#i feel like if i tag this with individual names someone's gonna come at me for tagging incorrectly

[sad-trash-hobo]

You'd think that with almost everyone in the universe saying that the Republic is corrupt that they'd have actually opened an investigation to see if it might've been corrupt. Like, instead of just defending the republic blindly, maybe, they should've just double checked that to be safe.

[shibaraki]

THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder—see where the bridge leads.

tags: GN reader (referred to as 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a teacher at UA (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, references to PTSD, getting together, first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), HAPPY + HOPEFUL END

wc: 19K

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Welcome to UA! Message:  Good morning!  It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA — we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows:  

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct 

Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area. 

One last thing to note: 

The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!

If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible. 

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall. 

It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off. 

Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelled— debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities. 

One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever. 

You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise. 

After the war a number of the current student’s quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation. 

The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzu’s express permission in hopes of making it inviting. 

Over a month into the term and you can’t yet say you regret taking up his offer.

“Phyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new species…”

Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students don’t notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. It’s a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleep—though Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriya’s pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo. 

“…Comparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation process”.

Yaoyorozu’s hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“In that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?” she asks. 

“That is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,” you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. There’s a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. He’s flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit. 

“Quirks are our reality—that much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?” Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase ‘theories’ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now. 

“There is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment I’m going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,” you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. “It’s due next Friday. That’s ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?” 

Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriya’s aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack. 

“Thank you Sensei,” he stammers, rushing after the boy. “Wait for me, Kacchan!” 

Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. They’re always like that—or so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugo’s incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriya’s bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be. 

The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.

Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. “Yo, Sensei,” Kaminari chirped. There’s an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. “About the—uh. About the essay…”

Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. “Oh! That’s right,” Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy. 

“I scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything you’ve done before the deadline,” you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. “Don’t worry if you lose that. I’m going to send the details to your student email, and I’ll remind you again on the day. That sound good?”

Had you been any younger your eyes might’ve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA. 

You’ve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be. 

“Y—yeah. That’s amazing, thanks Sensei,” Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, “I won’t let’cha down!” 

“I’m sure you won’t. And please don’t forget to bring your overlays,” you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion. 

You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain. 

The once stream of bustling students becomes a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor. 

The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss. 

You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light. 

You’re met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two you’re most familiar with—class 2A’s heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher. 

Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth. 

Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”

You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man. 

“No, no,” you demurred. “It’s just a headache”. 

Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. You’re surprised he’s awake. “My kids will do that to you,” he murmurs. 

The Erasure hero’s head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met you’d heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasé manner in which he speaks. 

You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. It’s just a silly crush. “Nothing like that,” you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. “I don’t think I slept well last night��. 

Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhere—hell, you’ve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes. 

Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. “Ah, that’s no good. Let me make you some coffee,” he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy. 

“Alright. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue. 

“You’ll regret that,” he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. “Unless you’re a fan of drinking tar”. 

“Don’t be mean. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’. 

Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. “Here. I thought you might want to eat,” he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth. 

The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. “That—will definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up. 

Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. They’re crinkled at the edges and full of mirth—you interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, “Told you”. 

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused. 

“Gesundheit,” Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. “Are you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?” 

Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think he’s a little glad for it. 

The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugo’s eyes hadn’t been as severe. Iida’s legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat. 

However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Kouda’s rabbit—trained to detect and assist with anxiety—scrambled into his arms on numerous occasions. 

Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist. 

“If you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,” he mutters. 

Yagi’s lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. “Blunt as always, Aizawa-kun,” he jokes, voice muffled by his hand. 

“I’m not sure he could even get a hernia…” you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. “I was thinking about the kids, that's all”. 

Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers. 

“They’ve really taken a shine to you,” he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty. 

“Curious?” 

“Midoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,” he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. “So yes, I’m curious what it is you’re teaching my students”. 

A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. “I assume it’s because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,” you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. It’s a wonder he didn’t ask Todoroki.

“And how does it?” Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. “I’m curious!” he defends. 

“Oh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,” you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. “This can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNA”. 

“O—oh…?”

“So,” you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired hero’s cheeks. “The question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?”

“I see,” Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. “Ah, I’m not—”

The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. “As interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,” he says, tone laced with monotony. 

Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily. 

Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  To: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  Subject: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Good afternoon,

Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay. 

As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 — 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date. 

Take care!

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After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building. 

The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver. 

Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. You’d been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room. 

Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely. 

He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmet—much like with Kurose without their space suit—is still quite strange. “Hey, Maijima-san,” you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. “Working on anything interesting?”

“I’m designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,” he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. “I’m hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sorts”. 

“Wow. That’s actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,” you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. “How do you plan to measure his tolerance to—?”

“Mochi?!” a small, giddy voice interrupts. 

“…Mochi?” you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one. 

Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.

“Eri,” he rumbles. “It’s impolite to interrupt private conversations”. 

The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, “This is some good mochi, Eri-chan. I’ll forgive you this once”. 

“Thank you, Maijiji,” she chimes. At that Maijima’s jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawa’s nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself. 

“These look delicious,” you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijima—who, in your periphery, is mouthing ‘old man?!’ toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eri’s focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs. 

You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. “Wow!” the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. “You’re very kind for sharing these, Eri”. 

“Mhm. S’because Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,” she effuses proudly, “He said sharing is caring”. The foreign enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.

“Taught,” Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, “You should say ‘Yama-san taught me’, not teached”. 

“Oh,” she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks. 

“And now you’ve been taught a new word,” you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. “Thank you for the treat, Eri. I think I’ll enjoy this in my room”. 

“Ywor lea’win’?” 

Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. “I’m a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,” you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada. 

The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawa’s gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, “Did heroics go well in the end?” 

His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being laughed at. “No broken bones. So I would say so,” he deadpanned. 

“If it were anyone else saying that I’d be concerned,” you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. “It was their first one since… everything, right? I’m glad they’re doing okay”. 

He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, “How’s the headache?” 

“Persistent,” you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. “Honestly I can’t wait to get in bed”. 

“Hear hear,” he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. “Get some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with you”. 

Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. “Yeah, okay,” you laugh under your breath. Louder then, “But I’m going to take your favourite flavour”. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared. 

You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless. 

The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles. 

Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep. 

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From: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: RE: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Hi hi

The worksheets really helped!!! You’re the best, Sensei!

I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (◎-◎;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic? 

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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From: Midoriya.Izuku@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: An analysis of the Q-gene theory Message:

Sorry to email so late! Or early haha… I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sent from my ePhone 

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Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet. 

A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. It’s no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket. 

Upright, he beams at the sight of you, “Good morning! You look much better today”. 

You do not feel much better. 

“Morning,” you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. “Are the others still asleep?” 

The drooping blonde hair that frame’s Yagi’s face sway as he shakes his head. “Not everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleeping…”

“He got back from night patrol a few hours ago,” Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, “That aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?” 

Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. “I appreciate the invite, but I’d rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours start”. 

Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks. 

The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed stares—two hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topic—and take no offense to their spiritless attitudes. 

Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japan’s citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential. 

Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the air—eager despite your intention to wind down—as you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system. 

“The whole thing is bull—brainless!” one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement. 

“He’s right, Sensei,” Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. “Why are there only three categories? It makes no sense”. 

“I agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final question…” you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue. 

Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.  “Ah—What was I saying?” you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. “That’s right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!” 

Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. It’s a welcome distraction—

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati. 

Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist. 

Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.

Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady. 

Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.

You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest. 

“I have a question”.

Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Erasure is listed as ‘Emitter’ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,” he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. “Tell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?”

The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses. 

Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it is—a preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. “Higuchi,” you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. “Do you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?”

“Y—yeah,” he says. “I thought we could add something like ‘Condition’ to the list…?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” you try to encourage. Aizawa’s posture shifts, his interest piqued. 

“I was just thinking, Erasure doesn’t fit any of the shi—stuff we thought up,” Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. “Condition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk or—or my own quirk”.

Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. “Not bad, kid,” he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins. 

Smiling, you move to add ‘Condition’ to the list. 

You’re on edge after the bell rings. Aizawa’s presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed. 

“So,” you begin clumsily. “Is there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?” 

Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. “I have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?” 

“The Eraserhead asking me a favour?” you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. “I’ve got no more classes to teach, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“All Might can’t assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,” he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity. 

“You need to give me more than that, Aizawa”. 

He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately. 

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

“And you want that second person to be me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,” he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting. 

The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. “No, no. I’ll come,” you demurred. “I want to help. Let’s go”. 

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From: Shinsou.Hitoshi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: — Message: 

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

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From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawa’s footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. You’ve changed into shoes befitting the outdoors—a pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening. 

“The students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,” Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. “First they’ll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirks”.

Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological trauma—a handful even undergoing  forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care. 

Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forward—

And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training. 

Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. “During the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distress—?”

“Inform me,” he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and you’re left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. “I’ll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalates”. 

You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name. 

“Understood,” a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. “You’re the boss”. 

Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Might’s whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presence—all the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentor’s absence. 

You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. “I’m sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen elective…”

Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.

“Today is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,” he continues. There’s a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand. 

Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, “…Midoriya”.

“Will we receive individual feedback?” Midoriya eagerly questioned. “And can we get Sensei’s opinion on our own ideas? Because—!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriya’s face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. “Once we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After class”. 

Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, “And anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. That’s what I’m here for, after all”.  

The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. There’s a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now he’s a distance from the prying eyes of his students.

Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriya’s red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance. 

You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. “Aizawa…” you cautioned. 

Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriya’s body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todoroki’s skull—or it would have, if he hadn’t blocked it with his arm, encased in ice. 

There’s a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground. 

“Ouch,” Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that he’s fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. There’s a violent tremor in his legs.  Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies. 

Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glance—nevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens. 

Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and you’ve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life. 

There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.

While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugo’s punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity. 

Something about Monoma’s hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities he’s used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him. 

You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you. 

The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure. 

“What’re you thinking?”

You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. “What?” you ask dumbly. 

“You went somewhere,” he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Ah,” you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. “Just making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write with”.

“Well?” Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. “Tell me about them”. 

“It’s obvious the student’s have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerably…”

You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Mina’s quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acid’s viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.

Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns. 

“In terms of wielding their quirk the one I’m most concerned about is probably Kaminari,” you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. “I believe he still views his quirk as a final move”.

Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your ear—

You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes. 

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

“Because of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. I’ve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,” you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity. 

Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsu’s leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, “I have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first place”. 

Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you can’t help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet. 

“So, how do you suggest we help him?” 

His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word ‘we’ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. “I think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,” you reply. “Atleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from there”. 

“Alright. I’ll ask Maijima-san once we’re done here,” he nods. There is a tentative pause. “Anything else you think needs to be addressed?” 

“There is…Monoma,” you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback. 

“Monoma?” he repeated. 

“This is just speculation on my part,” you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down they’ve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. “But I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirk”.

Aizawa’s face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. “I should’ve noticed,” he mutters. 

“Monoma is primarily in Kan-san’s care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,” you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. “Between the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a father—you can hardly blame yourself”. 

The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. “Shit, sorry. Did I overstep?” you fret. 

Aizawa’s expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. “No. I’m just not used to the idea of being a parent, I suppose”. 

“Guardian, then,” you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. “Though I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itself”. 

“How so?”

“Good or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?” For a strange, short moment, you’re hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. “Y’know. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions… didn’t you have anyone like that?” 

That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently. 

Aizawa’s brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. “Well. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,” he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. “His purple highness”.

“His purple highness?!” you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. “Fuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasn’t expecting you to say him”. 

Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero ‘His purple highness’, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable. 

“You wouldn’t be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,” he reminisced. 

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. “His highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me ‘how to smile’ properly. As you can see, it didn’t work out”.

You weren’t so sure. Aizawa’s amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges. 

“I don’t know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a little…”

“Disturbing?” 

“Disarming,” you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs prickling—and then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it. 

Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, “For that you can all do ten laps”.

A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, “You’re awful”. 

“Never claimed not to be,” he tells you. “All Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us again”. 

A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. “Sure,” you murmur. “I’d like that”. 

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From: Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp To: Maijima.Higari@UAedu.jp Cc: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: Request [High importance] Message:

Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?

Aizawa Shouta 2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678 Do not call unless you are dying. 

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From: Yagi.Toshinori@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: An email is here! Message: 

My friend,

Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please don’t tell him I told you that…!!!

Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.

Yagi Toshinori Heroics Department, UA High School └（★ｏ★）┐ 𝓹𝐥𝔲ｓ Ǘ𝐋ⓣ𝔯𝓐 ┌（★ｏ★）┘

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Something indiscernible has since shifted. 

The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer. 

The kids are being weird. 

Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else they’ve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawa—sometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love life—or rather, your lack thereof—during your supplementary one-to-one. 

“That is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,” you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations you’d left on his work. 

Aizawa doesn’t bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling. 

“Believe me. It’s worse if you tell them to stop,” he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out.  

You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If you’re lucky, come Monday they’ll have forgotten whatever it is they’re hatching.

Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriya’s legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda let’s Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights. 

“Focus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNA…”

Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugo’s tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session. 

“…Here. The simplest way to think of it is like this,” following along with a finger, you read the written equation. “For example, if somebody has a tail—”

“Like Ojiro-kun!” Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air. 

“Correct, Midoriya,” you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, “But the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factor”. 

“Sensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?” Iida inquires. Midoriya’s pencil stutters. 

