#i can just not give it one its fine not everyone needs a canon in-text last name

[seiwas]

three-part honesty | todoroki shouto

wc: 16.3k

summary: honesty, you've realized, is shouto’s most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

contains: intended as f!reader but no pronouns used, reader wears heels, a skirt, & a dress, post-canon (divergent), aged-up pro-hero!shouto and assistant!reader, workplace romance, development of feelings, confessions, boss/assistant dynamics, co-workers to lovers (ish), todoroki family dynamics and healing, fluff, slow burn.  

sequel to: two-part something ao3 mirror

a/n: primarily from shouto’s perspective but switching of character pov’s is denoted by ‘( )’. i enjoyed the entire process of writing this fic and hope you do too! 

sponsored by @arcvenes for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please do check it out and support if you can! this is also my submission for the pretty boy summer collab by @andypantsx3.

I. LISTEN CLOSELY

Much to his relief, Shouto’s yearly health check-up turns out just fine. 

His blood work results come back stellar, levels all floating within normal range; some x-rays and scans reveal injuries healing up nicely—that collarbone he’d fractured months ago, especially. Save for a few recommendations on better sleep and stress management, Shouto receives no additional diagnoses for anything particularly concerning. 

Except for this one thing—

“Maybe you have a crush.” Natsuo sinks into the backrest of his chair. A slight ‘squeak’ sounds from its springs as he props one foot up on his knee and clasps his hands over his stomach. 

Shouto thinks it must be some doctor pose; Natsuo’s been doing it more often now that he’s gotten deeper into his medical practice. 

In Shouto’s final year at UA, Natsuo made the decision to fully shift into Pre-Med. The aftermath of the war left a big portion of Musutafu lost and in dire need of a society to believe in. To Natsuo, this felt like a calling; an effort of playing his part to restore faith in a better, functioning system that did not discriminate. Internal medicine felt expansive in that way.

This, of course, also meant that Natsuo was now the (unofficial) assigned private and personal doctor of the Todoroki family—to Shouto, mostly. 

So—

A… Crush?

“How does that happen?” Shouto turns to his brother, head tilted in confusion. His brows furrow slightly. 

This isn’t what he was expecting at all. 

“I mean, you said it in your text,” Natsuo reaches for his phone, clicking it open to scroll. The light from his screen reflects on the gray of his irises; then, he air quotes, “you said: ‘my chest feels weird’, then when I asked if anything happened,” his index finger glides across the screen, swiping through a long block of text uncharacteristic of Shouto’s typical dry responses.

“You detailed the entire scene of–” he pauses for a moment, squinting to find a specific line, “–a santa hat? Being put on you, or something. You didn’t mention who but I figured it was—” 

You, Shouto thinks, at the moment Natsuo says your name. That same two-part thump sounds in his ears. 

You, who’s stayed by his side for the past five, nearly six years. You’ve carved your presence so deeply into his life, it’s become an undercurrent in his speech. He doesn’t even think of having to say your name when he talks about you. 

You, and how he turns over this familiarity with you inside his brain. How everyone knows—

“—who else stays with you in the agency past office hours, anyway?” 

Natsuo raises an eyebrow, knowing. 

“We’ve been working together for a while.” Shouto replies, lips pressed firmly into a small pout. 

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure what compelled him to say something Natsuo already knows. To state the obvious? Or to argue, maybe? To act in denial? To express disbelief? 

He takes a long breath, surveying Natsuo’s clinic. The walls are pristine white, the desk and examination bed the same shade of ashen gray—a conscious choice to keep patients calm; ironic, given the state of his thoughts right now. 

Shouto’s mind is buzzing, and Natsuo watches the muddled confusion in his little brother’s eyes shift and swirl in blue-gray emotion. Then he chuckles, holding onto his arm rests as he stands up from the other side of his desk. 

“It can happen, Shouto.” he plants a palm on his little brother’s head, ruffling red and white the way he would have when they were teens, “It’s been years, right? Feelings can develop over time, that sorta thing, you know?” 

Shouto lets the realization settle in. 

Under the weight of his brother’s hand, he feels like a kid again—right before all the training started; and right before being kept away, excluded from the childhood he could have had with his siblings. 

Shouto feels like a teen again, without the trauma, without the war, being taught things about life and himself, about feelings he never had the time nor capacity to explore.

The two-part thump continues, beating. 

A crush. On you. Huh. 

The rustling of his hair dusts strands of warm, fuzzy feelings over his eyelids. 

This feels… new, he thinks. 

.

.

.

Shouto knows his Mondays. 

He gets to Shouto Agency an hour before everyone else does because he likes the stillness of it right before the day turns busy. The sun is up but only barely, casting a soft glow of blue and orange hues through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. 

This habit began years ago, back when the agency functioned on the 7th floor of a commercial building. It was called Flashfreeze then, and even though it had an entire floor of 24 office units, being in a commercial building still meant sharing common areas with other companies and agencies. The morning rush left the elevators flooded in utter chaos daily. 

To Shouto, going in early meant less people and less noise—a quiet bube he could use to prepare himself for the rest of the day.  

A lot has changed since then: the agency’s move into a larger, newly constructed building of its own; staff, interns, and sidekicks quadrupling in numbers; better office spaces, bigger teams, more facilities—a big expansion, essentially. 

Somehow, despite being more settled in the industry, he finds that the days feel even busier than before. 

So, Shouto keeps his Mondays the same: his preference of coming in early carrying itself into this newer, much larger and private office space, and his same habit of brewing himself a cup of tea finding its own spot by the small kitchen nook you helped design during the construction of his office space. 

Everything about his office is optimized for efficiency: the backdoor, where he enters from on most days, opens to an elevator with a matching staircase that both lead straight down to the costume unit, training grounds, and his own parking area; the blinds of his windows automatically draw up and down at set times of the day; and the minimalism of his entire space is carefully considered, with every area plotted for easy navigation. 

It’s sleek and neat, sharp edges and clean lines, straightforward much like he is. Cold, for the most part, save for the corners touched by your warmth.

Pale yellow jars sit on the counter of his kitchen nook, with each one housing sugar, cinnamon, and his stash of tea.  

When he looks more closely around the room, he spots the fresh flowers on his desk—a vase of luscious white chrysanthemums starkly contrasting the dark grays and browns of his interiors; they tell him you must be in already, because even when he manages to come in an hour ahead, you always, without fail, beat him to it 30 minutes too early. 

And also, like always, you enter his office in the same way you do every Monday morning. 

Your heels clack against his stone flooring, marking your arrival. He turns to face you from the kitchen nook, cup of tea in hand as he greets you. 

“Good morning.” 

You jolt, nearly tripping. Your head whips up quickly as you clutch a mass of folders tightly to your chest. 

He takes a sip of his tea, the corners of his lips curling slightly on the edge of his cup. 

“Si–” you clear your throat, correcting yourself as you take a breath. Then you smile warmly, bowing your head slightly, “Shouto, good morning.” 

“You scared me a bit there,” you add with a soft chuckle. 

It’s endearing, he thinks, seeing you caught off guard, so out of your usual composure.

You loosen your grip on the folders, “I just came to place this on your desk,” your finger taps against the plastic, “I didn’t notice you were here already, sorry.” 

“No worries,” he sets down his tea cup, pocketing one hand in his sweatpants, “do you want some tea?” 

“I’m good, thank you,” you shake your head, walking towards his desk to set the folders down, “Just a couple of debriefs for the case last month.” 

He nods, eyes tracking your movement around the room. You pause then turn to him, clicking your pen as you say, “Let me get your schedule so we can do the run-down.” 

Shouto moves to his desk when you leave, settling into the few squeaks and cracks of the leather chair you helped restore using your quirk—the ability to minimally reconstruct organic matter. 

Not even a few minutes pass until you return, a tablet perched on the crook of your elbow with a digital pen in hand. 

This is part of his Monday routine. 

The agenda you follow is the same: a schedule run-down for the coming week, any notable trips or events, report updates, and department updates. Occasionally, PR will have you relay messages they have trouble communicating nicely—most of the time, they involve suggestions for him to ‘smile more’ or ‘answer questions more enthusiastically’. 

You have no problem telling him these things straight up, and he has no issue hearing it directly from you, either. 

For this week, you detail a few meetings scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday, along with updates on his costume revisions, to be fitted on Wednesday afternoon, and—

“Deku requested a joint patrol on Thursday morning, so I moved your fitting for the gala to that evening instead. Is that okay with you?” you look up from your tablet, the tip of your pen hovering over the screen. 

In this light, you’re bathed in the colors of sunrise. 

(From where you’re standing, Shouto is backlit by the rising sun. His figure is washed over by a faded shadow, but you can see his eyes clearly, bright turquoise and dark gray staring right at you.

You hold your breath; you are well aware of Shouto’s tendencies to stare, but he’s taking much longer to answer you this time. And you don’t know what to do, where to look. Do you wait until—)

Shouto nods, catching himself lingering. 

You mumble an ‘okay’ before tapping on your tablet. 

The rest of your reminders are about upcoming events and deadlines: there’s the company team building happening in a few weeks, and a few reports due today and tomorrow. Fuyumi moved the family lunch to Saturday to make way for his photoshoot on Sunday. 

He watches you from his desk as you speak, your foot tapping in conjunction with each item you relay to him, as if marking every point. It’s a thing you do, something he’s noticed in the years you’ve worked together. 

Shouto knows his Mondays, and he’s always been relaxed during these earlier parts of it. 

But ever since that check-up with Natsuo, he’s been more… conscious about it lately. It seems to be a consistent trend that every time he’s around you, he feels a significant uptick in his heartbeat. 

Except now, when you speak—

“Will you be bringing a plus-one to the gala this year? The committee is confirming how many seats they’ll reserve for you.” 

—his heart feels like it drops, plummeting straight to his stomach. 

He looks at you intently, a slight crease forming between his brows. 

You go to most of these things with him; you always have, ever since. 

So, why are you even asking? 

He thinks about it, deciding what to say next. The thought of you not going with him feels weird. Unusual. 

If you’re unavailable, he supposes he can just go alone. 

But—

“What should I do then?” Shouto shifts in his seat, peering up at his brother. 

Natsuo’s instinctive reaction is to laugh; after all, it’s not often that you see pro-hero Shouto at a loss on troubleshooting. But when he spots pure and genuine uncertainty swirling in heterochromatic gray and blue, he sees his little brother—Shouto at ages 4, 8, and 12, still a little helpless on what to do.

“Do you want to do something about it?” Natsuo asks gently, squeezing Shouto’s shoulders. 

Shouto doesn’t say anything. 

The lack of response tells him all he needs to know. 

“Maybe figure that out first, then just be honest about it when the time comes. Nothing beats saying it plain and simple.” 

—‘just be honest about it’ echoes in his head, Natsuo’s voice morphing into his own.

“Will you not be available?” he manages to ask flatly, masking his worry. 

(You look up from your tablet and his eyes meet yours, an intensity in his gaze that’s only been directed at you a handful of times before.) 

“Oh,” you fluster a little, shifting your weight, “I will be, but I just thought…”

He can hear you hesitate, voice trailing off as if contemplating your next words. His head dips to coax you to go on. 

“...I just thought, maybe you’d want to bring someone from your family?” you give a small smile, half-genuine, half-uncertain. 

You know Shouto’s family; know their stories and know what each of them are like, individually. 

You know how far they’ve come into healing, seeing Touya through multiple cycles of rehab and relapse. You’ve witnessed his mother’s strength first-hand, watching her rebuild their family with the help of Fuyumi. On the weekends when work wouldn’t let up for Shouto, she’d welcome you to join in family lunches too. 

There were days during Natsuo’s medical internship when he’d go to the office at midnight because the hospital was nearby. It was the only free time he and Shouto had at the time, but Natsuo would ask you to join in, the three of you slurping on cup noodles while Natsuo prattled on about the absurdity of some of his coworkers. 

So, Shouto can fully understand your intentions. After all, he thinks you’ve been instrumental to his family’s healing, too. 

But he has his reasons for never bringing Fuyumi—she usually has school the next day, if not volunteer work at an orphanage. Natsuo has gotten increasingly busier with his practice, and Touya—Touya is still in rehab, and though he’s allowed at home three times a week, Shouto’s sure he’d rather spend it doing things other than being in a room full of pro-heroes. 

“It might be nice to bring your mom,” you add on.

And as for that—

“The gala is this Friday?” he leans forward, the tips of his bangs brushing his eyelids. 

You nod.

“She and Touya are going to the gardens,” he recalls, his mother casually mentioning it the last time he visited. 

You look pleasantly surprised, “Oh,” then your small smile returns, “that’s good to hear.” 

(It must mean a lot to Rei, you think. She’s always wanted to make up for lost time.) 

You don’t say anything else, silence filling the conversation as you hold his gaze.

It isn’t uncommon for Shouto to hold stare-offs, with you especially, but this might just be the first time he feels fully conscious about it—wondering what you’re thinking; if you can read his mind and tell what he’s thinking. 

“Do you not want to join me?” he asks, a small pout forming on his face. 

(The softness of his cheeks sink just a little bit, and his eyes lose some of the luster they typically carry in the morning. 

He looks so sad, you wish you just said yes in the first place. 

How do you even respond to this?) 

“No, n-no–” you stutter, inching forward subconsciously, “–it’s nothing like that.” 

You check your tablet, swiping through your calendar. He can see portions of it from where he’s sitting, your Friday definitely freed up and empty. 

He pushes himself up, standing to full-height. His hands dig into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tilts his head to the side. 

“What seems to be the problem then?” 

(In your years of knowing Shouto, you’ve learned that he never intends to sound harsh even though his words may seem like it. But even though you’re aware that he only means to be curious, you still feel a little embarrassed admitting that you didn’t anticipate the possibility of going to the gala with him this Friday. 

You’ve always been prepared; it’s in your job description to be like this. You should have had a back-up dress just in case. You shouldn’t have shown Shouto your hesitation in the first place.

So, you breathe out, voice level and calm. This is your problem to fix, you don’t have to let him know about it. You’ll find a way, like you always do.) 

“There’s no problem. I’ll add my name to the list then.”

Then you smile, but it’s just a touch uneasy, and if there’s one thing you underestimate about Shouto—for just as much as you know him, he’s gotten to know you pretty well too. 

He pauses. The last thing he would want is for you to feel forced to go.

“If you have other plans, I hope you don’t feel obligated to go. I can go alone.”

His brows furrow, crease deepening and heart still sinking. 

(And you can see it, that little pout on his face staying right where it is. 

You’re endeared, touched by his consideration.

“I don’t have other plans,” you grin, brighter and more at ease, “and I don’t feel forced to go either,” you sigh, hiding a small chuckle. 

A pause. 

You mull it over before deciding to admit why you were hesitant in the first place, “I thought you were going to bring your mom, so I wasn’t able to prepare a dress.”)

Shouto’s eyes widen slightly, mouth opening to express his apologies. 

“But–!” you interrupt, “That’s my fault,” you raise your hand, swaying it side-to-side. “So please don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” 

The smile on your face is meant to reassure him, he knows, but he still feels guilty. 

This Friday’s gala is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards; it’s grand because it’s important, and the dress code is always black-tie—everything typically made custom. 

He tilts his head slightly, thinking, eyes zeroing in on the small calendar propped up on his desk.

“My suit is being made by Bakugo’s parents, correct?” 

You nod, reiterating, “Your final fitting is on Thursday night.”

His gaze flits to you once again. 

(There’s that look in his eyes you’ve become all too familiar with—a glint of mischief accompanying a sort-of ‘Eureka!’ moment that means he’s thought of something.

The pieces click together, realization dawning upon you, but when you open your mouth to refuse—)

“I can ask them to do yours as well.” Shouto beats you to it. 

It wouldn’t be fair for you to scramble for your outfit last minute simply because he assumed you knew you were going. You shouldn’t be more stressed than you already are. 

“Si– Shouto,” you say firmly, “That’s too much.” 

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he flashes you a small smile. 

(And you hate to admit it, but he’s right.

The Bakugo’s have known you for as long as you’ve been Shouto’s assistant. They’ve consistently designed his suits for big events like the Pro-Hero Awards, and Mitsuki has always extended their services to you too, knowing full well that you are Shouto’s plus-one most of the time. 

She likes to chat with you during suit pick-ups, with Masaru serving you a cup of tea as you wait for minor tweaks and adjustments to Shouto’s outfits. 

“It would be too last minute,” you resist, feeling bad for the hassle this would impose on them.

“Then I can call them later today.” Shouto reaches for his phone, eagerly typing what you assume is a reminder to call Mitsuki some time later, just as he said he would. 

“You–” your voice hesitates, “you don’t have to do that. I can contact their secretary–”

This is part of your job, after all. 

“It will be much faster if I call them directly.” 

And while he does have a point, you still feel bad, inching closer towards his desk, “It’s okay, you shouldn’t have to concern yourself with this–” 

He gives you a look. 

You stop moving. 

Shouto is stubborn, this much you know. When he looks like this, you’re well aware that there’s no point dissuading him from doing something he’s already set his mind to.)

“It’s only right given that I told you last minute.” 

He tells this to you sincerely; it really is the least he can do. 

Besides—

“…be honest…” the words replay in his head.

—he swallows his truth; lets it sink deep into stomach along with that two-part thump in his chest. 

“I only feel comfortable going to these with you, anyway.” 

(Your mind blanks, coming up with nothing else to say but ‘okay’.) 

.

.

.

Cameras flash as Shouto steps down from his van. 

The building ahead of him is colossal, tall pillars and perfect arches made of raw stone and marble—it feels both ancient and otherworldly, fitting to represent Musutafu in this new age. Ahead of him, the staircase stretches on, steps spanning the width of half a block. Down its center cascades a luscious carpet, thick velvet that further lends to the grandeur of the event. 

Standing at the foot of the staircase, Shouto takes a moment to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing his perfectly fitted waistcoat underneath. 

(You know he isn’t doing it on purpose; it’s hardly ever Shouto’s intention to make people swoon, but you’re positive that that one move alone can make anyone melt on sight—you included.) 

Tonight is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards, a prestigious event where hero rankings, major announcements, and charity biddings take place. 

(It’s not anything new to the both of you, but Shouto skipped out on the past two, and it’s been years since you joined him on the last one he went to. Being here again after so long makes you feel a little out of practice.

After he scales the flight of stairs ahead, Shouto turns back to you, offering his arm for support as you step down from the vehicle. You hesitate, partly because you don’t know whether it’s acceptable behavior for you to take it, and also because you don’t remember if this was something you did the last time you went to one of these with him.

You can’t think straight—not when he looks as seraphic as he does, face half-illuminated by the lights behind him with the shadows hugging the softness of his cheeks. 

Shouto is beautiful, a fact you’ve known long before you ever even started working with him; but you’re reminded of that fact in moments like this, especially. 

“The steps are tall,” he tells you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you glance back at the staircase behind him. You try not to stare, but the strands that frame his forehead shift from his sudden movement; it scatters into a perfect mess—characteristic of how anything out of place always seems to look on him.

You take his offer.)

His forearm is firm against your palm, the thick fabric of his suit jacket providing cushion for your touch. When he bends it towards his chest, your fingers slip towards the crook of his elbow. 

Scarlet red contrasts the building’s stone white structures, the carpet providing a center stage for all heroes and public figures to parade their outfits. If not for the photographers yelling, “Shouto, right!” and “Shouto, left!”, he would have gone straight inside, barely pausing on the landings between each flight of stairs. 

You stand to the side when he takes them, just as you always do. But between each flash that goes off, Shouto thinks about whether you should join him too; after all, Mitsuki did intend for the dark navy of your dress to match the stone gray of his three-piece suit. 

When you finally arrive at the lobby of the city hall, the two of you are welcomed into a receiving area adorned with crystal chandeliers. The lights bounce off the sharp white edges of the building’s neoclassical interiors, the carpet’s scarlet red returning as a recurring motif in the form of drapes cascading from the high ceilings and down the sides of the room.

By this time, Shouto’s relaxed a bit more, his hand slipping loosely into his front pocket. 

(You don’t realize you’re still holding onto him until you’re midway across the floor.) 

“Hey, you guys!” Kirishima waves over, squeezing himself within a narrow space between the backs of who look like one of the executives of the hero commission and last year’s awarded peace ambassador. 

(You don’t know how he could have possibly fit, the width of him wider than any pro-hero you know, but you chuckle at his timid mumbles of “sorry, excuse me, just passing through.” It reminds you of how he typically approaches you when he asks for favors regarding joint patrols and assignments with Shouto.

He greets you both with his trademark hug, a bone-crushing grip that leaves you a little winded.) 

“I didn’t know the two of you were coming!” 

“It was a last minute decision,” Shouto smiles, small and fond. 

(You look at Shouto intently from beside Kirishima, as if processing what he means. And when his eyes meet yours, you feel caught, shy, averting your gaze quickly.)

Kirishima clears his throat, no doubt noticing the interaction but choosing to focus on something else instead—Shouto’s outfit, a dark navy tie tucked underneath a fitted gray waistcoat; the white collar of his button down peeking through the all stone-gray ensemble. His hair is styled down, bangs curled inwards to form commas that frame his forehead.  

“Looking good, man.” the red head deflects, joining his index finger and thumb to form an ‘O-K’ sign as he nods at Shouto. Then he turns to you, the same genuine smile on his face as he says, “That color really suits you.” 

You smile sheepishly, mumbling, “Thanks.” 

(Kirishima is a sweetheart; you can never doubt that his intentions are pure. But the attention makes you feel a little self-conscious, even more now that—) 

Shouto looks at you then, again, too.

It’s the only time he’s managed to get a real good look at you if he’s being honest; from the incident in the car to the flashing lights up the staircase, there haven’t been many opportunities to fully see what you’re wearing. 

And—

Kirishima’s right. 

The color really does suit you, but so does the design of your dress—a simple cowl neck joining into halter straps; it dips low at the back, this detail of it, he knows. He’s been careful not to touch you there the entire time so far. It doesn’t help that your hair is tied into a low bun, accentuating the vacant space with how the dress hugs you beautifully in all the right places. 

The dark navy satin was a good choice, the perfect vessel for catching ripples of light. 

It’s simple but classic; understated, just like the accessories you’ve chosen are. And it brings out the one thing he thinks carries this look the most—

You. 

He tries to form the words in his head, urging himself to speak up—he wants to give you a compliment of his own. 

But—

“Bakubro!” Kirishima waves overhead, much like he did earlier. 

—maybe he can try again next time. 

You and Kirishima don’t stay long after Bakugo arrives, Ashido coming in to whisk you and the redhead away to the main room. She loops her arm around yours and pulls you towards her, prompting you to give one last glance at Shouto as an expression of your apologies. 

The corner of his lips curl only the slightest bit. 

Bakugo watches. 

“Don’t forget the drinks, Blasty!” Ashido calls over her shoulder, green silk flowing behind her. 

He tuts, grumbling as he heads towards the reception bar, leaving Shouto in the middle of the receiving area, unsure of where to follow. 

“Y’coming or what?” 

Shouto lingers for a few seconds, watching your back disappear into the hall before he decides to walk after Bakugo.  

