bode well, yet they were morbidly curious to see how this would all play out. 

There was a big fountain in the center of town (guess what lived there? More wasps) that they liked to sit on the benches near and work on repairing or designing clothing at. They’d mended some things for the people who kindly let them stay, baffling in of itself that they were so trusting. How did they survive, honestly.

When a fleet recruiter came to town trying to drum up soldiers and did not even get to open his mouth a second time before wasps ate him alive, shedding a bit of light on that particular question.

The bones were picked clean so white there wasn’t a scrap of meat left, collected by townspeople who acted as if they were merely picking up some trash blown in the wind. Townspeople who merely shrugged and rolled their eyes as if it was all quite routine. 

Which left the traveler with a fairly obvious question: why hadn’t they been attacked?

Not that they could bleed, of course, their skin and outer appearance a facade for their parasitic insides. Did the predatory wasps recognize something they couldn’t eat, and thus let them pass? Were they intelligent enough to be security guards? They certainly didn’t seem to harm the locals.

Though they certainly followed them everywhere. No one walked without a wasp or two trailing them, and they’d seen them crawling in the buildings. No one ever commented on this. Flowers grew in abundance, treated reverently, and people polished their little door wasps as reverently as if they were being paid to do it. 

Okay, so the town was there to serve the wasps, probably. But why? Who put them here, what were they protecting? Was there something worse than them around, demanding some sort of tribute for their services in the form of this ‘tithe’? That’d be depressing. On the upside, the ensuing fight would be fun and guilt-free.

It was a cool, brisk night with the starlight sparkling off the fountain stone when the whole town gathered around it.

Only the stone. The water had been drained.

The traveler was really not looking forward to what that meant or why everyone was holding a small knife engraved with a wasp in their hands, looking eager.

Hey, so, what happens for the tithe? They said, trying to sound casual and like they didn’t have a loaded gun, smoke bombs, and explosives hidden in case they needed them.

You’ll see. It’s such a small thing, really, our way to give back to her.

Her. Doesn’t she have a name?

She’ll introduce herself when she comes. She’s very nice. 

The traveler was placing their bets on just who and what she was when people started slitting their arms and bleeding into the fountain, blithely lining up and walking away when done, chattering about nothing in the meantime.

One by one by one.

One by one by one.

Even as a parasitic blood drinker, the traveler was alarmed as the fountain filled with drops from obediently slit veins, bandaged up afterward by those who had already gone, or were waiting. 

Why did they do this willingly? What could possibly make this worth it?

It had to be another vampire; they hissed in anger at the thought. Definitely worth fighting, at least. If they could kill them, even better - one less was better for everyone, and this one was clearly far worse than they were.

This tempting smell was almost overwhelming despite their own feeds -

Oh god. Had they weakened their victims too much to bear the cost of the tithe? Out to lunch as these people might be, the traveler didn’t want them dead. They’d probably been brainwashed their whole lives.

One fell over and was caught by their fellows. Another fell as well. A third.

The traveler felt a tug of guilt at their writhing insides, no matter how useless and contradictory that feeling was. There was no changing what they were, and they’d had no idea this was coming.

The blood in the fountain steadily rose, lapping and staining the fountain’s edges, and a hot wind cut through the cold air.

A low buzzing surrounded the gathering as the last local made their cut.

Everyone fell silent, and every person that could turned and bowed.

The traveler crossed their arms, annoyed.

A woman stepped up to the edge of the crowd, who parted for her like water, moving back from the stranger in their midst so that they stood alone. She wore an old scuffed hat in the style of a cowherd. Her long legs were half-covered by boots with silver spurs, a poncho over her shoulders and dust on her worn jeans. 

Her eyes were covered by a faded tan bandanna, but she seemed to stare straight at them as she put her hands on her hips.

“I see you’ve been swipin’ at my supply, sugar cube. That’s just plum rude. How would you feel if I did that to you?”

They threw a smoke bomb at her and went for her throat. If they could just -

Wasps covered them mid-leap, stingers poised around every inch of their body, a great buzzing prison surrounding everything but their face.

The woman waved her hand, and more wasps came to fan the smoke away with their wings.

“I don’t need to see you, honey. I can feel you. I’ve felt you since you rolled in here, and I know something ain’t right. Something’s different about you, even for your kind.”

The traveler snarled, as they'd about had it with all this idiocy.

“Face me like an adult and stop hiding behind your pets.”

The smoke fully cleared, and the woman stood with hands on her hips, smiling.

She opened her mouth and white wasps poured out.

The traveler stared.

“No.” They whispered. “No. It can’t be.”

All throughout the shell of their body, their own white worms shuddered. They had always thought - always hoped - they were the only one of their particular type of blood drinker. The only thing of such wretchedness in the entire world. 

Bugger to that, apparently. 

They watched, immobilized, as the woman’s swarm flew to the blood-filled fountain, drinking much of it, but not all. After they went back into the woman, townspeople came and collected the rest, reverently placing it in refrigerated coolers.

The traveler looked at their fellow monster.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Rhyssa. Now who are you?”

“Tuuya.”

“Well, Tuuya, how’re you gonna pay me back for that blood you nabbed? Don’t be a pill, we can still settle this proper like gentlefolk. Hell, I’ll even let you stay for the festival! It don’t gotta be like this.”

The vampire stared, still suspended by the buzzing swarm. 

“How are you going to pay these people back for deceiving them into being your willing smoothies for their entire lives? I don’t owe you anything.”

Her face twisted into a scowl.

“Y’don’t get it. I take care of them. They’re my people, I protect them, Protect them from the likes of you.”

They rolled their eyes.

“Oh, how absolutely genial of you to - ”

All their limbs were ripped from their body at once and they screamed, worms flailing as they were exposed to the air without warning and stung by the pitiless insects. The squirming white invertebrates died by the dozens, helpless against the scourge. 

Then it stopped.

Nearly blind from pain, they looked up blearily to see Rhyssa putting her hands over her mouth, rigid in what they could only assume was shock.

“I’m - I’m so sorry - no, no, how can this - no, you’ve gotta be a fake - ”

Tuuya wasn’t in a state to do much more than groan.

The wasp drinker pulled on her long hair in agitation, walking up to them and kneeling down on the grass.

She whispered a word, a name they barely heard as their worms struggled to repair themselves from the onslaught. Hlayos. Who or what was that? It probably didn’t matter. They were going to die here, to some obnoxious wasp woman who didn’t have the right.

Then...they felt themself healing. The wasps crawled over their body, somehow mending the worms they’d stung, helping them regrow or fuse back together.

They saw more wasps healing those townsfolk who’d fallen from blood loss and injured themselves, but that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be. They had to be hallucinating from pain. Parasites couldn’t mend. Theirs couldn’t.

The townsfolk retreated, taking the coolers of blood with them. The yellow and black wasps departed as well, none left buzzing around the fountain. 

Its water began to flow again, washing away the stains. In the deep quiet broken only by the trickle of liquid, it was as if nothing had happened at all. 

The worm drinker couldn’t see the woman’s eyes behind the bandanna, but her shoulders shook as she held herself, rocking gently.

“It’s you. It’s really you...except...no. You died.”

Her words were empty nonsense. Tuuya waited until they healed further, their limbs re-attached as worms knitted together, and they pushed themself up.

They couldn’t fight her. They knew they had been spared for some reason beyond their comprehension, and didn’t feel like pushing it. Something about being ripped apart and stung repeatedly made a person a little tender. 

Rhyssa’s head tilted, seeming to look up at the other vampire.

“Don’t go.”

A quiet, desperate plea. Tuuya turned, ignoring it, walking away quickly before breaking into a run.

“Don’t go!”

A desperate cry, followed by a word they fled from, a word that spurred their strides into leaps, scrambling away in such desperation they nearly fell on the rocky path leading out of town and back down, as far away as they could get.

A single, terrifying word that couldn’t be true, but settled in their head and wouldn’t leave. It sunk into their every thought, dragging them down, tearing apart the truth of their life. 

A word that must have been what saved them, yet damned them in the same breath.

Sibling.

[llodblinky]

Chapter 3:

On his flight to Gridania, Llod takes note of the sights he's seeing on his way. The lush greenery is a nice change of pace at least, from the overbearing heat of Ul'dah. But no sightseeing until X'tolzia is back on both of her legs. Cirina mentioned the Archer Guild and her own parents would be of assistance. That's where he'll start.

The airship begins its descent. Once it lands Llod takes in the sights, noting how much more peaceful it feels with all the nature surrounding every inch. After he's had his fill, he hastens toward the Archers Guild to see if they can help locate the Rosillea. The herb needed to fix X'tolzia's disjointed aether.

Once he enters, he speaks with the Guild's secretary.

"Hello miss, I was looking for the guild leader. Is he by chance still here?" He inquires.

"Oh, hello there. Why he just left a little while ago, but I'm sure he'll be back soon. Off on a little errand with some trainees." She informs. "But perhaps his higher ranking disciples may be of assistance."

He informs her that he is a friend of Cirinas and that she knew someone who could help locate a rare herb.

"I see, I believe she may have meant Keryll. He is quite skilled at locating rare herbs and has a vast knowledge of our local flora and fauna!" She exclaims, with a bright warm smile. "One moment please."

Llod waits at the desk as she moves to the backroom to fetch Keryll. He twiddles with his thumbs as he waits, her return only a couple minutes later.

"And her is Keryll. Cirina and him work together often, so I'm sure he can be of assistance." She presents Keryll, assuming a gentle motherly aura.

"Ah Keryll, I hear your an expert of the local foliage around here." Llod states. "I request your help through advisement of Cirina to locate a specific herb." He folds his arms, stern in tone.

Keryll stunned at the request, looks a little to the side of Llod. A bit embarrassed.

"O-oh, Cirina mentioned my n-name? That I'd be of a-assistance?" He stutters a bit, shifting his arms about nervously.

"Aye, she said you'd be a great help."

Llod still stern in tone. Wondering why the lad is so nerve wracked over something this simple. He takes note of his gestures and little movements. He lacks confidence in something he excels at? That's a first for mine eyes.

"W-well...I do know much about our ecosystem. What is i-it you're looking for?" Keryll questions nervously.

Llod explains the situation and what had transpired recently. That an herb to repair his friend's aether is needed and it is located in Gridania. The herb is called Rosillea.

"I need to find some for her, please. Do you know where some is located?" Llod pleads.

Keryll rubs his neck, afraid to help the young warrior and his friend. With a long pause, Keryll speaks up.

"Okay. I know where some are. But i-it's a quite dangerous, I've never gone there w-without Cirina." He explains.

"I'll keep you safe, no need to worry about that chap!" Llod beams with confidence, even though now he is unsure if he can. Like with X, doubt creeps into the back of his mind.

Keryll nods, they gather some supplies and head the Kobold mines to the north of Gridania. Llod makes sure to note some of the sights, wishing to come back with X'tolzia for a bit once she is better. Once they reach the Northern Shroud, Keryll expertly leads Llod through the terrain and they come to a clearing with view of the mines. And Kobolds everywhere, no way is fighting on the way in an option. They would never reach the mine.

"We can sneak around to t-there, and there's a small cavern on the side we can s-sneak in f-from." Keryll's voice dropping a bit.

"Are you scared? And be honest." Llod asks with a firm tone.

Keryll shakes his head up and down a bit frantically. Llod gestures to him to stay behind him once they're inside. They go along the side against the rock wall, sticking to shadows and eventually get inside. The caverns are very dim with light, only enough to barely see.

"Our eyes will adjust, but im used to it. I'll guide your steps Llod." Keryll tells him. Grabbing his shoulder and whispering to him.

He explains some gestures he'll press into Llod's back while they move to signal stopping, going, turning, and dangers. Just like Cirina did when she brought him here his first time. Once Llod understands they continue deeper inside. Its not too far from where they came in at least. A couple of right turns and a left, they reach their destination.

"Oh d-drat, seems they plucked most of them. Hopefully a c-couple are enough for your doctor friend." He states with worry on his face.

"Should be enough, he didn't specify how many, but it didn't sound like much was needed either." He whispers, preserving a few and placing them into his sack.

As they turn around, they are surprised by a kobold priest, who sounds the alarm! Now the whole system knows about their presence. Llod quickly bashes it on the head to knock it out, and they hasten to their exit. But a large rumbling sends the shaft into a bit of a quake and collapses their exit. Now they have to fight their way out.

"Gods Damn it, so bloody close too! Stay with me Keryll, we gotta move fast before they trap us inside." Llod exclaims, Keryll nodding drawing his bow.

They fly through the first few sections, the kobolds still trying to pinpoint the intruders so only a few are taken out along the way. About halfway through they meet greater resistance but manage to get through with only scrapes and bruises. The Kobolds erratic fighting and careless abandon, even hurling their bodies at the duo, making close quarters combat difficult.

They are able to make it to the larger, front door, entrance but their way to the outside is impeded by a much, much larger kobold. Measuring roughly ten times the size of a regular one, perhaps a rare gene it was born with. No matter, they have to get through it one way or the other. The trailing Kobolds gather behind the two and they're now trapped inside with the outside ones blocking the exit as well.