“That’s right,” you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugo’s hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. “It’s a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theory—but I don’t have time to cover that today”. 

Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him. 

“Any other questions before I start to wrap up?”

Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response. 

Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class. 

In a roundabout manner—and refusing to name him—Shinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eri’s permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods. 

“Despite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,” the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. “Therefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirkless”. 

Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. “What about Aizawa-sensei’s quirk?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chan’s fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has. 

“While I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-sensei’s ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,” you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, “As I’m sure you have all experienced first hand”. 

A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine it’s not something one can ever get used to. 

“Oc-u-lar?” Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze. 

“Ocular means it’s connected to his eyes,” you explain simply, pointing to your own. “That is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?” 

Accepting this, Eri’s cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, “I like his eyes. They’re pretty”. 

“She likes his eyes,” Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. “Do you think so too, Sensei?” 

Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, “That is hardly appropriate for the classroom!” 

The electric blonde waves in surrender, “It’s just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of sma—”

“Kaminari-kun!”

Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. “Who gives a fu—” he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. “Who cares. Bunch’a nosey losers”  

Worry paints Momo’s features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. “Bakugo-kun, do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry, Yaoyorozu-san!” Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. “Kacchan breaks them a lot”.

You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty. 

Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. “Is everything okay, Bakugo?” you ask lightly. 

He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, “Sorry about the mess. M’staying to pick it up”. 

“That’s not necessary,” you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. “I assure you it’s fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentiment”.

“Whatever,” he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. “See ya Monday, Sensei”.

“Take care, Bakugo,” you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces.  The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structure—

Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go. 

All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. He’s yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves creak as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. There’s a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it. 

A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. “I feel that,” Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high above your computer monitor, face peering over the frame. “Kiddos run you ragged today?” 

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s not like we’re sparring,” you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagi’s greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, “Have either of you noticed them behaving…oddly? I feel like they’ve been scheming”. 

Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. “Odd?” he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. “Is there anything we should be looking out for?” 

“I wonder,” Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. “Could it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?”

“Blood type? Whatever for?” 

Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, “Romantic compatibility”.

Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, “It’s just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk era”. Yagi’s expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. “I’m sure it’s nothing…” your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window. 

A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You can’t take your eyes off him. 

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely nothing,” Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie. 

Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like you’ve swallowed the sun. “It’s not like that,” you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink. 

“Young love is exciting! There’s no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,” Yagi’s large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. “I may be old but I’m not that dense. I think”. 

“You’re hardly old, Yagi-san. You’re only fifty”.

Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”. 

Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement. 

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask. 

Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. “He has been through a lot,” he begins. “Of course we all have but as I’m sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs to”. 

“Lotta unnecessary blame, too,” Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. “Always has, ever since we were kids. Reckon that’s why he doesn’t sleep”.

“See, there’s the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good night’s sleep,” Yagi’s face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawa’s empty desk. “But there is also another kind that asks much more—and I see that in Aizawa. Like he’s wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bones”.

Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart, notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief. 

“But!” Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. “Since you started here it’s like…” he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. “All that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!”

Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagi’s encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, “You’re actually quite a gossip, aren’t you, Yagi-san?”

Yamada’s cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk. 

“What are you doing?” 

Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, “Nothing!” 

Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look. 

Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, “Did anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?”

Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. “Nothing significant. A bit busier than usual,” he replies.  “Seems like the commercial district has finished being rebuilt”.

Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingers—dark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps. 

Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. “I don’t doubt you deserved that,” he comments, blasé as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered. 

“Wow. Where’d my best friend go?” Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. “And no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?” 

Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. “Hizashi, you know I flunked English,” he deadpans. 

The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, “Here. You left this knife in my back”. 

“You’re ridiculous”. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers.  

“And now he flees,” Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose. 

“No, I need to wash up,” he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, “And I’m not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar simply because I didn’t bring you a jelly pouch”.

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”. 

You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because there’s unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him. 

Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you can’t read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you can’t help but to notice that it is self imposed—being stagnant is never in the cards. 

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. “So. What is your blood type?” he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. “If I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventional…”

Yamada cackles again. 

You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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From: Yamada.Hizashi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Check this out! Message: 

HEEEEEY 😎

[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/] Figured you might need this. ROTFL !

(Rooting for you)

Yamada Hizashi English Department, UA High School Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on 🎵 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance. 

You’re caught in a web—linens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however. 

The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and you’re significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.

Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair braided back into a ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own.  

She’s wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene. 

A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.

The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. “Oh, shit. Thanks,” you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; you’re impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his. 

Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawa’s throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance. 

“You look nice”. 

His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. It’s flattering on his frame despite being oversized.

“Contrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,” he says. 

“Colour me surprised,” you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, “Good morning!”

“Good morning sweetheart,” you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eri’s eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. “Your hair looks beautiful”.

“Thank you,” she delicately pats the top of her head. “I wanted it to look pretty today. We’re going to the com-mer-cial dis…”

“District?”

“District,” she nods excitedly. “Have you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?” Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, “Please?”

You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. “We can always use an extra chaperone,” Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas you’re still wearing. “You can accompany us if you want to”.

The next words leave you in an instant.  “Do you want me to?” you asked. They’re clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. “Sorry. I think—I’m still half asleep”. 

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon. 

“Of course he wants you to,” Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phone’s keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, “Ain’t that right, Eri-chan?”

Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. “I don’t need you to speak for me,” he sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. “We’re meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,” He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. “You should come”.

Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. “I’d love to,” you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. “Let me just get ready”. 

Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. There’s really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummies—

You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared. 

The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna. 

“Hi Kurose-san,” you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. “Bye Kurose-san”. 

“Have fun out there,” they cheered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really doesn’t narrow it down by much,” you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave. 

The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You can’t help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms. 

Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she must’ve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.

Yamada ducks out from the minibus. “Yeaaah!” he beams, leaning against the folded door. “Right on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy system”. 

That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, “I know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who you’re stuck with today?”

There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that he’s spoiled for choice. Yamada’s focus lands on Eri. “What about you, mini me?” he pokes at the swell of her cheek. “Gonna be my buddy today?” 

Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. You’re admittedly flattered that she’s torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. “Okay,” Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take. 

“We get to be passenger princesses today,” the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an ‘o’. 

Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. There’s a soft pout to Midoriya’s lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminari’s aimless rambling while Sero, Mina and Kirishima sit behind them at the very back. 

Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. There’s something there, you feel it existing on the fringes. 

“Enough. Settle down,” he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei”. 

“Do you all have your phone notifications on? Your monitors activated?”

Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, “Yes, Sensei”. 

Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, “Any questions before we leave?” 

Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriya’s chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, “Does Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?” 

You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear it—grimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend to your thoughts.

Aizawa pressed his lips thin, “Any actual questions?” 

The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage. 

The destination isn’t far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain. 

That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.

Or perhaps it’s your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise he’s sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsou—maybe it was a song he didn’t like. 

You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesn’t pry and you find yourself grateful. 

Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments. 

Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. You’re warmed by contagious excitement—Aizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. “Remember, you’re not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of us”. 

They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek. 

You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. “Thank you sweetheart,” touched, you attach it to your bag strap. “I’ll keep it safe”.

Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a children’s store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. You’re only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth. 

Left alone together, Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, “…I think we’ve finally been set up”. 

Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. There’s urgency to it that you can’t satisfy. “Glad I’m not imagining things,” you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. “Does it not bother you?” 

“Which part?” he asks. He’s looking anywhere but you. There’s a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf. 

“The ‘clearly trying to get us to date’ part”. 

“There are worse people to be lumped with”. 

Aizawa’s profession rarely left time for indulgence. You’ve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”. 

“Shouta,” he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. “Just call me Shouta”. 

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”. 

“Or don’t,” he grunted. 

There’s a wealth of unspoken meaning behind that. A single name, a confession. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasn’t in a long while. “So. What should I tell my friends?” you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. “‘This is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mall’?”

“I have one kid—” Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadn’t realised he’d begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. “Did you have somewhere else in mind?”

An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their playful looks. He buys some things for Eri—or so he claims, now in possession of three different cat themed gel pens—and you pick out new books to keep in your classroom. 

In the grand scheme of things it’s a paltry affair. You’re looking around a newly built mall with a man you’ve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path you’ve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirk—

Suddenly, three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shouta’s expression is explanation enough. 

“It’s Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,” he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriya’s frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at security’s instruction. You’re comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves. 

Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but there’s no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge. 

While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todoroki’s quirk. He’s standing at Midoriya’s side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic. 

“Hey guys,” you greet gently. “Aizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?”

Midoriya snaps to attention, “Sensei—Kacchan, he’s—!”

Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriya’s back. “It’s alright, man,” he murmurs. Todoroki nods. There’s a helplessness in his expression. “Kacchan’s okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guess”. 

A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that there’s a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words ‘twenty city rampage’ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth. 

“It’s that new bullshit documentary,” Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. “They—uh. There were pictures of…”

“I understand. Thank you, Jirou,” you say. They needn’t relive it again—but they had. They will. Bakugo had raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television. 

You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. They’re looking to you for reassurance. “I promise we’re going to find Bakugo,” you tell them. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see those images again. As Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some space”. 

Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you. 

“Shinsou explained everything,” Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. “Security informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-sensei—” he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt “—you will wait here while we look for him”. 

“I’ll start heading that way,” you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods. 

You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach. 

It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugo’s hunched figure can be seen through the crack. He’s sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms. 

You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. You’re hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company. 

The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. “Leave me alone,” the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat tightens. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, “I said fuck off!” 

Someone more highly strung and disciplinarian could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, less prone to outbursts and plausibly wiser—but, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you don’t know how to make this better. But you are determined to try. 

So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, “I’m not going anywhere now that I’ve found you. Your friends are worried”. 

Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, “Then what, you gonna lecture me in that old man’s place?” His hands are wrung tight in his fight to still the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. “Tell me some bullshit about how heroism isn’t defined by success, that media leeches are a given and things will get easier if I stick it out?” 

“I didn’t come here to lecture you about anything,” you say. He eyes you with suspicion. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Now that I know, we can sit here as long as you need”. 

What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of ordinary people can be heard muffled through the stairwell. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugo’s laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You don’t speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away. 

“I hate losing control like—” Bakugo’s expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero when…" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo. 

He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all. 

Bakugo blinks up at you. It knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you don’t know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his body—to think of yourself as the scene of a crime. 

Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person. 

He’s just a kid. 

“Bet you’ve heard hundreds of ‘I’m sorry’s’ at this point, huh?” you murmur. Bakugo snorts. 

“Try thousands,” he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. “Never know what they’re really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong way”. 

And after being witness to how Bakugo’s mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointment—hears ‘sorry it was you, kid’ and ‘sorry it wasn’t him’. 

“It’s okay to be angry, you know,” you vowed solemnly. “There’s so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But you’re allowed to step back and say ‘I went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me forever’”. 

Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t need you to tell me that,” he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like ‘thank you’. 

“I’m glad,” you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. “In that case we should talk about something else”. 

“Like what?” 

“Your assignment,” Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hey. I’m serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mystery”. 

“‘Cause those losers need help and I don’t,” he says. There’s no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. “…Mine’s about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shit”. 

“That’s a brilliant choice, Bakugo,” his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. “Gives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I can’t wait to read it”.

The muscles in Bakugo’s face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japan’s own mythology. 

Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugo’s eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. “Are you texting Eyebags?” 

“I’m texting Aizawa-sensei,” you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. “I thought Shinsou was ‘Eyebags’”. 

“They’re interchangeable,” he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugo’s reflection looks back at you where he’s peeking over your shoulder. 

“You two a thing or somethin’?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest. 

“We aren’t ‘a thing’,” your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And it’s true. You aren’t. Yet. “I don’t know why you all came to that conclusion”. 

“Probably ‘cause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,” he smirked. Shouta is still typing—

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji. 

Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher. 

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

You hum in amusement. “Some people do better face to face,” the ‘like you’ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he. 

“How do you feel about heading back?” 

Bakugo’s stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. “I can go back,” he grunts. 

“You can, but do you want to?” you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. “Humour me for a sec,” you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. “Let it bite you”. 

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly. 

“Clip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with it—yeah, like that,” you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. “Better, right?” 

Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. “I guess. Thanks Sensei,” you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “I want to go back,” he says, nothing short of a demand. 

There’s certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. “Alright. Then let’s get you back”. 

Bakugo doesn’t protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. You’re sure Eri would gladly let him keep it. 

Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre. 

You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. “Bakugo is alright now,” you tell them. “But you know what?”

Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, “I bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hug”.

Shouta’s hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group. 

“He really doin’ okay?” Yamada quietly asked. 

You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugo’s hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him. 

Shouta’s knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. “Do you think I should talk to him?” 

When you look at him he’s already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. “Bakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,” you assure him. “I think it’d be good if you talked about it”.

“Maybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,” Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. “For all of them”. 

“I’ll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,” Shouta says, attention returning to Eri’s antics—she’s now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her. 

Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. There’s a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present. 

“We’ve got two options now,” he announces. “I’m sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campus”. 

Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds. 

Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddy’s without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students. 

Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tears—the tender kind. Softly, you mumble, “I’m glad I took this job”.  

He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. “Me too,” he says. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp   To: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  Cc: Inui.Ryo@UAedu.jp; Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp Subject: Incident report [High importance] Message: 

Good evening,

Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am. 

Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety. 

Take care!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking. 

Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works. 

Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. You’re processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helpless—

Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.

There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour. 