The lobby begins to quiet down as people flood into the main event area, a large hall adorned with the same scarlet red drapes and crystal chandeliers. The table arrangements have been pre-selected and arranged, you and the others most likely finding your seats inside. 

“Old hag told me you’re dating.” 

Bakugo speaks, his back still turned to Shouto. 

The bar in front of them offers a generous selection of drinks, all ranging from different wines to cocktails and liquor shots. It isn’t a surprise that Bakugo knows all of his friends’ chosen drinks, down to each specificity—it’s how he shows that he cares. Shouto’s come to learn that over the years. 

Their friendship has settled into its own dynamic as Bakugo’s mellowed down. Shouto will ask a question here and there, and Bakugo will look at him like he’s the dumbest fuck on the planet, but still answer anyway. 

It works, as evidenced by right now. 

Shouto stops right beside Bakugo, leaning against the countertop as he hums, confused, “Who?” 

Bakugo sighs, sliding Shouto his gin and tonic, “Mom.” Then he rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the door of the main room, “She told me you two are finally dating.”

Shouto pauses mid-sip. 

When he recalls the conversation he had with Mitsuki, it went a lot more like:

“Can a dress be made for my assistant as well?” he speaks into the line, “I will be bringing them to the gala.” 

He doesn’t think he insinuated anything. 

But now that he replays it in his head, it’s no wonder Mitsuki’s enthusiastic reply sounded so eager. 

Bakugo snorts, smirking as if his suspicion was just proven right, “Knew that lady was hearin’ shit.” 

The bartender serves up another drink, Ashido’s raspberry daiquiri being placed right in front of the blond before he moves on to mix another one. Clacking ice fills in the silence, the drink coming together inside the shaker. 

Shouto stares at his drink and watches as little bubbles form on the slice of lime submerged in it. 

“Are you at least thinkin’ about it?” the blond faces Shouto, leaning his forearm against the counter. 

Shouto furrows his brows, a single thought running through his mind.

“How did you know?” 

Bakugo stares, deep vermillion as he speaks, deadpan, “You can’t be serious.” 

Shouto stares right back. 

Another drink is served, Kaminari’s mixed drink of vodka, lime, and lemonade.

The stare-off persists for a few seconds, a series of blinks emphasizing Shouto’s cluelessness to the whole ordeal. Because—why does it feel like everyone knows? Did he mention it without knowing? Or is it really just that obvious?

Bakugo sighs, mentally facepalming as he turns back to watch the bartender shake another drink, “Whatever. S’none of my business.” He leans onto the counter, elbows resting on the steeltop. 

Shouto isn’t sure what else to say. He knows that Bakugo is observant, that his friend has always had a keen sense of awareness for the things going on around him; it just never crossed his mind that that would include his interactions with you.

The blond slides over Ashido’s drink, prompting Shouto to hold the flute of the glass between his fingers, “Just don’t be a fuckin’ dumbass about it. Gotta be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

The bartender serves up the final drink: Sero’s whiskey on the rocks. Bakugo takes it along with Kaminari’s and starts walking back to the main room, Shouto following right behind him. 

He thinks about it. 

A thump. 

Because right before they both enter the hall, Shouto spots you, further back at the right side of the room as you laugh at something Yaoyorozu must have said. 

He blinks, wondering if the soft glow around you is from the haziness of his eyes. 

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will,” Bakugo mumbles, just within ear-shot before he walks ahead to where Kirishima and the others are seated. 

Shouto makes a mental note to drop off Ashido’s drink before heading over to you. 

.

.

.

You and Shouto leave the gala early.

A message from the police station came in the middle of the event: a request to bump up a few reports for submission tomorrow.

You’d mentioned to Shouto that he could stay, especially since he’d be needed to accept awards that you were sure he’d be the recipient of—among them being one of the top performing agencies of the year, a big chunk of it based on the high turnover rate of timely reports. But he insisted that someone else could represent him instead; he’s certain Midoriya wouldn’t mind. 

If you were going back to the agency to work, so was he. 

The night shift at the agency is minimally staffed, with most sidekicks and pro-heroes out on patrol. Regular employees have clocked out by this time, and it seems that the only ones left in the building are the emergency unit and the two of you. 

You’ve split the work between you two: Shouto tasked to fill in the second pages, where the scene-by-scene breakdown and additional comments can be found, and you, in charge of summarizing those details along with all basic information onto the first pages. 

It feels nostalgic, watching you flip through the papers laid out on the coffee table of his lounging area at a quarter past midnight. Back then, he had just hired you, and the only other employees in the agency were his gear tech and PR manager. There was no way the volume of workload could be managed without spending late nights organizing investigations and reports on the floor of that rented studio unit. 

Now, you sit by the coffee table in his lounging area, one you helped decorate. The books atop it have been pushed to the side to give you ample workspace, but even those remind him of how much consideration you’ve put into helping him build his space. 

Bakugo’s words linger when he thinks about it—how the books you’ve chosen remind him of his family. There’s one on the language of flowers that his mother would love, and a cookbook that he’s sure Fuyumi’s used (some corners are folded, with her handwriting scrawled on every other page). On another stack lie a few comic books he remembers Touya and Natsuo reading when they were younger (that he’s pretty sure he’s seen them flip through during their visits to his office over the years).  

And along with all the books sits a family photo taken years ago, framed and taken by you during one of their annual trips to their family beach house a few hours away from the city. 

It begins to sink in. 

A thump.

He folds the sleeves of his button down to his elbows, his gray suit jacket long since draped over the back of his leather chair. You’ve changed out of your heels too, opting instead for the soft slippers you keep under your desk. 

It’s cute, he thinks, the formality of your entire get-up toned down by a pair of fluffy yellow slippers. 

When he glances at you again, he finds you hunched over yourself on the sofa of his lounging area, an arm wrapped around yourself as if to contain whatever warmth you have left. 

He furrows his brows. 

“Are you cold?” his voice booms through the stillness of his office, jostling you out of focus. You whip your head up to look at him, shaking it immediately as if on autopilot. 

(He pouts, then, a small downturn of his lips that you find adorable, more than anything.) 

“I’m okay,” you smile, but he can see the slight twitching of your lip; the goosebumps dotting down your trembling arms. 

You always seem to be doing things like this with him. 

He pushes himself away from his desk, the wheels of his chair rolling against the stone floor. 

You never express your discomfort in any situation you’re put in, and you diligently work and endure all conditions to get the job done. He always extends his help, but you often decline, and—

“You have to be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

—Shouto is beginning to realize that the way you treat him really is so much more than that. 

You’ve laid the groundwork of the operations in his agency and you always smooth talk your way to getting him out of schedules he mistakenly forgets to show up to (typically with good reason, though). You cover all the areas he misses—this entire building would not be how it looks and functions without your help overseeing its construction. 

You’re organized and driven, eager and compassionate, and you care, above all else. 

The flowers you leave on his desk are never needed, but you always insist on them to keep his space alive. You fix all his clumsy papercuts, even though he never asks you to; he’s dealt with much, much worse, yet it’s only a split-second after you spot it that the tingling of your quirk works its way to mend his split skin. 

It’s just like what happened in the car earlier tonight, a few minutes away from reaching the city hall. Shouto had accidentally cut himself with the invitation to the gala, and though he insisted that it was okay, it was right on his eyelid—a miracle it even missed his eyeball in the first place, you’d commented. 

You managed to convince him then, saying, “It’s going to sting every time you blink.” —which was true; it did sting every time he blinked. 

That care extends to the people in his life too. His mom loves to go to the weekend market with you, and Fuyumi can always count on you to help her cook when she needs an extra hand. You keep up with Natsuo’s jokes and Touya talks to you, long enough conversations that allow him to be himself. 

You care, and you insist upon your care especially when you know he needs it but would never ask for it. 

It’s only fair, then, that it’s time he does the same for you. 

He removes the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the movement drawing your attention. 

(Your eyes widen as he approaches you. You feel shy, a little flustered as you raise your hands up to reassure him that you don’t need it.) 

“Your arms are shivering.” he points out, holding up the thick fabric. 

You crane your neck up to look at him, just a few steps away from reach. 

(You can’t deny the facts.)

From above, he only sees skin—the plunging dip of your exposed back, the small hairs standing along your arms. He tries his best to look into your eyes only, but—

“At least let me place this over you.” 

(And you know you can’t deny Shouto, either.) 

—when you concede and let him, he steps closer and bends just a little bit, his full height too tall to be able to place it on you properly. His arms circle around you, carefully resting the thick wool around your neck and onto your shoulders. 

He bends lower to adjust the sleeves, making sure that your arms are fully covered. You’re so still, and so close, the tips of his ears nearly touching the highest points of your cheeks. 

(It’s just like the gala—)

It’s just like the car—

(—with Shouto helping you navigate through the crowd of people exiting the event as early as you both did. His presence was a steady heat against your back, near and warm but barely touching.)

—with your face almost nose-to-nose with his; apart from the gentle touch of your fingertip against his eyelid, Shouto can only remember feeling that, along with the traitorous thump of his heartbeat. 

It’s a good thing that he had his eyes closed then; he wouldn’t have known how to react at the proximity. 

But now, he can see you so clearly, your low bun kept in place by bobby pins the same color of your hair; there’s glitter on the inner corners of your eyes, some of it falling to dot the corners of your nose. 

This has to be more than just a crush if he’s feeling this intensely.  

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then it’s two blinks before you look away, clearing your throat as you glance at him again, a little bashful, “Thank you.” 

Shouto nods, taking one step back. 

“The estate we booked for the company outing offered to host a visit for you next weekend.” you speak before he fully returns to his seat, shifting in your seat, “I checked your schedule and there’s nothing set for that day yet.” His suit jacket dwarfs you, the deep navy silk becoming an accent the further you sink into it, “Maybe you’d like to go with your mom?”

You suggest it to him again. Because you know and you care. 

He taps his foot, looking out into the city, “That would be nice.” Then he turns back to you, strands of his bangs falling to dust his forehead as he puts his hands inside his pockets, “You’ll be coming too, then?” 

(There are things you don’t allow your heart to feel in moments like this—hope being one of them. Shouto looks dangerously attractive in a suit, and it’s been difficult to keep your feelings at bay the entire night. He speaks honestly, rarely with double meaning, so when he speaks to you like this, you try not to think too much of it. 

“Yes,” you agree, thinking that he must want you to scope out the venue for the company outing activities, “is there anything in particular that you want me to check out for the team building?”)

Shouto tilts his head. 

“Not for work,” he clarifies, staring straight into your eyes. “Just to spend the day with us.” 

He expects your reaction already, your eyes widening and your hands raising to wave off a ‘there’s no need.’ But, he finds that there’s no reason for you to be shy, already beating you to the final say.

“Mom would want you there,” he mentions, because it’s true. She’d look for you. 

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, with how he’s been feeling around you lately—he would too. 

II. IF I SPEAK

The Todoroki family home comes alive on the weekends. 

Since Touya’s return, his mom has moved into a smaller, more modern place to stay. The walls of its exteriors are painted a warm off-white, its features complemented by light wood and bluish-gray accents. At the back exists a garden large enough for a few small trees and her growing flower collection—a complete flip from their larger and darker old home. 

The tall windows stream sunlight into the living space, each corner of the house doused in its comfort. Opting for a smaller home was a conscious choice—everything would be within reach, and so would the people in it. 

On the days that Touya is allowed to stay home from rehab, he lives here, sometimes with Fuyumi, but always with Rei. 

“Food is ready!” Fuyumi calls from the kitchen, prompting Touya and Natsuo to look over from the couch. Shouto is just about to finish setting the table when Rei brings out a piping hot pot of soup, Fuyumi in tow with a whole plate of tonkotsu. 

Natsuo heads inside the kitchen for anything else that might need carrying, and Touya opens the fridge to take out the iced tea he helped make last night.

It’s taken some time to get here—with Touya willingly doing anything with his family. Getting used to living with people he thought abandoned him for a decade is hard; learning to become a family has been even harder. 

But Touya has always lived in a special corner of his mother’s heart—never forgotten and always considered. Shouto thinks it’s the same case for all of them; that’s how it’s managed to work. 

Touya takes his seat beside Shouto, pouring himself a glass of iced tea while waiting for the rest of their family. 

“Played any golf lately?” Touya eyes Shouto from the side.  

Shouto shakes his head, staring at his palms; calluses used to line the base of his fingers, “Work at the agency has gotten busy.” 

Taking up golf has been part of Touya’s rehabilitation program for the past few months, a recommendation to aid in improving focus while keeping himself calm. And though there was much resistance at first, Touya’s grown fond enough of the sport to play it on his own; it’s made all the difference, Shouto’s noticed, his brother’s overall disposition a lot less angry—

“Looks like I’m going to beat your ass next week,” Touya smirks, cracking his wrists. 

—but still equally as snarky.

Shouto doesn’t normally care about competition; the only person he really has to beat is himself. But he and Touya are alike in many ways, with eyes as sharp as their father’s but their faces holding the same innocence as their mother’s. They are both lit up by fires—one forced to blaze and the other forced to dim. There is a bluntness Shouto shares with Touya that no one else in the family can argue with.

“Being too confident can jinx it for you on the fairway,” Shouto replies, turning to his brother with his signature blank gaze. 

Natsuo laughs as he settles into his seat beside Touya, watching as his older brother’s smirk quickly dissolves into a frown. 

“Little shit,” Touya mumbles, taking a sip from his drink. 

The corners of Shouto’s lips curl up slightly. 

Rei and Fuyumi join the table last, bringing out a steaming pot of rice and a few side dishes to complement the rest of the meal. 

These family lunches keep them connected. 

Fuyumi believes that no matter how busy they are, having this time to gather together and share details on each other’s lives is important.

“Sorry I can’t join you and these two next weekend, mom,” Natsuo starts, slicing through his tonkotsu as he points an elbow towards his brothers, “The hospital has a medical mission out of town.” 

Rei simply smiles, waving her hand, “No need to apologize. I’m so proud of you, Natsuo.” 

“Will you be free, Fuyumi?” she turns next to her, placing a hand on Fuyumi’s lap. 

Fuyumi swallows her food, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, mom, the school’s hosting a kiddie pool party for the first day of summer.”  

Rei pats her lap reassuringly, smiling again as she says, “It’s no problem, I’m glad the kids are having fun under your care.” 

“It’ll just be the three of us, then.” Rei looks at her two boys across from her—her eldest and her youngest. 

Touya blows at his bowl, puffs of steam dissipating into the air. For as hot as Touya’s flames can get, he dislikes anything too hot to eat—a preference of his that Rei’s taken note of as she reaches across the table to cool down his bowl ever so slightly. 

“Thanks,” Touya mumbles, still hesitant to call her ‘mom’ when it’s face-to-face. 

“I heard the estate has a greenhouse,” Shouto mentions, Rei instantly perking up at the information, “You can take a look at the plants there, mom.” 

“That sounds lovely, Shouto,” she smiles; this time, it reaches her eyes, “We can take photos in your handsome outfits too.” 

Touya scrunches his nose as Shouto nods. As per the invitation, the estate prepared a whole day’s worth of activities—a game of golf in the morning, brunch by the gardens, and a simple wine tasting to cap off the afternoon. 

Lunch continues with Fuyumi sharing more about the kids she’s handling this year, and Natsuo retelling interactions of the most obnoxious patients he’s had yet. 

They laugh, a little more like a family—Shouto chuckling as Touya gives a snarky comment or two. Fuyumi laughs, full-bodied, and Rei giggles, softly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“How are your flowers, mom?” Shouto asks after they settle down, remembering that you helped her pick out which ones to plant last time. 

“The morning glories are going to be blooming soon,” Rei replies, her smile fond and proud. Since being released from the hospital years ago, she’s taken to planting and flower arranging, oftentimes asking you to help her choose which ones to use. 

“Really?” Fuyumi turns her head, gasping as she catches a glance from the window across the room, “They look good, mom! Can I have some when they bloom?” 

Rei nods, turning to her youngest, “You can get some too, Shouto.” 

For you, she adds.

Natsuo eyes him from the side as he freezes, Rei suggesting some more, “You can place it in a vase. It’s not fair, you always receive flowers for your desk.” 

Shouto nods, a small ‘okay’ because he doesn’t really know how else to respond without giving his feelings away. 

Touya observes Shouto’s expressions, his eyes twinkling in sinister aquamarine.

“Speaking of,” he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs to face Shouto, “s’your hot assistant coming?” 

Something twists in Shouto’s face, his brows furrowing slightly. 

Touya knows just how to get on Shouto’s nerves.

(What stares back at him is a deadly shade of gray and blue. 

Touya does this pretty often: provoking just for fun. 

Shouto stares at almost everyone he interacts with; it’s unnerving and uncomfortable for people who aren’t used to it, but Touya’s noticed that his little brother stares at you for far longer than he needs to. 

And though he’s missed a big chunk of how Shouto grew up, he likes to think he reads him pretty well now—how he acts around you, especially.

At his core, Shouto believes in carving his own path, choosing to fix wrongs and better himself for the now. Touya knows these things, knows where a person is weakest, just like he’s been taught—just like he’s been made aware of his entire life. Yet, for how independent Shouto’s become, he still chooses to lean on you; turns to you for thoughts and opinions,  considering you in everything. 

Touya has met you a few times; the whole family has. During the worst of his relapse, you were the only person apart from family who was trusted to accompany him in and out of rehab. You picked him up and dropped him off, often joining Rei and Fuyumi on visits when Shouto would be too busy. 

To him, you’re an extension of Shouto at this point—an olive branch that’s been just as instrumental in healing this family and the people in it. 

It’s never in the big things, but those few minutes of small talk you attempt with him in the car ride home help loosen his tongue, training a muscle that with time, has helped him open up more. 

Touya doesn’t care much for people; he’s still just beginning to learn to love his family again, but he thinks you fit in well, because you and Natsuo have the same god-awful humor, and Fuyumi only trusts you to help out in the kitchen. His mom likes having you around, and you never stick your neck in too deep in other people’s shit when they aren’t ready for it—especially his. You never nag Shouto, but you stand firm on the things you disagree with, because as far as Touya can see, you care, far deeper than your job requires you to. 

In all ways, you are the stability and calm authenticity that Shouto needs after growing up in such a tumultuous family.

So, Touya likes to stir the pot a little. Or a lot. Maybe.

Just for fun.)

Shouto continues to stare, his frown deepening. His jaw clenches, tension throbbing in his temples.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, low and firm.

He feels like a kid again; like this would be a conversation they’d be having if things were normal and Touya had been around when Shouto turned 15, teasing him about a crush he might have, like older brothers do. 

Natsuo and Fuyumi have always felt like his protectors, siblings forced to be parents by circumstance; but Touya feels like his brother, the one he can fight and steal food from; the one who holds a toy up above head where Shouto can’t reach—even though he’s much, much taller than his older brother now. 

Touya scoffs, smirking, “Just saying what you think, little brother.”

.

.

.

All Shouto hears is a thump. 

A succession of them, in a steady three-part beat. 

The golf ball in front of him sits on an even plot of vibrant green, its dents and grooves emphasized by the sunlight of the early morning—there’s pressure, a thump; he needs to beat Touya in this hole to tie overall. Another thump; you’re watching him play. 

He analyzes all conditions, feels the heat on his back seep through the fabric of his white golf shirt. He breathes in and prepares to swing. 

Today is the visit to the estate. 

The agenda starts with an early game of golf, followed by brunch at the gardens and wine tasting in the early to late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, and Shouto should be focusing on winning this game, but it’s distracting when you’re all he’s really thought about since the start of this round. 

—you, in your perfectly fitted white golf shirt and its complementary skirt; you, sitting with his mom at the back of the golf cart, smiling and laughing as if you aren’t the slightest bit aware of how much you brighten a space when you look like that. You, with your head whipping right in his direction when you hear the loud ‘swauck!’ that the impact of his club makes with the ball—your eyes excited and hopeful. 

Shouto misses the hole, and Touya snickers from the side. 

The thumbs up you give him is a soothing balm to his miss.

Shouto readjusts his cap as they walk closer to the hole, tucking in the strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He glances back at you and lingers, interrupted only by—

“Pretty thing, your assistant,” Touya teases, nudging his head towards your direction, “Cute skirt and all.” 

“Stop.” Shouto stares, impassive and unamused. His eyebrow twitches before he turns, walking away. 

From afar, he can hear Touya’s chuckle, breathy from the movement of fixing his arm sleeve. Shouto only pays attention to preparing his putter.  

He knows this is just how his older brother is. 

Since the start of this round, Touya’s managed to lead by a few strokes, with Shouto falling behind in every hole. It’s frustrating and annoying, aggravated even more by Touya’s teasing and the fact that Shouto has played the sport for far longer than Touya has.

It doesn’t help that he ends up missing again, with Touya managing to make the put afterwards. 

Shouto sighs, clenching his jaw. 

“You know,” Touya eyes him as they walk to the next hole, “staring’s not gonna get you anywhere.” 

“I’m not staring,” Shouto retorts immediately. The expanse of greenery ahead of him is taunting, an endless plot of land that feels like it’s watching.  

Touya scoffs, “Sure.” 

The golf course in the estate is landscaped with luscious trees, vibrant in the brightness of summer. Flowers bloom along the perimeter, yellows and reds carving out this specific section of the estate. You and his mom follow closely behind, riding the cart at a slow and steady pace. 

Just a few meters down, the little red flag for the next hole comes into view, moving with the breeze. 

“If you don’t plan on acting on it, you should let me know.” Touya mentions it a little too casually. 

Another thump. 

It’s a joke. Obviously. Something only meant to rile him up—it’s how Touya is. 

But it still makes him feel just a tad bit uneasy; it makes him feel a little bit like it did when they were kids. 

Before Touya disappeared, they used to sneak into the garden on winter nights. Shouto must have been no older than five and learning how to manage his quirk properly. 

They used to play a game: The Twigfire Race, Touya called it—a competition on who can form the longest and fastest fire trail using a bunch of twigs. 

Touya would always win, his long legs and lanky arms gathering more sticks than Shouto ever could at that age. His flames burned a deep azure blue, eating through the twigs much faster than Shouto’s flames did. Then, he’d press onto the pads of his burnt fingertips, teasing Shouto in some twisted attempt at motivating his little brother to do better. 

Touya would always win, but not without getting a word in. Not without leaving Shouto with a lesson or two about it. 

“I said, stop.” Shouto warns him, voice stern as he turns slightly to catch his brother's eyes. 

“Damn. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Touya raises a hand in mock surrender, smirking, “I can just do it without asking you.” 

Shouto stops walking, fists clenched tightly around his golf club. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Oh, I’m not joking,” Touya taunts, holding back his laugh.

The stare Shouto gives him turns icy, glare intensifying as he inches closer towards his big brother. Touya doesn’t move, the stare-off lasting long enough for you to notice the confrontation. 

From his periphery, Shouto can see you looking at them in confusion. 

“Or am I?” Touya snickers right before he turns away, walking straight towards the next hole. 

Shouto watches him walk away, each thump matching the footsteps his brother makes. To the side, the cart slows to a halt and you get off, standing up as if to gain a better view of what just happened. 