"Simmar will pummel you!"

"Yes yes, Simmar strongest of us all!"

"Simmar crush you good!"

The Kobolds yell excessively, Simmar, the giant Kobold standing over them, must needs be defeated if they hope to escape.

"Okay Keryll, just stay back while I keep hi-"

Before he can complete his sentence, Llod is sent into the wall by Simmers large club. Rather fast given his size and strength to match. Keryll standing there, in complete shock, and now frozen in place as Simmar turns to him. Llod gets to his feet quickly, thankful his armor held.

"-his attention." He wipes blood from his mouth, thinking he'll need a doctor's visit now. Looking up and seeing Simmar staring Keryll down.

Keryll whimpers in fear, unable to move or speak. Simmar takes a quick step, winds his arm back, and brings it down atop Keryll.

Clang!

Llod barely makes it in time to block it with his shield.

"Keryll! Back!" He yells, breaking the archer out of his trance and obeying the order.

As he retreats he lets loose a volley of arrows but they do little to waver the brutish kobold. Llod gathers his strength and pushes Simmar back with enough force to allow some breathing room. Then makes his own move and slides past Simmars swing and slices at his leg and arm, to no avail. Llod takes note of the broken arrows, coming to the conclusion his skin is too thick to pierce.

"There has to be a weak area on his body somewhere." Noting his eyes are vulnerable to Keryll's arrows at least.

Maybe we can blind him, and cause him to fall over? He thinks to himself, as Simmar does a 180° spin and swinging his club with great force. Llod avoids it sliding between Simmar's legs, the club hitting the rock wall. But Llod is grabbed soon after by Simmar's free hand, tossed up into the air, and smashed back to the ground by his fist! It causes Llod to lose his breath, and he's gasping for air. As Simmar winds up to crush Llod, he yells with what breath he can gather.

"Eyes....go...for the eyes!" A weakened and desperate Llod blurts out.

Keryll hears his words, but is frozen with fear. Just like always, he always freezes when it matters most. He can't break free, he closes his eyes, shaking. Llod slowly turns back to Simmar winding his club. Still struggling to breathe, yells out during what may be his last moment of life.

"KERYLL!!...."

He snaps to, taking in the scene in front of him for a second. Takes a deep breath, and its as if time slows to a crawl. The brutish kobold's club begins its descent aiming to crush Llod to a bloody pulp. His eyes grow wide and his thoughts go immediately to X, how he failed her.

CRASH!!

Simmers weapon slams the ground right next to Llod, he looks up and hears a hellish roar of pain. The giant's eye was pierced by an arrow, Keryll! He gets to his feet and looks back toward his compatriot, who sighs with relief and simply smiles at Llod.

"Its not over, we have to knock him down!" Keryll orders, taking command of the situation.

Llod nods and moves for Simmers ankles to impair his movement. Slicing them from behind as Keryll makes quick work nocking explosive arrows and launching them at the ceiling. Causing some of the rubble to land atop Simmar, also losing grasp of his weapon. He attempts to get back into his feet, but Llod, after charging light energy into his shield, lunges shield first into Simmars back. Crippling the beast, as it writhes in pain on the floor.

Llod goes to put an end to his life, but Keryll stops him, motioning to the other Kobolds who are watching in horror.

"Simmar lose....that...cant"

"He strongest of us all...we can't survive if he gone"

"Not Simmar...please spare him"

"No......no..."

Llod brings his sword up high above his head, Simmar staring up awaiting his demise. Only to watch Llod sheathe it.

"We have triumphed over your champion. We shall not slay him, so long as our path put remains clear!" He shouts toward the crowd, moving away from the cave entrance. So Llod and Keryll withdraw, as the Kobolds tend to the fallen giant Simmar.

After some time has passed they return to Gridania to report to the Archer's Guild that the mission was a success.

"Well that was quite an experience, Cirina'll be upset she missed it." Keryll jokes.

"True, but at least we got the herb right? Now I can head back to Ul'Dah and help get X'tolzia back on her feet." He smiles to himself.

Llod pats Keryll on the back in appreciation of his help.

"Couldnt have done it without ya though, thanks a lot Keryll. And hey, your stutter is gone I noticed." He says.

"Oh hey, it is haha. And no need to thank me, happy to h-help." He blushes for a moment. "W-well it WAS g-gone for a bit. Hahaha."

They laugh heartily, share a couple of drinks, and then depart. Llod heading to the airship back for Ul'Dah. Catching some sleep on the way, exhausted from the battling. Being woken up by one of the airship's attendants. A stern voice greets him.

"Sir, we have landed. Please exit the airship so the next boarding party may enter."

Still in a daze, he agrees and exits the airship. Once he shakes off the grogginess he heads straight for the doctor's, eager to see X. He's once again greeted by Jaynee.

"Oh Llod, you're back already? That was a qui-...h-hey!" She greets him, but he is making haste to Wodrick and X.

He bursts into X'tolzia's room where she, Cirina, and the doctor are casually talking. He's panting as he's been running since he got off the airship only to collapse onto one knee. The pains of his fighting finally taking their toll with the adrenaline fully worn off it seems. Wodrick and Jaynee, who just entered as Llod collapsed help him up. He holds up the preserved herbs that he was asked to retrieve for X's condition and everyone just looks in awe.

A tearful smile rushing over X'tolzia's face, Cirina cheering from her bed with a big grin. Wodrick and Jaynee sighing happily, the good doctor knowing Llod needs treatment and bed rest for the wounds he suffered. Amazed he made it back in that condition without rest.

"While I'm sure we're all glad you are back safe Llod, you could have gotten your injuries treated before your return." Wodrick states, scolding Llod.

"Sorry..doc. Wanted X to get these as soon as possible." He says, chuckling lightly.

They help him to a neighboring room so they can start treating him, and Wodrick begins making the concoction to fix X'tolzia's aether disruption. Once its done, she simply takes it, her hair and tail standing on end from the horrid taste. After some odd hours pass, she is able to use her leg again, but takes it slow as a few days bed rest and not using it still left a limp feeling. Cirina is up and at em too, dancing and stretching to get limbered up again as if its been ages.

Llod however, is locked to best rest and Jaynee is making sure he stays put. Everyone comes in to check on him and to wish him a swift recovery. He nods as he dozes off to sleep, Wodrick bringing the lot in tow. X gestures to have one minute more by his side, and as she was the one he risked life and limb he allows it.

X'tolzia stands next to Llod at his bedside, smiling at him. His battered body telling her what he had gone through, the bruises showing her just how committed he was to aiding her. She becomes saddened by this, shedding a couple of tears, resolving to never make him have to go through such pain again. He could have lost his life, all for me...you idiot. You really care for me that much? As she contemplates this, she leans in closer to him, and plants a kiss on his cheek. As she heads to leave, she turns back and makes him a promise.

"Thank you Llod, so much.....I promise to live up to your kindness. To make your efforts worthwhile." She whispers.

Then X leaves the room, rejoining her sister as they head for the nearby inn to rest for the night.

[etheralisi]

ᵀᴼ ᶠᴼᴿᴳᴵᵛᴱ ᴬᴺᴰ ᶠᴼᴿᴳᴱᵀ

In which Bakugou Katsuki gets hit with an amnesia quirk and has some regrets. Namely getting hit in the first place.  

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟸: 𝙳𝚎𝚔𝚞 𝚅𝚂 𝙺𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛

 Ao3

𝟷 ᴅᴀʏ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ

 Beep. Beep. Beep.

 There’s nothing more ironic than forgetting you’ve forgotten, but in this moment, Katsuki operates on autopilot, flinging out an arm to grab for his phone on the shelf above. A groan as he blinks his eyes open, bleary vision trying to focus on the bright light hovering near an inch from his face.

 As the screen sets in, so do his memories, or rather, the distinct lack of their presence, empty if not for the fleeting few he’s made from the day prior. Recovery Girl, Kirishima, the study group, it all comes back as his dreams slip away, sand through his fingers, entering the waking world with the slightest residue dissatisfaction from whatever his brain whipped up as a concoction.

 He silences the phone alarm, labelled as something about a morning run for a certain amount of time or whatever, and stares at the numbers on display. New dose of information, normal him’s an early bird, early rising, early sleeping (early sleep according to Kirishima, anyhow).

 This then begs the question, does he go through with his regular schedule or wait things out by killing time with introspection? The latter sounds downright foolhardy, even boring, so it’s a no brainer that he finds himself prepping for the morning run, flinging on clothes that look vaguely work out related (maybe), and heading out. There’s no reason to stick a pin in a regular routine, besides, his inner optimist hopes that if he tries going back to his old lifestyle, he may actually reclaim some of those memories lost.

 (That part of him is pummeled into oblivion, shamed by his inner realist with a glare.  The jog does nothing in that respect.)

 What it does accomplish is the will of his past self. That guy’s right. Run. Running is good. He’s got the barest bones of a mental map for the area, merely skeletal, but better than what he had, discovering that it’s a large site and a pretty one at that. He’s even gotten a glimpse of sakura trees far out, and though he never ran through them, the pink hues looked beautiful on the horizon, the flurry of petals tinted orange through the morning glow. 

 When he arrives back at the dorms, he may go as far as saying that that run had been, well for lack of a better term, relaxing. The soothing ambience of a morning just does that to a person. Katsuki’s worries can be almost discounted as nonexistent, a pure oblivious bliss that shatters the very second he steps back into the common room, all sweaty and smelling for all the world like a caramelised apple. Is sweat even meant to smell like this?

 There’s a couple of faces he recognises, accompanying those that he doesn’t, all busy going about their morning rituals (some of which involving excessive caffeine intake) as they trickle in, states ranging from bedraggled zombie to chipper morning person. Amongst those is a face he’s been acquainted with the most — for better or for worse — shark teeth sporting his trademark grin when he notices Katsuki from over the counter.

 With those faint bruise-like circles shadowing Kirishima’s eyebags, it occurs to Katsuki that maybe he’s woken up specifically this time just for him and this is by no means a regular occurance. Like he’s become some kind of self-proclaimed guide to him for all things Katsuki Bakugou. He’ll roll with it.

 “Coffee?” Kirishima asks as he raises up a kettle. Katsuki’s never tried the beverage before, but there’s no time like the present so he accepts the offer with a nod, sidling up next to him and pulling up a mug for himself.

 As Kirishima pours the boiling liquid, Katsuki deems in appropriate to bite the bullet and start asking questions he’d rather be asking now than later, and if this guy really is his self-dubbed guide, gluing himself to his side like a permanent fixture, there’s no better person to ask. 

 Beating around the bush just sounds pointless.

 “Hey, how’s today looking?” He’s yet to receive a schedule and, like with the run, there’s got to be other things to fill the day. One such thing being school, because they’re not rooming at Yuuei just for the sake of it. Things to learn, places to be.

 “Okay, so you’ve got Tsu over there.” Kirishima waves over at a girl bearing a lot of resemblance to a frog, overseeing a frying pan with a keen eye on the sizzling yolk within. “And Satou both making natto and fried egg on rice for breakfast. Satou’s been under the tutelage of Lunch Rush-Sensei lately, think he’s been trying out new ground? Speaking of, Sensei’s food’ll be delivered over soon, so you’re free to have that instead.” Upon realising Katsuki was asking about the wider picture, Kirishima adds, “Of course you’ve got classes after this, lunch, more classes and then our day’s free from there!”

 So they are going to lessons today. Nice to know.

 “So it’s true, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, coming away from the pan as Satou takes ahold of it. Speaking of. “You’ve lost your memories.”

 “Yeah, don’t remember you. Sorry.” He’s said this before, hasn’t he?

 Kirishima ruffles Katsuki’s hair with a laugh. “S’got nothing up there now — what the, your hair’s so soft. I assumed it’d be all covered in hair gel? How?” 

 “Thanks? I think?” Katsuki’s eyes roam to the top of his peripheral where Kirishima’s hand runs through his hair, longer than the average hair ruffle should be in his book (again, he’s not in any position to say from experience). “Is this normal?”

 “Nah, but you’ve gotta tell me what you use. My hair takes work, y’know. These spikes come from blood, sweat and tears.”

 “And red dye, ribbit ribbit,” Tsuyu adds on, to Kirishima’s horror. He deflates, and Katsuki swears even his hair sags with him, just as disheartened as his face.

 “Wha— who told you my trade secret? Who else knows?” 

 Tsuyu blinks, slow. The kind of gaze she used on the eggs. “It’s a secret?”

 “Yes!”

 “Tsu!” Calls a classmate — presumably this Satou character — just when things may get messy for both the food and the conversation, “A little help please? I’m more suited to baking.”

 “Coming!” Tsuyu hops on back to her work station whilst the pair of them get set up with their coffee. Katsuki swats away the need to get in there and do things himself. Cooking is a foreign jungle he’s yet to explore.

 This atmosphere. It’s… nice.

 ————-

 After showering and changing with minimal unintentional hand explosions — because he doesn’t care what Kirishima says he smells like, he’s still sweaty — he’s heading back down again to enjoy the first meal of the day, only spending five or so minutes looking for a tie that may or may not exist and deeming the search a waste of time.

 He’s not eaten since, well, he doesn’t know.