You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you. 

Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” 

A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. “I didn’t take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,” you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “Regular old sake, maybe”.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. “Gin and tonic keeps me awake,” he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver. 

Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. You’re warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose. 

Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. “That’s… not looking so good,” you prompted. 

“This is Todoroki’s,” Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A.  “It’s not just him. They’re all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but it’s…” 

“You’re doing what you can,” you say. 

Shouta clicks his tongue, “But is that enough?” 

You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, “Yes. I believe it’s enough”. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and you’re squeezing until your palms kiss. 

You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. “You aren’t the only one here helping them. We’re going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the next—” Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated. 

“You’ll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduate”. You smile softly, “The kids are gonna be alright, Aizawa”. 

Dark eyes smile back, “…You did good today, you know”.

Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. “I—I did?”

He huffs at that, wetting his lips. “You’re impossible”.

Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphere—the attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. He’s much closer. Every movement he has made you’ve mirrored without meaning to. 

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

He pitches his voice low and says, “I thought I told you to call me Shouta”. 

At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded. 

Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. There’s trepidation—hesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.

You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring. 

He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something you’ve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan. 

Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach. 

The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. “Aizawa, we can’t—”

“Shouta,” he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch. 

“Shouta,” you amend breathlessly. “We can’t have sex in the common area”. 

A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk. 

He leans back to look up and doesn’t take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such things—it makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him. 

“Who said anything about sex?” he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there. 

“So now you can play dumb?” you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. “As if you were going to stop there”.

Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much you’re dizzy with it. 

All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through you—immediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow. 

“I bet he’s somewhere down here,” Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye. 

“Look, see. And even…” Yagi’s eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, however—

“I’m here Eri-bug,” Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. There’s a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows. 

Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eri’s big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her father’s arms. “Hi there Eri,” you murmur gently. “Are you okay?” 

Her grip doesn’t loosen. She blinks long and slow, “Did you have a bad dream too?” 

Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. “…Not a bad dream,” you tell her. “I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying a lot. But I’m feeling better now”.

A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her father’s embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle. 

The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, “Eri…?” 

“Bed now,” she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. “Sleep safe”.

Shouta moves closer. There’s something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this time—

“You heard her,” he pressed a kiss to Eri’s hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. “Let’s go to bed. We’re alright now”. 

—You can only assume, like for you, it is everything. 

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From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: [High importance] Message:  Good morning!

I heard the news and thought it important that you’re reminded of UA’s relationship policies:

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (4)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tag(s): @guava-has-a-pen

Jade’s Signature Spell has several restrictions. The greatest variable about it is its rate of success. Only ten minutes after meeting with the captured thug, the four of you sit out in Azul’s living room with furrowed brows. Except Floyd. Floyd happily indulges in Azul’s expensive grapes.

“I didn’t think Moore looked like someone with a strong will.” You reach out a hand at Floyd. He drops a perfectly round, nearly black grape in your palm. “Maybe he was faking the terror? Or maybe the person who gave him Jade’s information is much scarier than a bit of persuasion from Floyd.”

“Looked and felt like a minnow.” Floyd’s jagged teeth tear through the fruit like it’s made of tissue paper. “His screamin’ was real, lemme tell ya that. Even if he’s scared of someone else, he probably thought he was gonna kick the bucket right then and there. If ya asked me, he woulda spilled even without Jade cuz he thought he was fucked either way. Kinda weird that he didn’t.”

If there’s anything you’ve learned from knowing him for this long, it’s that his gut feeling is rarely wrong. Intuition is his forte. But if that’s the case, how come Shock the Heart didn’t work?

“My guess is,” Jade muses with a hand on his chin, “there is a spell previously cast on him that can block mine.”

Azul considers it. “Memory wiping, maybe. Perhaps he really doesn’t know—or at the very least, doesn’t remember. Another possibility is a defensive spell cast on his mind.”

“Even if that’s true, he isn’t a mage.” You pop the grape inside your mouth. A sweet, delectable juice spreads over your tongue. “If he was, he would’ve tried to break out of those ropes.”

That’s a simple trap Jade likes to set. Without a magic tool like the mirror back in Night Raven College, it is difficult to tell who’s a mage and who isn’t. However, by using restraints that are not made of anti-magic material and relaxing security briefly, mages often reveal their hand with escape attempts.

“Maybe it was his boss or somethin’ who casted it. Y’know, to keep secrets from gettin’ out. Pretty nifty spell, if ya think about it.”

“Someone within the Carpenter Mafia, huh.” You curl up on the couch, pressed into the corner formed by its arm and back. “Guess we’ll have to investigate all the mages they have. Talk about time consuming.”

“Please leave it to me.” Jade places a hand on his chest, a reassuring smile on his lips. Reliable. Like a sturdy tree, or a nook in the cliffside. Someone you can lean on. Someone who can pick up your slack and watch your back. Trust given to Jade can only be from a naïve fool, a desperate person, or a wary one who has leverage on him or something to gain. Regardless, despite the fact that he is difficult to trust, he is terribly competent to make up for it.

“Will you have time for it, with all the other things you have to do? Like managing the mafia and the main story?”

“Please do not worry. If it comes down to it, there are tasks that I can delegate to other qualified individuals.”

Azul heaves a heavy sigh.

After a lengthy discussion, Azul all but kicks you three out of his house. You let Jade drive you home because you aren’t keen on sitting in Floyd’s passenger seat again anytime soon. Sitting in the leather seats of Jade's car, you watch as streetlights sweep by the glowing dashboard to a constant beat. The twins’ differing tastes are obvious even in their choice of car models. While Floyd prefers flashy sports cars that attempt to break the sound barrier, Jade prefers sleek, black ones that don’t make too much noise.

While Jade drives, your eyes drift to the night sky and your mind to the story. The next event is their second meeting. (Y/N) runs into him in the shopping district. Judging from the description in the manuscript, it’s on a street you frequented with her. Buskers at intersections. An ice cream shop next to an oak tree. A fountain with picturesque statues. You have a picture on your phone of her laughing in front of the water.

Does she think about you? If a friend suddenly stopped contacting her after being cornered in an alleyway, she’d naturally try to check up on them. That’s the selfless and considerate personality she has as the main character, after all. So why hasn’t she even texted you once? Were you truly even friends?

Of course you were. A kind person like her couldn’t fake affection. Those smiles she shared with you were definitely real. So then, why?

“You should sleep early tonight.” Jade suddenly speaks up at a red light. He takes the momentary break to glance at you. There’s an expression you can’t place on his face. Worry? No, nothing that strong. He looks back at the road before you can decipher it. “You’ve been stressed lately. I can brew you a relaxing herbal tea if you have trouble sleeping. It will guarantee you a relaxing slumber.”

“That makes it sound like I’ll never wake up if I drink it.”

He chuckles. “You can find out if you drink it.”

“Pass. Make it for yourself.”

“Perhaps I will. I often have difficulties falling asleep at night.” Unlike you, his insomnia is evolutionary. Moray eels are nocturnal creatures, and having grown up in the deep sea, day and night cycles took time to get used to. In the endless night of a place where sunlight cannot reach, circadian rhythms follow a schedule, not daylight.

“Doesn’t the story say you’ll sleep in the same bed as (Y/N) tomorrow?”

There’s only one bed. A common trope. This event seems to be shoved into the story, full of plot holes and reasons that don’t make any sense. (Y/N) is meant to lightly twist her ankle because of her endearing clumsiness. Jade will bring her to a fancy hotel room and tend to her wound there instead of bringing her home like today. Your only guess is that the story wants to showcase his wealth and influence. He can get a fancy room in a fancy hotel whenever he wants without a reservation. He can afford whatever her heart desires.

“Indeed.” Jade gives a half-smile. “Although I doubt it will happen. I find that I cannot sleep in the presence of strangers.”

Morays are cowards, Floyd once said. Ambush predators. They like hiding and darting out at prey or going after injured animals. Strong enough to have the confidence of living in a hole with no escape route other than the entrance, but careful enough not to chase down prey in open waters. Jade is more careful than most. You don’t think you’ve truly seen him with his guard down before.

“(Y/N) is harmless.”

“I am aware. It is only a force of habit.” His fingers tap lightly on the steering wheel. “I will stay until she falls asleep and then do some work. There is much to do, with so little time.”

You wonder if the increased workload has taken a toll on Jade. As competent as he is, he was suddenly saddled with the responsibilities of an entire syndicate and expected to run it with the same proficiency as his parents. His hobbies that he adores so much were all put on hold. There must be a mountain of pressure on his shoulders, but he never complains. Never one to show weakness. It is easy to exploit.

“You can give me more work. Just pay me and I’ll do it.”

Jade’s eyes flick to you, then back to the road. “How considerate of you. What are you willing to do if I take you up on that?”

“You can leave the investigation of the Carpenter Mafia to me.”

“Thank you for offering, but I would like to take that matter into my own hands. It concerns information about me, after all.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

He hums in that way he does when he pretends to think. “How about guarding me when I sleep?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you can’t sleep with other people around?”

“I said ‘strangers.’” A teasing lilt weaves through his voice. “You are my dear friend of many years. Surely, we are closer than mere strangers? I daresay we are even closer than acquaintances.”

“You really like bringing that up.”

“It is because you seem prone to forget.” The car turns into a side street. Houses pass you slowly. Your neighbourhood is quiet at this time of night. “If you were guarding me, I would not even mind sleeping in (Y/N)’s vicinity.”

“Don’t even think about it. I won’t be there.”

Despite the lighthearted tone of your conversation, you understand the undertone of his request. He doesn’t expect you to accept this responsibility. Instead, he is conveying a message: he trusts you. Enough that he’s willing to be physically vulnerable around you. When he’s asleep, you could slit his throat, press a pillow over his face, crush his windpipe. But he trusts that you won’t. Instead of attacking him, he trusts that you will protect.

But is that what he truly thinks of you? Or is that what he wants you to think that he thinks? How convoluted. Talking to him is taxing on the brain.

“Actually, Jade.” You hesitate briefly. “Can you ask (Y/N) about me? Or just, like, drop my name in the conversation.”

Mild curiosity fills his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Just do it.”

“I have no obligation to. But if you tell me, I might consider it.”

“Forget it, then.” It wasn’t important anyway. You’ll ask her once the story is over.

He pulls up on your driveway. The entire house is dark, save for a light in the master bedroom and in the entrance. You thank him and prepare to leave the car.

“Give your mother my greetings.”

You nod and wave goodbye. The car stays in your driveway until you enter your front door before driving off. It’s something you’ve noticed only he does. For safety, he had explained. He’s making sure that you’ve entered your home safely. You can never tell if he has some ulterior motive.

The first few things you notice when you step inside are the pill bottles left out on the counter. You take your shoes off and silently pad over to the washroom, returning the bottles to the medicine cabinet. Just as you put the final one in place, a voice calls out from the top of the staircase.

“You’re home late. Are you tired?”

A kind, familiar voice. You approach the stairs and look up to see your mother standing there in her sleepwear. The stress accumulated throughout the day melts away, temporarily forgotten. No matter how difficult things are, no matter how tedious the days become, no matter how much is on your mind—at the end of the day, you have your mother to return home to. Around her, you are just her daughter, without the need to be anything more.

“Hi, Mom. You didn’t have to stay up.” You ascend the staircase to meet her on the second floor. She gives you a warm, comforting hug.

“Nonsense. I can’t sleep until I know you’re home safe.” She pats your hair and lets you go. “Did you come home by yourself?”

“Jade drove me. He says hi.”

“Oh, Jade. He’s a good kid. Thank him properly, alright?”

A good kid. You almost laugh out loud. For one, both you and him are in your late twenties. For another, you wouldn’t use “good” to describe his character. But you don’t, because you don’t want your mother to worry. You only tell her the best anecdotes about the people around you so that she can rest assured you’re in good hands. She doesn’t know about your real job, either. She doesn’t need to. You prefer to keep things this way. She would never approve of a profession where you could get hurt.

“I will.”

She follows you to your room, where you start getting ready for bed. “What were you doing downstairs before I called for you?”

“You left your medicine on the counter again. I was putting them away.”

“Oh dear, did I?” She sighs and places a hand on her cheek. Wrinkles crease the skin around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. It is because I have lived a happy life, she always assured you, since I was lucky enough to have you as my daughter. “I must be getting old. These days, I often do one thing while forgetting another.”

“It’s a good thing you have me, huh?”

She chuckles. “You’re right. It’s a good thing I have you.”

When you lie in bed, your mother sleeping soundly in the master bedroom, you think back to Mr. and Mrs. Leech. To Jade and Floyd, who anxiously wait for a cure to that curse they still haven’t found the culprit for. Jade changes out the flowers by their hospital beds as soon as the petals start to wilt. Floyd bribes the hospital so that he can spend nights by their side. If your mother was in that situation, you know you would raise Hell on Earth. You can only imagine what the twins are going through. If they ever catch the assassin, you don’t want to know what will happen to that soul. There is no judgment against the twins here. You would do the same.

You don’t know when you slept, but you wake up before dawn to the sound of your ringtone. Upon picking up, Jade delivers two pieces of information.

Firstly, he fell asleep. And secondly, when he mentioned your name to (Y/N) last night, she smiled blankly and asked: “Who?”