You lock eyes with Shouto and he musters a small smile, raising a hand as if to say ‘everything’s fine.’ 

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done, Shouto!” Touya calls from a few steps ahead. 

Shouto stares at his brother’s back; it’s just how Touya used to say when they were kids—

“You just have to go for it!” 

He takes a step. 

.

.

.

Touya wins the round, with Shouto losing by only a few strokes. 

Rei hugs them both, Touya’s slight reluctance evident in the way his arms stay glued to his side as she wraps hers around the both of them. 

Shouto brings one hand up, resting it against her back; from his line of sight, he spots you smiling fondly, giving him another thumbs up when your eyes meet. 

.

.

.

The estate’s staff escorts everyone to their respective rooms, allowing some time to change into clothes more suited for the late morning brunch. 

When Shouto and Touya finish, they make their way to the greenhouse, a glass dome teeming with life. It’s art in bloom—chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, sunflowers, and camellias all in varying colors of pink, red, purple, and yellow. Under a small bridge is a pond, alive with koi fish swimming underneath pads of water lilies, and right up above, where the sunlight streams in, are baskets of japanese roses, hanging in bright, fuschia clusters. 

He walks atop the bridge, hands stuffed inside his linen pants—a pair that matches the linen shirt you gifted him birthdays ago. What surrounds him is beautiful; perhaps the most heavenly place he’s been to. 

A morning of golf under the sun, nature in florescence. A (relatively) peaceful morning. 

And you—

The moment Shouto spots you, the scenery on your backdrop fades into muddled hues. You and Rei enter the greenhouse side-by-side, with his mother wearing an all-white ensemble: a cardigan with a long, flowy skirt. 

And you—

—you walk in wearing a pale yellow sundress, its hem hitting just above your knees. There are dainty flowers dotted all over it, but nothing too loud; the straps sink into a v-neck with bust details, flowing down into an a-line skirt. It’s perfectly understated, only emphasizing the focus on how radiant you look in it. 

He can’t stop staring. 

Touya snorts as he passes him. 

This day, this sight, is going to stay in his memory for a long, long while, he thinks. 

From up ahead, he can hear his mom call for Touya, dragging him around to ask which blooms would look best for the garden at home. And when he snaps out of the daze you’ve put him in, you appear right beside him, asking if he’s okay. 

“Yes,” he answers promptly, unsure of what to say next. His eyes flit to the baskets of japanese roses hanging above you, then to the view peeking from outside. “Do you want to look around before we eat?”

You nod. 

The depth of the greenhouse is deceiving upon first glance, with Touya and Rei now out of sight as you explore the area. You walk close enough to be side-by-side but still stay a step behind like you typically do, pausing every now and then to take pictures of the flowers around you. 

“You seem more relaxed,” he points out, pushing up the sleeves of his button-up. 

You turn to him from the chrysanthemums you’re snapping, a little flustered at his comment. 

(And at him, mostly. You don’t know how anyone can look this good in a simple linen set. Nature favors Todoroki Shouto, and it shows in moments like now, with sunlight hitting his face at just the right angle that it paints stardust on the tips of his eyelashes.) 

“It’s good,” he quickly follows-up, fluffing through his bangs, “I did mention this wasn’t for work.” 

(You feel warm at the reminder.

“It’s nice to see you with some down time too,” you return the sentiment, uncomfortable with the attention on you.

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress.)

“Did something happen earlier?” you put your phone down, continuing to walk. “At the course. Things looked pretty tense.” 

Shouto hums, considers his next words. He takes a few more steps before answering, “Touya is a dick.” 

A laugh escapes you, and you cover your mouth quickly as you mumble an apology. Shouto knows it’s because it’s completely out of character for him to be so vulgar and insulting when it comes to his siblings.

“Was he sabotaging you?” 

“...Something like that.” he responds. 

“That’s okay,” you scrunch your nose, peering up at him, “You haven’t had much time to play lately.” 

And Shouto wonders if he’s just that easy to console, or if it’s a specific comfort that only comes from you. You make it so easy for him to feel better about all the little and big things—whether it’s news articles headlining him as a PR nightmare, or near-losses on missions gone wrong. 

Not a lot of things get to Shouto, but when they do, you somehow always know how to handle it. 

You continue to stroll around the greenhouse, looking closely at the steel bars holding up the glass arches. From a few steps ahead, Shouto can hear your mumbles—something about measurements and the logistics of turning the rooftop of the agency into a smaller version of this greenhouse.  

“You and mom looked like you were enjoying yourselves earlier,” he mentions offhandedly, hands clasped around his back. 

It’s something he’s noticed for a while—his mother seems to relax more around you, laughing and smiling in most of your conversations. He gets it; you have that effect on everyone around you, the warmth you exude a welcome invitation to be opened up to. 

(You eye him from the side knowingly; Todoroki Shouto is nothing but a closet snoop.) 

“We were talking about plant stuff,” you smile, “and how she’s happy you and Touya finally got to play together. You should’ve seen how red her hands were from clapping for the both of you.” 

He chuckles softly, matching your steps in comfortable silence. 

It’s at a different section of the greenhouse that he pauses, giving you time to admire the shrubs of hydrangeas blooming around you.

Touya’s words come back to him. 

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move,” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side,” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused. 

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you managed to take. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree. 

Now, he wonders—

“Do you want a photo with the flowers?” Shouto asks, because it makes no sense that you deem him worthy to be pictured in perfect lighting when there’s you, looking like you do—the walking subject to the backdrop of greenery behind you. 

Your eyes widen, a stuttered “O-Oh,” falling from your lips. You tug at your skirt again, fiddling with the soft fabric until your eyes nervously meet his. “I don’t really need—”

“The lighting is nice here, too.”

“Oh,” you respond, a hint of diffidence as you flash a small, hesitant smile, “Okay.” 

As Shouto angles himself to take your photo, he notices you turn restless, the smile on your face never quite reaching your eyes and your fingers constantly twirling the fabric of your dress. 

He puts down his phone, tilting his head. 

“Are insects biting you?”

(Your brows shoot up, embarrassed by how he’s noticed. 

You shake your head in response, providing no other explanation besides “Sorry.” 

He continues to stare, as if waiting for you to continue. You know there’s no point hiding the real reason you feel so nervous when he’s already noticed this much.  

“I think I might be underdressed,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you clasp your fingers in front of you, “This entire place is gorgeous.”

The estate screams high-class; apart from the golf course and the greenhouse, the area also boasts its own private lake glistening across a large green field. It feels a little too good to be true—a paradise you find yourself out of place in. 

But—)

Shouto looks at you, really looks at you—at the way your dress hits right above your knees at the perfect length, at how your collarbones peek through its dainty v-neck cut. Its pale yellow makes you look like summer, radiating in light, and he thinks he hasn’t seen anything more beautiful, really; anything more fitting—for this occasion, for this venue, for this day. 

For you. 

The words have been lodged at his throat since he first saw you step in, and now they’re being pushed out, coaxed slowly by the honesty beating thunderously in his chest. 

He thinks about his mom, how she speaks of beauty whenever and wherever she finds it, with nothing stopping her speech and—

There’s a hum, a thoughtful vibration priming his throat as he continues to stare. 

“I think you’re dressed just right,” is what he manages to get out. 

A thump. 

It’s more than that, though, he knows. 

If this is his chance, if this is ‘next time’ from his attempt at the gala—

He blinks, and you only get prettier. 

“You look beautiful.” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

(And when he says your name unlike any way he’s said it before, you feel your chest expand, terrified that it might explode.

Shouto is blunt and honest to a fault; and that honesty, you’ve realized, also happens to be his most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

“T-Thank you.” you straighten your dress, “You—”)

Shouto’s phone vibrates in his palm, a call from Touya breaking him out of your conversation. He bows his head slightly to excuse himself and you nod in acknowledgment. 

“Brunch is served,” he relays, pocketing his phone soon after he hangs up.

(Then, with his hand inside his pocket, he bends his arm deeper, creating a wider loop as if to offer it for you to hang onto—the same way he did during the gala.

And just like you did then, you take it.)

.

.

.

Brunch was served at the estate’s main patio, a circular table made of light wood adorned with dainty white tableware and muted green linen. In the middle was a centerpiece, an assortment of fresh flowers from the greenhouse coming together for a pop of color against the main neutral color scheme. 

The food was divine, a lovely selection of seasonal salads and warm breads, along with eggs cooked in every way possible. Newly harvested fruits were served before and after the meal, a kind of appetizer-dessert to complement the main piece—a large slab of freshly caught salmon. 

Now, you all gather on the second floor of the estate’s main building, right at the balcony overlooking the greenhouse and the field—a perfect view for wine tasting.

Shouto doesn’t care much for alcohol, all technicalities going past his head as the sommelier explains notes and wine pairings.

He can’t taste much of the difference, if he’s being honest. 

In the sommelier’s hand is a bottle of red wine; he describes all of the technical parts of it before finishing off with the fact that it’s ‘beautifully balanced’, something that causes Touya to snort at the side. 

Shouto looks, raising an eyebrow curiously. 

Touya leans in closer to his little brother, swirling the wine in his glass as he lowers his voice mockingly, “‘You look beautiful’.”

The expression on Shouto’s face remains unreadable, his brain processing the fact that his brother must have overheard his conversation with you earlier. It’s while Touya begins to gulp down his glass that Shouto steps on his foot—a sharp pressure stomped onto freshly cleaned loafers. 

��Fuckin–” Touya hisses, cursing under his breath as he pulls his foot away. 

The edges of Shouto’s lips curl up as he turns back to his glass of wine, watching from across the table as his mom smiles fondly at something you must have said. 

(You still feel flustered, a little fuzzy. You’re unsure whether the heat emanating off your cheeks is from the wine or the lingering echoes of his compliment earlier.

From across the table, you lock eyes with Shouto, gray and blue sitting strikingly atop flushed cheeks. You look away quickly—a knee-jerk reaction of bashfulness. He doesn’t hold his liquor well, a fact you’ve known for many, many years, so you can’t tell for sure whether he’s turned red from the wine, or from the same thing you’re feeling, too.)

III. LET ME TELL YOU (HONESTLY)

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will.”

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done…”

“...just be honest about it when the time comes.”

The streets are calm at this time of night, with cars occasionally passing by and the chimes of shop doors tinkling as they open and shut. Not a lot of people stay up late in this part of the neighborhood, but Shouto still hears them—all the jumbled voices of Bakugo and his brothers merging in his mind. 

He steps onto concrete, footfalls muffled by the cushion of his boots—a new update on his costume, one you suggested after a stealth mission mishap caused by the drag of his heel. 

Tonight is his scheduled patrol—a route he knows like the back of his hand, memorized from the many years he’s been assigned to it. The streetlamps ahead cast a dim glow down the road; an atmosphere he would otherwise find unsettling if not for the fact that it’s provided him odd comfort in times he’s needed it the most. 

Tonight, his mind ruminates on you. 

Lately, his interactions with you have been… different—shy glances and awkward slip-ups; the intentional way he’s been expressing himself more around you. 

He can’t tell what you think of it yet. 

Yet, you still sit with him in comfortable silence on the nights that you both work late, and you still bring in fresh flowers for his desk every few days. He’s sure that when he gets back to the agency after his shift, you’ll still be there, claiming to finish a report when you both know it’s just an excuse to make sure that he finished patrol safely.

You still care for him in the same way. 

And now that he’s thinking more about it, maybe it’s been those little things all along—the same way you’ve been treating him all these years shifting into something deeper and more significant, beating its way out of his chest. 

You know Shouto better than anyone—so much so that his family asks you for lists of gift ideas because they don’t have the slightest clue what else to get him. He’s found himself seeking your opinion on things more and more over the years, and if he’s being honest, a big chunk of his decisions are now partly influenced by what you think of them first. 

Across the street, a couple sways to the beat of the jazz bar they step out of, their hands intertwined and smiles giddy with adoration and love. He looks away quickly before they catch him staring. 

There are things Shouto’s discovered that he likes seeing you do—like how you shift your feet when you feel flustered at something he says, or when you tap your index finger against whatever surface it’s on when you’re deep in thought. Your eyes widen when he says things you don’t expect him to, and something about that intrigues him.

He thinks you look cute. 

He wonders if you know that about yourself; and if you don’t, a part of him is saying that he should be the one to tell you.  

.

.

.

You and Shouto attend only one day of teambuilding. 

The company trip spans an entire two weeks, with each department coming in a few days at a time. You both would stay if you could, but Shouto’s schedule doesn’t allow him to be gone for more than a day.

It’s always been unspoken: wherever Shouto goes, you go too. 

This day of the teambuilding is assigned for the managers and those under Shouto’s direct reporting team. 

The estate is still as beautiful as the last time you both visited, summer shining atop the glistening surface of the lake across the green field. Company trips aren’t typically this grand, but this is also the first time in years that Shouto’s had free time to drop by. 

(It’s a bit funny, you think, watching him struggle to reach the finish line in a three-legged race paired with his finance director. Shouto is typically awkward in most team activities, but you find it endearing, watching him put full effort into things he normally doesn’t do.) 

By mid-afternoon, the day’s activities have consisted of tank rolls, marble balancing, and a classic game of pass-the-message (which, you’ve learned, Shouto is absolute garbage at). And for the final game of the day, the both of you are paired for a duo tug of war against his PR manager and support engineer. 

The afternoon heat burns the back of Shouto’s neck, his cap providing little to no protection for that area of his skin. He stands behind you, rope twisted firmly in his grasp as he prepares to pull. You mimic his stance, bracing yourself with your knees bent as you grip the rope tightly. 

Prior to the game, you were all given three minutes to discuss strategies. 

And so now, Shouto counts, low and steady, “One.” 

“Get set,” the facilitator for this activity announces. 

“Two.” 

You take a deep breath. 

“Go!” 

“Three.”

You both pull, holding your ground for a few seconds. He can see your knuckles turning white from where he’s standing, and when he glances at the other team, they’ve begun to lean back, anchoring their bodies to the ground before pulling away slowly. 

Shouto digs his feet into the earth, the rope’s rough fibers sticking to the calluses on his hands. It doesn’t take long before you both slip forward, being dragged by the other team and eventually pulled into your loss. 

You turn back to him immediately, apologetic as you rub your palms, “Sorry!”

(Before the game even began, you already knew whoever your partner was would be carrying most of the work. And you feel a little bad because your loss does make a bit of sense, you think. 

Though Shouto is strong, you know he’s developed his agility far more than his strength. It doesn’t help that his support engineer lifts bulks of synthetic thermal cloth everyday. 

The both of you didn’t stand a chance, really.) 

But Shouto waves it off, smiling softly. 

“Are you okay?” he looks down at your hands. Your skin is an angry flaming red all over your palms, but what causes him to frown are the small cuts resting at the base of your fingers. 

“Yup, all g–” you attempt to hide it, but Shouto’s reflexes are quick, and he catches your wrist the moment you pull away. 

It’s an instinctive reaction when he looks over it once, pressing his thumb to the center of your palm to get a better look. He reaches for his utility belt out of habit, patting the area above his hip only to feel nothing but the smooth cotton of his shirt.

Right, he remembers, he isn’t wearing his gear today.  

He drops his arms, looking around the field for a first-aid kit nearby. 

(A small chuckle escapes you, endeared, and Shouto looks up at the sound. His eyes meet yours briefly before he jogs all the way to retrieve the red box by the tree. 

It’s just a friction burn; a few small cuts from the rough material of the rope, at most. 

You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

When Shouto comes back, he ushers you to the side, grabbing a few cotton buds and antiseptic ointment from the box. His brain works on autopilot, barely thinking as he tends to your injury.

(You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

He peels the bandaid for you and gently places it on top of your wounds—a yellow checkered pattern decorating your skin. 

(You don’t need first aid. But you kind of get it, you think. It’s the same instinctive reaction you have when he gets papercuts. There’s no need for you to mend them with your quirk, but it’s an inexplicable feeling that makes you feel uneasy at the idea of him getting injured off the field.

A whistle is blown to call everyone back to huddle. 

“Better?” Shouto stares at you from under his cap, readjusting it as red and white strands touch the tips of his eyelashes. 

(He looks unfairly pretty like this. How can he even expect you to answer?

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, swallowing your breath. 

When Shouto walks towards everyone else, you follow, pressing your thumb onto your palm.) 

.

.

.

Shouto drops by the greenhouse at the end of the day. 

The sky above the glass dome ceiling is warmed by orange and pink hues. At sunset, the greenhouse looks ethereal, an almost otherworldly escape. The flowers haven’t changed much from his last visit here, but they seem to have blossomed further now that time has passed. 

He walks past the familiar cluster of chrysanthemums and spots a patch of white flowers he doesn’t recall from last time—a wooden placard with the name ‘iris’ sticks out from the soil. His knees bend to crouch low, fingers grazing over the softness of its petals. 

Earlier today, the estate so kindly offered to let him bring home flowers of his choice, and this bunch in front of him calls out to him, a purity and warmth that reminds him of his mom. 

The nippers in his hand feel clunky, a heavy-duty version of the ones he uses when he helps with gardening at home; but he cuts the stems gently, careful to remember all he’s been taught. 

When he thinks he’s gotten enough, he continues to stroll around the greenhouse, the wicker basket in his hand half-filled with pure, white irises. 

A little further down the path, he passes by the hydrangea bushes, his steps slowing as fragmented pieces of that memory with you replay in slow motion. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

“You look beautiful,” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

And he decides—

He should get you flowers too. 

Your desk always seems to have some, and you’re consistently on top of keeping fresh flowers around the agency—on his desk specifically. 

It’s only right.

His mom always tells him that flowers can never lie; they bloom where they are loved and speak from the heart when words are not enough—it’s why she loves them so much.

And, maybe she has a point, because the pink hydrangeas look pretty; they remind him of you, especially.

On his way here, the white camellias spoke to him too. Maybe he’ll get them both for you. 

He crouches low again, nipping the hydrangea stems before backtracking to collect a few camellias. By the time he finishes, his wicker basket is filled to the brim, an assortment of pink and white threatening to spill from its edges. The leaves of the irises stick out, poking at his wrist and making the skin itch.

You find him that way—struggling to wrangle in the abundance of blooms into his basket.

“I think you need another basket,” you chuckle, walking towards him. 

There’s something about you and this hour; how it feels like you fit right in this moment, at the peak of sunset, blooming the same way the flowers do. 

Your smile is radiant against the warmth of diffused sunlight, and though he’s seen you in this same exact slacks-and-blouse combination before, the way he sees you now has shifted. 

You look different, but in all the ways he can’t visibly point out. 

He blinks, and that thump beats once more. 

His arm moves before he can comprehend it, the bunch of camellias and hydrangeas outstretched towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you tilt your head slightly, your hand reaching out for it reluctantly. 

“Would you want me to have this wrapped?” 

(The flowers feel lush in your palm, and you can’t help but wonder who he intends to give them to. There are irises in his basket too, left untouched for reasons you’re not sure you’d like to know. 

Your grip on the stems tighten. 

The camellias stare back at you, an immaculate white, with the pink hydrangeas adding a delicate softness to them. It’s a pretty combination, and you can’t help but think that whoever they’re intended for should feel—)

“It’s for you.”

You lock eyes when you look up. There’s a weight to Shouto’s gaze that intends to get his message across, the words still barely forming on his tongue. 

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to say.  

(—surprised; grateful; confused; the emotions swirl inside of you. The shock is apparent on your face, your eyes widening at his admission. Confusion presents itself in the tilt of your head as you stumble over how to express your gratitude.

“It’s not…” you hesitate, diverting your gaze to anything else but that piercing pair of gray-and-blue. Your mind is drawing up a blank, figuring out what reason he has for giving them to you.)

“There’s no occasion…?”

It comes out as half a question and half something else, your uncertainty marked by the semi-lilt at the end. 

Shouto blinks. 

He wonders if he should tell you now, if he should just confess that he’s been feeling differently about you these days.

You shift your feet, your thumbs rubbing against the flowers’ leaves. 

The thump persists in his chest, knocking at the base of his throat—

Thump.

He takes a deep breath.

Thump.

—but even with its persistence, the words still struggle to come out.

Thump.

Maybe not now; it’s not the right time. 

But he says something else, an admission much easier that still holds just as much truth.

“No occasion.” 

.

.

.

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You switch out the flowers on his desk for a different arrangement of blooms every week. Then, you give him a run-down of his schedule, going over important announcements and upcoming events. 

The mornings go by quickly, with you constantly moving around your desk. Shouto can’t tell what you’re doing exactly, but you’re always working on something whenever he sneaks a peek through the single glass panel cut-out from your shared wall. 

Lunch is a wildcard. On some days, you bring your own; on others, you grab a bite down in the cafeteria. Your routine is largely dependent on how busy you anticipate work to be that day, and though it varies from time-to-time, you never forget to knock on his door—a two-part thump that takes him out of his own little work bubble. 

He almost looks forward to it now, the way your head peeps in from behind his office doors. You call out his name softly, only continuing to speak when he looks up from whatever file he’s working on. 

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You spend the afternoons all over the place, much like he does; while he roams the city, you roam the agency, attending meetings and checking in on different departments. He knows because when he comes back by the end of the day, you almost always have a new set of updates prepared on your desk for the next morning. 

He also knows that Mondays are when you often work overtime, preferring to get a bulk of any urgent matters completed and out of the way.

The back door of his office clicks shut as he walks into the room, his rubber boots leaving no trace that he’s arrived from how quietly his footsteps hit the floor. He unbuckles his utility belt, one hand automatically reaching for its lock; it’s a habit, the ‘clack’ that sounds from it a satisfying marker he looks forward to at the end of every patrol. 

In the corner of his office is a private restroom that he slips into. He quickly changes out of his hero suit and into a pair of sweatpants, throwing on one of his many favorite white shirts—his go-to outfit on the days he works late. 

There are still some reports he has to look over tonight, but nothing too time-consuming. 

It’s really you he’s staying behind for. 

He glances at you through the glass panel of his wall, your face dimly lit by your computer screen. Your eyebrows are scrunched, eyes squinting in pure focus. 

It never feels right for him to leave when you haven’t left either. 

He settles into his seat, finger tapping on his desk as he contemplates whether or not he should offer you his help. 

You always decline when he does; he can already hear your response. But there are stacks of folders on your desk right now and he’s predicting that it’ll take at least a few more hours before you get through all of them.

He taps his foot, staring at the report in front of him. 

A thump. 

The wheels of his chair roll back, leather squeaking as he stands up. 

As soon as he exits his office, you look up, surprised. 

“You’re back!” 

He nods, walking closer to your desk. “It’s 8:00 p.m.”

You glance at the top of your screen, a sheepish smile forming on your face, “Right.” 

(This is his way of telling you it’s late, you’re well aware.)

He looks around your desk, folders and stationery all neatly organized and labeled. You keep a few touches of your personality around your space, with personalized pens and notepads gathered in one corner. 

They’re all things he’s seen before, but what makes him do a double-take is the vase sitting in the corner, obscured by your computer screen. 

Sitting inside it is the arrangement of flowers he gave you back at the teambuilding, the pink hydrangeas still as good as new next to the white camellias. It’s been a little over a week since, and you always change the arrangement on your desk as frequently as you change his. 