 It tastes as good as it smells, which is pretty damn good (though Satou insists it’s mainly Tsuyu’s work) and it’s just as he’s finishing up polishing off his plate that he meets him, late down having received a case of faulty wake up alarm. 

 So far, re-meeting his classmates has been going alright. Sure, there’s been looks ranging from giggles and snickers, to concerned and downright confused, or the near impassive look of the infamous Todoroki along the way. But for the most part, he’s taking this in stride. They’re being nice to him, making him as welcome as possible in their efforts, and doing their best to keep things normal in a way he’s thankful for.

 “Oh that?” Kirishima starts when he asks, “That’s Midoriya Izuku, you’re childhood friends.” Then this look crosses his friend’s face as he adds, “I mean, you and I are close, man. But you and him? You’ve got history.” 

 It explains the inexplicable tugging force at work towards him. What the mind forgets, the heart remembers.

 Kirishima pats Katsuki on the back and pulls him over to the boy, all green eyes and a smattering of freckles, cherubic features surrounded by forestfulls of hair. This Izuku’s looking over at them quizzically, and by the rate his mouth is moving at, Katsuki will hazard a guess that he’s mumbling very, very quickly. You think the speed of light’s fast? Got nothing on this kid right here.

 (Nobody notices how the tips of Katsuki’s ears dust themselves in the faintest of pinks, layer opacity five percent at best. Something inside of him flutters. He dismisses it immediately.)

 “Yo Midoriya, what’s up?” Kirishima startles the boy from his spewing of thoughts, the mumbling ceasing as Kirishima makes for conversation. 

 “Oh, hi Kirishima, Kacchan… you’re uh, in a good mood?” He’s a little hesitant, curious, eyes flitting across his face in a calculating manner. It’s nothing of the malicious sort, merely discombobulated, as if he’s being presented with an alien situation and doesn’t know quite how to react, keeping on guard until he can discern an appropriate course of action.

 Katsuki startles as the word ‘Kacchan’ passes his lips, riding sky high on a rollercoaster to cloud nine and simply not coming back down. Kirishima really wasn’t kidding about the childhood friends thing, and, even in this day and age, the cutesy nicknames stay.

 Huh.

 “Kacchan?” Katsuki repeats, his words sounding distant, like he’s underwater. The green boy stills. “You call me Kacchan?”

 There’s a pause. “Whaa- uh...Yes?” Izuku blinks before whirling to face Kirishima, eyes swimming with unanswered questions which absolutely no one can answer until he voices them. Despite this confusion, his next words come out surprisingly firm, commanding even. “What’s going on?”

 As Kirishima gives him a rundown on the situation, something he’s been saved from when it came to the majority of classmates (gossip spreads far, so Katsuki’s learned), Izuku pales considerably, skin subtly turning a sickly pallor, his freckles only becoming ever more prominent like the seeds of an unripe strawberry. A ghost may as well be choosing this moment to walk on in and announce its presence, Izuku sure looks as if he’s seen one.

 But perhaps the only ghost here is Katsuki. Isn’t he but a hollow shell of who he once was? Who is he, really, without those memories? Without his core identity?

 Who is he?

 The boy chokes, mouth opening and closing, catching flies as an accusatory finger is raised at a wobbly snail’s pace. He’s stuck like that before he starts running his mouth with questions, topping at the list of ‘most dramatic reactions yet’ with a grand whopping total of a thousand points. That’s got to be a record. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He hisses, and hasn’t Yaoyorozu said something along those lines? “You can’t just- this is a bad idea. Okay? And I mean a bad one.”

 Katsuki’s lost, probably somewhere in between bad and idea, but Kirishima remains at ease, laid back from attitude to posture and spewing stuff like “relax” and “everything’ll be fine”. Yeah, he’s missing something big here, stepping on into a conversation part way through like he’s intruding and not meant to actually be present. 

 But he’s got to try saying something. He’s got this growing feeling he’s being ignored. 

 “So childhood friends, yeah?” And that catches Izuku’s attention, like a moth to a flame, caught somewhere in the middle of freaking out in front of Kirishima and trying to give a justifiable conclusion for it. “Great that someone here’s known me for so long, there’s gotta be a load of stories stored up there! ‘Cuz that’ll help with getting my memories back.” Then he adds on, “I’m glad you’re here Izuchan!”

 The word weighs heavy on his tongue, bitter, tangy, like something he is unpracticed in saying. It feels off... somehow, but when he tries to pull up something to justify it, he’s hit with the empty feeling of blank memory banks, a canvas of white when there ought to be colour. He moves on nothing but emotion and muscle memory, the only things keeping him going when there’s little else to guide him.

 And apparently that emotional drive is not helpful in the slightest.

 Somehow — and he doesn’t know how — this only succeeds in making things worse. If this guy’s lucky, he’ll live until he’s fifty because he’s pretty sure he’s shaved exactly that amount of years off his life.

 Oops?

 (“He’s.... smiling…. at me,” Izuku says slowly once Katsuki is out of earshot, straining to push the words out, the subject hard to grasp. The few left to witness the whole conversation send him some sympathetic looks.)

 (Just. What?)

 _____

 Excluding the odd encounter with the green boy, the morning’s smooth sailing, with a few road bumps along the way (read: Izuchan and other stories). Lessons? Not so much. 

 Just like the dorms, the label for their classroom can’t possibly be bigger. And even if he, for some unfathomable reason, found himself unable to follow the flow of his classmates as they meander their collective way to lessons, locating the room would be childsplay, you know, after finding the correct floor. 

 Yuuei sure likes its flashy titles.

 He finds his seat (thanks Kirishima) and instinctually slings his feet up on the desk like a sack of potatoes, a natural reaction that refuses to leave even during memory loss’ hold. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it either until that glasses guy — what’s his name again? Begins with ‘I’ and ends with ‘don’t remember’ — comes up, hands chopping at the air with a mind of their own like he’s cutting invisible vegetables, and calls him out on it, using examples of property damage to fuel his point. Katsuki hastily backpedals, sinking into his seat as he returns his feet right back to where they should be. On the ground. The traitors.

 Katsuki doesn’t know what came over him, he swears. Can testify this in court. But he settles with apologising which gets the glasses guy to halt, then nod in approval, like the class’ proud parent.

 (Or class rep, as it dawns on him later. Funny how these things come to you late.)

 Then chatter tapers off into muttering as in walks a guy who looks like he’s stared death in the face and remains wholly unimpressed. Their homeroom teacher in all his glory, one of the many pro heroes here because right, that’s what they’re training to be.

 Apparently, even pro heroes need to learn the mandatory normal school stuff.

 Katsuki, more often than not, finds himself staring at the board rather than his notes, the creeping unease rising about jumping in mid topic, the deep end of the pool when he’s only dipped his toes in the shallow end. He doesn’t remember what he’s being told he should know, and when he flicks back to his notes, everything his past self has written feels foreign. This whole experience, it’s like he’s being shoved into the life of someone else, someone who looks so much like him, but he can’t even begin to recall. It’s all so... foreign. Someone else’s shoes he can’t possibly fill, not for lack of trying.

 Katsuki wants to push himself to do better, but he’s tailing the others. He’s floundering when they’re already so far ahead, and try as he might, despite wanting to resist this metaphorical speed bump and not let it get the better of him, it inevitably does.

 It must show because he can feel the concerned eyes of Izuku prickling on his neck. It realligns him with reality and he gets back to note taking.

 For now, it’s all he can do.

 He won’t let himself fall behind. He won’t.

 ----------------

 There are many peculiarities at Yuuei.

 And this is one of them.

 One minute Aizawa-Sensei is there, doing that thing teachers do, standing in front of the class and talking about something that is undoubtedly important in their studies. The next, he’s out cold and dead to the world (in a manner of speaking, their teacher hasn’t just kicked the bucket from the stress of teaching them, afterall). Was that teacher seriously just taking a nap in class? Looking, for all his worth, like a human caterpillar, lying flat and ready for metamorphosis. Katsuki idly wonders about the entry requirements for working as a teacher at Yuuei, or if this sleeping correlates with his quirk in any way shape or form.

 The classmates are all unperturbed by the development, seemingly a common occurrence they’d grown used to, as normal as a blue sky, or Iida reminding him to take his feet off the desk. If it doesn’t bother them, then it shouldn’t bother old him either. He keeps his trap shut as they finish up with his lesson plan.

 They’re training to be heroes. They’ve known weirder.

 ------------

 By the time lunch swings around, he’s only filled up about half as many book pages as he would on a regular day. But. Katsuki’s trying. It may not mean much, but it’s all he can say, and for the meantime, before all his memories come back and shit makes sense, it will just have to do. 

 Whilst he may be stumped when it comes to his education, his taste buds aren’t having the same problem.

 “Aaand you’re still eating that.” Kirishima grimaces with his eyes locked on Katsuki’s lunch. He really doesn’t understand where that look’s coming from, this spicy stuff is great. “Your taste buds really haven’t changed.”

 “It’s a memory quirk,” Katsuki points out, as if this information isn���t obvious at this point. Apparently he holds more brain cells than them, and he’s the one with memory troubles. Talk about the irony.

 “True, true,” Ashido nods along from where her head rests propped up by her elbows, “Soooo, what do you think of- whaa- Sero! My drink’s spilling.”

 “Maybe if you stopped using my elbow as a cupholder,” Sero insists from his seat next to her, said drink only spilling more until Ashido scoops it up, “There’s a table. Right there. Instead of my elbows.”

 “Just using my resources!” She says like the innocent flower she’s not, then looks down disappointedly at her cup “Aww, I’m going to have to get a refill.”

 “Or you can have some of mine? I don’t mind,” Katsuki offers, but at her slightly taken aback look, he almost considers retracting the offer. Then the smile’s back in place like it never left, though a little softer.

 Another thing he’s releasing. Smiles aren’t exclusive to Kirishima. They’re all chronic grinners here, one way or another, like it’s something contagious. 

 His other self sure must be something if this lot’s hanging out with him. They’re nice. Chaotic, but nice.

 “Oooh,” Ashido continues, reaching out wiggling fingers across the table, “Don’t mind if I do…”

 “You...may want to... reconsider,” A voice chokes from beside him, in between wheezes as he struggles for breaths. They jolt at Kaminari’s appearance, all red in the face like he’s run a marathon with no breaks, and then some. “This stuff’s just as spicy as his food. What is this stuff? Eugh, hot.”

 Ashido backs away, slumping back in her seat. When she speaks, it doesn’t do the faintest thing to mask her amusement. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to steal other people’s drinks, then.”

 “He offered!”

 “To me. Ooo, speaking of drinks, you’re probably gonna need one before you die of spice.”

 When the pair arrive back, drinks in hand and Kaminari looking significantly less red in the face and not impersonating a dog panting after a long run, Ashido wastes no seconds in starting where she left off.

 “Anyway, as I was saying. What do you think of us Blasty? Come onn, admit it. We’re pretty great, right?”

 “Fishing for compliments?” Kirishima asks, “Unmanly, dude.”

 “No, no!” Kaminari protests, like if he doesn’t jump in now, he will forever be mournful of a lost opportunity, “This is good material. Let’s hear it.”

 Put on the spot like this with all eyes on him, Katsuki sees no other option than to comply. “I mean, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I just met you yesterday.” His eyes fall on Sero, who apparently chose yesterday of all nights to pack in up early with his study group session. “Today. Whatever. But if you’re asking then... yeah.” He meets their eyes with the utmost sincerity, a smile tugging at his lips, a hint of something small, honest. “You’re ‘pretty great’.”

 Katsuki doesn’t know what to say to the silence, wonders if he’s misspoken even if he can’t fathom how. He opens his mouth, makes a move to correct whatever muck up he’s got involved in, when it’s broken by Ashido’s squeal.

 “Oh get in here, you!” And suddenly there’s a blur of pink in his face, wrapping her arms around like a clingy limpet doing — oh, is this a hug? He goes ramrod rigid initially, but finds himself leaning in, a steadily rising of something warm and odd in his chest, fizzling and mushy and sending back up in that rollercoaster to the clouds once more.

 “Knew you always liked us!” Someone says from amongst the bundle, and that’s got to be Kirishima, he’s sure of it.

 “We’re doing a cuddle pile?” That’s distinctly Kaminari’s voice, though it sounds so, so far away, “Whilst eating? My food!”

 But he’s in on the pile in seconds, in favour of his lunch, adding to the tangly mess of limbs that’s surprisingly comfortable, even with all these odd angles they’re coming in at. They make a pretzel look simple, tangled wool look neat. Yet he’s content.

 “Wish I could remember you lot,” Katsuki says quiet enough to nearly go unnoticed, heck, he’s only half aware of saying it aloud. It’s true, he does. He’s a tourist in his own skin. He wants to remember all moments like this, the laughs, them.

 Their grip tightens before Ashido bails out, like a diver gasping for breath. “If it’s memories you want, then it’s memories you’ll receive. Let’s make some!”

  Sero looks as if this is the best idea he’s ever heard in the history of ideas, pumping his arm with a beat of enthusiasm as they untangle, “Yeah! Sure sounds like fun.”