[mubabee]

i don't do character x character ships either (avid selfshipper here) and OH. MY. GOD. the breath of relief when i read your post. i thought i was probably the only person on the planet who doesn’t want to see that on my dash.

also, if you didn’t know, you can go to tumblr settings and filter the name of the ship so whatever post that's tagged with it will be hidden from you.

i hope you don’t mind if i rant a wee bit ^^; otherwise, feel free to ignore this.

relating to my statement of enjoying self ships, there are two main reasons why this annoys me to no end: the first one is personal and you may call me petty, but i often get jealous seeing my faves blow up in another ship, but i can't control how i feel sometimes. that being said, i've always kept this to myself, and instead just try my best to not interact with content like that, but sometimes stuff happens, like people not tagging the post properly or they use another name for the ship that i haven’t filtered.

the second is when one or both characters in the ship are reduced to just. being the other's partner and nothing more?? or when i can't seem to talk about just one of them without someone bringing up the other one. there have been some cases where i legit end up hating both characters because of this—say one of them is my favourite but in almost every corner of the fandom someone will always have to make it about the pairing rather than the individual themselves and. and. sighs.

...let's just say some of my faves have become a topic i never want to bring up in a conversation.

I understanddddddd

That is personal and I understand why you could feel a lil jealous. All I can say is try not to think about it much because, respectfully, these men and women aren’t real. I personally don’t care much cuz it’s just art and fiction at the end of the day, but why is there so much on my page when I keep pressing not interested? Like the art I see is absolutely amazing so I screenshot it and get rid of it after.

But then it comes BACK like miss girly why are u still here

You’re so right on the last one but I can’t say that cuz it’s a lil hypocritical of me lmao. If I find some fictional character attractive, best believe x reader sht is gonna be my main thought involving them. That’s why I draw (y/n) with everything, cuz i’m not here to just draw fanart. 🤣🤣

ahhhh please don’t let a fandom ruin a character for you! Headcanons and ships end up not being canon most of the time, so try to ignore it if you don’t like it. And I’d also suggest taking a break from whatever makes you feel that way.

also ty for telling me of that feature, I didn’t know Tumblr had that woohoo

[httpscomexe]

Muzzle

Summary: Barnes figures out how to shut you up and end your sarcastic comments, and you’re sure he’ll use it against you in the future.

(Find what I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: (My English can be kinda bad) Bad language, weapons, violence, attempted smut. There will be individual warnings every chapter.

Tags: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10

Word Count: 2522 (Find all chapters here) Discontinued

Okay, so what if you accidentally brainwashed the Winter Soldier? You wouldn’t have even known you had done that unless he told you. You didn’t know he would be absolutely obsessed with you, you didn’t know he was stalking you, and you definitely didn’t expect him to want YOU of all people. You’ve read the news lately, and you’ve watched it too of course, you weren’t a weirdo, you’re living in the 21st century after all. But you expected him to stalk someone more like him or someone who isn’t just a normal civilian, or at least everyone thought you were a normal citizen.

“So be honest.” He tells you as he sits next to you on the couch. “You told me your real name, which is Y/N. Then you told me your friends call you ‘Bee.’ Why do they call you that?”

“I told you why.”

“Well after staying with you for the last 8 hours, I’m starting to think that they don’t call you that just because you’re happy. I haven’t seen you smile once.”

“Well also my friends don’t call me that, it’s more like the people I don’t like.”

“Yea?”

“Yea, and it's not Bee, it’s The Black Bee.” You sigh. “It’s a stupid name, it’s meant to be said in Russian but the damned Avengers keep saying it in English, it’s lame.”

“You… are the Chernaya Pchela?” He asks you in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why is that hard to believe?”

“Look at you…” He nods his head towards you while you take a big scoop of the jell-o you had been slurping up this entire conversation.

“Hey if you’re gonna try and make a point, do it while I’m doing something cool.” You tell him sarcastically.

“That's besides the point.”

“Not for me.”

“There’s no way you’re one of the Avengers' threats.”

“Oh come on, look at you.” You nod towards him this time, his lap was covered by the fluffy My Little Pony blanket that he found folded in your closet.

“The difference between me and you is you’re a threat, I’m an asset.”

“Same difference.”

“No, because I’m important to them, while you on the other hand, they’re just annoyed by you.”

“They’re also interested in me.”

“They are not.”

“They are because I have more knowledge in nanotech than my dad does.”

“And who's your dad?”

“Now that? That’s besides the point.” You tell him, pointing your spoon at him. “Besides, they don’t know my identity, or at least not the identity behind the mask.”

“Well clearly they do if they took you from your dorm and locked you in the tower for a week.”

“No, they did that because they think I control you.”

“And you do.”

“Don’t tell them that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t even know how to brainwash you.” You raise your voice a little.

“I can show you.”

“I’d rather stay in the dark. You should know how peaceful the dark is.” You mumble the last part, but he obviously hears it as you witness his head shake in annoyance.

“You are… in control of me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“Then get the fuck out of my dorm.”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.” You say with pride as you turn away and hear him groaning behind you, a quiet “Whatever” leaving his lips. “So are you gonna get out? Why are you still here?”

“I feel like I should be.”

“I swear to God, if you start babbling about destiny and fate and all that crap then you need to go across the hall to Jada, she’s the one with all the little rocks that she claims gives her emotional stability.” His stomach moves in a way that makes your cheeks heat up as he chuckles and stands up from the couch.

“Listen. I think something is going on-”

“Yea I’ve got the Winter Soldier in my dorm and he won’t leave.”

“Y/N.” He dares, stepping closer to you, close enough for you to be able to smell the soap off his hair from the shower he’d taken earlier. “Say one more fucking sarcastic remark and I’ll make you regret it.” He grits his teeth and you watch as his hands clenched into fists. You go quiet, but the outside doesn’t.

You both turn your heads as you hear multiple engines pull into the schools parking lot, and you would look out your window, but that dumbass tree is in the view.

“Let’s go, I’m sure they’re looking for you.” Barnes walks past you and towards your door.

“Wait.” You tell him, then you run to the side of your bed before getting down on your knees and pulling a large bag out from under your bed which you throw over your shoulders.

“Extra weight.”

“It’s important.” You tell him as you leave the room and head to the right.

“There she is!” You pause, and about five men run in your direction.

“Those aren’t S.H.I.E.L.D agents.” You spit out before turning in the opposite direction, and you could hear the Winter Soldiers footsteps following close behind you.

“They’ll be all over outside, we can’t just go downstairs!” He shouts as you both continue your run down the hall.

“Who said we were going down?” You shout back as a tranq dart zooms past you, grazing your arm as you reach for the doorknob of the stairs, swinging it open and quickly running up the stairs, not stopping until you were on the roof level, and you could hear more men as they all began to chase you both up.

“Stop running or we will be forced to sedate you Ms. Stark and Mr. Barnes!” One of the men yells from about two stories beneath you, and you finally reach the door to the roof which Barnes quickly kicks open before you slam it back behind you both and lock it from the outside.

“Okay we have probably like two minutes before they figure out the key is hanging on the wall next to the door.” You tell Barnes as you remove your bag and throw it to the floor.

“Can’t be that important if you’re just gonna fucking throw it to the floor-” His voice stops in his throat as you tap away at your watch and the bag quickly takes form into a motorcycle. “I’m driving.” He says quickly as he approaches the bike.

“What? No! This is my bike! Find your own!” You yell and get in front of him, but a gasp leaves your lips as his hand suddenly wraps around your throat in a warning, no words spoken. “Got it, you’re driving.” You choke out before you both get on the bike, and he wastes no time in turning it around and driving it straight towards the edge of the building.

“Hold on tight!” He shouts.

“I’m not touching you!” You shout back, then the front wheel leaves solid ground, then the back wheel as you both become airborne, the bike flying through the air for barely five second before it started falling, just barely missing the security fence as the wheels hit the sidewalk outside of the school and you watch as Hydra agents fill their cars while Barnes quickly continues his escape, the bike moving much faster than Hydras cars and trucks as he turns the bike to zip through traffick.

All was fine until you heard the unmistakable sound of more fucking motorcycles. It was all happening in a movie, hell you were surprised you two didn’t fall in slow motion from the building.

You turn on the motorcycle, your back to Barnes’ back as you reach down and unclasp two pistols that were concealed on the bike, and you aim them up, shooting without aiming, not that it would be easy to aim while Barnes takes every possible turn and twist he possibly could.

“Damn it could you hold still!” You shout, missing one of the agents but still accidentally hitting another.

“Oh yea sorry let me just slow the fuck down so they can kill us!”

“They’re not gonna kill us you moron, they wanna enslave us, theres a difference!”

“Not to my conscience!” He yells just before taking another turn, the ride becomes bumpy as he takes your motorcycle down a long ass flight of stairs, stopping the car chase, but some motorcycles still don’t give in as you watch a few bad drivers fall off their bikes, leaving only a few more to take care of.

“They’re really persistent!”

“You fucking think?!” He leans forward as you turn back around on the bike. “Now you should really hold on!”

“Why?” You ask, and look ahead. This moron. “NO! I just painted this fucking bike!”

“Yea and you went with fucking pink!” He yells back before you both once again go airborne. Time actually felt like it had stopped as the wheels left the ground and you felt weightless, like your organs were made of helium as some little birds left the leaves of the trees under you. You weren’t sure what his plan was. Jumping off a bridge and over nature to escape some motorcyclists who by the way, were completely set on NOT following you. As a matter of fact, if you had the choice, you probably would’ve chosen to go with Hydra, rather than jumping off a bridge, or what seemed like a cliff, with no clear escape plan, or at least parachute.

“Open your eyes!” Ezekiel yells in your face, his spit getting on your skin. “You’re nothing to me! You’re nothing, you hear me!” His voice is distant, like it’s all in your head. It felt like it all was, and every child and parent wouldn’t wish it upon the world what happened to you. It was like a horror film, tortured everyday. Tortured until there was nothing to torture you about. “It stings! It hurts so bad papa!” You scream, crying to the man you had called your father. “I don’t care! Just open your fucking eyes! You useless piece of shit!” He yells even louder, grabbing your face and pushing your little head against the wall. “Now open you fucking eyes before I make you, you little shit!”

“Open your eyes!”

“Open them!”

“Open your eyes…”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up damnit…” Was the first thing you heard as you snapped out of your head, and you immediately gasp for air, feeling like you’d been drawing underwater. You quickly sit up, and scoot back until your back collides with something, you turn around to see a tree and turn back around to see Barnes crouched down at your level and staring into your eyes.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” You scream, some birds flying away as they hear your voice and you stand up to approach him angrily but quickly lose your balance, stumbling right onto him.

“Woah there…” He says softly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t music to your ears hearing him speak to you like that. “What are you talking about?” He gently holds you by your arms.

“Riding off a cliff on my bike! Where is my bike?” You look around frantically, and your eyes land on a heap of pink metal that was once your bike.

“You can replace it-”

“My bike!” You shout, making a slow jog towards it. It was completely ruined.

Beyond fucking repair. “Oh come on, I worked so fucking hard on this…” You mumble to yourself, hoping you could at least find the chip that brings the whole thing together, and your eyes lighten up when you spot the little square which you immediately snatch up and shove into your pockets, which you quickly zip up. You could deal with it later, but right now… “God you’re an absolute imbecile!” You yell at him, stomping towards where he was now standing.

“Calm down…”

“Calm down!? How am I supposed to calm down? You just jumped off a cliff-”

“A bridge.”

“You’re so-” You twist your tongue trying to find the right words. “So-” He steps closer and you lower your tone. “So…”

“So?”

You groan, slumping your shoulders and not knowing what to say. You knew you wouldn’t be able to offend him anyways.

“Listen.” He says gently. “All that matters is that you’re alright.”

“My bike…” You mumble.

“Y/N, forget about the bike.” He warns.

“My bike!”

“I’m just about done with your attitude…” He grits his teeth, and gets up in your face, backing you up against a tree. “One more fucking word and I swear I-”

“Bite me.”

“Is that a promise, doll?” He gently places his index finger under your chin, and lifts your face so your eyes are level with his. “Cause with that fucking attitude you won’t let up, I’m starting to think that’s the only thing that’ll get you to shut the fuck up.” He begins to grip your chin between his thumb and index finger. “So I think I might just have to take up on your offer for once…” He tells you, getting impossibly closer as he presses his body against you. “I’ve tried for way too long to hold back, I can’t do it anymore…” He grumbles before his lips crash onto yours and only then do you realise you haven’t said a word to him since he’s starting speaking.

His lips move softly against yours, his tongue licking your lips as he tries to get closer to you. His hands move from your face down to your waist and you feel the coldness on your waist as his left hand moves up your shirt. “So it's been this easy the entire time…?” He asks rhetorically, leaning in closer to you as his lips find the skin on your neck as you open your mouth to protest but you simply moan, your actions defying your thoughts as you rock your hips against him. “Careful there princess…” He whispers in your ear, his breath fanning your skin as you feel his hand reach around you, grasping your ass and lifting you gently, holding you between his body and a tree, his erection pressing against your centre through his jeans and your shorts.

“Please…”

“What’s that?” He trails his lips up from your neck to your lips, his hands moving to slowly undo your pants.

“Please… I…” You pause, regretting what you say before it even comes out of your mouth. “I need you…” You moan as he grinds against you, slowly.

“You want me?” He breathes out.

“Yes… Please…”

“Well… that’s too bad…” Whispers in your ear, then gently puts you back down on your feet. “We should get going, I’m sure they’ve been searching for us all day.” He groans like an old man as he reaches down and picks up one of his weapons. “We can’t stay in one place for too long, now can we?”