So for you to keep it for this long—

“And how may I help you?” you ask jokingly, biting down your smile. 

His eyes flit over to you, your gaze set on your screen as you continue to type.

(It’s hard to focus on the documents in front of you when he looks at you like that. Shouto’s stare has always been unnerving, but it feels especially scrutinizing when he merely stands, watching without a word.)

“You have a lot of work left,” he gestures towards the stack of folders on your desk. 

(Your eyes glance over the pile quickly as you mumble, “Yeah.” 

A few seconds of silence pass before what he really means starts to sink in. 

It’s not often that Shouto finishes work before you—at least, to your knowledge. You still see him inside his office when you pack your things, ready to leave. 

So, this is out of the ordinary. 

And if he’s standing in front of your desk, hinting at how much longer you’ll be staying at work. Then, it can only mean—

“A-are you waiting for me to go?” you move to stand, guilty. “Don’t worry about it, I can lock up.”)

Shouto furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly. 

That’s never been a thing; he’s always gone home last, and has always waited for you when you have work left to do. He makes sure of it every time, watching carefully for your computer light to turn off. 

But he won’t tell you that; letting you know would mean admitting that he’s been doing it for years. 

He places his palm on the top folder. 

“What else do you have to do?” 

You stay quiet for a few seconds before reluctantly listing it all—reports, meeting summaries, and a few emails you plan to schedule for tomorrow morning. His frown deepens as your list only grows, immediately cutting yourself off the second you notice your ramblings. 

“… but if you’re waiting, I can bring these home and—”

“What can I do to help?” he interjects, stopping you just before you shut down your computer. 

(You can only stare when proceeds to take a seat in front of you, the legs of your guest chair dragging against the floor as he pulls it closer. 

It hits you a bit like déjà vu, this moment, how it feels just like early days back in that rented studio unit; back when you could count the number of people comprising his team on one hand. 

Back then, your desks were just a few steps away from each other, an overflow of paperwork inevitably spilling into each other’s spaces. Because all of the files were stored in your drawers, it was more convenient for Shouto to sit himself across your desk, splitting the work and going over them one at a time. 

Things are different now that the agency’s grown—you have a bigger space, and the work isn’t nearly as packed as it used to be; but some days still end up a little bit more hectic than others. Like today.

“There’s no need,” you reach for the stack under his palm, “I can finish this at—”

“We can finish faster if we do this together.”

That promptly shuts you up. 

Shouto is blunt to a fault, unafraid of saying things as they are; his voice carries an unbothered cadence no matter who it is he’s talking to. 

You figure, there’s no point arguing with him when he’s right, after all.) 

Shouto begins going over a few of the reports that you’ve tagged red and yellow, listening intently as you instruct him on which parts to focus on. In exchange, you make space for him on your desk, setting aside some of the folders you had brought out earlier.

It’s a good hour into working before Shouto notices you easing up slightly, your shoulders more relaxed in comparison to how bunched up they were earlier.

He knows you’ve been glancing at him occasionally, your head turning every now and then to check on how he’s doing—a failed attempt at subtlety. 

“Are you almost done?” he asks, head down as he slips another completed file into its folder. The stack beside him is growing, his ‘done’ pile nearly as tall as the unfinished one. 

(You turn to him, attention shifting to the split of red and white hair down the center of his head, “Yeah, I just—”

Your words trail off, eyes squinting as you move closer to where he’s hunched over. 

Right on the shoulder of his shirt is a small tear, big enough to touch the edges of its collar but small enough that you’d only have to be up close to be able to notice. 

You assess the tear intently, looking carefully for any cuts underneath and thankfully find none.

But—

He notices you’ve gone quiet and looks up, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You make a sound, something in-between a squeak and an ‘oops.’ 

“Sorry, I just,” you point, “your shirt’s ripped.” 

His eyes follow the direction of your finger, finding the small tear running horizontally along the fabric of hjs shirt. 

“I can fix it,” you offer, the wheels of your chair rolling to land you directly across him. 

It’s one of his favorite shirts.)

He barely thinks when his body acts on its own, pressing itself closer to your desk as you slightly bend over for better reach. 

You don’t have to patch up his shirt, especially something so small. He has plenty of the same ones in his closet; and if it comes to it, he wouldn’t mind buying a new one. You really don’t have to patch up his shirt, because he wouldn’t have even noticed had you not mentioned it. 

But it’s that kind of tender care and attention to detail that you’ve had for him since you started working together that’s always drawn him in. 

Shouto has lived most of his life with the means to live comfortably, but since starting his own agency, he’s learned the value of maximizing resources—and it’s all because of you.

A thump. 

The moment your fingers touch his shoulder, he hears nothing but that continuous three-beat thump. Your quirk tingles when it touches skin, but you aren’t mending that—you’re fixing his shirt, separate from your skin, and yet, he still feels the little zaps go off inside of him. 

A thump. 

Up close, the strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

A thump. 

The fabric of his shirt mends itself slowly, and it only makes him think of everything else—of the leather chair you helped fix, painstakingly going through each and every crack to bring it back to near-new condition. He thinks about every cut and scrape you’ve helped heal without having to, about every time you’ve insisted when he’d shrug it off as nothing. 

From you, he’s learned that things can be fixed without having to change them whole. 

It’s how he’s (you’ve) managed to keep the agency running; it’s why you get along so well with him and the rest of his family. 

And these feelings in his chest are pounding, built up over time to tip over and transform into something more than just an excellent work dynamic. At this point, it’s become companionship, a presence he seeks out a little bit more than friendship. 

You know him better than anyone else does. 

The flowers he gave you are still on your desk. 

So, he says your name, voice low and tender by your ear. 

You freeze, holding your breath. 

Another thump.

His honesty spills outs—

“I like you.” 

A three-beat thump. 

(You don’t believe it at first, the urge to ask him again right at the tip of your tongue. But, he pulls away, unfinished, and looks you in the eye to continue. 

“But it feels more than a crush, I think.” He presses his fingers against the table, grounding himself, “Natsuo told me it was a crush, and he told me to think about it, so I did.” 

Shouto is a man of sufficient words; not too few, not too plenty. But when he gets nervous and a little excited, he starts rambling, and—

“Bakugo told me his mom thought we were dating, and even though I said that wasn’t the case, I almost didn’t want to deny it. Touya has been a dick about it, but he makes good points, so I also owe it to him.”

(The shock on your face shifts into fondness. You can’t see the point of what he’s saying yet, but it’s cute—one of the many things that make him endearing.) 

He pauses, watching your expression shift into curiosity. 

“It started with this thumping,” he places a hand over his chest. “It used to only come sometimes, but lately it’s been happening all the time.” 

Shouto keeps his gaze deadset on yours. He doesn’t say anything else, sentences just barely forming in his head to fully capture what he really means. His feet and palms stay firmly planted where they are, his only movement being the steady blinking of his eyes. 

(But it’s okay, because you can understand. 

If you’re being honest, the signs were all there. 

Nothing Shouto does can be subtle when you know him as well as you do. 

A smile breaks out on your face, the one you can barely contain around him. It’s a little teasing and shy but completely genuine from the way it softens your eyes. 

“We’ll have to come up with something for HR,” you try to contain your smile.)

And he isn’t worried at all. He knows you’ll both find a way, just like you always do.

additional material: moodboard + playlist

a/n: so much to say about this fic but i'll sum it up with saying this is my baby! and i hold it close to my heart for many reasons. writing this made me love their dynamic and i hope you did too! also maybe slightly unrealistic office/hr rules but 🤷‍♀️ he’s the boss he makes the rules 🤧

thank you notes: to @soumies for literally beta reading this. i owe this fic to you fr you are my lifesaver i love you. to @augustinewrites @scarabrat @stellamancer @arcvenes for helping me a ton with characterisations, dialogues, songs, inspo, everything!!! ily all!! it took a village to write this fic fr. (+ to my bf for sitting me down so he could explain the whole point system of golf for like 30 minutes LOL)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[3liza]

i mean the truth is that we do not need and should not have all this stupid plastic clutter in or houses. no one should be producing or selling this shit. everyone make your own merchandise and charge a living hourly wage to sell it 🤷 sorry to be so simplistic about this but it's one of the results of the lack of class unity specifically in the means of production-owning creative class, who is not mentioned or dealt with by the core Marxist texts as far as I know (i asked about this earlier on here, did marx ever address in his analysis people like, for example, a professional photographer who owns a camera ans prints his own dagguereotypes? or a portrait painter or idk, independent milliner or seamstress? these people all own the means of production and do not employ anyone, and the answer from better educated people than I was that no, Marx didn't mention them), I'm not well read on this at all, there is just a big void where leftist analysis of what modern economists call "the creative class"

I'm getting off topic. my point is make your own keychains in your kitchen. it's actually not hard. you can even mass produce (on a small scale) little plastic crap if you want, with resin and a UV lamp, or a 3d printer, or a laser cutter and acrylic sheets (or just use balsa wood damn, at least its biodegradable and less tacky).

all this stuff is available to little creators AND there are hundreds of people who already own these machines who will take work for you and produce your designs. you just have to actually find them and know them and email them. that's what I mean about the class unity issue with creatives. we have no large scale union, we have no large scale class consciousness, and we're all sending our orders for little plastic crap to sweatshops instead of emailing a guy with a laser cutter in his garage and saying "hey Keith can I get uhhhhhhhhhhh 50 laser cut keychains of this twerking Diggler design I made, like how much would that cost" and he's like sure here's the work and materials cost and tbh it's always always less than i think it's going to be. you just have to do some basic arithmetic and then order shipping, and I hate order fulfillment with my life but you can actually pay or barter with someone to do that for you too. learn to delegate and then factor that into your unit cost. this is basic shit every commercial creator needs to know. they should teach you this in art school but they dont

don't give me crap about "I can't afford a laser cutter" either because I just told you to email Keith. and all these machines get sold secondhand when a manufacturer or hobbyist needs to upgrade. i got a color laser printer perfect for making zines and wheatpastes and shipping labels from a retired lesbian on capital hill for $75 and it was still full of ink. my friend gave me her 20 year old canon dslr because she just didn't need it and didn't want to bother selling it. it works fine because I spent the time finding the right drivers and shit for my computer. and card readers exist. Craigslist. Facebook marketplace. nextdoor sales section. eBay. everyone always forgets eBay. eBay lets you save searches and will email you when it finds a guy selling his vinyl plotter in your city with local pickup. I'm serious

[rad-batson]

THIS IS FOR FANS OF CASSANDRA CAIN! PLEASE READ! I WANT YOUR THOUGHTS

(skip to the bottom if you just want silly headcanons about her :D)

Hello! So first, I want to thank everyone who read the Wayne pilot I made :) I appreciate your feedback, and I love you all.

As I'm preparing to post it on AO3, I decided to make a few (admittedly small) changes to the script, primarily around Cassandra Cain, because I haven't quite fleshed her out yet.

I don't have much experience with writing Cass, so I decided to do a bit of research on her yesterday, and wouldn't you know? I fell in love. 10/10. She didn't play a huge part in the pilot, but she will have a bigger one in the second episode, and there are a few things I think can or should be added so she doesn't feel too one-note.

There wasn't anyone who told me this, by the way. (In fact, I actually got some nice comments about her so thank you.) I just had it in the back of my mind while writing, and now that Cass is getting more screen time, I'm finding that my lack of knowledge might lead to mischaracterization.

SO TO COMBAT THIS, I MADE A GUIDE FOR MYSELF ON HOW TO WRITE CASS

Is this overkill? Probably Think of it as a silly headcanon list for my version of her. And I'm posting it here because I want your feedback before it's set in stone. (I know Cass isn't written well a lot, so this is my attempt to right these horrid wrongs.)

If you're going to give criticism, please be constructive. Tell me what you like or don't like. I'm all ears. Have fun :)

Writing Cass

(Btw I still gotta read Cass’s first Batgirl run by Kelley Puckett)

Has some sass, has a lot actually

Used to be awkward in social settings. she’s better at it when she’s with people so she can match their energy but she still prefers to just dip

Speaks in short-ish sentences, trying her best tho

I WILL BE ADDING THIS INTO THE PILOT, I JUST WANT TO KNOW TO WHAT DEGREE?? OR IS IT REALLY FINE

Mostly just relies on body language though

I WILL BE ADDING THIS INTO THE PILOT TOO, ESPECIALLY WITH THE ASL SCENE (BUT IT’S NOT REPLACING THE ASL)

also yes i know her using ASL isn't canon, it just works best for the scene, it would have been written the same whether she was in it or not, it is still a cute nod to fanon tho

Steph and Cass are extremely close BUT ALSO HAVE SEPARATE LIVES (I HAVE BEEN TOLD TO STRESS THAT AND I AGREE)

Messy, low-key gross. Bad-ish hygiene but she’s good at looking put-together so only those close know this about her (this is just my headcanon)

Often forgets bigger words so she occasionally uses the wrong one, she ALSO mixes up proverbs but no one corrects her because 1: it’s cute and 2: they don’t want to discourage her from speaking with them more casually (also my headcanon)

Cass: So I pulled the door off its…*makes motion with hand*…metal books. Steph: Do you mean hinge— Cass: Metal books.

Dick: Well that was a surprise. I didn’t know The Penguin would be here. Cass, nodding: Well life gives you grapes Dick: Wut Cass: You make grape juice. Get on the same book, Nightwing

I'M ON THE FENCE ABOUT ADDING THIS ONE BECAUSE IDK LET ME KNOW PLEASE

Is a cinnamon bun AND a little shit, it’s a balancing act

Production: She’s Wayne’s darling Princess Cass: *will break your fingers*

She does appear behind the camera crew to scare them on purpose, she thinks it’s funny, she likes seeing them freak out

She is super competitive, but she's always like "Oh I'm not that competitive" *proceeds to be very competitive*

Because she isn't super confident in her writing or speaking (or just uncomfortable communicating without seeing the other person's body language) she prefers to Facetime or simply reply to texts with selfies of her reaction. It is a thing now. when you need an honest opinion about an outfit, text a photo to Cass. She will either give back a photo of a thumbs up or a photo of a grimace and some not-so-flattering emojis

Her princess persona is her public cover persona in this show, parallel to Bruce’s “Brucie” and Dick’s “born for the cameras” thing

Is surprisingly vocal (and sometimes snippy) about her distaste with things but she mostly gets a pass because her morals align best with Bruce’s

Is most snippy when her family uses methods other than violence when violence is clearly the faster option, god they're such pacifists

Tim: *trying carefully to pick a lock* Cass: Just break through the wall? Tim: We can’t do that. We’re trying not to be noticed. Cass: Wimp

Bruce: Cass, why did you have to dislocate that man’s shoulder? Cass: I put it back. Bruce: That’s not the point. Cass: Fine, I’ll dislocate it again.

Is the best fighter, none of this “oh she’s the best fighter so when people do win against her, it makes them look cooler” thing, shut tf up, she could break their bones (not important to the show ofc but I need to add this because it is important in general)

Horrible at drawing, wretched (again a headcanon but I did see someone else mention it somewhere)

Also bad at writing, refuses to study to improve out of principle (i.e. she told Babs she doesn’t need to and now she refuses to admit Babs was right)

(AND SIDE-HEADCANON IF SHE IS HORRIBLE AT WRITING AND ACTIVELY HATED STUDYING HER ALPHABET THEN WHAT IF LIKE ONE DAY SOMEONE SAYS “hey can you grab me one of these files from last week’s case, it’s under M” SHE’S LIKE “fuck you, how could you do this to me” WHILE SEARCHING FOR M OR MORE SIMPLY *throws something at them*)

That's all I have right now. If you'd like to give me any recommendations, please do. I can't promise I'll add in every single one because this show is still about the whole Batfam, not just her, but I want to do her justice, and that definitely involves more fine-tuning on my part

OKAY THAT'S ALL LOVE YOU BYE

[live-moonzie-reaction]

LETS GOOOOO DRS2 PART 2

-*yawns* WAS THAT A S I G H OF DISSENT????

-love how nobody notices the two teenage ninja JUMPING ON THEIR CUBICLE WALLS

-How did I know Sora was gonna land on Arin

-What you need??? What do you need???

-THEY FOUND JAY’S LAST NAME

-ITS QUASHING TIME!!!

-and we back to Lloyd’s Moonwatcher arc I’ve missed this

-hmmm gee i wonder Lloyd what kind of being, presumably some sort of embodiment of evil, has enough power to move a dojo. (Moonkitti voice) Gee Fireheart what a mystery

-also can I just say I LOVE that the first scene of the OG 6 ninja is of Lloyd and Nya I just love them as a duo

-WYLDFIRE AHXJDNCNFBFB

-…oh. Oh she’s coping… well…

-GOTTEM

-Nya: I’m sure they’re fine.

(Cut to Arin and Sora dangling in a giant birdcage over a pit of lava)

Arin: Huh. Apparently this is a canon event.

Sora: THIS IS A WHAT???

-okay so i was close

-That one agent: (rips off own arm)

-“THOSE ARE MY FAVORITE FEET!”Implying he has more than two

-THE SUBTITLES SAID MATRIARCH THUDS OH NO

-subtitles written by Queen Scarlet frfr like.

✨Thrilling✨ music plays

(Thrilling music plays, in plain text)

-OH IS SHE DEAD?!? OH IS SHE DYING??? OH SHE’S DYING

-ahhh his name is Nokt is it?

-“everything is war” “the fight is what fuels me” ah response

-“bEcAuSe I dOnT tRuSt YoU”

-Jordana’s lil smirk at Nokt is SENDING ME

-Lloyd hears something from the Matriarch???

-oh and then immediately she dies oOp

-WOW IT REALLY IS A MOONWATCHER ARC HUH?!?

-ANOTHER BABY!!!

-Lloyd getting yoinked like a hatchling by Zanth just added ten years to my lifespan :D

-poor Riyu shxkxndkfjgnfb

-oh my gosh not these guys again smh

-I’m sorry but Freebooters just sounds so stupid to mefor no reason

-THANK YOU NYA

-As someone who’s read MANY books I don’t think a lack of books is the problem here

-🎶aNd vLaDiMiR cOlLeCtS cErAmIc UnIcOoOoOoOrNs🎶

-BRO IS SO FIRED UP OVER THR MATRIARCH WE LOVE HIM you know what’d be funny

-WYLDFIRE AS A ROCKETBOOSTER

-aaand there’s the mountain dragons

-sad mountain dragon hours

-so is Lloyd being the diplomat to the dragons… pUrPoSeFuL or…?

-MOTION!

-L L O Y D YOU DONT JUST SAY THAT SHXKSNFKTJTHF

-I’M SORRY A SOURCE DRAGON D I E D?!?

_______

-SHE CALLED HERSELF THE RED NINJA AUGH

-NYAS HERE

-NYA BEING WYLDFIRES COOL AUNT

-O h s h e ’ s c o p i n g w e l l

-“maybe being trapped forever in the nether-space isn’t that bad?”

(Cut to Kai in the nether space)

Kai: (Bo Burnham voice) HOW WE ALL FEELIN TONIGHT?!?

-once again, hey I was close

-P I E F L A V O R

-“your best friend?” AAAAAAGH

-SORA HE DOESNT HAVE AN ELEMENT

-ARE WE BACK TO RONTU AND EGALT?!?

-…okay new voice claim for Darkstalker

-YEEEEAAAAAAAAAH ZANE AND LLOYD!!!!!

-excited Lloyd hours :D

-also is it just me or is the voice filter on Zane just cranked up more and more every season lately?

-it’d be SO FUNNY if Rontu and Egalt somehow knew Wu or at least interacted with him in the past

-NO.

-OH LLOYD’S GOTTA TEACH EM. Well this’ll be fun

-Rontu’s lil head shake dhekcbeckngk

-ZANE’S SO EXCITES IN THE BACKGROUND LOOK AT HIM

-After sixteen seasons someone calls him Master Lloyd again

-Rontu: (gives speech about Lloyd’s heart being too big)

Lloyd: geez man I wasn’t expecting to be psychoanalyzed today 😭🤚

-Egalt: eh it’ll be fine

(Cut to everyone with BOWLS ON THEIR HEADS)

-STEWJITSU WXHIECJICEB buddy no 💚

-somehow I feel like the pressure’ll break him or turn him evil or something

-“you’re never useless, Arin” snxkdnckgngng I’m so soft

-Arin’s so excited shxbdkfmgb

-EUPHRASIA!!!! :D HER!!! :D :D :D !!!!!!

-ooooo she lookin shifty 👀

-so many. So many.

-I read the subtitles first and thought he said “Master of Ledgering” andjckfngbgv

-smh they can’t even go in???

-book guy with the professional talk and then Wyldfire just. “My dude.”

-Huh. Apparently either shade and shadow are two different elements or Shade had a kid.

-JAY ON THE ELEVATOR THEME RETURNS FOR ALL OF ONE SECOND

-“You’re intruding on OUR intrusion!” I love Wyldfire‘s dialogue so much

-HE UNDERSTOOD JIRO!!! AAAAAAAA!!! AAAAA!!! AAAAAAA!!!

-Oh that’s RIGHT Wyldfire’s acrophobic

-WE HAVE A BEATBOXER NOW??? (giddy acapella kid noises)

-I love Roby already shxkdngbfv

-WE FINALLY FOUND THE FUSCHIA NINJA LETS GOOOO

(starts braiding hair (two braids, don’t worry) and doesn’t write for multiple episodes)

-(pauses braiding) ohhh no Frak did it didn’t he the master is Ras’s master

__________

-ohhh now I see it no yeah Arin’s going evil sorry

-…the writers did realize we were KIDDING about the Wyldfire boyfriend thing right?

-oh suddenly I do not like Roby is it just me or does it feel like he’s not gonna give the powers back

(One band concert later)

-ELEMENTAL MASTER OF PLANTS JUST THINKS HES REALLY GOOD AT GARDENING THIS IS WHAT I LIKE TO SEE!!! people with powers being oblivious to them the beloved

-Nya IMMEDIATELY chatting with the other elemental masters is GOLDEN “LIKE THE HAIR! :D”

-Is Jordana possessed or smth?

-Wyldfire snarling :D

-Wyldfire being angry at Cinder noice noice

-the perspective makes it look like Nya just casually touches the edge of the fire and that’s really funny to me

-poor Lloyd just wants to make friends man

-OH YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME

-BEATRIX IS JUST HERE NOW WHXJDKCMFKGN

-HOLD ON THIS IS ZEATRIX?!?

-Girl I SAW the spirit dragon you TOTALLY WERE INVITED

-okay for once I’m on Ras’s side here lol I just wanna see people tear down Zeatrix

-wait hol up it’d be REALLY funny if Lloyd decided to sass her the way he just sassed a SOURCE DRAGON EARLIER

-Okay I now want to see a spin off series of shorts a la Wu’s Teas called Nya’s Awkward Dinners

-Zane: (shuts door nicely)

-Well. Uh. Wyldfire boyfriend. Unfortunately the only version I have on hand of this meme is this one so

-how funny would it be if this was a Harumi situation and Roby’s the one who killed the matriarch

-Man I thought for SURE we were gonna get Lloyd Plagued By Visions TM

-WHAT IS THAT GOO AND WHATS IT GONNA DO TO LLOYD

-OH.