 Kaminari wrinkles his nose. “Ehhh? But how? Didn’t they say it’ll be a week?”

 “At the most,” Kirishima adds, then returns to the topic at hand by shooting Ashido a confused stare, “What do you mean by that?”

 “Boys, boys,” She drawls, and you can see her eyes taking a roll on the dark abyss of her sclera, “I mean let’s do something fun as a squad. Make some memories! You in?”

 “Oh that?” Kaminari nods, then again with a tad more conviction, entertaining a thought that is steadily growing on him the more he mulls it over, “I mean we had to cut the last trip short, so why not head back? I’ve still got stuff to get.”

 Kirishima puts his foot down at that, not in the literal sense, but rather the ‘absolutely hecking not kind,’ wincing as if Kaminari’s words cause him physical pain with a whole bucket load of flashbacks to boot. “Dude, you saw what happened to Bakugou. Really? So soon?”

 Kaminari may not have, but he’s looking at Katsuki now, then Kirishima, brow creasing slightly but otherwise absolutely unphased. “There’s got to be a rule against villains not hitting the same place twice, right?”

 “That’s lightning. Lightning.”

 “Okay but, hear me out,” Kaminari continues like his words are spiritually enlightening and not the complete opposite, “We’re not that unlucky.”

 His words seem to register after a moment, gauging their looks, tense and silent, and his face falls, crestfallen. “Nah, you’re right. We are.”

 “We’re villain magnets.” Sero nods sagely.

 “Cursed,” Ashido agrees, then not two seconds later, “So, a film then?”

 “Yeah.”

 (Not for the first time does Katsuki find himself wondering just what he’s been through with this group of individuals. But it is a first when it comes to wanting to know how they’ve gone through the wringer too.)

 --------------

 Just as there is normal schooling of the academic kind, to get people’s brain cells in gear, there’s the hero part of their training for — as it so clearly states in the title — the hero course.

 And, being the heroes they are, they have the matching suits to go with. He picks his out and then frowns at the pieces as if they’ve done something to offend him by purely existing. It’s not like he’s unhappy with it — because he is, really well and truly is — but there’s something to be said for assembly. Once the flashy costume is on, you have gauntlets that weigh heavier than they look (which look heavy on their own, but these sure are something), and all those other fiddly attachments which are as good as useless when there’s no instruction manual to go with them. What’s he meant to do in the emergency case of amnesia then, huh? What then?

 With a sheepish look, he’s turning for Kirishima once more, only to find the place he once inhabited utterly devoid of any spiky redheads. Already out and on the field then, having beaten him to it. What he does see, however, is someone less on the red side and more on the green spectrum.

 Midoriya Izuku stands in the doorway, half awkwardly, with his nervous twitch and round uneasy eyes, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair like a sighing forest. He looks conflicted, caught in some internal debate of ‘should I or shouldn’t I.’ If he’s going to do anything other than pose by the door, Katsuki really hopes it’ll be sooner rather than later.

 Or not.

 Katsuki takes the leap, startling Izuku from all thoughts.

 “You don’t happen to know what’s going on with this costume, huh?” He doesn’t know how aware his classmate is of his costume, but unlike Katsuki he’s seen this thing in action. That’s a better start than he has.

 “Oh, of course!” And he’s not expecting that, he blinks, stupefied. This will save him some hassle for sure. 

 Then Izuku’s mumbling something about gauntlets, sweat, pins all the while pointing at each part individually, making this look like a rehearsed speech. He starts tinkering, picking up the parts and attaching them on all before Katsuki really knows what’s going on.

 “Oh, sorry!” Izuku startles, getting a hold of himself. He rips his hands away like someone upped the temperature of Katsuki’s suit to level five: fiery inferno. But there’s nothing wrong with the fabric and Izuku’s hands are yet to blister. “You don’t mind me helping you out like this, do you Kacchan?” 

 Izuku drops this like he’s thus far not finished already, way too late to the party to be asking a question such as that. Try a few moments earlier, perhaps? Still, help is help.

 “Nah, you’re good. Thanks Izuchan.”

 Izuku pulls a face, something caught between a wince and a flush at the reiteration of the name as he pulls away completely, hastily changing the subject, be it an equally important one.

 “Aizawa-Sensei paired us up for practice today,” Izuku explains, and now his awkward shuffle waiting is a whole lot clearer, or else he’s be in the field like Kirishima “I think it’s because of my notebooks I’ve got on using your quirk. He’s noticed that you may need…” He frowns. “Pointers?”

 Today’s task is simple training, or at least, it should be for those with actual experience doing this thing. Him? He’s got nada. Could’ve been born yesterday for all it matters. 

 There’s something to be said for muscle memory, so it isn’t as if he’s working from scratch, but it can only get you so far before lack of technique becomes a hindrance. Ever since last night, he’s been setting off sparks, occasionally and not all intentional, coming to grips with his quirk as it comes back to him like a well oiled bike. He’s far off where he probably was only a mere few days ago, hasn’t even had time yet to practice full attacks, but he can’t afford to be useless for when a real threat comes. 

 If he slacks off, even for just a day, there’s no way he can rise to the top. To be the best hero he can possibly be.

 He’s done this before, and maybe, with the assistance of Izuku’s olive branch, he can do this again.

 (Izuku pays attention to his quirk, his mind screams. There’s a notebook out there on… you.

 He doesn’t know how he feels about this.)

 “Sure,” Katsuki finds himself answering, tightening up those gauntlets and ready to give it his all, “I’d like that.”

 -------

 Izuku’s not going easy on him. Which is good. He doesn’t want that. His limits are there to be tested and tried, and if anyone thinks babying him just because of a slight case of memory loss is the way to go, then they can suck it.

 Besides, he’s not going to go easy on anyone either.

 In fact, he’ll be as bold as to say he’s getting the hang of this.

 “Of course you are!” Is Izuku’s response, like he never expected any less of him. Good.

 Along with encouragement straight from the heart, Izuku never giving praise he doesn’t think is due, Izuku dishes out suggestions and techniques as the pair of them spar, one on one, locked in a battle of minds and fists. Izuku’s observations start with weaker, fiddly bits of information, as if almost nervous to suggest anything major. 

 With Katsuki’s shout of “Come at me with everything you have!” that smirk on his face just so right, Izuku progresses in internal drive to demonstrate entire moves, with Izuku admitting once Katsuki sees some of these tactics in action, that some of his own moves are inspired by Katsuki himself.

 Huh.

 Izuku is a force to be reckoned with, alive with a stunning energy about him, but Katsuki’s no slacker either. And he’s a fast learner to boot. Katsuki puts in his all, the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins, heightening the power of each blow in this back and forth dance of blows. Now this is his element, his quirk, his extension of his body. This is where he belongs and it will take more than a villain’s quirk to take it away from him.    

 Katsuki detonates his palms once more and throws a fist back to counter and-

 <A bitter rage swells, simmering beneath the surface, his blood boiling to the hundredth degree. It Ripples through him in leaps and bounds, a wild hound that can’t be tamed, ragged at the edges, fierce to its prey. Like a second skin, like it’s always been there, an underlying current that’s washed him into an ocean of scorching rage. Like an old friend. 

 But it encases something more, buried deep down in his core, closed off and held tight. The caged hound is wounded, fearful and guilty, and he pushes this down because he refuses to be weak. Refuses to be less than strong. He won't. But in this moment they begin to spill over the crumbling edges, and the lines blur to what once and what is.

 And he needs to know. To lay things down clear.

 The truth.

 He’s shouting and the words are tumbling and “FIGHT ME!! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

 And so, the first blows are thrown. They fight with fists and words and>

 And he’s gasping for air, momentarily thrown by the dizzying feeling of whatever that was, the tumbling and loss of focus just enough time it’s enough to give Izuku the leverage he needs for his attack.

 “Kacchan?” Izuku asks, breathy and panting as sweat crawls from his brow. Izuku’s concerned, those eyes glistening like sparkling beacons, calling out to him through whatever ocean he plunged through.

 He takes a moment, no movement between the two except for the rise and fall of Katsuki’s chest, taking heavy breaths. He’s not sure how much of it is from the battle or the vision. Katsuki blinks it back, and shrugs it off, back on his feet in seconds like an ordinary day at the office. 

 “Yeah,” Katsuki assures, “I’m fine. C’mon, go again.”

 He won’t let Izuku take him down so easily.

 ----------

 They go again.

 And again.

 And again.

 (He pushes the vision to the back of his mind. He can’t explain what he’s feeling, what it means.)

 (But it sounds important.)

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Hey, can you link some fics about them in an apocalypse/post apocalyptic world? Preferably with a happy ending.. (and thank you for making this account, I love it so much!)

Hey! Here are some post-apocalyptic fics that are either ongoing or have a (sort of) happy ending (how happy can it be when the apocalypse happened, right?) Hope you enjoy it!

- Fi

Beyond the Horizon by  veksi  ( M | 15251+ | 4/? )

Six months into an apocalypse and Katsuki has just about had enough of it. It’s not until he meets Izuku that maybe, maybe there is hope left just yet. But with this new companion glued to his hip and an seemingly endless sprawl of the world ahead of him, comes the incredible hardships and pain like a magnet to their metal.

Katsuki longs for a happy end in sight. Izuku may have the solution. Now they just need to fight through the end of society to get there.

-

aka i only write zombie aus, aka hold onto ur belt buckles i love angst

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

[On Hiatus] The Cure by  despurrito( T | 12835+ | 7/? )

Bakugou Katsuki woke up in a forest, bugs gnawing on his tan face and sweat from his forehead cascades down to his eyebrows. With no recollection of how he got to this area, he heard a voice which its source was nowhere to be found but inside his head.“Oh good, you’re awake! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for nearly an hour now! I’m glad you’re not dead!” Turns out he is in a lonely island filled with zombies with fifty-foot metal walls trapping the occupants inside it.Inside his head, the voice supplied: “The objective is… To create the cure for the zombies!… I think.” Bakugou angrily rubbed his sore temple. “You think?”

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Chewed Up by  warschach( E | 30693 | 1/1 )

Zombie apocalypse, more than a third of the population currently dead or in the state of undead, and Katsuki still somehow managed to get his shit stolen by two chicks and Freckle boy.

Fuck this new generation.

Arrhythmia by shingekino_neon( E | 27053 | 11/11)

Stuck in the middle of a zombie outbreak, Bakugou and his friends are just trying to survive. When they meet up with an attractive stranger named Deku, and his companion, Eri, the group takes them in–despite the fact that their supplies are dwindling, and the possibility of relocating is quickly shifting to necessity. With their arrival comes the unexpected chance of a safer and more permanent place to live, and everyone decides to take the risk–resulting in Bakugou and Deku being separated from the group. As they’re forced to work together to survive, their relationship grows into something neither of them expect.

We Made A Graveyard by lalazee( M | 1715 | 1/1 )

“I hope I don’t have to kill anyone today,” he said softly, almost as an afterthought.“You say that every day. Bleeding heart.”

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

It’s Going to Be All Right by MaiaMizuhara( T | 1189 | 1/1)

Katsuki wraps his arms around the shorter boy and rests his forehead on Izuku’s shoulder. Nothing mattered if they were able to stay alive for another day together, another day not waking up alone and in grief.

“Both of us are going to find somewhere safe, and listen to me. I’m not letting you or I die, I’m not going to ever leave you behind. Not now, not ever.”

KatsuDeku week Day 4 - Comfort

SeriesPart 3 of September KatsuDeku week 2017 

Not Today by limesicle( T | 1458 | 1/1 )

It’s hard to keep up hope as supplies dwindle and the number of dead bodies they see increases. Before the apocalypse, they had hardly been friends, but something about the need to survive and lack of other humans forced them to get along.

SeriesPart 5 of Spring BakuDeku Week 2018 

we are never truly dead by veggie107

( T | 37287+ | 15/? )

“Please don’t leave me alone—Not again.”

—

Five years had passed since the apocalypse started. Five years had passed since the world had managed to function in any semblance of peace.

Five years had passed since Izuku Midoriya had gone missing.

For Bakugo, a hero mission during the apocalypse usually entails a few things: kicking Regressed asses, fighting whichever (unlucky) pro-hero that had been paired up with him and hopefully, returning to the safe zone feeling less guilty. This had been routine for nearly five long years—so he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he finds someone he’d never expected to see again.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Footprints in a Reddened Sky by Hollowed_Soul( T | 6577+ | 4/? )

Izuku Midoriya is quirkless, he moved towns due to excessive bullying at previous schools. Izuku has never met Bakugou nor All Might and Bakugou is in UA along with the others. It seems pretty normal. Except it’s a zombie apocalypse and Midoriya has been turned to one of them.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

desiderata by sora_san89( M | 2655 | 1/1 )

Let them affirm their humanity, their existences, at least only for this night.