He continues walking away and you awkwardly find yourself buttoning your pants back up and following behind him.

What the fuck was that…?

[captainjamster]

A Surprise Exception

Pairing(s): Kate Laswell x F!Reader Warnings: pre-established strained relationship with sibling, non-sexual intimacy, post-sex cuddling and talks Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: Kate really does not like children, and there’s not a chance in hell she’s having any. No one is changing her mind – but someone else might convince her they’re not all terrible. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: A few notes for this one! This was written all in one go, so I will probably come back to edit it at some point. While I normally write neutral SFW inserts, reader identifies as a woman because I won't write Kate that isn't a lesbian <3 Pre-established strained relationship w/ sibling is an important tag. This is not a generalised portrayal of single parents; this is an insert specifically with family difficulties, and a couple trying to navigate that with understanding but not permissive boundaries. Also, I hate reading baby talk too, I'm sorry! But I can't make a four year old talk like an adult, so her speech pattern just follows the overgeneralisation of grammatical rules most children engage in developmentally. Lastly, child-free individuals have every right to be child-free, this specifically isn't a "MC changes their mind suddenly" fic. Laswell just realises that not every single child makes her want to remove her ovaries

Full fic under the cut <3

“No.” Her voice is firm, lips tight in that frown that you know means business. It doesn’t deter your dramatics, eyes pleading, hands clasped in front of you. “Please!”

“I told you, no kids.” She turns back to the countertop, sipping at the black coffee you’d just placed in front of her. The room basks in the pale sunrise, orange tinting the walls as light shines from the document Kate is already pouring herself over.

“Kate, it’s just one kid –“

“No! We talked about this at the very beginning. No kids, you agreed.”

You inhale deeply, squashing down a frustrated sigh as the pressure of your palms turns your vision fuzzy for a second. “Yes, I know I agreed – but come on!”

There’s a pause as your words linger in the air, and Kate’s shoulders drop. “Come on?”

You reel back, groaning. “No, I’m sorry – I’m sorry, not like that, fuck. I’m sorry. I’m frustrated and I just feel misunderstood, like you’re not… getting it.”

“Because there’s nothing to get; because we both made a very clear agreement when we started this relationship.” Her tone is final, but you don’t back down.

“Kate!”

She exclaims your name in exasperation, swinging back around on the barstool as she white-knuckles the tablet in her hands.

“Okay, okay – just, okay, just hear me out. Please.” You try not to wilt under her disapproving look, but she doesn’t stop you, and you take the opportunity at full speed. “It’s not even for the whole day, just six hours! I’ll take her out to the park for a bit, I promise we won’t track mud in, and we’ll take a bath, I’ll dry her in the bathroom right after.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust with the shake of her head. “That’s good and all, but our rug? The couch? My office?”

Your head is shaking adamantly before her sentence ends. “She won’t step foot in your office, I won’t even let her go up the stairs, and I’m going to watch her the whole time.”

Disbelief is etched into her frown. “It’s a kid, babe. You’re fantastic, but you’re not magic. She’s gonna make a mess no matter how hard you try.”

Your mouth opens and closes, every retort coming up futile, and defeat quickly sinks in. Your shoulders slouch, a pout pulling at your lips as you take up the stool next to her, slumping over the cool granite top. The sigh Kate breathes is long, putting down the tablet. “Your sister’s asked us for this last-moment shit plenty before.”

“I know, but it’s different this time,” you mumble into your arms.

“And why is this ‘emergency’ any different?”

“Because she said the whole place still smells like insecticide, and she doesn’t trust the babysitter to know what to do if it makes Lottie sick, he’s barely seventeen. I don’t think she’s lying; I dropped off a grocery pickup on my way home from the store yesterday, and it really did stink.”

Kate bites at the inside of her lip, contemplating. “Can we not just give her money for a proper one?”

You look up incredulously, and Kate’s expression immediately crumples. “Sorry, yeah. That was stupid, I know we said no more giving her money.”

You return back to your forlorn position, tracing mindless shapes that leave a quickly evaporating trail of body heat.

“Honey, if we say yes, she’s going to keep asking us. I don’t want to set a precedent.” Her expression is sympathetic as you peer over the ruffled humps of your sleeve, a hand settling on your thigh. “She had time to get a better replacement, it’s not like the house started stinking yesterday. I’m not letting you play unpaid full-time caregiver again.”

You slide your own hand over hers, grip curling around the ring nestled against the base of her finger. “I know Kate, it won’t go that far. She can ask, but I swear, this will be the only time she ever stays at our house until she’s older. If she ever pulls this again, I’ll pack an overnight bag and go over there – I’ll go to our parents, if I really have to.”

“And she’s really going to work this time?” Kate probes, arms crossed. “This isn’t another “oh, I was definitely at ‘work’, but then I went on this date with a cute guy I just happened to meet on my ‘lunch break’ and forgot to block you from seeing the photos on my story?””

“I made triple sure – she sent me her schedule for the whole month, and a confirmation text that she’d be late this morning with a response from her boss. She already sent the interview confirmation when she got it, and she showed me the congratulatory email when we went out for drinks too.”

Before Kate can speak, you hold up your hand. “And I know, those can be easily faked. So, she’s going to share her location with me when – if we say yes – she gets there, and I’ll call her work line at some random point so Lottie can talk to her, to make sure. She’d be putting in more effort to fabricate this than she would actually getting the job.”

The air feels thick as Kate stays quiet – just looks over your face, searching for something.

“I’m not helping.” She concedes after a long pause, and you bolt up straight, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep back a loud cheer.

“I mean it, I’m going to be in my office. I’ll come out for lunch and say hello, I’m not going to ignore the kid. But no begging to play games, no help cleaning up messes or disasters, no picking you up halfway if her legs get tired.” She tilts her head, an eyebrow raised expectantly, amusement in those pretty blue eyes as she gazes at you.

“Nothing, I swear to god, baby. I’ll have lunch ready at around 12, I’ll just text you and you can come down.” You bring her hand to your lips, peppering kisses across her knuckles, making sure to be generous over her ring with a cheeky smile that Kate fondly rolls her eyes at.

==

Charlotte warbles a rhyme she learnt in day-care as you pull into your street, kicking her feet in time with the ticking of the indicator as you stop in the driveway. She makes a loud squawk as you reach for the door handle, a small glare peering up at you through the window to warn your hand away from it. You watch as she tugs at it until the latch clicks, using her legs to swing it open. “I did it all by myself!”

You give her a bemused smile, holding out a hand that she accepts as her little legs stretch to meet the pavement. “Yeah sweetie, you did it all by yourself, good job opening it. You wanna grab your bag, or should Auntie do it?”

Charlotte gives you the most withering look a four year old can muster, sighing loudly as she grabs the straps of her backpack from the floor. “Don’t you know I’m a big girl now? I gotta carry my own bag, Mama said.”

The pressure in your chest hurts as your throat constricts, desperately holding your breath to avoid laughing at the very serious mistake you’ve just made. “I’m – ah, sorry, I’m so sorry Lottie. You are a big girl now, yes.”

All is forgiven as you extend your hand again, and Charlotte skips up the short driveway by your side, backpack clunking with each step. “Was my singing good Auntie?”

You hum approvingly, swinging your arm gently. “It was great, honey. You know so much about bugs!”

She gives you a pleased, toothy grin, her face scrunched up in exaggeration. Before you open the to the door, you halt, crouching down to your niece’s level. She frowns at you inquisitively, gaze moving between your face and the door. “Alright, sweetheart. You remember what I said?”

Her expression dissolves into a sassy squint, nose scrunched up in distaste of your obviously silly adult ways. “Auntie, you told me like – like a million times!”

“I know, I know. Can you say it back to me, just one more time?”

With a roll of her eyes, she takes a deep breath, holding up a finger for each instruction you’ve given her. “Auntie Kate is really really busy, so we gotta be quiet, not be yelling, and I can’t be going up the stairs and being distracting.”

You nod in encouragement, giving her a smile. “And?”

Charlotte frowns, thinking for a moment, before her eyes light up. “And no making messes!”

She throws her arms up as you cheer, her chubby cheeks squished between them. “Yay! Inside now?”

You clap your hands to your thighs, standing up to reach for the handle. “Yep, inside now.”

Charlotte barrels through the door before it’s even fully open, almost pulled back as her bag is caught in the opening, and you catch her hand to stop her from running off. “Hold up, cowgirl! Those shoes need to come off first.”

You shuck off your own, watching as Charlotte tugs at hers, before helping her line them neatly against the wall. Coming out the hallway, to your surprise, Kate is sitting on the couch. You shoot her a confused frown as you walk closer, but she just comes over to meet you halfway, crouching down to Charlotte’s level. “Hey, sweetheart, I wanted to say hi again. Remember me?”

Charlotte lingers near your leg, her hand scrunched up in your pants as she looks your wife up and down. “You’re Auntie Kate.”

She gives a small smile, nodding slowly. “Yep. That’s right.”

Charlotte doesn’t respond, fingers in her mouth nervously. The room is quiet for a second as Kate looks equally unsure, twisting her hands together as she speaks again. “What… have you been up to lately?”

Your niece looks at her owlishly, round eyes slowly blinking.

“I punched a boy.”

Kate’s eyes widen, taken aback with an expression you mirror. “You punched a boy?”

Your niece nods solemnly, looking down at her scrunched up fist with a dramatic reminiscence. “He told my friend – he said, he was really mean, and he said girls can’t ride bikes, and he uhm – he did this,” she explains, making a sharp pushing motion into the air, “and she falled off and got hurted and she was really sad. And then I was sad, and then I did my fist like this and punched him!”

She raises her fist to Kate, a proud look on her small face, and you watch Kate struggle to keep the corners of her lips from peeking up. “Wow, I see. Did you get in trouble?”

Charlotte’s pigtails bounce as she shakes her head confidently, bringing a leg up to point at it as she balances on the other. “Nuh-uh, ‘cos my friend had all the blood on her knee and she was crying.”

Kate nods, clasping her hands together, already out of her depth with the look she gives you. “Right. Okay. Well, no punching anyone or falling off things while you’re here, alright?”

“Alright!” Charlotte chirps, giving Kate the same toothy grin. She gives a smile back before shooting you an impressed but shocked look that you just shrug at, grinning. Kate shakes her head, and you catch and squeeze her hand, pressing your lips to hers appreciatively before she scampers off. “Thank you, I love you.”

The wink she directs your way sends butterflies through your stomach, and they erupt as she calls out, retreating up the stairs. “Don’t worry! You’ll make it up to me.”

==

Charlotte peers down at the puzzle, hands on her hips as she balances the towel on her head. Impossibly happy voices sing from the TV as a show she begged for plays, and you catch a blue dog playing a xylophone with her orange sister when you peak around the corner to check on your niece. “Everything going okay, pumpkin?”

The puzzle is very uncomplete, but she’s been following your advice of finding all the border pieces, given the little pile she’s accumulating concentratedly. “We can get an easier one, honey. 50 pieces is a lot.”

Charlotte looks up at that, unimpressed. “I already did 10 pieces of jigsaw!”

With a shrug, you disappear back into the kitchen, cutting up the last toppings on your board as you call out again. “Alright, that’s fine. But lunch will be ready in 10 minutes, so we’ll take a break then, okay?”

A small grumble of acknowledgement comes from the floor, and you get back to it. Before long, the sandwiches are plated up, and Kate’s salad is in a bowl with her plate. Charlotte makes less fuss than you’d thought as she drags her feet over to the table, clambering up the chair to sit down. Grabbing your phone, you send off a text, shoving it back in your pocket before bringing the plates over. Charlotte eyes the sandwiches, peeking through the layers of bread. “Is it good?”

You laugh, picking up your own slice. “I hope so. Your mama said it’s your favourite.”

“No way!” She perks up excitedly, grabbing a quarter and taking a big bite. Kate descends from her office a few minutes later, cup in hand and making a beeline for the kitchen. She comes out with a fresh cup a moment later, taking a seat across from you. “Thanks for brewing a pot, honey,” she murmurs, scooping up a spoonful of salad. “Have you girls been having fun?”

Charlotte hums through a mouthful, wiggling in her chair. “Shaw ducksh at th’prk!”

Kate tries to hold back a grimace, cringing at the food around her mouth, and you send her an apologetic look as you speak up. “Swallow your food first, Lottie.”

Between chews, she narrows her eyes at you, but swallows before speaking again. “There was a mama and her babies.”

The meal is spent in a very one-sided conversation about your trip to the park as Charlotte earnestly recounts every detail, informing Kate about all the kinds of bugs she found under the rocks. The girl is on a long rattle about the spots on ladybug shells when Kate clears her throat, stacking her dishes together, and Charlotte cuts herself off. “No more food already?”

“I have work to finish,” Kate explains as she stands up, “and I’m sure you’re excited to play with Auntie for the last hour you’re here, right?”

A misty expression crosses Charlotte’s dirty face at the realisation, her bottom lip puckering out. “But what if I goed home and comed back after I sleep?”

Kate gives you a pointed look as she disappears around the corner, and you close your eyes for a moment as dishes clink against the metal sink, silently cursing. “Remember we talked about that, babes? You got day-care tomorrow, and I’ll come see you on the weekend.”

Charlotte brightens up temporarily at the mention of day-care, but you can see the moment she realises it’s ‘stopping’ her from coming over as her expression dampens again. “Can we go see ducks on the weekend?”