-THE LIL ZING SOUND EFFECT WHEN LLOYD USES HIS POWERS MY BELOVED

-ARIN WITH THE GRAPPLERRRR WOOOOO

-“I WAS ACTUALLY GETTING A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP FOR A CHANGE >:(” he’s so silly

-OH COME ON THESE GUYS AGAIN???

-okay it’s Zeatrix

-No. absolutely not. There’s no way.

-Zant-Tanz: Unfortunately, we have an impostor among us.

-J A Y !

____________

-j a y shxjskdkfnfn

-WE GET TO SEE THEM DANCE?!?

-Lloyd you weren’t even IN spin harmony

-OHHH IT GOT SAD :(

-Poor… POOR Nya…

-You. You do realize he could’ve set one on himself to throw himself off the trail right.

-I DO NOT TRUST FRAK

-I’m glad Riyu also does not trust Frak lol

-She’s looking for Roby she’s looking for Roby

-AAAGH just when I thought she couldn’t get any more Peril-coded she pulls this shxnskcnfjgb

-Awwww Cole and Geo :)

-Sora: (very obvious cat ears slowly lower)

Jordana: understandable have a great day

-I KNEW IT I KNEW IT FROM THE BEGINNING

-“I wouldn’t lie to you Arin :3 Except for that one time with the object Spinjitzu at the blood moon but all the other times I wouldn’t lie to you! :3 :3 :3”

-it’s the overlord again isn’t it /hj

-WYLDFIRE JUST APPEARING

-Now… hear me out… destruction is an element… 🤨📸💚💜

-oh boy Zane’s up first

-“I am limber. I am loose. (chuckles) I’m in danger!”

-Zane so help me you gotta ice rink it

-NOOOOOOOOO ZAAAAAANE

-ohhh Zane :(

-Wait. If Arin’s gonna be a detective because he can’t compete, ZANE now can’t compete, and Zane already has a detective persona… 👀👀👀

-oh it’s Nya vs Jay isn’t it

-GOSH DANGIT WHY DO I HAVE TO BE RIGHT

-ohhhh 😭😭😭

-some loser in a Jay wig 😭😭😭

-bLiNgEd OuT dAgGeR

-Oh poor poor Nya

-SILENT FIST IT NYA COME ON

-oh geez Nya’s just going THROUGH it

-Nya won but like STILL

-STOP IT I’M BAWLING AUGH

-AAAAAAAAAAUGUFUFHFHFHGHDUXHGH

-I will never be okay again

-The presumable leader of the forbidden 4/5 is just sitting there and Kai’s first and immediate instinct is “Helloooo? BOO!”

-Riyu just hearing Kai’s voice in his head dhcnxkfmgngb

________

-OF COURSE CINDER HAS A SLEEP MASK WITH HEARTS FOR EYES

-SAD JAY HOURS AGH

-sad :(

-oh. OH. OHHHH THIS IS WHAT TURNS HIM TO THE RAS SIDE

-Lloyd 🤝 Riyu: DRS2 Moonwatcher arcs

-Ooooof good luck Sora

-OKAY WE GOOD WE GOOD

-WYLDFIRE!!!

-oh c o m e o n he did that on purpose for SURE

-…from Ninjago to Cam Half Blood REAL QUICK

-WYLDFIRE DOWN WYLDFIRE IS DOOOOWN

-sad Wyldfire hours

-O H T H A T S I T

-anything can be a verb if you try hard enough

-they’re gonna get found out they’re gonna get found out

-Riyu being mid Moonwatcher arc (yes I’ve gotta keep up this bit now) is gonna be interesting for the investigation lol

-THEY GOT FOUND OUT

-Sora you jinxed it

-okay Ras you shut up

-NOOOOOOOO

(Stops because quiet hours and cannot emote)

-AAAAA AAAAA AAAA AAAAAAA

-OUGH poor Arin :(

-NO WHY WOULD YOU EVOKE THE FSM BLOODLINE EVIL STUDENT TAX

-ARIN NOOOOO

-…okay does calling the merge an act of evil feel oddly xenophobic to anyone else or am I an idiot

-Lloyd did not cause the merge that’s ridiculous abxjdkcmfbfb

-Okay Wu makes a LITTLE more sense I guess but still??? Was it really???

__________

-hang on how do we know Wu caused it???

-Arin: so I’m supposed to believe your some kinda hero?

Ras: oh, no, I’m just that one villain character everyone loves

Arin: idk man I think that’s Cinder. For some reason.

-SAVE THEM FROM EACH OTHER??? WHAT DOES THAT MEEEEAAN???

-Arin please tell me you heard that obvious evil laugh you were RIGHT THERE

-COLE YOURE LITERALLYTHE MASTER OF EARTH

-…never mind then

-sad Arin hours :(

-ARIN NOOOOO 🥺

-Aaaand Darkstalker Kai is back poor Riyu

-CMON PHRASIA YOU GOT THIS

-LETS GOOO LETS GOOO

-Euphrasia 🤝 Arin: Immune to sarcasm

-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-LETS GO TOX!

-ooohh ooh that’s gotta hurt

-she’s been possessed by the one sleeping hasn’t she

-Arin, explaining the masks to Frak: (animus magic hours)

-oh and this is how he spinjitzu’s normally isn’t it

-woulda look at that. Oof.

-FRAK. FRAK NO.

-They’re fighting each other aren’t they.

-Don’t think I didn’t notice the writers giving up on ever naming Lloyd’s element ever again lol

-LLOYD HOURS! YAYAYA!

-PALEMAN CALLED HIM GREENIE ITS CANON NOW

-oh that’s his face. Huh.

-idk Roby last I checked he flirted with Geo

-Sora: Hey Arin! :D

Arin: (angy)

Sora: Oh my fsm it’s worse than we thought! They made him EMO!!!

-cmon coooole

-NOOOO ARIN AAAGH

-sad Arin and Sora hours

-ARIN THAT’S NOT WHAT SHE SAID

-NOOOO COLE

-Okay Nokt you are. The worst.

-Nya’s gonna lose isn’t she

-Nya get the gem

-“A FRIENDLY DESTROY” once again Wyldfire is Peril

-OKAY NOPE ROBY’S EVIL

-“tHaNkS wYlDfIrE.”

-okay yeah it’s gonna be a smokescreen thing or smth

-ARIN NO ARIN NO ARIN NO ARIN NO

-OH NO SORA CANT RISING DRAGON

-YEAAAAAH SORA!!!

-Ohhh Arin’s edgy now

-ah yes Ball of Wu

-👀👀👀 there’s a monastery over here???

————

-Kai no braincell moment we love him

-no, Wyldfire, ninja do not sleep in.

-Riyu: YOU GET A MOONWATCHER ARC!

-GENETICS FOR THE WIN

-hold on is that Darth Vader???

-aaaand we’re back to this.

-I love the half-effort drawing shxkcnskxmfnfbv

-Wyldfire, of all people: She’s super powerful but can’t control her anger. Huh. Pathetic.

-Sora’s trying her best to be nice shocking

-HIGH LEVELS OF CRINGE

-and immediately Lloyd gets a vision we love to see it

-HE’S GONNA LOSE??? Once again my dude destruction is an eleme- (gets mugged)

-Poor poor Geo wbfbfkfngngb

-THE PAST IS FOR DEAD PEOPLE

-ROBY’S EVIL HES EVIL HES EVIL

-I K N E W I T

-AAAAAAAAA

-Wyldfire’s now gonna get a Harumi situation shekxnekfjgngv

-poor POOR Lloyd

-Cole out here being dadlike to the enemy we love him

-LLOYD KNOWING HES GONNA LOSE MAKES THIS HURT IN SUCH A SPECIAL WAY

-Zeatrix (ranting)

Lloyd: (actively witnessing The Horrors)

-I am now hoping this season ends with Cole adopting yet another snake child

-ARIN APPEARING AT THE WORST TIME

-WYLDFIRE YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE

-OH CHAMILLE’S BACK!!!

-ROBY WITH THE FAKEOUT?!? GOSH D A N G I T

-LIFE?!?!?

-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

-BRO THAT JUST SOUNDS SO COOL

-still like energy better tho

-“The very angry elemental master of shockwave” shxjdkcmfbffv

-AND YEET YOUR OPPONENT OFF THE PLATFORM SHXNDKXNDJGBFBGV

-she will not, in fact, thank Euphrasia.

-“only small masters dhxkcnfngb”

-ya don’t say Sora it’s almost like he had a VISION OF LOSING TO HER

-THE GOTCHA IS BACK!!!

-AGH HES PLAGUED BY VISIONS MID-FIGHT THATS NOT FAIR :(

-oh my word he’s being Clearsight about it THIS is how he loses

-THEY QUITE LITERALLY BROKE THE GAME.

-Gren :D

-ITS THE SWORD ITS T H E SWORD

-no. NO.

-Lloyd died of 1d4 “I quite literally saw this coming” damage

________

-YOUR CAREGIVER BOT

-Here I was thinking she couldn’t possibly get any more Peril-coded after last season BOY WAS I WRONG.

-Arin, of all people: Just because someone ACTS nice doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of turning on you.

-THEY’RE PLAYING CLUE

-SORA V FRACK!!! Well this isn’t going to be emotionally fraught

-Frak’s glare at Sora I can’t

-NOT THE MAAASK!!!

-YEAAAAAAHHH LETS GO FRAK

-We respect Frak in this household

-solve the equation its some sort of code I���m betting you

-BLECKT?!?

-Wyldfire being able to play her awkwardness as the obvious crush is GOLDEN

-WYFY I’M LOSING IT

-sNeAkY bOoTs :P

-IT’S BLECKT?!?

-Lloyd :<

-CROWN MONO STEREO. Now lemme run this through an anagram finder or something.

(Many internet anagram decoders later)

-okay that got me NOTHING useful

-OH. Oh Arin solves it immediately.

-AND WE BACK TO THE VISIONSCAPE!

-ARIN’S EVIL NOW

-We love Motion here :)

-LLOYD VS NOKT?!? BUT LLOYD DIDNT GET THE POWER TRANSFER?!?!?

-He’s so awkward shxkcnfkgng

-“The… imperium girl”

-okay okay we good (until he inevitably loses)

-ONCE AGAIN DESTRUCTION IS AN ELEMENT

-Y’ALL WAIT THAT COULD BE SO COOL IF HE USES ONI POWER AND ARIN PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER AND SEES IT AS ANOTHER LIE AND THAT’S WHAT PUSHES HIM TO RAS’S SIDE?!?

-please please let that be what happens

-NOOOOOOO LLOOOOOOYD

-BLECKT I HATE YOU FOREVER

-ZANE WITH THE HUNGER GAMES REFERENCE?!?

-Lily :D

-aaaand we’ve got Wu

—————

-OH IS THIS A FLASHBACK

-RAS?!?

-okay why would he want to resurrect the forbidden 5?!?

-oh no wait he’s got different eyes and stripes I’m stupid that’s like his great great grandpa or smth

-so so many different villains. so many.

-man Blekt is so mean smh

-Wyldfire… did you set up a brick to fall on him so you had the excuse to tackle him in rage…

-LETS GOOO WYLDFIRE

-“it rarely ever decimated their entire village”

-HE SPEAKS!

-ah he only speaks in one word at a time.

-HE DID?!?!?!?!? WHAT?!? Dwcbevnkenifjifreip

-Poor... Poor Sora.

-“My Spinjitzu won’t spin-jitz” Sora 2024

-Sora: how would I use these powers?

-Lloyd: well you see despite being in the midst of an awkwardly timed Moonwatcher arc I cannot read your mind

-TEAM UP?!?

-Zur is so. Agh. Mood tho.

-OH ITS SORA VS NOKT!!!

-she does Spinjitzu at the end doesn’t she

-OKAY SHE CAN DO IT ARIN STYLE THATS PROGRESS

-LETS GOOO SORA WITH THE BRAINPOWER

-ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED BKDENCKPWDNCKEVFNIO

-Loving how the soundtrack at “he says he caused the merge” transitions from what I’m pretty sure is the Ninjago overture in a minor key to just. ✨oop we ending this early time to go back to that minor key✨ idk I can’t explain it

-Nokt: 🎶anything you can do I can do better🎶

-Roby you should know to NEVER say that

-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-the season ends with the forbidden five going out and then Kai just appearing in the chaos to sing What’d I Miss from Hamilton

-WYLDFIRE SHOULDVE DONE THE PHOENIX WRIGHT POINT

-The Phrasia :D

-also I love how the guy kept his umbrella hat THE WHOLE TIME

-Bleckt: 🎶BECAUSE OF YOU🎶

-HOW DID HE JUST. Huh?

-just great. Amazing in fact.

-and there it is.

-Yup. And Jordana got possessed.

-I’m sorry Ras can CHANGE HIS STRIPE AND HAND COLOR ON COMMAND?!?

-yup. Yup and the wolf masks can Dr. Octopus now. of course they can.

-CINDER CAN YOU STOP THROWING RANDOM TEENAGERS AROUND PLEASE AND THANK YOU

-Kizzy (master of balance) just jumping on one of the wolf masks like a trampoline is now my favorite thing ever

———

-Oh hey Nya’s back :D

-Cole just. Just smack them off the cliff while they’re evil laughing.

-nope okay cool. This is fine.

-The surge of serotonin I get every time I see Euphrasia onscreen I sWEAR

-“i SiNcErElY dEtEsT rIsInG dRaGoN.”

-Zane and Nya are just like “oh my goodness it’s Lloyd and Morro all over again”

-LETS GOOO ARIN

-ROBY THIS IS WHY YOU DO IT FAST AND DONT MONOLOGUE

-AND HE FELL OFF A CLIFF

-Okay but I LOVE that mask on Rox tho

-Also Jordana pulling an Anemone the beloved

-Ras: I know the truth about this universe.

Arin: …Dude chill I just want my mom and dad

-ARIN NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE EDGY

-THE STANG TO YOUR ZOOT ASHXJCNGKGB

-man all the baddies out here using wind huh. And then there’s just. Euphrasia.

-KAI’S BAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!

-AND BONZLEEEE!!!

-YEAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!

-Kai do you have NO OBJECT PERMANENCE

-HE GOT DRAINED JUST IN TIME!!!!!

-SHOUTOUT TO EUPHRASIA FR YOU GO GIRL PUSH CINDER WITH THAT WIND OF YOURS YEAAAAAAAH

-Ras just immediately getting KO’d

-…the evil student tax :(

-AND THEN KAI

-the mood swings are strong with this season

-MASTER WU

-The vengestone birdcage! Like in crystallized! Bleckt reveals he’s part Oni and shatters it

-UMBRELLA HAT GUY JUST HAD THAT HAT ON THR WHOLE TIME

-Im guessing Sordana shippers having a field day with this one

-SORA JUST DRAGGING LLOYD OFFSCREEN IM CRYING

-buuut Jay’s still gone :(

-“another mortal” implying that someone’s tried to do all of this BEFORE

-AGH I love Motion so much

-…Motion you idiot Ras is gonna take that next season

-I swear Arin’s just suddenly REALLY edgy sbxkxmxmfnfngbg

-AND THATS THE END AAAAGH

[imauthicktic]

Welcome to my blog!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

Currently doing a milestone event!

I’d like to write for y’all! Even if it’s just some occasional self-indulgence fics and this is an LGBTQ+ safe place! If there are any specifics you want lmk! If I don’t know much on how to portray a reader, I will do research to make sure I can make y’all feel included! Since I’m new, if I make a mistake also lmk I DO take constructive criticism as long as it’s polite! I want to learn and improve 🥰

Who I write for: (I will be periodically adding more as I can’t remember everything, but it doesn’t hurt to ask for something!)

Bayverse! TMNT, Bayverse! Transformers, COD MW2, Obey me!, Spiderman Across the Spiderverse, Dead by Daylight, Creepypasta, Bleach, My Hero Academia, Haikyuu, Demon Slayer, Tokyo Revengers, Kuroko no Basket, and Naruto Shippuden

RULES: (PLS read before requesting)

I can do smut! (it'll take a little longer if its full on smut, but steamy is easier for me to get out faster. if they're NSFW head canons it'll come out easier as well! Absolutely no non-con or rape!)

Specify if you’d like an x reader one-shot, text, or if you’d like multiple characters. Add any specifics you want for the reader pls. I also do poly relationships as well!

ALSO if there is a request where you want it in a faster time, a.k.a. a rush request, let me know! a tip of at least $2 is required for the rush request, but other than that- my requests don't require a tip. it's only if you want to show appreciation for the work I do other than your likes, reblogs, or comments 😊

If you want me to do a piece with your OC that's perfectly fine! just give details on your OC such as name, personality, and looks! if you have art done for your OC send that too just so I can appreciate the work you guys put into creating it 🫶🏻 However, if there is an OC, it will be just a $4 tip requirement just because it's more specific.

If you end up needing the rush request or the OC story, please put some indicator in the tip message which request was yours so I make sure I get started on it!

I look forward to y’all’s requests!!

Here’s my other x reader blog! I’m switching everything over to this blog however so everything is in one place!

[inhumanliquid]

Okay so I love the fact that the channel itself is like 12 years old or something and not only is it still going but there's like INTENSE LORE that wasn't there when it started

Like imagine watching from the start as he slowly gets better editing skills and tools and watching the content go from Mario 64 bloopers to episodic little mini-stories to wait holy shit there's continuity?? An arc??? MULTIPLE ARCS!?

And the fact that once the r word started being considered a slur he not only stopped using it in videos but he also REMADE some of his R64 series (which as you can probably guess the full title was [r word]64) and renamed it to REMASTERED64 which is not only removing the word but its also a pun is just. Aough

Rewatching some of his old videos (m. maybe not Snowtrapped though) i get so nostalgic bc smg4 (character) DIDN'T HAVE VOICE ACTING and just. wow. Also with the stuff like the addition of voice acting and the redesigns you kinda know just by watching any particular video roughly when it was made even without looking at the description

Speaking of, I remember I didn't like the redesigns at first (at least those of 3 and 4) bc like they've been Mario recolors for so long. It's like the new minecraft piston sound. But after the second redesigns im fine with it. Actually I think he did comment about the fact that redesign 1 was like. cocomelon looking or something

Also he made the redesigns kinda. Canon?? He put them in the lore kinda

And at the start when it was still bloopers he collabed with a bunch of other yt'ers about the size of his channel like X and FM, but once he got big they kinda stopped showing up but the crazy thing is HE HAD A LORE EXPLANATION FOR THEM DISAPPEARING

Spoilers for uhh i forget either the Genesis or Revelations arc, skip to the bold green text if you want to watch first (you should tbh as long as you're not scared of what I'm scared of)

So Zero was actually the reason the Mario recolors disappeared, which is interesting bc that was back when 3 and 4 were still Mario recolors but around then it's also found out that SMG doesn't stand for SuperMarioGlitchy like the channel implied up to that point (iirc it was even called SuperMarioGlitchy4 for a bit), but it actually stands for Super Meme Guardian, and if Mario dies the universe will end bc Mario is the Avatar, explaining why 3 and 4 (the meme guardians of that universe) look like recolors of him. Also one of my favorite lines from the whole series was in that arc, "Killing us won't fix what happened to you!", said by smg2. Oh yeah there's other universes and smg1 and smg2 are from one where the Avatar was a guy named Spudnick, who smg2 looks like a recolor of. ough the DETAIL i love that arc despite. what happened to Axol..

spoilers for those arcs over

And there was like. If Mario was in video games that would have Mario be transported INTO the games CANONICALLY not just start with him there

And the recent arcs. OH THE RECENT ARCS

spoilers again. this time for the It's Gotta be Perfect arc, Western Spaghetti and really the whole Showgrounds era

Okay so smg4 goes crazy and wants to make the Ultimate Video or whatever. And he gets this keyboard from an ad with a TV mascot... (important later)

Thats part of a whole arc where smg4 is missing for Mar10 Day bc he can't stop working on the video, but it's revealed that Mario wanted smg4 there for a specific event that smg3 has to be there for instead, but after that which i think was one of the redesign announcements, Mario REALLY needs smg4 for something but he's not leaving his work so eventually the wifi router ends up being knocked over and THEN smg4 comes out, but he's oNLY YELLING ABOUT THE WIFI, he kicks everyone out, puts the router back and goes back to work again. Yknow what Mario needed him for? HE FUCKING WANTED TO GIVE HIM A BEST FRIEND AWARD

And yknow what really started this ultimate video insanity? Smg3 got millions of views on a livestream. That might not sound like much but one of his running jokes is that he NEVER gets more than like 3 views, one of which is always either Eggdog (his pet) or a Ugandan Knuckles that lives with him

But he didn't do anything special or different that one stream. SO WHO GOT HIM THE VIEWS HUH??? (This is my theory, but it's. The same TV guy from the keyboard ad i thgink. You'll see why I think that soon)

So at the end of the IGBP arc, the main crew loses their home (oh yeah have i mentioned they were living in Peach's castle this whole time) due to a giant Eldritch abomination that was released/summoned by smg4 using the keyboard

So they have to search for a new home. But when they go to the house market, Boopkins (one of the main characters) is working there and mentions he hasn't seen the listing before. And there's a mysterious logo next to the listing, titled The Showgrounds. Tbh i didn't notice that the first time i watched bc there wasn't any known significance to the logo at that point. But remember that.

So they get to the Showgrounds, build their new castle and. there's a boarded up room? That never gets addressed?? Also the castle looks SICK AF seriously google "smg4 Showgrounds castle" it looks AWESOME

Holy shit i just realized i don't think the second floor of the castle has been shown yet-

uh. Anyway they have an arc at this place called Western Spaghetti (which Mario seemed very eager to go to for obvious reasons) and on the train everyone starts acting like cowboys and time freezes. And there's actually an official gmod map that was made for this arc, where some lore stuff is idk I don't play gmod

But anyway yeah they go to Western Spaghetti because they want to find Meggy's idol, One Shot Wren. But as it turns out, Wren is a villain and the whole place is a SIMULATION that was.. gifted to him. And guess what cloddamn logo was on the letter Wren got. YEP THATS RIGHT THE SAME ONE FROM THE SHOWGROUNDS

And they only get out because Tari has experience with simulations before (this connects to lore of Meta Runner, a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT SERIES MADE BY THEM)

and THEN. Another arc happens, the Marty arc, where Mario makes a cardboard guy named Marty who inexplicably is super fucking resistant to being moved when he doesn't want to. Mario drew Marty into existence bc he didn't want to work at his pizza shop bc he didn't realize running a pizza shop rneant giving OTHER people the pizzas

But after Mario stole all the money Marty made to pay for the castle (yes this is a bit out of order sorry) there was this big arc that started with the printer at the pizza shop being hijacked to print something that basically said if Marty was able to open smg3's secret notebook uhh i forget what exactly would happen but it would be good for Marty. But wait. The printer glitched when it was hijacked and you'd NEVER GUESS what logo appeared when it glitched.