(BakuDeku Positivity Week 2018 - Day 04: rise / havoc)

SeriesPart 4 of BakuDeku Positivity Week 2018 ^^ 

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

[Abandoned] A Nuclear Winter by Tsar Tsarevich (Rusbuster)( T | 25494 | 8/? )

It is the year 2033 in Moscow’s post-apocalyptic metro system, and Izuku Midoriya has nothing to do but do his boring and repetitive task of cataloging books everyday. When an opportunity-slash-death wish to go to the surface is given by his boss, he sees a chance to escape the boredom of Polis Station. And during his trip to the surface, his mission goes south as a certain ash-blonde goes to rain on his parade, which leads to even more predicaments and complexities concerning his supposedly simple mission and with said ash-blonde.

Follow Izuku on his unpredictable journey throughout the remnants of the Moscow Metro and the Dead City itself, while simultaneously deciphering the explosive yet familiar-looking ash blonde.

(Basically, this is an AU set in post-apocalyptic Moscow’s metro system, based on the universe of the video game and book, Metro 2033. Expect elements of fluff, angst, action, and smut. Perhaps a bit of scary stuff, too.)

Blood, Bones, and Bats by GreyDayMoon( E | 3978+ | 2/? )

Izuku and Katsuki had been surviving on their own for a little more than a year now. However that changed quickly with an unfortunate run in with a group while scavenging for more food. They’ll have to find a way to break from the group before they find out about Izuku’s immunity. And try to stay on the move to avoid the past from catching up to them.

SeriesPart 6 of the AU’s I’m Thinking of Expanding On Later series

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage]

Shatter Us (with love and quirks) by revsuki ( M | 3533+ | 5/30 )

“Although even if he says these things, in the back of Katsuki’s mind screams a little voice, Please touch me. Your lying to him. Please..-

But he knows what happened when someone touches him.

Strange things.

Bad things.

Dead things.”

SeriesPart 3 of Rev’s Shit Pile of Fics 

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Underage]

a calm surrender by ficklish( T |  4841 | 1/1)

They meet purely by chance, and Katsuki isn’t sentimental enough to deem their reunion fate, but it’s definitely a nice change, to be able to talk and have someone answer.

“Keep up,” he snaps, “or I’ll leave your ass behind.”

“Okay Kacchan,” Deku says, and has the nerve to beam at him like a very annoying sun.

Katsuki looks quickly away so he doesn’t blind himself.

Katsuki falls in love with Deku against the backdrop of a zombie apocalypse.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence] 

[ricknmaklan]

Hi! I'm your jonerys secret santa this year. Am so excited to do this! Okay, so I'll be writing a oneshot for you. What should it be about? I'm open to canon and modern aus, cracky ideas, sizzling smut, angst with a happy ending, and a whole lot more. One of the few things I'm not comfortable with is writing post-s8 fics (I refuse to accept s8 as canon), but other than that, I'm all ears. So, hit me with prompts. What would you like santa to bring you this year?

Santa !!!! I was already so excited to do this but your message is just the best, I feel so blessed !!!

I am a bottomless pit of ideas when it comes to prompts… I’m afraid I am going to give you way too much to read, sorry…

What I like in Jonerys stories is the fire and ice allegory as a representation of their tempers as much as the balance their union brings into the world. I like Dany’s excess fire (as a creative power source not madness!) and Jon’s lack of it (as a guy who lost his hopes and ability to believe after his resurrection and all the harassment he endured). I love reading about how Jon’s ice anchors Dany better and how her fire grows back his wings. My favorite settings are missing scenes from season 7 on Dragonstone and alternative stories of their meeting. Season 8 does not exist.

If this is inspiring enough for you, I would be delighted with anything you enjoy writing about it. If you would rather write from prompts, here we go:

About missing scenes from season 7 on Dragonstone:

Cersei sends Euron Greyjoy’s fleet against Dragonstone during the night. Dany and co. wake up to find the island surrounded with ships. All her advisers strongly oppose her bringing out the dragons because one third of the ships are equipped with scorpions. Jon comes up with the idea to attack the ships from under water as the scorpions were designed to strike flying dragons, not swimming dragons.

During his Dragonglass search, Jon is irresistibly drawn by an extremely difficult tunnel to access. He finds a tremendous amount of dragon’s stone eggs there. He decides to show his discovery to the Queen. He is surprised to find out she has mixed feelings about this.

Dany expresses her concern about the Dothrakis’ future in Westeros. Jon claims the key issue is communication and that they must learn the common tongue. The Queen doubts she can ever convince them to do so. Jon offers to give it a try as he heard they were horsemen and respected strength.

After mining Dragonglass all day long, the King in the North spends his nights in the castle library in search of anything he could come across to defeat the Night King. Dany cannot fight her curiosity very long and ends up joining him every night pretending she can help with the Valyrian manuscripts. Her family books do talk about dead creatures and long nights, they also talk about children of the forest, dragons and she finds out her great uncle’s date of death, Aemon Targaryen, is missing from the records...

About alternative meetings:

The North, led by Jon Snow, has defeated the Night King and ended the Long Night. Cersei’s disastrous management of the South during this four years long winter led the people to revolt.  Daenerys fed the revolution and easily overthrow the Mad Queen when the time came. Now she wants the North but its King refuses to come down South. She moves her armies north to teach him a lesson. But under Jon’s government, the North has grown as powerful as Dany’s armies and dragons. They have giants who can throw spears as big as the Scorpions, mammoths, strange explosive weapons offered by the Children of the forest after the NK was ended, etc. In short, they have as much magic as she does and she cares for magic creatures more than anything. She cease the battle and opens negotiations. Apparently that King has the same soft spot as she does for magic endangered species.

Same context, except Dany is moving north peacefully to negotiate. During her journey, she enjoys to put on simple close to blend in the population with Missi, Grey Worm and Jorah and try to get to know the northerners before she arrives at Winterfell. But she keeps running into this mysterious young man everybody seems to love and who leaves an awkward sensation in her stomach.

After his resurrection, Jon does what he said: he goes south because Sansa never made it to Castle Black to prevent it. He is empty and has no goal. He wanders aimlessly Meereen streets when a gang of thugs starts claiming his pretty sword. He is spotted by Daario as he effortlessly gets rid of them and is offered a job in Queen Daenerys Private Guard. Somehow Jon is getting the Queen’s attention by doing absolutely nothing.

Did you find something matching your own interests so far? If not, let me know, there is a lot more in stock. I wish you can have as much fun writing as I will have reading your little story!!!

Can’t wait!!!

[dandelion-and-the-wolf]

Okay, so I don’t usually make any point of commenting on the writing or plot of The Arcana, even though I’ve had some f e e l i n g s on some of the more recent books. With the last update (Book XX - Judgement) though, I’m just too disappointed, and quite honestly, angry, not to.

Now, I can overlook the (in my opinion) decrease in quality of the writing. I can overlook the feeling I get that the main LI’s lost some of their spark and character along the way. But the thing I absolutely can’t overlook is the way that Lucio has been portrayed, treated, and “dealt with” in the latest update.

Why? Well, partly, because I identify with Lucio. 

I know, shock horror, right? How could I identify with someone who is constantly referred to as “garbage”, “trash”, “abusive” and “a whiny little bitch boy”, among many other negative descriptions? More to the point, why would I admit to it?

If you’re reading this and you don’t know me, or haven’t come across my blog before, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. BPD, as the name suggests, is a personality disorder that generally results from some form of childhood trauma. It shapes and affects who I am, how I interact with and relate to people, and impacts pretty much every aspect of my life.  BPD, for me, is a constant need for attention and validation. It’s a horrible, perpetual fear of abandonment and rejection that seems irrational to most, but for me it’s very real and absolutely terrifying. It’s being told you’re a manipulative, attention-seeking monster by the media and sometimes even the people who know you. It’s unstable relationships, impulsive and self-destructive behaviours, it’s mood swings, explosive anger and paranoia. It’s sometimes feeling like you’re a god, worthy of everyones respect and admiration, and other times feeling like you’re worthless. It’s being “sensitive” and “whiny” and making a big deal out of “nothing”. 

I’m not suggesting at all that Lucio was written as a character who has BPD, but I can recognize many of his traits in myself and I felt that I could understand his thinking and motivations, and the things that led to him becoming the person that he is, especially given the little we’ve seen of the environment he grew up in and the way he was treated by his parents. 

Lucio actually fulfils most of the criteria for being diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, which is closely related to BPD and shares a lot of common traits. 

Some of the most typical signs of someone having NPD are:

Attention seeking

Exaggerated entitlement

Admiration seeking

Excessive reliance on others for self-esteem and self-definition

Lack of empathy

Exploitative of others

Grandiose and condescending 

Sound like anyone we know? Whether it was intentional or not to write Lucio with the characteristics of a narcissist, the fact is that he has them. NPD and BPD are very real, debilitating mental illnesses that affect a lot of people’s lives. A lot of people playing The Arcana will have NPD/BPD/a similar disorder (or at least know someone who does) and see parts of themselves in Lucio.  To have his character development not go beyond “I’m a self-important asshole who is only out for myself, and there’s no explanation other than I’m just garbage” is disappointing, to say the least, if not downright offensive. 

Every single person in existence has motivations and reasons for the way they behave, and the views that they hold. Think of all the most popular villains in books and movies - every one of them has their own reasons for doing what they do. Some have traumatic pasts, some have been wronged, some have a skewed idea of what is right and how the world should be. Some are redeemable and some are not, but well-written villains should at least have some kind of character development and have thought put into why they are the way they are. I’m not saying Lucio is or ever was a “good person”, and I’m not saying that he should have been forgiven or have a redemption arc. But come on, he deserved more than either being chased out of Vesuvia like a little bitch, killed by his wife, or drained of blood and eaten in a ritual with no further hope of learning more about him. People that were invested in Lucio as a character deserved more. If nothing else, it’s just lazy writing and poor character construction. 

But the worst part for me? Seeing Dana’s reaction to peoples upset on her Twitter;  “loving garbage is valid, you don’t have to try to convince yourself it’s not garbage. but also? don’t convince yourself a dumpster is actually a treasure chest, then get mad when there’s actually garbage inside and not treasure.”

No person is just a fucking dumpster, and no one should ever be made to feel that way, even in terms of a fictional character. If you want to write your characters as one dimensional, sure, go off. That’s your business. But understand that some people are (rightly) going to be upset, and maybe try to be empathetic to the reasons why. Some people have mental illnesses that make them behave in similar ways to your character, who you berate constantly. Some people have put a lot of time and money into this game, and most people playing have some level of emotional involvement. Some people hate Lucio, some love to hate him, and some people love him. All absolutely valid, and I’ve seen posts from people with all opinions on Lucio unhappy with the way his character arc was ultimately handled, or not handled, more to the point. 

So, after the update, I can see that I’m not the only one feeling let down by Nix Hydra, and it upsets me to see how badly some people have been affected by this. 

We expected more.

Lucio deserved more.

[ecccentrick]

Pigments (Plance)

My entry for the @langstronevent2k18! My gift is for @nooowestayandgetcaught, who wanted Plance! I really hope you enjoy!

AO3

Lance cuts her hair before the battle, the soft snipping sounds echoing around the otherwise silent room. Pidge bites her lip, fingers itching to be typing, to be doing something to distract her.

“About what you said-”

“Let’s forget about that!” Lance says, interrupting, laugh cracking mid-swell. He once again focuses on his duty, finally cutting the dead ends he’s been moaning and groaning about in quick, straight lines. Pidge wants to say she’s surprised by how steady his hand is, but he is the team sharpshooter.

“It’s not that I don’t fee-”

“All done! You’re looking great, I mean, not hot or anything but- uhm, better than before. At least not like a hobo, haha!”

Pidge curls her hands into fists, burrowing them in between her thighs for warmth. “Lance. . .”

“Nope, no! We’re totally not gonna talk about my petty feelings right now, not before we kick some Galran asses! And now that you can actually see, you should be right as rain.”

Pidge never does get to speak uninterrupted. She’ll regret it for the rest of her life.

--

Lance pants, gun heavy in his shaking arms. Sweat settles on his eyelids and temples, and his breath fogs the helmet, making every exhale look like frost. He runs as fast as he can, Pidge quick on his heels. They need this information, he reminds himself when his legs threaten to give out and he sees the head count they’re facing. They need this information, no matter what.

Pidge is the one extracting it, Allura is the distraction, Keith and Hunk keep the entire thing in one piece, the halls fracturing as it self destructs, and Lance has Pidge’s back during the vulnerable seconds she has to have her back open.

As the floor parts a few hundred feet behind them, Lance focuses not on the impending collapse and studies Pidge. She’s in her element, brows drawn low and mouth firm; if anyone saw the expression out of context, they’d surely think she must be royally pissed. It amazes him that someone can be so drawn into their work that they forget everything around them, which is why Lance is tagging along in the first place. She’s leaving herself open for attack, and he has to get between her and injury.

When Allura gave him this assignment, he thought for sure that everyone knew. That everyone knew that he finally figured out his obscure affection for the Green paladin to only be immediately shot down. That, no matter how much Pidge

feel for him, he’d get in the way of fire for her. But everyone acted oblivious, even Pidge herself, so he tried to calm the paranoia that nestles into his brain.

Here, in this moment, it’s easy to forget. The constant screech of metal on metal falling apart, gunfire, explosions and grunts of pain making it hard to concentrate on anything but surviving; it is the symphony of war, and the increasing rubble and chaos only makes his head ache and heart pound.