“Yeah honey, we can see the ducks again.” You nod, leaning back in your chair as Charlotte shoves the last of her sandwich into her mouth. Closing your eyes, your head falls back until it meets the wooden frame, taking a moment to sink down and relax. But tension suddenly springs back into them as fingers slide under your chin, your eyes opening to meet an upside down Kate.

“Hey beautiful,” she murmurs, and you giggle in her grasp, humming as she presses her lips to yours. “Thanks for lunch. You’re so sweet, keeping me fed.” She gives your cheek an affectionate pat, pulling away and heading to the stairs as you sit up and give her a scandalised look at her teasing praise. Footsteps against the floor patter behind you, and Charlotte darts past Kate to the door before you can question her.

“Auntie Kate!”

Your wife pauses, and you can see her breathe in before she turns. “What’s up, kiddo?”

Charlotte drags her bag over, crouching down and rummaging through its depths to pull something out. It takes you a moment to recognise the scraggly stems and squashed petals, but Charlotte shoves them out in offering with the confidence of someone holding a thousand dollar bouquet. “Auntie said you like flowers, and I thoughted maybe you got no flowers inside, so I got the best ones for you!”

Kate’s face pinches into something you’ve never seen before, and you debate stepping in before she crouches down, extending her hand to take the ragged bundle. “That was really thoughtful of you, Charlotte.” She takes a moment to smell them – more for Charlotte’s sake, you think –, and gives the kid a soft smile. “Thank you for getting me flowers. I’ll be happy to have them in my office now, hey?”

You can see Charlotte’s fingers twist and intertwine as they meet behind her back, shoulders up high as she sways happily, and you can only imagine the grin she’s giving Kate. “You’re welcome!” She chimes, grabbing her bag and hauling it back to the door. You watch Kate take in the flowers as they droop over her hand, standing up as she casts a look over at Charlotte, running back to the table. Your gazes connect as she flickers to you, a grin filling her face as she gestures the flowers at you, to which you flap your hand towards the stairs cheekily.

Your phone buzzes as you turn on the tap for Charlotte, and you pull it out as she dries her hands, tapping in on the photo of the flowers in a tall glass next to her computer.

<< Can’t wait to see yours. ;)

==

“I still hate kids.”

“I know,” you sigh happily into her collarbones, pressing a kiss against a mole there. Her skin is still soured by sweat, and you hum appreciatively at the taste, basking in the post-orgasmic daze washing through your limbs. Everything feels warm, exertion mingling with fatigue to settle across you in a sleepy blanket, and you can’t stifle a yawn that bubbles up.

“She was sweet, though. Thought she’d be more of a menace.”

A hum is all you get out, listening to the patter of her heart.

“We’re never having them.”

Kate squirms at the way you huff in amusement against her skin at the remark, tilting up to give her a look. “I know, honey. Wasn’t planning on changing my mind.”

She grins, running her nails across your scalp, bringing you back against her bare chest. “Thought I fucked that sass out.”

You snort, dipping out your tongue to run against her jugular, kissing the damp trail. “The only thing that recovers faster than your libido is my attitude.”

Kate laughs at that, nudging her leg further up between your thighs to make you squeak. “Now you’re trying to wind me up, close your damn eyes.”

“Uh-huh. I remember them being closed before you reminded me you hate kids.”

You whimper as her fingers tug in reprimand at your hair before resuming their strokes, rustling accompanying the sound of breathing in the moonlight room. There are lights swirling in barely visible colours as you fall further into a world between here and unconsciousness, and you feel weightless, floating in nothingness with the only person you’ve ever wanted by your side.

“… She wasn’t that bad, though.”

“Kate, go to sleep.”

dividers by cafekitsune

[greenflamedwriter]

Pronounciation Guide:

Since I keep getting yelled at [kindly, people are actually really nice about it] That I keep getting stuff wrong [Since I keep forgetting] I'm gonna type it all here.

DEMONS: Many demons go by titles instead of personal names, titles styled like XX-Jun are for high ranking demons and some titles are hereditory.

Courtesy Names: A courtesy name is given to an individual when they come of age, usually at the coming age of twenty for their first crowning ceremony, but it can also be presented when an elder or teacher deems the recipitent worthy. Generally a male only tradition. Women adopt a courtesy name after marriage. Courtesy names reserved for the upper class.

Diminitive Nicknames and name tags: Xiao- : A diminitive meaning "Little." always a prefix. [i.e Xiao Jiu, Xiao Yuan]

-ER : A word for 'son' or 'child' added to a name, it expresses affection similair to calling someone 'little' or 'sonny' always a suffix [I.e, Yuan-er, Jiu-er] A- : Friendly diminitive, always a prefix, usually for monosyllabic names, or one syllable out of the two-syllable name. [I.e, A-Yuan, A-Jiu, A-Lou] If the name is longer like Qui JianLOU that last part is the same nickname as Binghe [hence the truama for Shen Qingqiu as he heard that name]

Family: Di : Younger brother or younger male friend, can be used alone or as a honourific.

Didi : younger brother, or male friend. Casual

Xiao-Di : does not mean 'little brother' instead refers to ones lackey or subordinate, someone a leader took under their wing.

Ge : Familair way to refer to an older brother or older male friend, used by someone younger- or lower rank in status.

Gege: Same as Ge, has a cutsier feel than "Ge."

Jie : Older sister, or older female friend.

JieJie :Older sister, or older female friend.

JiuJiu : Uncle (maternal, biological)

Mei : younger sister, or younger female friend,

MeiMei : younger sister or an unrelated younger female friend, casual.

Shufu : Uncle (Paternal, biological) Formal address for one's fathers younger brother.

Shushu : An affectionate version of 'Shufu'

XiaoShu : Little uncle.

Cultivation And Martial Arts:

-Jun : a suffix meaning 'lord' Zhangmen : Leader of a cultivation/martial arts sect. Shizun : teacher/master gender nuetral, meaning "Honoured/venerable master." And is a more respectful name of address Shifu : teacher/master for ones master in ones own sect Shiniang : the wife of a Shifu/ Shizun [Luo Binghe to everyone around "Refer to me as Luo-Shiniang! yes! Good little ducklings!] Shixiong : Older Male disciple ShiJie : Older female disciple Shidi : Younger martial brother, for juniour male disciples Shimei : Younger Martial Sister, for junior female disciples Shishu : The younger martial sibling of ones marital master [Such as Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge a disciple would refer to them as Shishu as they are lower rank than their Shizun.] Shibo : [As Yue Qingyuan is sect head and his title makes him the older martial sibling would make him Shibo. And so a disciple would refer to him as Shibo, or Yue-Shibo- idk about Zhangmen-Shibo if thats a thing? - Or if disciples of An ding would call Shen Qingqiu Shibo as he's second rank of the sect. Shizhi : [If Shen Yuan was a disciple Yue Qingyuan would call he Shen-Shizhi, or Luo-Shizhi, or just plain call him Shizhi]

Gongzhi : Master/Senior Daozhang : Xiong :

Terms: Manhua: Danmei: XianXia : Qi : Gong : Shou : Chrysanthemum : A flower that is a symbol of health and vitiliaty. In sex scenes it was a metaphor for a mans backdoor entrance.

Chinese Calender: Year dates/era for a story> The Chinese calender uses Tian Gan Di Zhi [Heavenly stems, Earthly Branches] system to mark the year. [Meaning lost] There are ten heavenly stems, and twelve earthly branches [Zodiac adjacent] Each Stem and Branch is associated with either Ying | Yang and one of the elemental properties, wood, fire, earth, metal and water. The Stems are and branches are combined in cyclical patterns to create a calender where every unit of time is associated with certain attributes: Analysing such a calender for the stem, branch characters and their elemental associations was considered essential information in divination, fortune telling, wedding dates, and even buiness deals.

Confucianism:

Is a philosophy based on the teaching of confucius, it placed heavily importance on respect for ones elders and family, a concept broadly known as Xiao "Filial piety," the family structure is used in others that have similair behaviours, such as respect of a student to a teacher, or people of a country towards their ruler.

Cores/Golden Core: A good Cultivation base/Core/Foundation: Means learning from the right age, good training and keeping consistent and percevere. A bad Cultivation Base/foundation: Means you were half-assed it/ sabotaged with an improper manual, learned too late/early, can be prone to Qi deviations.

Meridians: Qi travels through the body, like a magical bloodstream, or map/rivers of the body. redirecting, manipulating, or halting qi circulation focus on targeting the meridians at speicific points of the body, known as acupoints. Technqiues that can block qi prevent a cutlivator from using qi until the block is lifted.

Qi Circulation: The metabolic cycle of qi in the body, where it flows from the dantian to the meridians and back. This cycle purifies and refines qi, and good circulation is essential to cultivation. In Xianxia, Qi can be transferred from one person to another through physical contact and can heal someone who is wounded if the donar is trained in the art Qi Deviation:

"To catch fire, and enter demonhood." occurs when ones cultivation becomes unstable. Common causes include: Unstable emotional state, or strong negative emotions, practicing cultivation methods incorrectly. Reckless use of forbidden or high-level arts. or succumbing to the influence, of demons and evil spirits. When qi deviation arises from mental or emotional causes, the person is often said to have succumbed to their inner demons or "Heart demons." Symptoms: Panic, paranoia, sensory halluciantion, and death. Fixes [not cures] : Forced relaxation, voluntary or forced by external party, massage, meditation, or qi transfer, from another individual.

The golden core forms and replaces the lower dantian, becoming an internal source of power for the cultivator. Cultivators who detonate their golden core, almost always die in the end. The destruction/removal of a core is permanent and cannot be recultivated as there is no longer a lower dantian o form it, its destruction stops an individual from ever performing to cultivate qi normally ever again.

Tradtionally cultivating a golden core is in nine stages, but is often simplified in fiction; Qi Condensation/ Qi Refining Foundation establishment Core foundation/Golden Core Nascent Soul. [A cultivation technique where a soul can project it's soul outside its body and travenl indipendently, this can allow them to survive the death of their physical body and advance to a higher state. Deity Transformations Great Ascension Heavenly tribulations

Dantian: Refers to three regions in the body, Navel, Chest, forehead. The lower is three finger widthds below and two finger widths behind the navel. This is where the golden core is formed and is where Qi metabolsim process begins and progresses upward.

Pilles and Elixers: Magic medicines that can heal wounds, improve cultivation, extend life, etc. These are usuallly delivered in pill form and created in speical kilns.

Spirit Stones: Small gems filled with Qi that can be exchanged between cultivations as a form of currency. If so desired the Qi can be axtracted for an extra energy boost.

Currency: In most dynasties was based on the exchange of Silver and Gold, weight was also used to measure the denoniminations of money. i.e: One Liang of Silver."

Daoism: Daoism is a philosophy, of Dao. Involves coming into harmony with the natural order of the universe, which makes someone a "true human." safe from external harm and who can affect the world without intentional action.

Disciples/sect:

Clan and sect members are known as disciples. Disciples live on Sect grounds and have a strict hierchy based on skill and seniority. They are divided into Core, inner and outer. With core being the highest, Higher ranked disciples get better logdgings and other resources. A sect is like a family, hence the name for martial sibling, and teachers are parents.

Incense time: A common way to tell time. One incense time: is roughly 30 minutes.

The Three Realms:

Split into three realms, the heavenly realm, the mortal realm, the Ghost realm. Heavenly realm: Heavens, heavenly officials. A Celestial court where gods reside and rule. Mortal Realm: Realm of humans. Ghost Realm: Refers to realm of the dead or in scum villain/demon realm.

Edit: more to be added later -_- this is a cheat sheet to look back on when I have to use these terms [ps I write fanfics for fun, and I'm more focused on my art etc, so I am half assing this stuff but I'm only making this sheet to be polite, I'll still try to incoporate this stuff and be respectful but I'm not writing an actual properally researched novel here its just for fanfictions]

_________________________________________________________

Links for meridians/aacipunctures:

We pass qi by this paths, cultivation = qi gong, you can see qi praticioners in youtube^^

Here, qi spinning a paper in real life. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKqHm7qs2Fg

I also asked someone online [Cryptidpatriarch] about what would happen if Luo Binghe was given a courtesy name I mean, Shen Yuan would or would've thought of one so this was one suggestion.

when you join a clan, you assume the clan name, because it is your new family and you abandon the original name to be a new person, with a new family, in which case he should take the name of the peak. Cang Qiong = firmament, reach the sky peak... Bing Hé Qiong= ice river through the firmament. 竹河 = bamboo river Hé = river Bing = ice

[to-myalphonse]

Sentient Chapter 3: Disdain

Long time no see! Happy New years Everyone.

It took me so long to figure out the ending to this Chapter, but I figured it out.

Sentient is supposed to be a wacky Self Aware! AU type of series, so I try to maintain that sillyness.

New Team comp: Scara. Nahida, Kokomi and Kuki Reminder: Masha is the name I chose for Scara

I was rushing to just get this out, so expect me to re edit or take some things out ^^.

3k+ (tried to make it long, to make up for my abscence and how long it's gonna take for me to think up the next chapter.

Hope you enjoy :3

Disdain- a feeling of contempt for someone or something regarded as unworthy or inferior.

A/N: After this chapter, I will not be tagging you individually for this series.

If you want to be tagged, follow here

First Chapter is Here

“Your eyes are like topaz, pure, precious, and lovely; I like them.”

4.0 came with the release of a blonde magician who has been stealing everyone’s hearts by the name of Lyney.