Mario helped Marty steal and try to open the notebook and this caused War of The Fat Italians (shortened to WOTFI) 2023 to happen which was the end of the arc

and hold on. 2023? Yes that's right the first appearance of the one known only at the time as "TV Adware" was in the IGBP movie, which premiered MARCH 18TH 2023 and according to my theory his influence goes all the way back to SMG4... Are You Ok? Which happened FEBRUARY 18th

The movie where this mega arc ended premiered APRIL 20TH OF THIS FUCKING YEAR. NOT EVEN A MONTH AGO

Anyway the ending of WOTFI 2023 was when we got to see what "TV Adware" really looked like, which. woah he looks cool

Spoilers over lol I have a lot to say about those arcs

Yknow what. As much as I want to im not going to ramble about the Puzzlevision arc bc I don't want to spoil it for you. I can't recommend enough that you go watch it because HOLY SHIT, also why im not spoiling it. Start from WOTFI 2023 and skip to No TV Make Mario No Okie Dokie if you need to. It honestly won't take that much time, maybe like a day at most so you absolutely should go watch it all

Hough. Sorry this took so long to type and [tumblr] I swear if you fail to send this fucking ask-

anyway this has been Me Rambling About SMG4

Wow. I will absolutely go watch Puzzlevision, then. Holy shit.

Feel free to come infodump about anything you want to whenever, by the way. I like listening to people rant about things. /gen

[captain-astors]

Hi! Can you do 001 for trigun and 003 shirazu?

1. I am glad to know you’re not a bot for certain at long last because I enjoy consistently spotting you in my notes, also sorry this took so long.

2. ABSOLUTELY?? You have functionally handed me an early christmas present in an ask. I'm going to divide this up into two posts, this’ll be the Trigun one, I’ll do the Shirazu one in a separate post.

Favorite character: 

LEGATO BLUESUMMERS MY DEAREST. Oh this poor man. I can’t even say “I want him to get better” because he would resist it with all his might and I can’t say I want him to get worse because this man is at rock bottom and actively digging deeper. Hugging him is not enough. I need to divide him into atoms, sort them into categories, and hope it gives him relief. I have 99 problems and seeing Legato heal wouldn’t solve a lot of them but it would be great. 

Least Favorite character: 

Difficult question because I really do like them all. Is none an option. I could just go with a random side character who exists just to be scum of the earth but I suppose if I’m looking for “was marginally involved” Stampede Conrad makes me want to hit my head against a wall. 

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): 

Mashwood and all its individual parts, the insurance girlfriends, Summerknives? Millionssummers? But for the consequences of feelings more than an actual belief that they have the capacity to be a couple. I saw Zaziemeryl once and that was sweet. Everyone x Therapy. 

Character I find most attractive: 

No idea. Wolfwood? I’m starting to realize there are very few characters I’m actually acutely attracted to aesthetically for long periods of time but I’ve been loving his expressions for as long as he’s existed. Also I’m not sure about attractive per say but Zazie has such splendid gender and I would like them to share. 

Character I would marry: 

Vash. I am not immune to his sopping wet energy and the freakish height. I would like to either carry him in my arms or be carried, either is fine.  

Character I would be best friends with: 

Zazie! Or alternatively I would sell my soul for a hug with Milly. I’d say I could have trans solidarity with Elendira but unfortunately she wants everyone dead and that might cause a lot of awkward conversations.

a random thought: 

I really want to lick stampede knives’ snuggie thing. 

An unpopular opinion: Whenever someone attempts to quantify Legato and Knive’s dynamic as simple pining, mentorship, or even familial, they inherently lop off an intrinsically necessarily quality of that same dynamic which is the fact that Legato does, more than anyone else, see Knives as an actual god. He worships him, and what a terrible thing it is to love your god. Also Roberto was lovely but he did have to die. 

My Canon OTP: 

What canon couples are there? Whatever the ‘98 anime was trying to set up between Wolfwood and Milly was sweet so I suppose that. 

My Non-canon OTP:

Technically it’s half-canon but, Millionsummers, but in a I-want-to-see-the-consequences way.

Most Badass Character: 

Dominique the Cyclops or Elendira the Crimsonnail. 

Most Epic Villain: 

They’re both villains so… see above. 

Pairing I am not a fan of: 

Pl*ntc*st. WHY is it so popular now, YES the subtext has always been there but no one demanded you to make it TEXT.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): 

Elendira deserved more attention in Maximum, she’s so cool. 

Favourite Friendship:

Hmm… Milly and Meryl. 

Character I most identify with: 

Legato. I’m fine, trust me. 

Character I wish I could be:

Zazie! No contest. They’re just living their best life.

Thank you!

[davekat-sucks]

After reading your recent posts about wanting to distance yourself from homestuck eventually makes me feel bad too send asks because it means more homestuck is being streamlined to you

About a year ago i dropped homestuck after losing interest once again (this happens on and off) and only got into it recently because i currently can't really play video games at the moment so i ended up returning to homestuck. I think a big reason why i can get back into it so easily is because its FREE all you need is an internet connection and you get the massive amount of content from the comic and fandom, there's just soo much too engaged with even if it's not all good. Despite all my problems with Homestuck i still do like it but one thing i wish is What Pumpkin would just let it go, HS2 and Hiveswap are dumpster fires. It feels like they're milking a dead cow, this series would be better off if the poor decision making stopped at the comic itself. I just want it to be left untouched by a company and have it be supported by the love of the fanbase. I'm homestucked out but i like the character enough and shipping them as well will probably keep me hooked for awhile.

I guess I'll throw in what i was originally going too say anyway. I think homestuck took a massive drop in writing quality after murderstuck. Like why is everyone just standing on the meteor? You guys aren't going to get more serious after all that? Was there any reason as to why no one could've texted John or Jade while separated? I genuinely don't remember there being a reason. I thought Kanaya coming back to life was stupid, the Gamzee and Terezi thing gross, Rose being an alcoholic then drunk making out with Kanaya also being gross, Karkat and Dave being bystanding asshole during all this, Wayward Vagabond being practically a stuffed animal, like what is this? After murderstuck you could definitely feel the decline but there where some decent moments spread out afterwards with Caliborn being the main one stealing the show. I think Hussie really liked Caliborn, you can tell he had so much fun writing him. I like to believe Hussie went wild with Caliborn because he could get away with all the edgy stupid stuff with him because he's a villain, Hussie had obviously gave into the demands of the fans and i think even he got tired of it, Caliborn was the perfect blank slate for him to have some real freedom in writing again, Caliborns character is really in line with Hussies older sense of humor. Despite still giving into demands every other time, Caliborn got too be want Hussie actually wanted. Oooh Caliborn how you almost saved Homestuck, at least you get to be the best character in the end.

It's fine to still send asks about Homestuck here. Moving on doesn't happen overnight and I'm often sticking around more to speak out about the flaws. From the series itself, the fandom, or the current culture that surrounds it. It can be applied to other groups like those who like anime, comics, video games, etc. Homestuck is just one niche I focus on because I'm familiar with it. There are many other people online that talk about these similar topics that do it better than I ever could. But I agree that WhatPumpkin should just let the base webcomic end just there. No need to focus more on Epilogues, Homestuck^2, or Homestuck Beyond Canon. Let people interpret their own endings. Homestuck may not have been able to leave a mark in media history like what Undertale or FNAF did, but it's better to let it end there as it is. The story really felt going down after Murderstuck. Cascade was probably the only greatest thing left behind. Then Act 6 kicked in. There are many plot holes and questions to be raised about it. From things like why can't Dave/Rose or the other living trolls on the meteor use Trollian or any of their communication devices like they had before? There's nothing said about their travel to the Alpha Session will block communication between the two parties. I hate how Dave and Karkat stood on the sidelines as Rose/Kanaya and Gamzee/Terezi go through hell with their problems. Why wasn't Wayward Vagabond doing more to try and communicate with the others? Can Town and being a mayor is his dream, but we have seen him become a leader of his own to his own people. WV had communicate with John to act as his Exile, so why not the same with Dave, Rose, and the other living trolls? Where was he when the others went into the Dream Bubbles? Carapacians are not allowed there? Is still on the meteor to 'protect' the base? Was that the only time they left him alone like he was some housepet? Wouldn't it be better to have Wayward Vagabond that's now revived, stay on the Prospitian ship that John and Jade were on so that they could be with Dave and Rose? Wayward Vagabond would have a better time to try and get all the Carapacians to be ready when they arrived in the Alpha session. Where were the Carapacians by Post Retcon and Collide? By Post Retcon, the ones on the Prospitian ship and those with Roxy should be alive by then. Casey also was there to summon undead consorts during Jake vs The Felt fight. Wouldn't that mean the other consorts were still there Prospitian ship that John and Jade were on, could have joined the battle? There are too many plot holes and vague answers still around because of Act 6 and Post Retcon that it makes people question the quality and how the story was leading up to this. I do believe as well that Caliborn was the only way for Hussie to let himself use his old edgey humor. Dave and Dirk were there, but those two had their character development and he needed another being to stand in his place. Other characters that fit would have been dead and he had to come with some bullshit reason to bring them back. So it's better to make an original OC than to reuse another character. Caliborn really was the best as he really made lots of changeups and excitement to the series. If not only in narrative standpoint, but also in meta in the sense that he was able to change the website readers would be on. You had to be there with old flash to see him banging on the console that the link and panel you were trying to read, shook with every hit and everything gets scrambled and falling apart. Calliope hasn't done anything like that despite that we are suppose to root for her as the good guy that will join the heroes. Caliborn is just that amazing. Act 6 may have been carried by people like Dirk and Roxy, but Caliborn flexed it up high like Atlas did with the World.

[sunriseverse]

For the Weird Questions for Writers: 7, 8, 13, 17, 29, 37

thanks for the ask! these were very fun to talk about :)

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

i adore being able to create immersive experiences for my readers. people have told me i have a very distinctive style, which instantly draws the reader in, and i'm very proud of it. it's largely because i really do just genuinely like writing prose—and prose is, in my opinion, one of the best ways to draw someone into the world you're creating.

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

probably without dialogue. i can write thousands of words of a character's actions and inner thoughts without any sort of dialogue just fine; on the other hand, i rely a lot on descriptive passages to give context to the dialogue. that said, i have done this when i was working as a scriptwriter for an audio drama a couple years back that has been fairly successful, so i know that it's possible, i just wouldn't enjoy it much.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

hard: anything to do with the psychiatric system that isn't just basic therapy. i have a lot of thoughts and concepts that utilise, say, psychiatric wards and institutionalisation as settings, i just wouldn't................do very well if i had to write them. easy: emotions! i am so good at depicting emotions. this is a bit of a necessity, since most of my writing hinges on emotions and the way people deal with them, but i do genuinely enjoy and find it easy (in the sense of having a lot of practice with it; i wouldn't do very well in trying to teach someone how to write emotions).

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

i am not going to delve into the minutiae of sunrise, because, frankly, i've made a multitude of posts on it, and this post doesn't need an extra 3k-10k of bloat. however, i can tell you that sunrise is interesting in a number of ways, such as its specific technological situation—futuristic technology that allows for cyborgs and mind-melding (of a sort) exists, but rather than smartphones, a lot of communication is done via radio; there are no televisions, but technology called "livecasting", which allows the recording of holograms to tape, exists. trains and fabric factories exist, but cars are rare, enough that even a character like li cu, living in the capital of beijing, regards their appearance as unusual and notable. due to the period of history it's inspired by, sunrise's central governmental system is on the weaker side of the ming dynasty (the wanli era was better than its preceding and proceeding reigns, but it was very much a patch job on a festering wound), and a lot of control instead falls into the hands of the zhang martial sect, whose control is strengthened through a number of different facets, such as the fact that, uh, they control the literal only group of people who are stopping an alien incursion from killing everyone in the nation (and also some other fun things like propaganda, prescient sociopolitical moves, having proxy control over a lot of the high population density areas, et cetera).

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

i draw inspiration from a lot of places! media that i engage with is some of the most important, though; it both gives me thoughts for my own writing, and stops that proverbial well from running dry. lately, a lot of my writing* (i add an asterisk because none of this is getting posted; it's largely worldbuilding) has been inspired by academic texts i read, since my area of focus in my academics also happens to overlap almost perfectly with my main writing project (sunrise). however, for things i actually post, a lot of my inspiration comes from seeing something in canon and going "hm, but what if this happened, instead?" and going from there.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

ah.........i'll be honest, i don't think i'm someone who will be remembered by history, and i've made my peace with that. i think if i am to be remembered, it'll probably be for any future academic works i produce—probably, if i'm honest, on gender dynamics, language, or sartorial history during the ming dynasty. if someone remembered me for my fanfic...............i would like to be thought of as someone with a passion for depicting the mundanity of human life, and the variety of ways in which love can be expressed. (i have a very specific desire to be remembered for the femslash i write, especially the intertwining of the performance of gender and desire, but with the way lesbians get brushed aside in fandom history so often, i'm not holding out hope.)

[luvsavos]

Hey, it’s the Aiden anon again! I’m sorry bro, but I don’t have Discord, but I’m STILL SUPER interested on your thoughts on Aiden. PLEASE I’m begging you Mr. Martin, I need a MASSIVE text post from you about him. And honestly it’s for my friend too. Aiden is her babygirl. She has been in love/loved him since 4U and we both are always so excited to see him.

oh hello again!! it's no worries that you don't have discord, i definitely do Not at ALL mind going on a ramble about my boy, though i absolutely apologize in advance for the length of this post LMAO

for the most part until after the events of iceborne, my interpretation of him is fairly close to canon, though there is Some differences or original things here and there so disclaimer in advance since i'm maintagging this for canon divergence, this is my own little au that i am completely normal and not at all insane about; all of the stuff post-fatalis is based on rps with a friend so there's a Lot

if you/whoever's reading this just want my general Thoughts on aiden as a character and not my whole batshit insane au lore stuff, that'll be at the bottom of the post! (sorry)

when he was a kid, he was pretty carefree as you'd expect, he loved to help out around the village when he wasn't off playing with the other kids or his little sister (i don't think we ever got anything about his bio family in canon so this was entirely just me making things up LMAO). when the elder dragon activity caused the monster stampede that destroyed his village when he was only 7, he tried desperately to save people (specifically his sister) but, of course, failed, and i BELIEVE i'd headcanoned that he watched At Least One of his family members actively get gored/trampled by some monsters?

obviously the entire experience left him with a fear of monsterkind, and even into adulthood it still weighs heavily on him and likely occasionally causes nightmares and the likes. running blindly from the stampede with absolutely no sense of direction nor semblance of anything to help him survive in the wilderness, it's a miracle that he came across timben when he did, and naturally the people there took him in. though still weighed down by his trauma, aiden did his best to be as helpful around the village as possible, and he quickly became popular among the villagers for his willingness and readiness to help out wherever he could, and for his cheerful, outgoing personality. eventually, he decided he was tired of being frightened of monsters, so he took to studying them and making puns of their names as a way to cope and make himself less afraid of them. all this is pretty much just canon so far, from the legends of the guild movie (save for the parts about his old village, other than the stampede thing; i think that's the only real details we get about his home village?)

and then, of course, when he was fifteen (this isn't his canon age, i don't entirely know how old he's supposed to be in lotg? i THINK 17-18 but cmon he gives me the vibes of Unmedicated Adhd Teenager. fun fact julius is only 4 years older than aiden so that makes him 19 in this so that doesn't make a ton of sense but its fine i can ignore that, bro's already stressed himself to the point of white hair LMAO i think i'd make him a bit older than that though, maybe in his mid-late twenties?) came the elder crossing, and with it came julius, to warn timben of an oncoming lunastra that was headed in their direction. honestly idk why i'm recapping this canon stuff but listen i love talking about aiden okay ahdnsbfjgn

since the villagers refused to budge, aiden accompanied julius to go see the elder dragon for himself so that he can tell the villagers so they'll evacuate, and of course imprinted onto julius like an orphaned (ha bad joke) duckling along the way

don't need to recap all of lotg since it all plays out the same way; he admired everyone that helped try to fight off the lunastra, but he particularly looked up to mae like an older sister (this would later lead him to naming a kinsect paisley in honour of her's), and he still in present-day keeps her journal. the entire experience was... rough on him. he didn't feel any sense of victory, just a sort of hollowness and guilt---he blamed himself for mae and ravi's deaths, considering it was his impulsive suggestion to fight the lunastra rather than run that got them killed. it also left him with a permanent terror of lunastra specifically (this will come into relevance somewhat a bit later), and it solidified his resolve to become a proper hunter, so that he could learn how to properly fight monsters and protect people like he wanted to, and ensure nothing like that would happen again.

now here's where we start to get a Liddol Bit of canon divergence; anyone who's talked to me about my au knows that i REALLY like the idea of the guild being not as clean and morally sound as they like to seem---i really like exploring the concept of corruption within it, and the shady practices they keep under wraps. after all, power tends to breed corruption, and even if it's run by wyverians and Is primarily dedicated to genuinely trying to preserve the balance, the guild IS an incredibly powerful and influential organization (if not the single most powerful/influential one in the mh universe), and that's likely going to inevitably attract people who don't exactly have the best intentions in mind.

so! the guild. guild knights. we know that the knights are sent out to deal with poachers and the likes via apprehending them and/or killing them. that already means that, more than likely, our sweet boy aiden has human blood on his hands. so why not delve into that? aiden tended to prefer to stick to just helping protect and maintain the safety of places rather than do the whole Killing People thing, as i don't doubt that the concept of taking another human/wyverian/etc life upsets him. HOWEVER. early on into his days as a knight, he was sent out with a group of unfamiliar knights to deal with a velocidrome that was "causing problems" in a small village. the problems? it had been injured, and an old woman that lived some distance away from the village had taken it back to her house and nursed it back to health, and it chose to simply Stay, and that made the villagers uneasy. honestly, it wasn't really causing any genuine issues---it was just existing and choosing to stay with the person that had saved its life. the orders were clear cut: deal with "the problem" by any means necessary. aiden was gentler than the others (who were far more shady and... much less well-intentioned than him), but the woman was resolute in that she wouldn't let them kill the drome. so, as a "rite of passage," so to speak, the other guild knights forced aiden to kill not only the velocidrome, but the old woman as well. Guild Trauma, Babey!

the experience left a lasting mark on him, and he never told julius or the other ace hunters what exactly happened, but they could all tell that Something had based on how quiet and somber he was for several days after the incident. that was the first human life he took, and while he's undoubtedly had to kill poachers and other people who genuinely Were in the wrong, knowing that he has innocent blood on his hands has remained with him even long after he left the guild to join with the research commission. i'm nice to my faves i swear (<- lying)

so! fast forward to the commission, since there's not much else of importance for his guild days (yet, once i play 4u/gu this might change). this is where things really start to get divergent as they involve my ocs so buckle up lads we're going on An Adventure™️

like i said, really things are Mostly the same until post-iceborne; rather than a proper hunter, my player character oc is a "rider" that was raised by an anjanath so rather than kill all the monsters (though he doesn't have much issue with doing so) in the story some were simply communicated with and/or relocated if necessary, ie the agitated pukei, vaal hazak ("without a vaal hazak the entire rotten vale ecosystem would collapse!" [kills vaal hazak anyways] thank you monster hunter very cool!)

aiden takes a liking to the field team leader (achilles, as my friend i rp with named him<3) and they grow closer throughout base world, enough so that aiden ends up his second-in-command in seliana (this appears to be canon? idk he can be seen giving out more direct orders during the defense of seliana quest while ftl gives out generalized ones and theyre Always Seen Together except for in One (1) cutscene, post-velkhana death (i'm normal about them i promise) and theyre both at the council table right next to each other.....), things are Nice, everything's Great

and then Fatalis Happens. canonly, as i recall, aiden Nearly Died because of fatalis. like. lea/serious handler talks about how if he'd died she doesn't know how she would've kept going, aiden talks about how thinking about julius and ftl gave him the strength and willpower to keep fighting (totally normal bro things to say just guys being dudes am i right) and Not Die, it's a whole Thing. so my interpretation of aiden has a TON of absolutely AWFUL burn scars across the right side of his body from that. they're obviously nowhere near as bad as they COULD be, since i'm assuming he had some fire res on his build (that feels weird to say when not talking about gameplay), but they're still Bad because. well. fatalis LMAO

fast forward an indeterminate amount of time (i don't think my friend and i ever decided on how far after fatalis our stuff is💀) and everything's Great. here's where the balls to the wall canon divergence starts btw! shang, my "rider" oc, has helped people learn that some monsters can be reasoned with, and the monsters he's befriended are allowed about the base and the reach as they please (even if some AHEM VUGEL (my bastard of an ebony odogaron) COUGH are an absolute hindrance on purpose). aiden and ftl have gotten together by this point. shang's taken in a lot of orphaned monsters, one of which is a little lunastra that he's named chang'e, that seems to sense aiden's unease and tries to capitalize on it, but shang (halfheartedly) tries to hold the young elder dragon back from doing so.

one particularly notable monster around base is a gold-crown sized namielle, "nami," who's pretty much adopted shang. she's warm, motherly, and after the initial unease of having An Entire Elder Dragon around wore off she quickly became a familiar and welcomed face. another is the mountain god, shara ishvalda themself, having chosen to try to aid the commission as a way to "apologize" for the damage and chaos their presence in the everstream caused. nami's presence attracts a tall, foreboding man, with white hair and a beard, scars across his face, a permanent resting glare, and piercing golden eyes---he speaks very little, and when he does it's in a low mutter, and he seems to be observing the people of seliana. his presence is dread-inducing and sparks much unease, but nami is ecstatic to see him, stating he is an old friend who she hasn't seen in ages. for some time, things continue normally---until an argument between shara and nami breaks out, and the imposing stranger reveals his true nature as a dire miralis-sized white fatalis; the destroyer moon, alaakiilah, he who wiped out the ancients in a single night, in order to get the pair to cease their bickering.

aiden ends up being absolutely fascinated by al---sure, he's scared shitless of fatalis, but all the same... a fatalis, there, IN seliana, the fatalis of legend, and he's... not attacking them. granted, it's because he knows nami is fond of the mortals there, and he begrudgingly promised her that he wouldn't do anything to them, but still. the moon god is begrudgingly tolerant of aiden, and eventually achilles as well, as the pair typically don't stray far from one another (unless they Do, but that's not relevant right now), and eventually, through sheer persistence in his fascination, aiden (and achilles) are allowed the one single highest honour one can have: the permission to touch alaakiilah's beard. much as he might disdain to admit it, al ends up being genuinely, albeit begrudgingly, fond of aiden, and aiden's all but dadopted him (he's collecting white haired father figures, isn't he?). this comes into more relevance later.

after some time, al comes across an abandoned fatalis egg (i have my own whole Thing on fatalis eggs and reproduction in general but that's its own post LOL), which he brought back to the supply cache (after achilles offered to let him nest there with the egg) to incubate, and after a day, it hatches, into a tiny, defenseless, harmless baby female fatalis, which namielle names yunhind---that translating to "new hope," in honour of how no fatalis in recorded history has ever been raised in proximity to mortals before, and the destroyer moon's decision to trust in the commission to not fuck things up. the little one immediately takes a liking to aiden, and though he's more than a little nervous at first at the prospect of babysitting the destroyer of humanity's adopted child, he quickly becomes more confident in it as she grows and he becomes more attached to her---it makes him think back to his younger sister, and his inability to protect her, and he's determined to make sure absolutely nothing happens to yunhind.