That might be why he’s too distracted to hear it, the lazer brushing against his cheek, narrowly missing Pidge. She jumps, and twists to glare at him. “What part of watch my back do you not get?!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

He shakes himself of any thought, only the tempo of battle, the fluid way in which his muscles bunch and flex and move with only memory to guide him. The next onslaught he’s on guard, actually doing his job this time.

The new wave overwhelms him, the bots now mixed in with real live Galran’s. One such Galran looks like a General from the insignia on his armor, and man, he’s a gnarly one. Instead of charging, the General lifts a fist, and the bots and the few organic soldiers stop and flee, but one. The Galran smirks, and turns on his heel, escaping down the hall.

“Uh. . .Pidge, you gonna be done soon?”

Sweat is visible on her forehead, dyed purple from the offensively bright light of the monitor, her bangs sticking to her temples. “Not. Now, Lance,” she replies through clenched teeth.

He focuses on the bot, shooting it almost point blank, the bullets bouncing right off of it. His breathing picks up then, because if his gun is useless, then *

pretty much useless right now, right?! Shifting his bayard into a broadsword, he lunges, and once again, it’s easily deflected, the sharp edges of the sword scraping off of it, sparks literally flying.

Pidge, still busy, doesn’t notice a thing, her mind completely focussed on her goal. Lance decides that he should be as well, and gets into a fighting stance, legs planted firmly on the ground. It’s only when the bot’s eyes start blinking an eerie red that he knows. He’s seen this before.

With little time, he grabs Pidge from behind, causing her to try to jerk away. He tightens his grip, body shielding her’s; the bomb goes off with a deafening *

rattling his very bones, the force flinging him, and therefore Pidge, sideways, Lance landing on Pidge’s small frame. Once the dust settles and the floor quits it’s scary shaking, Lance sighs with relief.

Pidge has the gall to look irritated, or maybe that’s just the shock. The expression goes lax when her gaze focuses on his chest.

“Lance. . .*

He giggles, his chest feeling engulfed in heat, probably from the close proximity to Pidge. She attempts to shake him, but he has enough strength in him to keep her pinned underneath him where she’s safe.

“Lance, where are you? Talk to me.”

His vision blurs, and he blinks. “I’m right here in your arms.”

Pidge curses through clenched teeth, eyes looking suspiciously wet. Huh, must be the dust swirling around, or even the sticky red wetness that drops on her cheek. Wait.

“Don’t look,” Pidge begs. “Don’t look, and don’t move, okay?”

He looks, and he immediately regrets it. He appears to be impaled, a hunk of metal peeking out right from center. He draws in a shaky breath and whimpers, the air rattling in his lungs wetly. It gets harder and harder to breath. His arms refuse to hold him up any longer, so he rests on Pidge, who is usually too boney to be a comfortable cuddle buddy. Not now -- now she feels like the most comfortable place, his bloody face tucking into the junction of her neck, smearing red traces of him behind.

Lance almost drowned once, when he was only five and small for his age. He’d almost been caught in a riptide, pulled under. He’d tried so hard to breathe, gulping down burning water into dry lungs. It feels sort of like that now, only so so so much worse, his soggy lungs feeling like useless sponges.

He catches the tail end of the pain, his sight fading quickly. Shuddering, he asks, “D-did you ge-get it?”

“Yes, idiot, I got it.”

His hearing goes last, and he swears he hears Pidge sobbing into the comms. It might just be hopeful thinking.

--

Despite popular belief, Pidge isn’t cold. She isn’t crass, nor uncaring. She just tucks the excess feelings into the corners of her heart until she can deal with them in the safe confines of her room, the gentle castle light illuminating tears tracks wetting her cheeks. But, now they don’t even have the castle, so she has nowhere to hide but inside her lion. It only makes it worse, Green’s feelings echoing hollowly in her mind, making the pain twofold. She can’t stay there, hunched over her chair.

They no longer have the Castleship, meaning they no longer have healing pods. The only way Pidge knows Lance is still clinging to life is the thread of connection that is shared between Green and Red. She exits, severing the mirrored emotions, and slumps beside a dying fire. The planet they landed on in a rush is empty and barren, lacking the right amount of oxygen, but Pidge lets her lungs struggle, knowing Lance is far worse off.

She glances at the cordoned off makeshift tent, shielding Lance, Coran and Allura from view. Discarded rags spill out of the opening, stained red. They don’t have a healing pod, and Allura can only seem to revive the already dead, and they can’t risk that, so they have to do everything the old-fashioned way. The dangerous way.

Funny how space has warped Pidge’s sense of death, the healing pods cushioning their fall so many times that it’s all too easy to take the plunge. Now the rug has been pulled out from under them at Lance’s expense.

Keith stokes the fire. The shadows make his face look hollow and sunken in, but maybe that’s just the grief; he can play all he wants, but Pidge notices the stubborn tears lining his eyelids, and as someone known for burying everything behind irritation herself, she knows he fears the worst. They all do. Hunk is distracting himself by showing Romelle how their Lions work, the latter looking confused and distant. And Pidge and Keith try to sear their corneas by the way they stare at the flames.

There is no jovial jokes, no lighthearted jabs; no one is there to make Keith confused, no one to annoy Pidge enough that she actually does her work on time for once. Their dynamic is shattered.

Allura may be the heart of Voltron, but Lance is the soul. A heart and mind is nothing without the warmth of a soul.

--

When Lance confessed to Pidge, she thought it was a joke. Lance’s face was beet red, his words rushing and falling over each other, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Someone must have put him up to this, she had thought. Maybe Hunk, that meddling snitch.

When Pidge didn’t say anything back it’s like he blanked out, his face falling slowly and then all at once. He went even redder and fled, leaving Pidge and her traitor heart to wallow it what could be. She knew she wasn’t the kind of girl he went for, pretty and nice smelling and giggly. Pidge snorted when she laughed, big bellowing hiccups, and she sure as hell wasn’t a looker. She forgot to shower more often than not! She totally smelled! Hunk just knew her feelings and meddled, that meddling meddler!

She hadn’t expected him to act so crushed, nor for him to begin avoiding her. She knew the looks they got from Allura and also knew the moment it interfered with Voltron, she’d step in. She hadn’t known the lengths in which he would one day go to protect her. If she had, she would’ve at least allowed herself a kiss.

Now, she tries desperately to put it out of her mind. She emotionally cuts it out, slams a barrier down between her and Lance in her mind, and proceeds to act like he’s already lost to them. And if he’s already lost, gone, than she can skip the grieving process entirely and wait to break once everyone pulls themselves together. Just like she prefers to be the last one awake, she’d also rather be the last one to cry, in the shelter of her own home, nestled under the blanket of her childhood.

So, she hums forcefully as she fries some space eggs, fanning the fire to make them sizzle. She gets an odd look from Hunk, and a knowing one from Matt, but goes about her business. She’s just trying to make breakfast here! Nothing to see! She holds her breath when Coran exits the tent in the corner of her eye, not daring to look directly at him for fear of his facial expression. They’ve begun to be grimmer and grimmer, like Lance’s ghost is getting closer and closer to the surface.

Hunk takes Shiro and Allura breakfast, leaving green in the face. He’s known for his weak stomach, she tells herself, but knows she won’t be able to convince her brain unless she sees it for herself. She’s never had much of an imagination when it comes to these things. But does she really want that to be her last memory of Lance? Would it be any better or worse than the sight of metal impaling him, the same piece that could’ve hit her instead if only Lance didn’t insist on heroics?

She sneaks after the fire dies down and the planet they’ve set up shop darkens, the skies full of unfamiliar stars and two moons that look like reflections of the other. Shiro and Allura are still inside, Allura slumped backwards, head tucked to her chest like she tried valiantly to stay awake, Shiro on the ground, dead to the world.

In between them is. . .a version of Lance. The sick smell of infection -- sweet and sour at the same time -- envelops the confines of the tent, is all that you can breath in. Pidge breathes shallowly, sweat prickling at her skin. He looks so small, skin an ill yellow tinged in white. In some lapse of judgement, someone folded his arms across his torso, like they were preparing him for a funeral. His funeral.

Suddenly Pidge feels too small, despite taking up the entirety of the entrance of the tent. Her lungs feel too small in her chest, like heavy stones that refuse to let even a gasp of air through their thresholds. Heart racing, she says with the last of her breath, “You martyring idiot.”

She turns away. She runs away. She slides next to Matt, her fingers trembling too much to allow her to unzip her sleeping bag, so she just lays atop it, gasping for air, feeling like she’s going to die.

Pidge thought the false realization that Matt was dead hurt her to the core; at least it wasn’t her fault. She had others to blame. The Galra, the universe, bad luck, the Garrison. Now she and the others only have her to thank when Lance slips away to a place she can’t follow just like everyone else.

--

Lance died. At least once. He’s not exactly sure how he knows, besides being blanketed by the brightest and softed blackness, similar to sleep but peaceful, no chance of bad dreams or sleepless nights. He remembers the disappointment he feels when he is pushed out of it, the brightness of life too blinding to be beautiful any longer. Now, the never ending grayness of his eyelids is just a nuisance.

So, he knows he died, and Allura must have brought him back. But, the feeling in his lungs still burn, he can still taste blood on his tongue, and everything hurts. He is forever tense, snippets of talking and crying and retching (Hunk, for sure) the only sense that doesn't hurt. So, when he finally awakens, his eyelids lifting their lifetime ban, he first sees Allura.

Any other time, that would’ve been a plus, right? Especially with how upset she looks, her eyelids red, her eyes tired and face tense. Like she was really worried about him. But he finds himself disappointed. He feels as though someone else should be there, someone less overbearing and more annoyed.

Damn, he has to be a masochist.

“-don’t move.”

“I reckon he-”

“Lance, buddy! LanCE! LAN-”

“Moron.”

He sighs as the voices of his comrades surround him, all but one. He blinks away the tears from the onslaught of light and motion, and sees every color but green. A pigment of their color wheel missing.

His chest tightens and he feels as though he's falling.

“He’s starting to hyperventilate. We need to knock him out, Princess.”

“Coran! We will do no such thing! We don't have the right sort of equipment to do it correctly and safely.”

A sound of frustration above him. “Yes, princess, I understand but he's not lucid enough to calm down on his own--”

“--idge,” He gasps between constrictive breaths. “Pid- Pidge, is she okay?!”

He opens his eyes he doesn't even remember closing. Keith is next to him, burn completely healed. How long has he been out?!

“She's fine, Lance,” he says. “You made sure of that.”

His lungs loosen just enough for him to take a breath. “Good. . .that's good.”

He attempts to sit up, but an ache soul deep makes every muscle tense in pain. With clenched teeth, he settles back down as everyone looks about ready to pounce on him. Coran is frantically shuffling through bottles and books, muttering to himself. Everyone else is frozen.

Quickly, he notes his surroundings. He doesn't remember this tent being here, but he supposes that since he was hurt they had to think of something to fully protect him from the atmosphere and any alien bacteria. It feels humid inside, the cluster of bodies heating up the small tent.

Once he takes in the sights (or the lack thereof) he notices the stench. Sweet, but not the good kind. Rotten sweet. Lance tries to sniff subtly.

“Is that,” he croaks, coughs again, “Is that smell me?”

Hunk turns a bit green at the mention. “Uhm yeah. Don't freak out, but seems you might have a teensy little infection. That we might not have the stuff to treat. But everything else is looking great! Totally surprised too, since I figured Allura is a legit necromancer.”

Keith is rolling his eyes as he hands Lance something to drink. The alien version of a bendy straw is sorta dizzying. He takes a sip, his dry mouth rejoicing.

“Pretty sure I died there again, actually.”

“Wait, WHAT?! YOU DIED BEFORE?!”

Lance clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Guess me and Shiro should get a club going. ‘Was Resurrected By Princess Allura Club.’ Though I guess Shiro was more downloaded than anything. . .”

“How is everyone so chill about this?!” Hunk asks when Allura starts to busy herself, Keith takes a drink from the bendy straw himself and Coran is counting on his fingers. When no one answers he deflates, shaking his head.

Clearing his throat, he continues addressing Lance. “Anyway! We got someone looking for the plant we need, so don't uh, worry!”

“You don't sound so confident, my Hunk. Shiro will be fine.”

“About that…”

--

“FUCK,” Pidge shouts as her comms go out. She's pressed against the ground, gravity making her feel like she weighs a thousand pounds, and her comms won't work! How will she call for backup?! Her brother is gonna freak if he tries to contact her while she's away and finds her unable to communicate!

She stills her jittery hands and takes a deep breath, Shiro’s mantra running through her head. Pidge is doing this for good reason. She's doing this for someone she cares about, and that has to be enough to pull her through.

Grunting, Pidge pulls herself up, her knees screaming in protest; the atmosphere isn't enough to crush her, but it's also harsh enough to make her job that much harder. Green is unsettled in the back of her head, their bond thrumming nervously. Gritting her teeth, she pushes forward. She's so close.