He works as a magician part-time alongside his assistant and twin sister Lynette. After taking a break for months from playing Genshin, you heard a small commercial of him and his sister advertised on the new region trailer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, she did it. This has been Lyney and Lynette’s magic show!” His cheerful voice reverberated from the speaker on your phone.

You could not help but smile at the way his art looked and how much energy he gave off.

He resembled Joker from the Black Butler Circus arc and Kagamine Len, two of your favorite characters.

The trailer continues as you see the Fatui harbinger of this new region, who also piques your interest. The black and white hair and attitude resembling Cruella Devil.

‘What role would she play as someone who is connected to Lyney and Lynette?’

‘Also,what is the Traveler going to get into this time?’

You ponder, not expecting the answer that would soon come with that.

Not too soon after the trailer dropped, the chapter and the Archon Quest came out. You boot up the game on your PlayStation, only to groan at seeing the update sign. You press X as you wait for it to download.

A ping comes from your phone as you pick it up.

Them: Hey.

You glance at the number for a moment before locking the phone once more. You shake of the negative emotion, as your head excitedly, grabbing one of your anime plushies.

“I’m so excited.” You cheer, grabbing one of the plush toys in your room and dancing around. Her aroma catches your nostrils as you spin with the plushie. You lean into the plush unconsciously.

“Hey, F/N, what are you excited about?” Your smile drops as you put the plushie back down. Grabbing your phone, you check the text again before going through the other contacts.

Mom

Dad

.

.

.

.

Work

.

Friend’s Name

You stop as you get to a name that’s not on the top. “Aisha?” You click the name while going through the text messages. The name clicks as you scroll up further.

It has been a while since you last saw her, huh? You click on a message and send her a small text.

“Hey.” Sent at 17:30

You turn off your phone as your PlayStation dings and loads the game. A picture of Scara and his team from your photos is shown as the advertisement image. Scara glares at Childe, who winks at the camera, gripping the shorter man’s hat. Nahida, Kazuha, and Kuki remain in the background, watching the situation ahead.

The image remains as the promotional photo, unlike last time, as the screen goes black.

The game loads through quickly as the door appears. You click it as the game loads through.

“Welcome back (player name)!” Green text floats on screen as the background changes to Vanessa’s tree.

‘Wait, where were you last time?’

Your answer gets solved as the camera moves up the tree, stopping just directly in front of a certain bard. He stops playing the game theme as the camera zooms in on him.

His teal eyes met yours as a small smile grew on his face.

“Hey (player name)!” He gives you a small wave, greeting you. Small wind chimes sound from the speakers of your television.

The anemo archon was one of your characters that you traveled with, but only rarely. You were too busy trying to build your beloved Masha so that he could one-shot enemies.

“Hello Venny.” A small smile appears on his face.

“Where have you been? We’ve all been worried about you.”

“I was busy with work and home stuff.” He nods in an understanding manner.

“You know that’s interesting, because I heard from a small pigeon that you had free time as of recently.” You froze in place, causing his cheerful expression to grow.

“I was so worried about you. I think Masha was as well.” Your ears perk up upon hearing the blue-haired man’s name.

“Yeah, he sometimes stands by the entrance of Mondstadt city, just waiting.” He lets out a small laugh as he dodges an incoming sandal thrown.

You hear Masha’s flying sound as he comes into the cut scene from the bottom of the screen. The scene looked similar to people in a co-op jumping in the background of a cut scene.

“Shut up, bard.” He becomes part of the cutscene before turning to you.

“Come on, let’s go.” The camera pans towards him as he leads the way.

After teleporting, you both make it to the cliff that overlooks Fontaine.

The city sits almost floating from the distance that you both stood. You could hear the music change as you both grew closer.

“The fishes!’’ You stop along the way looking at the design changes in the new region.

He rolls his eyes at your excitement, continuing forward.

“Hey!” He ignores you as he flies forward, reaching the dock in the area. You could see an albino-haired girl, whom you assume is Lynette, standing near the edge of the dock, watching for something.

You were about to approach when, Paimon dragged you both into a scene. She walks over to the girl and begins her dialogue as you watch it play out.

The camera pans back to where the traveler is supposed to be; instead, it is Masha. The screen blacks out for a momentarily.

“Ah! When did you get there?” She looks back at the Traveler to see Masha in her place. He raises an eyebrow at her and continues the dialogue that the traveler is supposed to have.

“Hey, Paimon is talking to you!” She stomps her foot in the air. The girl glances at her before explaining herself. Paimon is cut off when a blonde-haired man entered the conversation, calling to the girl.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting; are you Lynette’s new friends?” He takes his place next to his sister. He glances at Masha and towards the white-haired pixie floating in front of him.

“Thanks for looking after my sister. Oh, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lyney, and this is my sister Lynette.” He paused mid-dialogue at the sound of screaming. He looked around, concerned, before glancing towards where the imaginary camera would be.

“He’s here!’’

He gives a small smile towards your direction further, causing your cheers to gain traction from the others.

Masha sighs. tipping his hat down, trying to pretend you weren’t traveling with him. He waits for a few minutes before continuing the dialogue as Lyney follows his queue, ignoring you as background noise. Before their conversation continues, the archon comes into view.

Everyone claps as she does a small curtsey, going into her speech.

Masha tunes out her speech, resembling that of the girl and that bird illusion he met a long time ago.

His left eye twitches slightly as she takes a long time to get to the point.

“As the Hydro Archon, I Focalors, welcome you to Fontaine.” You clap at her introduction along with the characters.

Compared to the past three archon quests after Venti, it’s been awhile since an archon and their people have welcomed Traveler.

She’s number one on the welcoming committee of Genshin, compared to Amber’s cut scene from the beginning of the game.

“Now if you have no objections, then in the name of the Hydro Archon, I order your arrest.”

“Wait what?”

The scene changes to the teleportation ping as Masha takes you back to Mondstadt.

“How Irritating.” The speech bubble pops up on screen before disappearing.

You tried teleporting back to Fontaine, but every time you click on the teleporter there, it says access denied. You roll your eyes, pulling up the wish menu for Lyney’s banner. At least you could travel with the cute blonde in the meantime.

After 36 pulls, the star turned goldish-red as Lyney appeared on screen. You stare at it before checking his character, before checking the splash art once more.

Going into characters, you click on his hello line.

“This is no mere illusion, tis I, Lyney! The greatest magician in all Teyvat!”

“Oh, it’s you again. You left abruptly last time, and Lady Furina was so in shock that she left immediately, thinking that you went further into the city.” The message ended after that, as he moves in his voice over menu tipping his hat towards you with a wink.

You change back to Masha, who goes back to his idle position as you click back to him.

It’s time to go farming, it seems.

Atk, Pyro Dmg goblet, Crit Dmg.

It was easier to build Lyney than Masha. Masha’s artifacts took months to farm, whereas Lyney’s required only a few weeks.

His Maurchausse Hunter set was more difficult to get items from, so in the meantime, you give him Masha’s flower and feather. After farming for him for a month, he was at a high enough level to rival Masha as the strongest character.

“Good morning, Lyney.”

You remove the mismatched artifacts from him, fixing his build. 2 pc Shim and 2 pc Wanderer’s Trope, and an off-piece crit DMG circlet.

You let out a small hum, looking over the stats of his shim flower and feather comparing it to Masha’s. Masha’s has more crit DMG, which Lyney needs. Shrugging, you swap Masha’s flower and feather for Lyney’s.

As you exit the main screen, Masha is standing there, glaring up at you.

“Give it back.”

“Huh?”

“Did you think I didn’t notice my power draining?” He pulls up the menu to his character screen. He stops mid-idle to turn to the stats.

“My atk and crit went down.” He points out the lower-crit DMG. Instead of being 60/130, it went down to 100, which is fine, but he doesn’t crit as often at 100.

“I was doing some tasks for the radish when I saw my DMG going down.” You notice a bruise on his arm. It looked fresh, tainting his pale skin.

“Sorry. I was testing Lyney’s dmg.” He sighs, pulling up the menu once more.

“Ever since you got the Knave’s brat, he’s been taking my shit.”

“Give him something else.” He glares off screen like Lyney would pop up around the corner.

You wouldn’t be surprised at this point if he did do that.

The characters have begun to gain more power over the game. Mainly Wanderer, who would take you out of bounds areas.

The paimon menu pops up again, changing to the character menu and Lyney. They switch back to his original set, as the menu exits back to the game.

“Don’t move them again.” He sighs, getting back into his idle pose. His fake smile rises on his face as he stares ahead blankly.

You stared him down for a good minute, waiting for him to say something else. His eyes only glance at you and back ahead, giving the indication for you to move.

“Okay, let’s travel shall we?”

The abyss lights up as the scenery changes from the out-of-bounds room to the nameless crescent island. Moving forward, Masha presses the button as you enter the menu.

“Plunging dmg and normal atk damage increased.”

Scara. Nahida, Kokomi, and Kuki enter the room as the challenge begins. A group of enemies from Nahida’s nation popped up surrounding the group. Some are working quickly to attack you while you are charged. Pulling out Nahida, she uses her E and does her dance as they fade as quickly as they spawned.

Things began to tighten as more enemies were dropped in.

“Everybody hold hands.” Nahida points her fingers towards the enemies as they disappear in a cloud.

Mitachurrls approach as Nahida dodges on time. Sprinting around, things are thrown at her. She pauses, pulling out her chain, when she gets hit head-on.

“Owchie.” She mutters, rubbing her head. She does her little dance as Dendro hits the mitachurrls, burning them quickly. Darkness surrounds the room as she teleports to the waiting room.

“Is it our turn next?”

Lyney asks as he and his team prepare for the next session. The abyss music plays softly in the background, like elevator music.

When off screen, the characters remain in a small lobby in between matches to get themselves together.

“Yes, (player name) is waiting for you.” Lyney and his crew gather their things as they make their way to the exit she came from.

“Is everyone prepared?” Lyney asks before opening the door. “His team checked before nodding.

“Let’s go.”

The door closed as they were teleported into the next match. A small monitor above the lobby played as the match began.

“It looks a bit rough this time.” Masha comments as they watch Bennett flinging around. A mitachurrl is flung back from Lyney’s burst in retaliation.

The battle continues smoothly for everyone on the team except Lyney. Bennett successfully kills his enemies, continuing on to the new ones. Thoma, providing shields for his teammates.

“It’s Showtime!” Lyney transformed himself as he hit the enemy, doing a small 25k at best. They advance through the last few as the stage changes.

Kokomi stands, approaching them with a small medical kit. Being in the spiral abyss prevented her from healing the majority of their injuries.

Smaller ones, however, could be wrapped up or healed with bandages.

Kokomi, Nahida, and Thoma helped the injured teammates while Masha remains seated.

A small menu pops up in front of Lyney as he uses his good hand to navigate through it. He checks his artifacts and finds two pieces missing from his set.

“Masha, did you happen to take my artifacts?” He smiles at the raven-haired man with a feral grin.

“No, I have all my artifacts here.” He displays the slots where the artifacts he is wearing are. Lyney clicks on the flower and feather.

“Last time I checked, our dear (player name) gave those to me.” He clicks on the feather and flower and exchanges them for his own. He has them returned to his missing slots as his DMG goes back up to 230 crit DMG.

“You need to get your own.” He takes those back artifacts as the next floor loads out. Him and his team exit into the domain.

“Break a leg.”

“Ah!” Kokomi Is hit repeatdly by the hilichurrls that spawn in the room. As you got to dodge it, your phone rings distracting you.

You see your Friend’s name pop up on the screen as Kokomi eventually dies. The next character spawns in moving the controller to dodge and aim. You look back to see Masha with a pissed off look dodging the characters and killing them all.

As the next wave pops in, you take control dodging clumsily at the last moment causing him major damage.

“You can’t aim for shit. Give me this!” He takes control again not letting them land a single hit on him.

The floor changes again as Lyney and his team get you to the last floor of the current level. Not distracted by her, the gameplay goes smoothly as the characters crit and do major damage. Lyney jumps out of his hat as the stage changes.

Masha loads in with half damage. You got to control him, when nothing happens. He glances back at you with an annoyed look.

“Don’t even try it.”

He presses okay on the menu as he begins the trial. You watch as he quickly clears through the damage of the current boss for the spiral abyss. He switches control to his other team mates not even allowing you to control.

Your phone dings again with a small hum.

Missed Calls (10) from Friend’s Name. You sigh, getting up and exiting the room.

10-3 Cleared

Next Level?

*’Hey.’*

Friend name is Tying.

*’Hey (*Friend).*’

*’How are you?*’

Read @8:36

Name is Typing.

*’Well I guess.*’

You weren’t exactly sure what she wants, considering last time she broke off your friendship.

*’Do you have time right now?*’

You glance back towards Lyney’s team who were glancing at you. They stood attentive at the domain symbol waiting for you to get off the phone.

*’Yeah, I can drive over to see you.*’

*’Great, meet me at the café near the library.”

You exit the room to change clothes. You turn on soothing music to calm your nerves as you change. You grab an outfit that resembled something she would wear, and tie your hair up in a cute ponytail.

“(Player name)?” You whip your head around looking for the person who called you. Checking every corner, you calm down and continue getting dressed.

“(Player name) can you hear me?” You hear the voice again. You slowly and sees Nahida’s face on the screen of your phone.

“This is new.” She lets out a small laugh as your other characters came into view, in a storage room you assumed.