there's a whole Thing that happens with the guild, having learned of the abundance of monsters around seliana, threatening achilles to try and pressure him into killing and/or relocating them all to "protect the people," then taking matters into their own hands when he refuses---this entire debacle (affectionately dubbed The Guild Arc, Part One) leaves aiden shaken up as it confirms a lot of his fears and doubts that have been building under the surface for years on end now.

fatalis mature quickly, even when naturally hatched, and within a few months, yunhind is a fully grown and wholly unique fatalis, dubbed an "ashen fatalis" due to adapting to her surroundings and taking on the properties of ice element as well as fire (they're interchangeable, though her ability to use both at once is somewhat limited), and the unique ability to transfer energy to heal others, and her scales being an ashy grey colour. she spends most of her time in her human form, and she views aiden like an older brother. things settle back down around base, and everything is okay again.

until it's not, of course<3

achilles goes missing, which stresses aiden out, naturally--and then vodrem happens, because nothing good lasts forever. well, vodrem happens Again, but i hadn't started rping aiden by the first time, so uhhh. idk he was on a vacation in the old world i guess?? that was an entire Year before the second Vodrem Event

now, dear reader, you're probably wondering, "martin who the fuck is vodrem", which is a VERY good question! vodrem is my nonfandom/multiverse god of chaos oc, who's part of his own little original oc bubble, though they're all based on monhun monsters; vodrem in particular is based on nergigante and morodumunto, though he usually takes the form of a not-quite-right nergigante

he makes a habit of consuming entire universes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and psychologically tormenting people just for the hell of its. he's power hungry, immensely dangerous, and cunning.

in his wake, he leaves "instabilities"; where the very fabric of reality itself gets fucked up, and these can have a variety of effects on anything that enter the area, but the most common has been people getting turned into monsters. the five were INCREDIBLY meticulous about mending any left behind after the first vodrem event, and they made absolutely certain to mend them all.

but a new one appeared. one which aiden wandered into---the change wasn't instantaneous, it started with just feeling sick and feverish, with heat specifically concentrated in his chest, to the point that it would get unbearable and he'd have to lay in the snow just for some relief, and finding his temper to be increasingly short and explosive. then came the headaches and soreness of the throat, and tiny black scales forming across his skin. then the desire to find some small space outdoors, perhaps a cave or the likes, though he ended up seeking comfort (ironically) in the destroyer moon's presence. i'm sure you can see where this is going, yes?

of all the monsters in the world, it had to be a fatalis. because of course it would be. as you'd expect, this caused him an IMMENSE amount of distress on top of the distress he already had from achilles' absence. for some time, there were no other signs of vodrem, and yunhind and al (mostly yunhind) helped aiden learn How To Fatalis.

and then all hell broke lose, as it does with vodrem. he claimed to have killed achilles, and though aiden had been trying his absolute damndest to suppress the fatalis rage and instincts, he let them overtake him---he went after vodrem, intending to unleash an ocean of flame upon him... didn't SUCCEED, all he got was speared through the lung and his back torn into by vodrem, the wounds afflicted with what was dubbed as "tarblight"; a corrosive, highly painful substance that vodrem secrets that seems to only be able to be cured by vodrem himself or his much more well-intentioned brother, vodinok. for the rest of the fight, aiden was simply unconscious, so he doesn't have much relevance for the rest of it. as i recall, one of the five managed to transform him back into a human, and vodinok cured the tarblight while yunhind healed his wounds.

unfortunately for my poor darling aiden, the form of the fatalis is not one so easily controlled, and so despite the five's best efforts, that part of him never really left---strong negative emotions still cause spontaneous transformations, and he's typically very skittish and nervous in this form because of how hard it is to suppress the fatalis instincts. the transformations take a LOT of energy out of him too, and while he CAN force a transformation back, that takes even more energy, so he's usually just kinda Stuck like that for a few days, which he usually spends hunkered in the supply cache, because for as good as he's gotten at maintaining his usual demeanor, the innate rage and violent instincts are always just a breath away from the surface, bubbling and boiling, like a pot of water just seconds away from boiling over. Not at All a fun experience for him!

after this the Guild Arc Part 2 happens, with aiden traveling to the old world with al to retrieve achilles from the corrupt and shady part of the guild who'd come to seliana in the first place; that's a whole Thing in of itself as well, and aiden ends up having to take a few more lives, though the guilt and emotions of, well. Everything, really, don't set in until after its all said and done, considering this entire thing takes place only maybe a few days after the vodrem event, if i recall correctly, so aiden's still more than a little out of it, and the dissonance of everything that happened there only made him even More out of it.

aaaaand i Think that's It? i don't believe i've had him be involved in any major plot stuff since then (aside from the temporary vampire event that was for halloween), so he's finally gotten to have the break that he oh so DESPERATELY needs and deserves... for now! i would like to involve him with more things again in the future (i never did get to write out a storyline where he briefly looses himself to the fatalis instincts---even just using the elemental abilities tend to have that effect on him, so using too MUCH would be Bad---and has to be brought back down from them...), so who knows! maybe he'll end up Going Through It a little bit more, as a Treat<3 the amount of suffering i put my faves through is proportional to how much i like them☺

now then! for my thoughts on aiden as a character; i love him. he's a sweet, caring and well-intentioned person, and i see a lot of myself in him (namely with the Incredibly Obvious adhd). it makes me happy to see a character like him (again, adhd) not treated like the butt of a joke, and instead be shown to actually be incredibly competent and important to the commission. i really hope we see him again in another game in the future, even if it's just as a cameo (he and the field team leader WERE planning to take that vacation to the old world so aiden could introduce ftl to julius........) and nothing else. of all the wonderful characters mh has to offer, i think aiden is by far my favourite i am so incredibly normal about him (this is by far the longest ramble post i have ever made LMAO) and he is just. absolutely Wonderful. my darling beloved my son my everything etc etc. i hope that if he does come back in a future game, if he's Not Just a cameo, we get to do another hunt properly with him; fatalis was obviously the testing grounds for the npc followers in sunbreak, so i'd love to get to do a proper hunt with him now that that's A Thing, if they choose to keep it going forward (and i don't see why they wouldn't, given the positive reception it got). i think that the duality of him being so bubbly, positive and outgoing even despite everything he's been through is interesting, and i find the concept of exploring that trauma to be fascinating because, let's be real, poor guy has definitely been through some shit. NORMALLY if my faves don't have a backstory i come up with one for them but i didn't even Have To give him a traumatic backstory capcom did that for me LMFAO

anyways. thank u for the ask nonnie i am SO incredibly sorry for the length of this post the tism took the wheel, i know i went on a few tangents that weren't that related but ahdkdhfjd i just have A Lot of lore for my au and aiden's been involved in a fair bit of it

[dukeofriven]

Well, again, firstly I don't think the Gorn are interesting. I don't think Enterprise made them interesting, I don't think anything SNW has done so-far has made them interesting and I don't feel confident for the future (though, hey, it can always surprise me. I like being surprised.) Everything these two shows have done to the gorn largely feels like it was lifted directly from Aliens and the dilophosaurus in Jurassic Park. SNW takes so much from Aliens, in fact, that Hemmer's whole death sequence is beat-for-beat Ripley's death sequence in Aliens 3, just with him falling into snow instead of fire. That doesn't really read as development to me. Just doing the movie Aliens doesn't feel innovative and different to me: I personally find it derivative. And I really don't think 'it's okay to kill gorn babies' feels very Star Trek to me. For a show whose whole vibe has always been negotiation and trying to come to an understanding - from the exocomps to the horta to even the Borg - the gorn as presented thus far haven't felt very depthful or impactful: they're just a scary killer monster race. I haven't found that 'gorn leave their babies to eat people and then each other' really deep - it's just kind of violent and grim. The rest we've seen of them so far, at least to me, feels like less visible Klingons. Big on fighting, fight to the death, love 'em some blood: that's the gorn. Oh and they're total fine with kid death. So there's that. To your further point, as I've gone at length about: I don't think canon should matter in SNW. It's not all that exciting to know that SNW's Nurse Chapel 'has to' become the Nurse Chapel background extra of TOS. I think i would be much better to throw all that away—free Nurse Chapel from ever having to be engaged to a boring creep like Roger Korby. No one wants that. And, also, Trek already erases TOS when it suits it. Turnabout intruder can't be canon in modern Trek. At all. Its entire premise is clearly untrue, and the episode does not, can not exist in the continuity of Star Trek. That's great - Turnabout Intruder is terrible. But SNW won't let canon go: that's its whole problem. It wants to break free on canon and tell its own stories, to not be beholden to it: but then it has three episodes of its first season devoted to "The Menagerie absolutely needs to happen and its the most important thing in this entire series that TOS happen." That's the premise of its first season finale: you shouldn't change canon, you should embrace what will happen to Pike and, by extension, Spock and Sam Kirk and everyone else. It all needs to happen. It should happen. SNW binds itself to TOS with a rigidity Disco, for all its faults, never thought necessary.

SNW wants to have it both ways, and it can't. I say that Arena will hang over the show as a big enormous weight about the gorn because Strange New Worlds is inconsistent about whether or not it should: it says within the text that TOS canon is the most important thing in SNW's worldview - but then producers and writers also keep saying they're excited to play around with canon and not feel beholden to it. Arena doesn't matter -except the writer still gives interviews where he explains exactly why it does and thus canon is safe.. So in SNW canon doesn't matter... until it does, and then it's presented as ontologically crucial for the continuation of the universe as we know it. That feels like a fundamentally difficult position to reconcile: you don't need to know a thing about TOS to enjoy SNW, but the emotional crux of the first season relies entirely on you accepting that the future story of TOS is more important than all the potential of the characters on SNW to break away from it. SNW says 'we're going to do whatever we want with Nurse Chapel - but she will also one day be the woman with maybe five lines across six Star Trek movies.' I can make up my mind just fine about how crummy tying SNW to lousy TOS canon is - its SNW who can't make its mind. It's SNW who wants me to know that The Menagerie matters, and Arena matters, and Balance of Terror matters, and that if they don't happen the universe will go to hell and then Pike will have to take another time crystal and go back in time and make sure he stills gets his face melted, Uhura never leaves her desk, and M'Benga agrees to let McCoy be his boss. (And don't even get me started on Star Trek V, because bringing-back Sybok was the whole 'shocking' reveal of that pirate episode—and I'm not sure 'we promise you don't need to know a damn thing about TOS' fans of the show would know what to do with that. What a strange button to end on. The musical swells and we learn that... there's... some guy! Wow. Must have been baffling.)

I think the other important question here is 'what does being rude to a stranger on the internet' say about you as a Star Trek fan? I haven't said anything about you or insulted your intelligence, but you seem completely unable to criticize my ideas without attacking me as a person, and I'm just wondering what that does for you, personally. How that does improve your critique? Does it hone it in some way - does dragging-down the person your disagreeing with make your points about a television show more salient? I mean, I'm just saying: this is my post, man. Showing up on someone else's posts to complain about them 'whining' is a curious thing to do. Like if I see a post with a bad take and I don't think the person writing it was very smart - I don't engage with it. Why start an argument with someone you think is a idiot? You go home from a long day at the tumblr factory and say 'honey, I picked a fight with an idiot today - and I won! I was smarter than someone I have no respect for and think was dumb! Tell the neighbours I proved myself smarter than an idiot who had incorrect opinions about dinosaur aliens on a television programme!"

Lashings of root-beer for all, I guess.

Strange New Worlds needs to stop trying to make the Gorn happen its such a terrible idea.

As I was saying to a friend just last night, TNG and Voyager had no problem making up new aliens. A new week, a new episode, a new bit of forehead make-up and hey presto: this is a Luluvrian. Next week, change the ridges a bit, add some facial hair - watch out, its the Nubmovians. TOS? This blur on the screen is a different sentient gaseous cloud than the one last week. The Klingons made only seven appearances in TOS. The Romulans made three. Most of the time, we were going to, well strange new worlds. Meeting new life, and new civilizations. So why the goddamn Gorn, Strange New Worlds? Why this horrid Star Wars canon fetish: why not do something new? TNG made up the Borg and the Cardiassians, DS9 the Dominion and the Breen, Voyager the Kazon: they kept doing new shit. You don't have to do old shit. You can have a new enemy, one that doesn't have the inescapable canon weight of Arena hanging over it like a sword of Damocles. You don't have to keep making Screenrant write stupid articles about how adding more shit about the Gorn 'improves' the message of Arena, when it really just makes Kirk seem like an idiot for not knowing who they are, and also makes your 'just the alien from Alien' Gorn prove to be... a clumsy dude in a big rubber suit. Actually, that's way more fun. Why can't the Gorn be a species who resemble big clumsy dudes in rubber suits? Why can't we just love them for being that, why'd you have to change them—why can't you do something NEW? STOP TRYING TO MAKE THE GORN HAPPEN. FORGE YOUR OWN ENEMY.

[albatris]

WHAT IS ALEX RENTALCAR'S LAST NAME

AND IS IT "RENTALCAR"

[randombush3]

Kicking and Screaming

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: your relationship is taking a hit from the release of Don’t Worry Darling

words: 4948

warnings: smut

notes: i tried to keep the football terms to a minimum so don’t be daunted by this. this was requested as well — no way i could have come up with this.

It’s all fucking bullshit.

No one seems to believe in your relationship. Or, rather, they’d like to believe in a different one.

She’s convinced you they’re not true. They aren’t true, because you were with her while she filmed, and on FaceTime when bubbles did not permit physical contact. Like, what the actual fuck? It’s insulting to even think about trying to pretend she slept with him.

Everyone can tell that you’re on edge the moment you walk onto the bus. Maybe you’re frustrated because you’ve avoided your girlfriend for a solid week, save for the occasional small talk that occurs when you catch each other in the same room of your house, maybe it’s because you had to fight your way past the paparazzi at your front door.

Attempting to diffuse their teammate, you are met with a series of ‘hi’s that fizzle out the moment you shove your stuff in the hold above an empty row and sit down on your own. This is a player who does not want to be spoken to. You hear a mumble “relationship problems” and scowl, closing your eyes and choosing to block out the entire world for three and a half hours.

When Leah begins to play her pregame hype music (awful, awful music that you’d hate even in the best of moods), they beg you to join in with the singing, making a game of who can possibly get a smile out of you. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands, but when Jonas looks at you sternly, you give in and face them all. “You get one song,” you announce, “and if it’s shit, I’m not singing.” There’s a scramble for the phone connected to the speaker, and then some absurd song you chose for karaoke once plays.

They manage to get you to sing three, before the coaches coach and the bus stops. You step off and are quickly taken aside by Aaron. The assistant coach looks at you with concern pulling at his smile. The chatter of the team fades into the distance and he begins to talk.

He starts with a simple question: “how are you?”

“I’m fine.” He isn’t convinced. “No, really. I need to just play. I’ve got to play it out.”

“You could have played it out at training.”

“I need an audience.” You need to show everyone – remind them all – how great you are, with or without your girlfriend. No matter what they say about your personal life, you will make sure they cannot attack your playing. “I’m a professional.”

“It’s going to be a tough match, Y/n. They’re a good side, we’re matched almost evenly. No one needs a loose canon on the pitch.”

“I’m notoriously calm–”

“When your girlfriend isn’t in the centre of Hollywood’s latest scandal.” His remark is cutting. You may well have flinched. Aaron then softens, as if suddenly deciding he’s being too harsh. “I will tell Jonas that you will be focused throughout, but if I feel that it’s not working or you’re not playing well, I’m taking you off. We all go through relationship issues. It’s okay to need a moment.”

You’re about to protest, guns firing up and getting ready to blaze your way through a full ninety minute match, but Beattie grabs your arm and makes fun of you for being slow. “How can we start match prep without Saint Y/n?” she whines dramatically.

Aaron nods in dismissal. You follow her unnecessary tugging.

“She’s here!” Beth shouts over the noise. You glare at them, halfway between it being sincere and joking.

Surprisingly, you manage to chat and jostle and tease, partaking in the standard changing room banter. Every so often, your phone buzzes, its screen lighting up with texts and missed calls from Florence, annoyingly reminding you of the lock screen background (Flo and Billie, teeth bared). Some of your teammates notice the amount of notifications you are getting, but none are intrusive enough to assume anything other than social media or an overactive group chat.

Flo’s latest text reads:

Pick up the fucking phone.

How pleasant.

She did start quite civilly, attempting to make up after a particularly venomous row. You’d stormed out, and then she’d slept on the sofa until you came back. The arguing had resumed when she told you she had been unbelievably worried while you were cooling off, so you had slammed your bedroom door shut and drowned her out by pouring over old match footage to analyse your play. You both could be work-oriented if you wanted to. If that was how it was going to be.

Speaking of work oriented — the cheers in the stadium as both teams walk out of the tunnel are enough to pull your focus in onto the here and now, not some stupid and too-common argument.

Once you’ve warmed up and have been reminded of Aaron’s personal terms and conditions for tonight’s game, it’s Jonas’ team talk (stay calm, play your game, press hard defensively) and then kick off.

The whistle sounds and you are back in a situation you can control. It feels good, this feels good. Florence is but a niggle at the back of your mind as you push and shove and dribble and… Okay, yeah, you foul quite a bit.

You have a lot of pent up everything, and instead of taking it out on the ball itself, it does lead to quite a few incidents where you push the player too hard and they end up on the floor, but so what? The first goal is scored fifteen minutes in thanks to your turn over and cross. You’re playing great. Aggressively, sure, but great.

You think you have a great chance of winning the ball in the next tackle you go for. (In hindsight, you are completely lying to yourself.) Your legs go round and under, and she goes down awkwardly, crying out in a mix of shock and pain. You find that you’re pulled down too, small crescents pressed into your forearm when the player lets go of you.

“What the fuck was that?” hisses one of the Man United players, kneeling down to her teammate. You can feel your own team debating whether to crowd the scene or watch from afar.

You blank out the next five minutes, in which the player is helped off by a medic, the ref waves a yellow card in your face, and Jonas goes absolutely nuts from the sideline.

Katie is a dirty player. Not you.

“You okay?” a player from the other team asks, her face determined but eyes gentle. She extends her hand out to you, pulling you up.

Her words remind you that you are very much in the public eye. (And that you are also very much not okay.)

Aaron is emphatic about how disciplined you usually are at half time. In fact, half the team are scared to talk to you considering the uncharacteristic aggression shown on the pitch. When Mead approaches to ask if you’re alright, you turn around and pretend to be extremely interested in the wall.

Aaron tells you that you need to leave this shit off the pitch now. “Taking it out on everyone else doesn’t seem to be working,” he says, “because they’ve scored an equaliser and one of our best players looks like she’s about to beat the shit out of her own team. Take up fucking boxing at this rate!”

“I’m fine,” you insist through gritted teeth, setting your jaw as you prepare to go back on for the last ten minutes of the game. “Jonas thinks I’m fine.”

“He thinks you’re playing fine.”

“Are you my coach or my dad?” you snap, fully aware of the camera pointed at the pair of you. “I will deal with my shit in whichever way I choose. Currently, it might be beating the shit out of my assistant coach.”

He pauses, perplexed. You are a composed person. You are neutral, positive at times, yet he finds not an ounce of regret for your tone nor your language. All he can see as he looks in your eyes is pure, unbridled rage.

Aaron is not stupid. He knows how to win games, he knows how to make sure whatever a player brings onto the pitch is milked for every last drop of usefulness in order to garner a victory.

“I want a goal,” he says with a shrug. He points to your chest, “this fire in your heart… put it on the ball and kick hard.” You nod curtly. He smiles, proud of himself: you needed a target to focus your determination. “Okay, now go,” dismisses Aaron.

Jonas gives technical advice, asking you to score a goal more for the team than your own personal well-being, but that's the difference between coach and assistant coach.

When you step back out there, you feel a new hunger for one thing. You play selfishly, ruthlessly, and incredibly well. No one can seem to get the ball off you, so Man United’s focus shifts to keeping it two metres from you in every direction. Overtime will give them a moment to regroup and re-strategise, so that’s what they aim for.

A bad pass in their defence in the last minute of injury time costs them the ball. You pounce on it, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Your own team presses down into the box to crowd the defence, leaving them overwhelmed and panicking, on their toes in preparation for your cross.

But your cross never comes.

The goalie is distracted, you realise. The commotion has stressed her out, cracked the icy hold her eyes had on the ball. She can’t see you position yourself towards her net. You think back to Aaron pointing at your heart, and gauge the distance between you and the goal.

You’re outside the box, but you have a chance.

You put your fire on the ball and kick hard.

It flies through the air swiftly, and the goalie can do nothing but dive too low down for it to not go in.

The whistle blows again, and you’re tackled by your team, whooping and cheering in your ear like there’s no tomorrow. You sink into that feeling of warmth and pride.

Everything feels fine again.

“Hey, L/n, they don’t want to talk to me anymore!” Beth calls you over from where she’s greeting fans. She went straight over to them once she shook hands with the other team. You haul yourself off the floor, patting the women you rolled off your body on the back with a mutter of ‘time to be famous’.

Half the pr stuff you’ve learnt is from Flo.

Little girls grin at you, looking up with admiration and stars in their eyes. They hold their dreams out to you, and you smile right back at them, signing everything that they ask you to, taking every picture possible.

“I think you’re my favourite,” declares a boy who’s shoved his way past everyone to get to the front. “You’re definitely my favourite.” He beams.

“Yeah?” You send him a wink, and then he jumps up to get a better look at you — he can’t really see over the barrier. You’re about to pick him up and bring him over the barrier to take a picture with him for his mum, when you notice a woman who hasn’t yet rushed out of the stands to beat the traffic.

She has short blonde hair and is tanned from summer.

The Cartier watch that you bought for her sits spitefully on her wrist.

Your mood sours.

Beth, who is standing beside you, seems to realise you’re no longer loving the attention, and watching you squirm under piercing green eyes isn’t her most favourite thing to do. She nudges you with her shoulder; approval that it’s okay to go back to the changing room.

“Bye!” you say to the crowd, waving at them all before turning around and focusing entirely on not crying or killing somebody.

An interviewer corners you somewhat, forcing you to answer a few questions. “This was a new side of you that we got to see today,” she begins, “is this a new style of play or a one-off?”

You make sure to have the blank, neutral expression before answering. “We’ll see.” She flashes you a smile and gives you a thumbs up. You’re free to continue marching back to the changing room.

They’ll likely be empty seeing as everyone is still on the pitch.

The door slams behind you as you groan in frustration. It echoes through the room, eerily barren of post-win cheer.

Why the fuck was she here? Couldn’t she let you have your space? In fact, couldn’t she just fuck off forever so that you never have to talk about anything?

You’re so caught up in sulking that you don’t notice the door open and shut and another person slip in.

“A yellow card, huh?” Your eyes fixate on the blonde, glaring. “It was a good game.”

“Why are you here?” you fire back, not wanting to hear her praise you because you might give in and buckle your knees and go crawling back to her with tears in your eyes.