The plant that she needs to save Lance is nondescript. It looks like any average fern, from what Coran told her. They don't have the Castle of Lions to give her a visual, and she really dislikes being outside, but her heart pounds and skin prickles with panic when she thinks of refusing to do it or failing. In no undefined terms, Lance will die a slow, painful death if she doesn't succeed.

It's so quiet on her own. She's used to Lance’s chatter in her ear, usually bantering with Keith or flirting with Allura. She usually scolds or makes fun of him at those times, and now she feels guilty that she didn't do more for him. She may not have the strength to say yes to his confession, but she also doesn't want him to die or go away somewhere she can't tease him.

Pidge clutches her chest, the ache resonating within. She comes to the clearing Coran described, mostly unchanged over the 10,000 years he was asleep. The atmosphere must make it hard for large lifeforms to thrive, leaving gross bugs and dirt and multicolored ferns to take the space.

Examining the plants, she counts the number of barbs that stick out, strong enough to pierce flesh. She makes a sound when she finds it, carefully plucking the fern that also might kill her because Coran was pretty shifty when describing the thorn-like extensions. She tugs, pulls, whacks, but the plant is still firmly in the ground, the stem unharmed. Pidge tries to tear her hair out, only to find that she can't raise her arm over her shoulders, let alone her hand.

She sits back, sweat leaving uncomfortable trails down her face and making her armor stick to the middle of her back. Tears line her eyelids, momentarily blurring her sight. She failed. She failed and for the life of her she can't think of what to do. No amount of programming can help her here, and Green would destroy the plant trying to extract it.

Pidge grits her teeth in anger and flicks the stem with a rhythmic wack wack wack. It won't do anything, but the sound makes her muscles relax minutely, allowing her to think. She still comes up with nothing, but at least the tears threatening to spill no longer fog her helmet and she no longer tries to pull out her hair underneath that helmet.

Suddenly, there is a tremble that shakes the earth. Alarm rumbles in the back of her mind in the form of Green, alerting her that it must be something bad. Before she can make it fully standing, the ground seems to pulse, vein-like intrusions lifting, dark brown dirt spurting into the air like brown blood. The shaking stops, and she feels a thunk on her foot.

Across the ground is the fern, uprooted.

“Huh,” is all she can say.

--

Pidge has been gone for three days, according to Hunk. Lance has to pry the information out of him, the big fluffy worrier that he is. Knowing this isn't going to do him any more harm; fever will still shake his body, a sickly stench will still permeate his stifling tent, and he will still be slowly burning from the inside. What's a little worry? No biggie.

Hunk stays by his side, creating the illusion of healing by dabbing his sweat slick forehead with a chilled cloth like a maiden in a movie. He's sure pretty enough to be one, Lance jokes, but the jest falls on deaf ears.

Even if she makes it, Lance feels himself slipping.

Facing death once gives you a taste of it, but seeing it twice? Looking into the face of your own mortality? That gives you a sixth sense of just knowing, like muscle memory drilled into your brain. It's a memory and sensation that will never truly leave him.

But, as long as Pidge gets back safely, it'll be okay. The zen he feels should be odd, but right now, he welcomes it, is grateful for the clarity it gives him. He's dying, and he accepts it. Instead of staring it in the eyes, he closes his, basking in its bleakness, knowing that he will never be afraid of it again.

As his eyes droop, and after assuring Hunk that he isn't dying (yet), just sleeping, he allows himself to think of home. Of Cuba, the brightness of the sea and the smell of garlic knots fresh out of the oven and just calling him to burn his fingers on. Of his siblings and niblings laughter dancing around him, Veronica screaming behind clenched teeth, her well worn coolness melting down due to grubby hands.

He wonders how she's doing, more than any other sibling. She's smart, and disciplined, but even she will not be happy when finding out what the Garrison must be hiding. And she will. Sooner or later, she will find what she's looking for -- him, he knows that she doesn't believe he threw away his future for anything less than saving the universe -- and he doesn't trust the Garrison enough not to silence her. And when she does figure it out, he knows she will be waiting for him to come back.

Luis and Laura can readily move on. Not a slight towards them, not at all, but he knows they will give up looking. They're strong like that, knowing when to truly give up. He won't blame them or curse them their happiness.

He tries not to think of his mother or father, and especially not his grandparents, who were sickly and fragile when he left for the Garrison.

No, he thinks of his fellow Paladins. Allura is perfect in Blue, and he truly wishes that she was still the object of affection for he knew she was never going to he a reality. Instead, he has feelings for Pidge, who while still way out of his league, is not a warrior alien Princess.

He doesn't have to try hard to think of Hunk, who is still holding his hand as he drifts in and out of consciousness. He's truly an amazing friend, staying with Lance despite his weak stomach. He almost wishes that his buddy didn't have to see Lance like this, but knows that the fingers curled around his is the anchor holding him in this realm.

Shiro and Keith, now, are like distant stars. Now that Shiro is truly back, everything will slot together when Lance finally lets go. Allura can keep her place as Princess and Blue Paladin, and Keith can have Red back. Shiro can have his rightful place at the helm of Black, and the only minus the team will have is no sharpshooter and that no one to tell corny jokes that actually make sense as opposed to corny jokes that no one but Coran can understand, bless his soul.  

Lance isn't feeling sorry for himself, not truly. He knows that he is the weakest link. The team could readily replace him with a better sharpshooter, that much is true. And, in this cloudy place of half wakefulness, the pain isn't as severe as usual, just a light blow.

Hunk must notice a change, because Lance feels a few light slaps and hears “Lance? Lance?!” but he just can't bring himself to open his eyes. The heat increases, now on the edge of unbearable, his head ready to pop under the pressure. Multiple pairs of hands shuffle along his body, and he has no energy to make a joke about wandering hands.

Suddenly, his muscles tighten, so tightly he can't inhale a single breath. He bites his tongue harshly, blood filling his mouth. After this, he doesn't remember anything.

--

Pidge almost crash lands Green, jumping out of her mouth before she even lands. She rolls on landing, rising on her feet immediately and running as soon as she hits the ground. The camp is entirely empty, the fire unintended, and as weak as it is due to lack of oxygen, this alone is extremely alarming.

She makes a beeline to Lance’s tent, a stench so cloying surrounding it she almost gags. Once she pushes aside the flap of the entrance, Pidge sees a sight she will never forget.

The entire crew is here, in this cramped little tent, even Matt. In the middle of their close huddle is Lance, on his side, and he's *

, his body shaking with abandon that can only be loss of control. Many pairs of eyes snap up at her, all wet and red and hopeless.

Coran jumps into action first. “Come on, Number 5, please tell me you got it?!”

Air shutters out of her lungs. “I do, I-I got it right here.”

Eyes snatch down to her chest where she's cradling the prickly fern against her armor where it cannot penetrate. Coran ushers her in, making room next to Lance for her to fit into.

“What do I do?!” she asks. She can barely speak between heavy breaths, panic threatening to paralyze her tongue.

“We don't have time to do anything now! Not anything I know!” Coran cries. “But we have to try something. We need to stop this seizure, and we need to cool him down, and the only way to do that is to stop this infection! Nothing else works!”

Her brain stalls, focus locked onto the red, angry wound near his chest. She glances at the thorns, back to the wound, and does the first thing she thinks of. She turns him over on his back despite many protests and shoves the fern into his wound, the prickles piercing the skin.

At first, nothing happens. Pidge is out of her body, looking at her failure, at her worthlessness and the echo of grief it causes. Her chest wants to cave in, the heart in her chest beating so quickly she feels frozen despite the adrenaline it pushes into her body with every pump.

Then a gasp, one that isn't from her, sounds out. A ripple shakes Lance’s body one last time before he relaxes against the mat, like a demon within his body was finally exorcised.

No one speaks for a long time, until Hunk breaks the silence. “Did it work or is he. . .” His voice is heavy with tears.

Coran checks Lance’s pulse. “It's stronger than it has been, but still weaker than I like. But. . .I don’t smell the infection as thickly as before.”

Keith slumps against Hunk, Shiro wipes his face with his hand and Allura’s eyes well with tears of relief. Pidge, well, Pidge can't bring herself to be relieved when she knows someone doesn't come back from an infection like that without injury or disability.

The pressure on her chest doesn't lift and she turns on her heels and escapes the cooling sickness that fills the air.

--

There is no place to hide on the barren planet, so Matt finds her quickly. His gentle hand on her shoulder jolts her out of her unhappy musings, and it could have been a welcome distraction if she didn't know that he had a lecture in mind.

“Pidge,” he starts.

“No. I know what you're going to say. It is all my fault, this is all my fault! Maybe if I told him the truth when he confessed he wouldn't have seen the need to sacrifice himself for me, and if only I had been smarter and quicker and better I'd have gotten here sooner and he would be in better shape!” She stands, then, fists clenched at her sides. “You saw that seizure! There is no way he's coming back from that without going wrong!”

Matt is quiet before he answers. “You just answered my questions. But, Katie, you can't nitpick your every action or you'll always been in the cycle of self-hatred. Do you think I didn't blame myself for what happened to Shiro, because I was weak?”

“But it wasn't your fault!”

Her brother’s look is a cross between exasperated and fond. “Exactly. So, with that logic, this isn't your fault either. Do you think if Lance jumped in front of a bullet -- er, metal projectile? -- after you rejected him, that he wouldn't have done the same if you said yes?”

“But,” she begins, “But, he could've died. . . Might still die, not knowing how I really feel. It's scary, thinking about it, that he'd never know, and die thinking I barely think of him as a friend.”

This time, Matt’s expression is pure exasperation. “Then go tell him! What happened to my genius little brat sister?!”

She only brings herself to stand after some animated shooing from Matt, and darts back Lance’s tent on wobbly knees.

--

Lance wakes in intervals. His consciousness is like a wave, swelling only to retreat as soon as it crests. His eyelids are the beach, his eyelashes the mist of the ocean, and wakefulness the sea threatening to tear his very pleasant dream down like a damp sand castle. He's making some awesome metaphors, so really, that's the first inkling that something must not be right. The next is that when he wakes, Pidge is there at his side, grasping his hand.

“Am I in heaven or hell?” he asks, voice rough from disuse and sickness.

Instead of a playful smack, Pidge laughs tearfully. “Neither, idiot.”

“Forgive an idiot for asking.”

“I-I, er, I want to say something. Before you're completely lucid and I can readily deny it if needed.”

“Am I dying, doc?” That one actually gets him a flick this time.

“Shut up and lemme talk, okay. It's about your confession-”

This feels too much like a dream. “No, nope, let's not do that. You don't have to act like you like me just because I almost died.”

Pidge visibly grits her teeth. “No, that's not what this is, idiot. I really like you, for some reason. I, I just let my insecurities get in the way, and I realized that you could've died without ever knowing. I know I'm not very girly, even once my gender was revealed, and I'm not polite or a Princess or a hot guy like Keith or Shiro. I'm just a-”

“Wonderful, smart, caring, loyal, fierce person. Should I go on?”

Pidge turns a cute shade of red and Lance wants to make her do that a million times a day.

“I don't see what you see,” she grumbles.

He smiles, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “You will. I'll help.”

Grasping his hand tightly, she says, “You too. We're both idiots, aren't we?”

[blackjacketmuses]

hc; komaeda 15

I’m gonna put this under a cut because reasons, but I wanted to make an at least semi-coherent post about Nagito’s mental illnesses (besides the dementia) because I’ve brought it up in a couple threads now so it needs a decent post to its own. 

Nagito has suffered from fairly severe - and until after the Program, untreated - depression for most of his life. Given the incredibly extreme and constant trauma he experiences on a daily basis, it would be more of a surprise if he didn’t.

In fact, TBH, he suffers also from cPTSD -- now I was going to keep this post just about his depression, but I feel like tossing a bit of a note about that out there too, so it doesn’t look like I’m just dumping diagnoses on his head. Because haha, wow, he absolutely does have this (and taking a Psych class this semester is a double dose of ‘sure about this’). I’m gonna c/p the symptoms here so you don’t have to click the link, bolding mine:

In children/adolescents--

Attachment – "problems with relationship boundaries, lack of trust, social isolation, difficulty perceiving and responding to others' emotional states"

Biology – "sensory-motor developmental dysfunction, sensory-integration difficulties, somatization, and increased medical problems"

Affect or emotional regulation – "poor affect regulation, difficulty identifying and expressing emotions and internal states, and difficulties communicating needs, wants, and wishes"

Dissociation – "amnesia, depersonalization, discrete states of consciousness with discrete memories, affect, and functioning, and impaired memory for state-based events"

Behavioural control – "problems with impulse control, aggression, pathological self-soothing, and sleep problems"

Cognition – "difficulty regulating attention, problems with a variety of 'executive functions' such as planning, judgement, initiation, use of materials, and self-monitoring, difficulty processing new information, difficulty focusing and completing tasks, poor object constancy, problems with 'cause-effect' thinking, and language developmental problems such as a gap between receptive and expressive communication abilities."

Self-concept – "fragmented and disconnected autobiographical narrative, disturbed body image, low self-esteem, excessive shame, and negative internal working models of self".

In adults (and yes that last bullet point is real I did not add it):

Changes in emotional regulation, including experiences such as persistent dysphoria, chronic suicidal preoccupation, self injury, explosive or extremely inhibited anger (may alternate), and compulsive or extremely inhibited sexuality (may alternate).

Variations in consciousness, such as amnesia or improved recall for traumatic events, episodes of dissociation, depersonalization/derealization, and reliving experiences (either in the form of intrusive PTSD symptoms or in ruminative preoccupation).

Changes in self-perception, such as a sense of helplessness or paralysis of initiative, shame, guilt and self-blame, a sense of defilement or stigma, and a sense of being completely different from other human beings (may include a sense of specialness, utter aloneness, a belief that no other person can understand, or a feeling of nonhuman identity).

Varied changes in perception of the perpetrators, such as a preoccupation with the relationship with a perpetrator (including a preoccupation with revenge), an unrealistic attribution of total power to a perpetrator (though the individual's assessment may be more realistic than the clinician's), idealization or paradoxical gratitude, a sense of a special of supernatural relationship with a perpetrator, and acceptance of a perpetrator's belief system or rationalizations.

Alterations in relations with others, such as isolation and withdrawal, disruption in intimate relationships, a repeated search for a rescuer (may alternate with isolation and withdrawal), persistent distrust, and repeated failures of self-protection.

Changes in systems of meaning, such as a loss of sustaining faith and a sense of hopelessness and despair.

So, yeah, there’s that.

I don’t think I have to discuss his anxiety problems much, since those are pretty self-explanatory, especially watching his Island Mode events -- and it’s so closely linked with his depression anyway, discussing one comes with the other.

Living through this situation, through the horrors his luck spits at him -- accidents, kidnappings, freak natural disasters, people around him dying constantly, injuries, losing his home, so many terrible things that it feels unreal and comical -- is enough to make him feel helpless, make him certain there is no way out. He struggles to believe in the idea of hope, clings to it with everything he has, but he has none of his own. It’s the idea of it that matters. The idea that-- that it’s not that no matter what he has his bad luck will destroy it. That it’s that no matter what terrible thing happens, there is good coming after. He has to believe in the latter, not the former, because if he lets himself think the former...then what point is there to living?

He has bad days, always, where he can’t find it in him to believe in hope always winning, where it feels like a chore to get out of bed, where it feels like the terror of just existing will choke him -- the uncertainty of even the next hour nearly paralyzing -- where it feels like the best thing he could do is to make it stop, to make the fear and the pain and the horror just stop. He has no one, no one would miss him, and the world would be better off without a worthless person like him, and the bad luck and trauma that he exists with constantly just...stops. He never tries anything, though, because he’s half convinced his luck simply won’t let it work. So what’s the point in trying?

But he tries to make it through those days, forces himself to believe, gets up and carries on. It’s why he has such blind faith in hope, why he loves the idea of it so much and loves Hope’s Peak and the Ultimates so much. They represent strength and perseverance and hope, they represent safety and the idea that it will all be okay. Hope always wins, and the Ultimates embody that. 

Hope, happiness, safety, it’s all tied up together in his head. Even if he feels apart from them, distant, an outcast, unworthy-- just being in their presence is enough to make him feel just that little bit more sure that there is a tomorrow, that he can have a few moments, a few hours, where he feels like things might be okay. 

(Of course, his dementia does not help any of these feelings, and if they didn’t exist before a point, he can’t tell -- it feels like he’s always been this way.)

Currently, he’s still struggling with all this, but...being safe, being with Hajime and the others, everything being over, his physical illnesses being taken care of so he isn’t dying -- and being in a relationship!! with Hajime, the person he loves more than anything...it helps. Slowly he’s working on adjusting to this, to the idea that he has tomorrows, and even if he still has bad days, it’s easier to work through them. Hajime’s luck protects them all from Nagito’s own, and that makes it...that helps a lot. He knows happiness and hope firsthand now, and it’s a long road, but he doesn’t want it to end anymore, and that’s a huge step forward.

He is taking antidepressants now, too, since they have access to both a decent pharmacy and the Future Foundation’s supplies, and that also helps.

He’s getting better by inches, but he is getting better.

[that-fandom-sucks-tho]

Circuits of the Heart

Title: Chapter 7: That Day

Warnings: Death and descriptions of injuries. I think maybe swearing. Angst.

A/N: So chapter 7 man this is crazy. The support and love warms my heart. Also I'm prepared for that to all end because I won't be posting chapter 8 until at least Monday. Um please don't hate me forever I've gotta focus on the end of the quarter and my grades. Sorry!

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 8

The blow had hit me deep and cut into places I did not know I had. The tears that tinged my eyesight during my tyraid started to make streaks down my face. Never before had I felt such a deep betrayal. I looked at Nightwing with as much hatred as I could muster. Hatred was also new. I never thought I would have to express it towards someone I cared about.

“That may not have been ideal but it was my home; the only place I have ever known. The lab technicians may not have been my family but they were the closest thing to it I had. I had to watch them be murdered in front of my face; I had to watch as everything went up in flames. And you knew.” I whispered the last part. The words escaped me and it was like my fight had been attached to them. I felt empty, hollow even.

The room suddenly felt too crowded. Everyone was too close, pressing me in on all sides. I looked around at everyone’s faces. I saw the pity, guilt and sadness in their eyes. They felt bad but I did not want that. I wanted justice.

One last look at Nightwing, and I rushed from the tarmac back to my room.

“Circuit, wait!” Nightwing yelled after me but nothing could make me face him right now.

“Just let her go she learned a lot of devastating information.” Zatanna put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a pitying look.

I hurled myself onto my bed as my monitor replayed the memories from the day the lab was destroyed.

It had been a normal day; a day like any other. I was sitting in my room waiting for one of the lab technicians to grab me from my allotted breakfast time. A click sound alerted me to someone entering my room. It was my favorite lab tech. Her name was Emily and she must have been in her mid thirties but her brown hair had started to grey at the roots. She had always been the nicest to me. Often sneaking me sweets or other treats when I had a tough day of experiments.

“Well hello honey how is it going? If you do real good today I’ve got some chocolate just for you. How does that sound?” Her smile was warm and inviting. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“A sweet would be delectable. I will try to complete my tasks with the utmost efficiency”  I responded. I made no smile back nor did I offer any affectionate names back. I was taught a long time ago that these people were not my friends. No touching and no excessive interactions. Emily had made the mistake of patting my hand after a particularly rigorous bout of tests and she was suspended from her job for three days. I did not want her to lose her job so distance was necessary.

“Great. Thirty minutes for eating as usual and then the testing starts. You’ll be starting with a diagnostic test on the circuitry newly attached to your fingertips.” With a nod of her head she turned and walked expecting me to follow her. I scrambled up and rushed after her. At a respectable two foot distance behind, of course.

The lack of affection was not to say I was treated with animosity. These people had known me since I was a small four year old child. Years of proximity had created a familiarity. Everyone smiled and greeted me when they saw me. I nodded back at them a small smile gracing my lips.

Breakfast was the same that day as it had been since I could fully eat solids. Wheat toast for grains, peanut butter for healthy fats, a clementine for vitamins, milk for vitamin D and whole grain cereal for carbohydrates. A complete meal that contained the nutrition I needed. I ate alone in silence with Emily reading through the day’s agenda behind me.

We entered the room where they were to test my new circuits. They were the last they would add to me.

“Hello 2B-04, are you ready?” The head scientist asked me. He had used my experiment label like always. Only Emily called me by anything else.

“Yes sir I am ready for this new bout of testing. What is it that you will be testing on?” My reply formal and to the point; as I had been taught.

“We will be testing to see if the circuits in your fingers are hooked up to your brain and if they respond correctly to stimuli.” He motioned for me to enter my tube.

They had designed it specially for me. It was a hardened steel tube with a reinforced glass door. The metal inlay throughout the tube acted as electrodes that my brain and other computer parts could interact with. I leaned back to get comfortable and closed my eyes.

“Alright I’m locking you in and starting up the machine.”

The machine came alive beneath me. It reached out and I felt its familiar touch relaxe me. I could feel the questions it asked me and I answered the best of my abilities. My fingertips started to tingle and emit a golden glow.

“Alright hon we’re almost d-” Emily started to say through the speakers but an explosion cut her off.

The wall behind everyone exploded into shards of concrete and glass. People were on the floor with limbs at weird angles and blood seeping from lacerations. A fire had started in the corner where all kinds of chemicals and equipment had been stored. It raged and grew as it found more fuel. The rubble had struck the control board and killed the power source.

I was stuck inside of my tube watching the scene unfold. I was frantically banging on the door trying to get out. Looking around to see if anyone was still awake-or alive- that could help me, I saw some rubble shift and then Emily’s head popped up.

I started banging harder.

“Help me Emily; help me!” I screamed but my voice was muffled and I was scared that she would not hear me. Suddenly her head whipped in my direction and when she saw me she started talking. I had no idea what she was saying.

I was panicking and my heart rate was rising so much that my monitor informed me I was going into a panic attack. I needed to get out of this tube.

Emily started to crawl in my direction but her movements were slow and sluggish. She had clearly lost a lot of blood and it was taking its toll.

“Emily you can achieve this! Let me out it is urgent!”

She reached me with lots of effort and heavy breathing. She was mumbling something but she was too quiet and I was too far away. I had very little room to move but I tried to bend down as far as possible. “I’m sorry, I’m  sorry, I’m so sorry. My sweet little circuit board. Sweet little Circuit. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

It was like she was in a trance whispering over and over again the same thing.

“No, do not say those words. It will be alright I just need to be released from these confines.” I was crying but I do not remember when I had started. The tears burned my skin as they left their trail.

Emily looked up at me again with tears and sadness of her own.  She lifted a bloody hand to the glass and I reached out to her as well. I tried to get her to come closer; to do anything. It was obvious that her strength was leaving her and I was afraid she did not have much time left.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she slumped back down. Her fingers slowly slid down the glass leaving a trail of bloody streaks.

“No, no Emily wake up. Wake up!” I was pleading now; begging for her to get up and be okay. She was the last person in the world who cared for me. The other scientists were nice and friendly, but she genuinely cared for me. She may not have been able to show me affection but she showed me she cared through her gentle words and the sweets she would give me. Now she was dead.

I scanned the room for signs of life and when it came back with nothing I lost it. Everyone I had know in my life was gone. They were murdered and I should have been with them. I was screaming now; sobbing hysterically. The golden glow of my powers were swirling as I was lost in my emotions. Machines popped and crackled and I collected the energy from the strewn wreckage. It came and it whispered to me; it whispered its sorrow and its guilt. It whispered how I needed to get out of here. It whispered the instructions to my salvation.

With a final push of my distraught mind I released all of the energy I had collected and I destroyed the tube. I rushed over to Emily with a question I already knew the answer to. I shook her but she still did not respond. I scanned her body again and again waiting for a sign. On the last scan I noticed her enclosed fist. I reached over and opened it. It was a little chocolate; the one she had saved for me.

I took it and I stood. Looking around at the carnage before me, I was scared. My life had been ripped away from me and I had no idea how to live any other. My life had not been perfect but it was mine all the same. I needed to get out of here.

So I ran and I did not stop.

My memory of that day ended as I came out of my stupor. The emotions that I felt came back to me in a wave as fresh and raw as they had been that day. Sorrow was an emotion I had not needed to learn in the outside world. I learned that well enough in the lab.

I thought of Nightwing’s behavior before the mission. He had not wanted to let me go. I thought it was because he cared for me but it was because he knew the secret. What did they gain with keeping it from me? I am glad I went on that mission but them not telling me that I was the mob’s highest target put me in extra danger that was not needed. My life had been thrown to the wind in the hopes of information. If I had known I could have prepared for the worst or at least I could have prepared better. They made me relive the worst moments of my entire life.

Batman had been training me for a year and he had not told me. How long had he known? He of all people should understand justice to murdered family units. I could have honored their memory and avenged them; instead I have been sitting around laughing and living in comfort.

I needed a plan.

I started to do the long and arduous task of sifting through all of the files I had downloaded from the mob. They had been collecting information and keeping tabs on me since I was first awoken in the lab. The had all of the data produced by my lab test and experiments, even the footage. Seeing everyone alive and moving around shook me to my core. Emily was standing in the background smiling and probably offering me encouragement that she could not say through her eyes. I felt my throat get tight and goosebumps raced across my skin.

I needed to look through something else, anything else. I decided that the mob’s specific files would be my next task. They were a small time mob and it made no sense to have long range targeted missiles. It made no sense that they knew about me and my lab. Why did they want me?

The files offered little in amazing revelations, only more questions. It held the monotonous bank records and other financial information. There were files of people they put hits on or who ordered such a thing. They had a few untraceable donors and one of those donors had ordered the hit on my lab.

Who was this person and what were they hiding when they buried my lab in rubble? I needed to find the answers and sitting in my room in Mount Justice was not helping.

I packed a small bag with my baton, computer parts, and extra rations. Once this task was done I whipped my door open but instead of a thud it hit something soft.

“Ow. I guess I deserved that” Nightwing groaned. “Wait what are you doing?” He eyed my attire and bag.

“I am leaving.”

@lilylovelyxo @jadedhillon @gingerrosecosplay @toddhood