“To watch you play,” she answers calmly.

You clench your fists, squeezing pleasantry out of yourself. “So now you care? Now you pay attention to me?” After all of this, she thinks she can show up once and make everything fine again. Bullshit.

“Don’t act like I’m the one running out of every room you walk into!”

Unbelievable.

“I do not run,” you scoff. “Wouldn’t you rather be on the phone to your boyfriend?”

“Wow, so mature.”

“At least I’m not a cheating liar!” you shout, taking the both of you by surprise. She rolls her shoulders back: okay, if this is how it’s going to be. “I’m not sleeping with anyone else, am I? All I’m doing is avoiding you.”

“So you admit you’re avoiding me!”

“Yeah, and you fucking show up at my game, acting as if you have every right to corner me and tell me to forgive you,” you spit, and she recoils at the thought. “Well I’m not going to forgive you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive me for,” she huffs, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration. “It’s not my fault that the media can’t keep out of my business.”

“I know they’re invasive.” It’s not her fault that they hound her. “But I had to find out from a fucking article, not from my girlfriend.”

“There was nothing to fucking find out!” she snaps, stepping closer to you. You feel the heat of her breath cloud your space, your body fighting with everything it has to not be drawn into her. She’s so close that you can see every detail of her tired face.

You tilt your chin up nonchalantly. “Tell that to the tabloids,” you mutter, but she can hear you easily from her position. “Oh, wait… You’re not going to fucking say anything.”

What comes next is a low blow, but people aren’t their best selves in heated arguments. “I thought you were braver than that, Flo.”

She shakes with anger, taking another step closer. “How have you convinced yourself that you’re supportive?” Her voice stays steady even if her body is not. “You tell me I’m a lying, cheating coward but—”

The door, once again, thuds shut.

“I told you we shouldn’t go in!”

Flo jumps backwards, creating distance for you to both stand awkwardly in front of Beth Mead and Vivianne Miedema.

Beth nudges her girlfriend, who quickly wipes the vindictive smile off her face.

“Everything okay?” Beth looks at you with the same concerned expression she’s been using the whole day. “Hi, Flo. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I,” you grumble.

“It was a last minute decision.” Her reason is left unsaid, thankfully, but it’s safe to say three out of four people in the room know why — Miedema can be a little slow when being updated with whose side she and Beth are on in this ongoing fight.

“Sounded like a great argument,” says Vivianne, earning herself a harder nudge. “Can we shower and change before you carry on? The rest of the team will be coming through soon.”

You want to laugh but Flo’s glare stops you. Even if everything is falling to pieces, you seem to have a connection. She nods twice and you understand. When you get back, she will be waiting and you will be continuing this conversation in private.

She leaves, walking out in a way that makes you shudder ever so slightly (you chalk it down to the breeze the door creates, not the sight of her).

“So… did you call her a lying, cheating coward?” Beth asks as she sits on the bench you’re standing by, swinging her legs like a schoolgirl.

“Are you going to pretend you didn’t hear everything?”

She pauses for a moment, and then concedes. “Okay, yeah, we were outside for a good portion of it, but you guys were really loud. And Viv wanted to listen!”

Your other teammate shakes her head in protest. “Big, fat lie. I was going to have a chat with Katie while you guys shouted at each other.”

“No, if we hadn’t interrupted they so would have fucked,” Beth thinks aloud.

You snort. “Ha! As if—”

Vivianne turns to her girlfriend as if she actually has a point. “I’m surprised they were fully clothed when we walked in.”

- - -

She’s waiting for you in the kitchen when you get back.

You were held back by Jonas for five minutes when he wanted to congratulate you on your playing and tell you he likes the more aggressive side of you, but other than that, you’re true to your ETA. That text was the first you’d sent her in at least a week.

There are two plates on the counter, and quickly they are full of pasta bolognese. The meat is good protein.

“I thought we could eat and talk.”

You say nothing, but grab a fork for the both of you. You don’t sit down for fear of habitually sitting opposite her at the table. If you look at her too long, you’ll forgive her straight away.

After a few mouthfuls of the admittedly delicious food, you gesture with your fork. “Go on. Talk.” Maybe you should really hear her out.

She sighs. “When we first started dating, we talked about my sex scenes. I told you that they’re awkward to film and not at all romantic, and that I’ve never been attracted to any man I’ve had to pretend to be attracted to. It’s off-putting, really, and I thought you understood that.” She waits for your defensive interjection but you stay quiet. “Olivia is marketing this movie in a very horrible way — a way I had no say in. Reducing everything down to sex is harmful in itself, but I will not let it be any more harmful to this relationship than the publicity has already been.

“What you said about me not being brave, it’s true. I didn’t want to prolong a bad situation, but it’s hurting us and I hate that.”

She moves to take your plate to the sink, but your legs bring you with her. When she turns back around, plate no longer in hand, your arms are on either side of her body, pinning her underneath you against the counter.

“So you’re doing an interview,” you finish for her, speaking in a low voice. You don’t break eye contact. “Are you going to tell them that no one fucks you as well as I do?”

Flo blushes, crossing her legs. Her reaction doesn’t go unnoticed.

You lean down slowly, your lips hovering over her ear. “Who’s better, Florence? Me or him?”

Her shoulders tense, skin flushing beneath the worn material of an old concert t-shirt from a decade ago. She wears nothing else, apart from underwear.

Your eyes hold her gaze, daring her to look away. She shifts uncomfortably under your stare, unable to ignore the aching between her legs that comes with how close you are to her. She is not about to kiss you.

No, she’s angry that you would ever believe a stupid article over her. Or was it that you…

Does it matter? What were you even arguing about?

She can’t seem to remember anymore.

“Me… or him?” you repeat. The movement of your lips draws her eyes to them, something that you catch immediately.

“You’re jealous,” she replies, letters tumbling out onto one another as she forgets how to speak. You’ve dropped your hands to her waist. Your grip tightens as she smiles proudly at her clunky declaration. “You’re jealous of him.” Her eyes shut for a moment when you step closer, pressing her between you and the counter.

“You’re turned on.” Your smirk is enough to make her want to kiss you. Solely for the purpose of wiping it off your face, of course.

“I’m so turned on.”

You chuckle quietly at her admission. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Her chest presses against you and you almost forgo holding out on her. “Maybe I’ll have to make a call,” she whispers.

You smooth your palms down her curves, cupping her arse and pushing into her until your knuckles hit the counter. “Really?” Your lips hover just above hers, but she can’t lift up to reach them because you’re holding her down. “Not gonna kiss me?”

She shrugs. “Make me.”

You barely have to move for her lips to touch yours, but once they do it feels like you can’t get close enough. Her hands bunch the fabric of your hoodie, pulling it up and down as if she’s trying to get you out of it but can’t think of how to do so. You lift her up, swiping away the dishes from the counter without hesitation, lips never leaving her body. She moans loudly, unrestrained, as you reach your hand up her shirt, kneading at her breasts.

It doesn’t take long for her clothes to come off.

Blinded by pleasure, she leans back, almost slumping against the wall before knocking against a dirty glass and spilling water. She jumps at the noise, but you’re locked in with the focus you usually reserve for games. You pull her into you, arms wrapped around her thighs, and walk her back to the table. It’s lower, meaning you tower over her. She gasps at the coldness of the wood against her bare skin.

With a wild look in your eyes, you sink to your knees, hands running up her legs before reaching the tops of her thighs. She pants as she watches you intently, opening her legs as you guide her to.

You stop for a moment, taking a second to glance up at her. Florence is almost sprawled out on the table, sitting partially upright in order to see what’s taking you so fucking long. She opens her mouth to gripe or make some snide comment to rile you up, but your tongue flicks her clit and suddenly her sole focus is pushing your head further between her legs.

Her fingers tangle their way through your hair, any hair bobble long gone, giving her enough sturdiness to buck her hips into your mouth. Legs locking around your neck, she throws her head back and gasps loudly. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good,” she says. Her voice slices its way through your focus. Your moan into her. “So good,” she repeats, and then chants over and over as your tongue dives inside her.

Your grip on her thighs tightens, nails pressing into the soft skin. She moans and grinds her hips down, telling you she needs it harder, faster. You nod, and the movement causes her to yank your head back up.

You make the most obscene noise she has ever heard.

“You like that?”

“Not now,” is your short reply. She frowns, but forgets all previous emotions when your tongue is back inside her and your thumb is rubbing her clit.

She doesn’t have to tell you she is going to come.

Her legs tighten and her thighs suffocate you, your hair becoming the only visible part of your head. The hand that isn’t pulling at your hair is clawing at the edge of the table, seeking something to hold onto before she floats away. You use your whole face; nose, mouth, any part that can touch her.

“Don’t…” But the sentence isn’t finished. She cries out, the sound piercing the silence and echoing through the house. “Oh, fuck.”

You feel a pressure building inside of you, the throbbing at your clit becoming incessant. You drop your free hand to your joggers, but your eyes squeeze shut before you even have to touch yourself. You moan into her, the vibrations shooting through her body and splitting her in half. She comes loudly, and you find that you come too.

When you stand, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, examining the mess made. What once was a plate now lies in broken shards on the floor.

“We need to clean this,” you mutter, more to yourself than her.

She seems to pounce on you. “Later. No one fucks me like you do.”

- - -

Both of you fall asleep very quickly after five more rounds of very jealousy-fueled sex. She eggs you on the whole time, meaning you are relentless in your assault on her entire body; a price she will pay in the morning.

You wake to your phone buzzing its way off the bedside table.

Flo’s asleep with a leg between yours, chest pressed against you, face buried into your neck. You don’t move, feeling for your phone with an extended arm as to not wake her up.

Leah’s calling.

You groan.

“Hi, Leah,” you greet, faux chirpiness failing to cover the evident exhaustion in your voice. You did nearly lose it last night.

“Hi. Where the fuck are you?” You glance around at your bedroom, tentatively answering with the truth. She does not sound happy. “It’s half past two. You were supposed to be at training an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

You were asleep.

“Yes, ‘oh’! Jonas is on everyone’s case, get you arse here.” She pauses, you can imagine her lifting her finger off the hang up button. “…Are you alright? You sound dead.”

“I just… used my voice lots last night.” She’ll assume you had a—

“Screaming match?”

“Yeah, you could call it that.”

You bite your lip, waiting for her response. “Oh, okay. Well hurry up. I’ll tell Jonas you had a late night.”

“Thank you,” you say calmly, pretending to care a lot more than you do. It’s hard to care about other things when there’s a naked woman on top of you. “Bye, Leah.”

“Bye.”

The covers rustle slightly. “Our neighbours must hate us,” Flo mumbles, voice muffled by your neck. You run your hand down her back, settling just above her bum.

“Sorry?”

She lifts her head up, hair stuck the side of her cheeks, sex-teased and knotted. “The neighbours. They must hate us.”

You shrug, “fuck the neighbours.”

“Ah, I bet they say ‘the neighbours fuck’ over there.” You laugh at her stupid joke, enjoying her lazy grin. “I think you’re going to make me lose my voice one of these days.”

You both sound pretty hoarse.

“I shouldn’t have avoided you.” She frowns. You press a kiss to the top of her head. “I was angry at everyone; angry about the things people were saying, angry about the way you wouldn’t say anything. It was so frustrating to be cast aside so quickly, seemingly not being an option or a factor in anything to do with your love life. I felt so insulted, and I felt like you weren’t standing up for me.”

She lets you talk.

“I’m sorry for not hearing you out sooner,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to hers. “I love you, but I was so hurt and loving you was making it worse.”

“I get it,” she replies carefully. “The media flips so quickly, always picking sides and making up sources. I’m sorry for not standing up for you.”

You realise it’s not her fault. She doesn’t really get to choose the management of things like this.

You smile. She nudges you. “A screaming match?”

Shit. Training.

“We did!”

“I’m pretty sure screaming matches involving orgasms are just… sex.”

“They’re not going to suspect a thing,” you say slyly. She rolls her eyes and moves off you, allowing you to get dressed.

You leave in the next ten minutes, calling her to say goodbye.

- - -

In the changing rooms at the end of a session you barely made it to, the girls change and shower like they normally do.

Beside you, however, is one very stunned Katie Mccabe. Her mouth agape, she begins to attract a curious few.

“What’s wrong with Katie?” Leah questions suspiciously, eyes following the direction everyone is pointing in.

You stand with a guilty expression. Your sports bra only covers some of the many, many hickeys littering your body. Beth smirks and tells you to turn around.

They gasp at the state of your back.

“That’s gotta be painful,” mutters Raffa, shaking her head. She smiles soon, though. It’s hard to not be proud of you.

“Some screaming match you had,” Leah huffs bitterly. “Can’t believe I explained your relationship issues to Jonas. Twenty minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @wandasbb @karsonromanoff

[crazyw3irdo]

i don't have an actual tweet thing for batfam twitter au/dickwing au/whatever im calling this for today so here's some headcanons(?) for that au (are they headcanons if you're the one making the au? eh some of these are just headcanons for the characters in general so i guess it still applies)

-bruce has been batman for a couple of decades now, he started in his early 20s and now he's in his late 40s

-the public thinks of bruce as this well-meaning (albeit himbo leaning) dad whose trying his best. back when he first started being batman his public bruce persona was just very much happy-go-lucky himbo (how can bruce be batman? bruce doesn't even know how to tie his shoelaces) but he's now graduated to tired dad (how can bruce be batman? he has six kids to take care of and a company to run)

-and yeah six kids, duke is officially adopted into the wayne family in this

-no, alfred does not have a twitter. he's got too much to deal with already. however, he does know everyone's account information, so yknow, in case a masked vigilante gets beat up really bad then it's not like their civilian account suddenly stops posting

-and yeah alfred is alive. he cannot die. i refuse to believe it. i'm already saying fuck canon i'm not stopping now

-i've seen people in the tags asking/speculating about this, but i've been going on the assumption that each character has two phones: one for vigilante-ing and one for civilian-ing. if one gets stolen or hacked then its not like the thief will suddenly have access to their identity. plus it's not like bruce can't afford multiple phones.

-dick started dickwing because he was bored and thought it would be funny; it becoming a "well no one will think dick grayson is nightwing because they're dating" thing was 100% unintentional but also 100% the immediate excuse he gave when asked by the rest of the fam why he did that.

-dick is a theatre kid. which is obvious from the way i've been writing him but i felt it needed to be said again. i wanna say his fave musical would be newsies but i haven't seen newsies personally so,, i mean, of the musicals i really like and am familiar with, i'd say it'd be cats. now if you're familiar with cats you're like "okay yeah i can see it" but if you only know about it from that terrible movie let me justify myself: it's a dance-heavy musical with lots of amazing feats of athleticism in the dances. also, look up what rum tum tugger looks like in the actual show and then remember dick's discowing costume. i'm right about this.

-cass still doesn't know how to read. she uses a text to speech program to have things read out for her. she's also mostly nonverbal

-babs uses a wheelchair in this. i know some canon stuff does the whole "yeah but she got better" but once again i don't like canon

-no one in this family is neurotypical but the ones i feel most strongly about are bruce and cass are autistic and dick has adhd. pretty sure they all have some form of ptsd too but ngl that seems kind of obvious. and yes bruce being autistic is canon i love reminding people of this :3

-speaking of canon things i like reminding people of because it's often ignored in canon, dick is romani! and bruce is jewish!

-bruce, dick, steph, and tim are bi. or yknow, some kind of mspec, i don't think dick is a big fan of labels, steph probably says she's whatever sexuality makes her joke funnier, and tim is still figuring it out. babs is also bi and that is solely because my mom is bi and babs is her favorite character. cass is a lesbian and you could tell me jason, dami, and duke are whatever sexuality you want and i'd believe you. ngl i don't personally feel comfortable giving dami a sexuality hc myself bc i don't really like shipping/imagining child character in relationships but eh you do you as long as its not actually sexual

-genderwise dick is nb. i am nb and he's my favorite character. i have the right. he's fine w all pronouns but mostly uses he/they. once again he's not really a labels kind of guy. and yes i am still obsessed with that official post that used they/them for damian i know they didn't mean it but yes he/they damian my beloved. also she/they selina kyle.

[simonsnowichooseyou]

This excellent essay was posted by @goodbyedandelion and reposted on Instagram—however their account sadly seems gone now. But it is in rememberence of their Tumblr spirit that I post a continuation to their essay!

EVEN MORE Reasons Why Carry On is so groundbreaking as a YA Fantasy/Romance

Misconceptions/Character Complexity

A large topic in YA Contemporary is gossip, but I feel like fantasy doesn’t touch on this as much. Think of how others perceive one another in Carry On. Early on we learn that Simon, for example, saw Penny as different because of her race. But of course, we quickly know this isn’t true.

But what about Agatha? In Harry Potter, for example, Lavender Brown and other feminine characters are often looked down upon because of their femininity. We often as a culture perceive beauty as overcompensation for what’s inside. Sometimes Agatha is looked at in the same light in Carry On, but when we see things from her POV, we realize that Agatha is perhaps the smartest one there. Maybe she’s not Penny Bunce-smart, but she has the survival instincts that Penny lacks.

Agatha isn’t the only one. Baz looks cold and unfeeling from others’ POVs, but we quickly learn that he is a boy with a soft heart that’s been hardened by his past. Everyone thinks he cares about nothing but we know he cares about his mother and how she’d feel about him; his father and step-mother and siblings; Simon, of course; Bunce, in his own way; he even cares about flowered suits and dramatic entrances! We think Bunce is nerdy and perhaps annoying, but we learn she’s very sweet and like a mother to Simon. And the mage. Ugh, the mage. We think he cares about Simon but we learn that for every bit he cares about Simon, he cares about the war more.

Rowell doesn’t allow any character to be simple, stereotypical, or as they appear. My sister, for example, was saying that Baz sounded like a stereotypical gay man in the media. But he’s not, is he? He might love fashion but Rowell does not make him simple or stereotypical. Everyone is so complex, and she uses the multi-POV to not just show us their complexity but also the complexity of how they are viewed by others.

Woman on Woman Drama/Anger

For years and years, only one woman was allowed to have a true seat at the table in films. Take Indiana Jones, the original Avengers, and Star Wars for example. This woman was often made to be the sex appeal or romantic interest, but I’ll save that for another day. Because of there only being one spot, it set a precedent that women in media needed to fight with each other to take that spot, thus depriving us of women getting along!

At first, I was worried Rowell had fallen into this trap. Bunce thinks Agatha is simple and too feminine, Agatha thinks Bunce is a major pain in the ass. Their dislike for one another is complicated in that they’re essentially two different types of feminism battling it out, and half of their fight was about Simon and their roles in his life.

But in the end, Penny and Agatha create a relationship that exists outside of their relationship with Simon. Penny sees Agatha’s strength and resilience; Agatha recognizes Penny’s harsh exterior for what is is. When Agatha moves away, they text without his even knowing. Penny is the one that decides they need to check on and save her. In the end, penny and Agatha fight alongside one another.

Rowell didn’t just give us a feminine friendship—she showed us what we’ve been doing, and how to get from Point A to point B. I think it’s the most underrated part of the series.

True Friendship

It might sound bad, but I truly believe a lot of today’s media ruins the idea of friendship. I just feel like none of the portrayals are realistic. Friends are either joined at the hip and have never fought (toxic) or never get along (also toxic). The fact that Baz and Penny and Simon and Penny and Agatha and Penny can get into fights but still continue to love one another platonically is really heartwarming to me.

Trauma/Mental Illness

I remember getting to the end of Harry Potter and thinking “he went through all of that and we’re just supposed to leave him now?” We see some remnants in the most cursed play ever: The Cursed Child. But more than trauma we see someone who looks back on the days they risked their life everyday with *longing.* While that’s about the most Harry Potter thing Harry Potter has ever done (and the most canonical part of that play) it’s so unrealistic. You’re telling me Harry grew up with nothing and was an amazing father—minus a few spats with his son. You’re telling me Harry was able to hold it together emotionally after fighting for his life from ages 11-18 without a therapists help? You’re telling me Harry lost two father figures in the ministry of magic AND spent 7 years going through what amounted to a lesson titled “the government is corrupt” just to be a part of that government!?

Wayward son isn’t like that. Wayward Son shows us what happened to Simon afterwards, and it’s not peaches and cream. He had therapy, he quit therapy. A lot of us have been Simon on that couch, and we all needed the Baz in our life to drag us across a metaphorical America. Wayward Son is hands-down my favorite book. Realistic depictions of mental illness, check. Subverting our expectations of after the end, check. Reading it feels like taking a road trip, check.

As OP mentioned, Simon is a beloved chosen one because he’s just so wrong for the role. He’s not levelheaded where he should be, he’s bold in all the wrong places, he couldn’t possibly maintain a professional relationship with the coven. Meanwhile his super-hot enemy Baz was the absolute perfect choice to be chosen, but he was completely passed over. And part of this chalks up to how Simon became so powerful—fate isn’t twisting its whims this way and that. Simon is only chosen because he was a Petri dish experiment-gone-wrong baby. When Simon asks the fates why, really he should be asking the mage. There’s something delightful about the fact that Simon was made. The chosen one was made, and in the same process, so was the greatest threat.

De-escalation

I think it’s clear by now that Carry On is a great book, Simon Snow is an amazing series, and Rainbow Rowell sure can write. But I feel the need to point out that the end of Carry On wasn’t well-received by everyone. I recommend the series to everyone I know and some people are really disappointed you don’t get a big magical battle at the end. Some people think Simon filling in the humdrum was a cop out. But I disagree. I felt it was thrilling to witness a book where war was as stupid in fantasy land as it can be in real life. This is the first fantasy I’ve ever read where they find a better way to handle conflict than senseless fighting. It’s emotionally rewarding, to me, to see de-escalation. To see conflicts fixed before they start to be huge problems. It was a risky choice for an end, you have to admit. But Rowell pulls it off amazingly.

Nothing is Wrapped in a Bow

A day will never go by without me thinking about the fact that Simon Snow Salisbury doesn’t know who his parents are. Or how Baz will never know what exactly happened with his mother—whether she really ended herself to avoid vampirism and whether she would’ve done it to her too. We’ll never even quite understand the mage’s plan behind fix the humdrum and get an all powerful boy wizard on his side. Rowell doesn’t wrap everything up. She gives you closure as often as she gives you something to ponder. The ending of Harry Potter was so controversial, I think, because it spelled out so clearly much of what was happening. And what you didn’t learn in that epilogue, Rowling released later through Pottermore and interviews. That’s fine and dandy—but there’s something to be said for ending Simon Snow’s books with questions. Not infuriating questions but rather things that I’ll always ponder—that will shed new light on different situations depending on how I look at them. Rowell sets a precedent that you can fill in Simon’s world with your imagination while also reminding us that life doesn’t have endings. Not really, the way books to. Rowell is one of the few writers of today’s fantasy, I’d argue, who’s okay letting things go unanswered. There’s always a thread of fantasy and magic going. It’s something that will keep Simon alive in my heart for many, many years to come.

So yeah, that’s what I think about when I think about Simon Snow. It’s not nearly as coherent as the original post but I hope you enjoy it.

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”