“It’s a rest room that we stay in, between matches.” She corrects you.

“Lyney and his team left the Abyss. They said that you were unresponsive.” Your heart squeezed as a small smile lifted on your lips.

“That’s sweet of you Nahida. I have to go somewhere for a while.” She pauses listening before nodding.

“Alright then, we’ll return home.” You could hear talking in the background as they move out the door. Whatever device Nahida was holding was moving as she walked.

You saw the room turn into the bright sky of Teyvat. You see the abyssal portal as they exit the domain. Nahida presses on something that you couldn’t see, as the teleportation screen was shown.

Your device turns back to the regular wallpaper as the game exits itself. You decide to head out to see what she wanted to get out the way.

The restaurant was an expensive one, that was a bit out of your budget. The interior seemed like it was a place usually occupied by influencers or other bougie people.

“Reservation for (Name)?” The waitress nods leading you to the table in the back where your Friend is.

“You’re here!” She cheers, waving towards you. You grimace taking a seat across from her. She looks towards the man in the back not even sparing you a glance.

“So what did you want to talk about?” She turns towards you excited.

“Isn’t that man attractive?” You glance at the man with a blank stare.

“I guess?” She looks at you blankly, muttering something rude under her breath.

“So, what have you been up to?” You listen to her as she tells you her current troubles. You frown hearing that things have been going down hill for her. You pat her on the shoulder and promise her that she can vent to you anytime if it helps.

“What about you?” She remains engaged in your conversation. You smile, hoping that things remain positive like this.

“So there was a new episode of my favorite series that came out the other day.” You pause before continuing. You hesitate to bring uo Genshin, in case she would call you out for being weird.

“So there’s a new episode next week if you want to watch.” You look up only to see her focusing on her phone.

“Hey, did you hear me?” She shushes you, focusing on her task. She gets up approaching the man that she kept glancing at. She has a conversation with you that you can barely hear. They both glance at you, before he lets out a small laugh. They continue talking as he exchanges phone numbers with her before walking off again.

She walks back over with a sad look. “He says he doesn’t like you like that.” You look at her confused expecting her to explain. She continues texting, not even glancing at you.

“Can you come hang with me and my friends next week if you have time?”

You leave money on the table exiting the restaurant. Merting her after that fight you had last time was a terrible idea. You make your way to your car, when the phone pings again.

What more does she want? You glare at your phone as you check your text messages

Aisha:*’ Long time no see, how are you?” 🥰’

Previous Chapter

A/N :This is the last time, i'll be tagging you individually @reblogs-of-selfawareaus @thedevioussmirk @endlessmari @iruiji @the-psychotic-blueberry @genshinings @yuumaofc

Not too many of you on this list, but ye.

As always ty for your continued support.

I have a discord if ya wanna chat!

[tubbytarchia]

i don't think i understand your point about the shipping thing? (genuine question, open to discussion) like cause i find that having distinction between different kinds of relationships is helpful in both fandom spaces and irl boundaries. theres a difference between platonic (friends, family, even professional) and non-platonic (romantic and sexual) relationships. and having a word to refer to the non-platonic fandom stuff is useful, plus it's the way it's always been in my experience. putting the platonic stuff over on the same side as the non-platonic confuses me? if im misunderstanding, i would love for you to explain more. (hopefully this comes off as genuinely confused and wanting to discuss! and if you didn't wanna explain more that's ok, thanks for your time either way)

You're fine anon no worries!

Shipping to me is just that - shipping. It's a middle ground for any relationship you like. If you want to specify your ships further, you can do so, but now that "shipping" just means romantic by default, I feel like there is no middle ground and suddenly I'm forced to pick a side between romantic and platonic strictly when I almost never think of that in the creation process. I just feel like I'm handicapping my art and people's ability to interpret it by having to choose when I don't view it as either or

For me personally, I have never seen fandoms handle shipping the way traffic does, and maybe I'm just biased then in that regard but it's been bothering from the start. For me, it's very difficult to distinguish platonic and romantic. And that distinction is different for everyone. I have many times seen art of characters kissing and it being proclaimed platonic, whereas someone else would label anything of that sort strictly romantic

Most times when I draw art, I get afraid of tagging it as "shipping" because then people will think it's romantic, but in my mind it makes sense because I'm still drawing a relationship I like, even if I don't think of it or am unsure as to whether or not it's romantic. To me it's just my ship. People can absolutely specify stuff as this or that if they want to! Because I've never had to think of that before, it stresses me out a lot that so much emphasis is put on strictly outlining what sense your art was drawn in, to the point that other people start labelling my art FOR me when my thoughts are "it's just my two blorbos..." and that's it. In the end, I've resorted to tagging most of my ship art as "trafficshipping" anyway just because then, people who might interpret it as romantic, and not want to see it, do not see it, even if I didn't draw with romantic shipping in mind. It's a precaution I guess

I'm not opposed to the idea of having certain terms to help filter stuff, I'm just bothered that "shipping" is entirely interpreted as romantic foremost. And if it's NOT romantic then you either don't use that tag or you make it very explicit that it's not romantic. That's where it bothers me cause I don't think of that when I draw. I view some of my ships as romantic but labelling the others as strictly this or that stresses me out. Shipping in my experience in previous fandoms, again, just means "relationship". It's not just "romantic relationship". Like I really like Doc and Jimmy with a bit of a father/son dynamic but if I tag it as shipping then people are gonna think I want them to kiss or something. If I tag Bad Boys as shipping, people will think I want them to fuck or something. If I tag my toxic FH takes as shipping, people will get upset because "clearly you don't ship them" etc. But I'm also someone who half of the time feels uncomfortable tagging individual characters in my ship art (especially when CCs have expressed to keep the shipping art out of main tags). I still want my art to be seen - I'd happily just tag it with the appropriate ship and maybe duo names if there are any, but then sometimes that doesn't even exist. And then there's a whole other conversation of, say, "team rancher" is platonic and "solidaritek" is romantic. To me they're just ranchers so I'd tag both but to some people they're very different tags, and then, again, I get stressed out because I've made it harder for people to filter art, when I don't even know if anyone wants my art filtered or not. It depends on their perception

Furthermore, about the CCs saying "keep shipping out of the main tags" - that then becomes another issue of what counts as shipping? Because I also have seen people who very evidently ship something romantically, but claim "it's not shipping!" so that then it becomes fine for that stuff to be posted outside of the shipping corner and not breaking any boundaries. I swear to you, it's not just my interpretation, it's very clearly romantic shipping for these people who I'm thinking of. And again, that distinction between platonic("not shipping") and romantic ("shipping") differs for people. Eg platonic art of characters kissing. And then it gets maintagged because it's platonic for the person who drew it, but might not be for others I could not care less how people interpret my ship art. I would prefer if they didn't label it as if it were fact, but interpretation is like, the whole beauty of art. I have no idea if this art I made is romantic or platonic, especially to a specific viewer who distinguishes those two things differently, but I'm happy for them to interpret it as they want! There is no middle term between romantic and platonic, which is where I feel like my ships usually lie, and "shipping" as a term is thought of as romantic. Anytime I talk about or draw ship stuff without proclaiming that it's platonic, people will probably just assume it's romantic, so... What do I do, y'know? Sorry for the wordy response haha I feel like it's a bit hard to explain my stance but I tried my best. It's ultimately not that big of a deal, I feel like most people are fine with this kind of system, I just have an incredibly hard time with it and am someone who gets really paranoid over me or my creations being taken as some specific thing rather than the viewer's freely formed interpretation

[siblingskissing]

No shade but genuinely what leads a person to do the things you do how do you justify it in your mind

Okay so I think I'm gonna make an FAQ page on here so that people who are curious can find answers to these questions. I have answered this before but I wanna update that response a bit. Now this explanation will have some mentions of my own personal real life trauma so if you can not stomach that please don't harm your own mentality by reading it. I will put a short expo in the replies.

Trigger Warnings for: real life trauma/abuse of a minor

Okay, so first off I wanna address the "what leads a person to do what you do" part. Namely, the "do what you do".

Now, I write fictional content about fictional characters. Yes that content revolves mostly around taboo subjects such as extreme age gaps, incest, and other such topics, and yes, it typically is for my own entertainment. However, I think we need to address exactly what I'm doing.

I'm playing pretend.

As every proshippers has said in response to these questions: I'm simply playing make believe in my head about fake people. That's all characters, books, movie and any and all fictional stories are. Pretend. Luke Skywalker is not real, Bluey is not real, not even the kids on Stranger Things are real. It's all pretend.

My pretend just happens to be different

Now, the why

My reason is not much different from other people's reasonings- a lot of my interest comes from trauma I experienced growing up. I'm not gonna go into full detail- I don't care to share but really unless asked I'm not gonna devulge all my woes to strangers online.

Due to my trauma I've always had a hard time accepting it- I was young when it was occuring and because of this I struggled with accepting it. I put myself into a pit of a lot of bad emotions and became a very upsetting individual.

I threw myself into reading and writing and when I discovered fandoms I read there too, and when I discovered Dead Dove? I was shocked.

I was an anti for so long, I hated that people were using something I went through to tell a story and for so long I was actively against those types of stories.

Then, I talked to a therapist.

When I described that feeling, she asked why I was offended, and when I told her, she asked why I assumed these people were writing about my trauma.

"Well, I went through that, and they're just using it for their own entertainment!"

"Okay, but you're not the only person who has ever experienced this event. It's not about you, it's about them"

And suddenly that was the day I realized that- just because I went though something bad, didn't mean I was the only person who ever had. I can't judge those who use their own coping techniques that- let's be honest, don't hurt anybody. Sure, I may not like certain content, but that's my responsibility to ignore, not someone else's responsibility to cater.

I always try to put tags so people can avoid my content if they don't like it. I use ship tags, I put on every post that I'm a proshippers and I try to make it so that Antis and people who don't like my content never have to interact with it. That doesn't prevent people from searching for it and coming after me, which you know, actually does harm people.

But I'd like to add- just because my content began with trauma, doesn't mean you need trauma to enjoy this sort of content.

Proshippers have said it a million times: "Lots of shippers have trauma and use dark content to cope!" But we ignore that, just because you enjoy dark content doesn't mean you're morally aligned with it. I love horror films, love slasher movies and revenge tales. You don't see me killing people, and you don't see me performing these acts irl. Why? Because it's all a fantasy game

I write about topics that I've both lived through and only ever thought about without experience. And despite what people think- I don't get off to it. The incest and noncon aspects to content are not what intrigue me, it's the emotional pulls. The angst, the heartbreak and dynamic plays.

Sorry if this is rambly- I hope that answers your question of why I believe my content is alright. If you have any further questions please ask!

[livslunaticdamiansdisciple18]

Monster- Solo Sikoa #3

Solo Sikoa x Aphrodite Smith

Warnings: Swear words!

Word Count: 1128

A/N: Hi everybody this is Monster (the first fic/request I wrote on my main acc) except it is all individual wrestlers so that way I can write for a different person and this time the person at play is JD McDonagh (aka McFunkopop)

Nyla Gunn is the ring name!!

Aphrodite’s entrance song when she’s a face

Aphrodite's entrance song when she's a heel

Aphrodite’s hair, makeup, and outfit when she’s a face

Aphrodite’s hair, makeup, and outfit when she’s a heel

(The black hair isn’t her hair color it’s just for the makeup, she has white hair, and her outfit is black)

“Michael, Solo Sikoa is awaiting his partner. Who is this mysterious diva” Wade Barrett shouted into the mic an intrigued tone filling his voice. Just when Michael was going to speak music blasted through the arena. Who was partnering with Solo Sikoa?

“It’s the newbie making her debut tonight, it’s Nyla Gunn! Why would they put her with Solo Sikoa?” Michael Cole asked with a tone of confusion in his voice. Aphrodite did her entrance and ran down the ramp toward the ring. She got into the ring and she saw Judgement Day and she saw her boyfriend JD McDonagh. The bell rang and everyone started fighting. Rhea was about to hit Solo with the Riptide when Aphrodite tagged Solo in and started attacking Rhea. Aphrodite caught Rhea off guard by super-kicking her and hitting her with the Riptide.

“OMG! NO FUCKING WAY! NYLA GUNN JUST HIT RHEA RIPLEY WITH HER OWN DAMN MOVE! THE RIPTIDE!!” Michael and Wade shouted into their mics with excitement and joy. Aphrodite went for the pin. 1, 2, 3…. Aphrodite did it. Aphrodite won her debut match against the Women’s World Champion. Aphrodite crouched down to a hurt Rhea Ripley in the ring and she softly whispered “Sorry girl.” Then she hopped out of the ring with a smile on her face. The fans cheered her on her way back to Gorilla. 

“Hello everyone! I’m Kayla Braxton and right now I’m joined by the newbie who killed it in her debut match Nyla Gunn! Welcome, so we just watched you do an incredible job in your debut match and you pinned the Women’s World Champion Rhea Ripley! Tell us how you feel! How was it?” Kayla asked. “Well if I’m being honest Kayla, I feel amazing. I loved it. I love feeling the rush of being in the ring, especially with people like the Usos, Solo Sikoa and Rhea Ripley. I’m glad my debut was successful. I love the energy of the fans.” Aphrodite spoke feeling every single emotion ooze throughout her body. “And cut! Great job Kayla and Aphrodite.” Kayla and Aphrodite waved bye and just as she was about to leave to go to her locker room she sees Solo Sikoa and Solo says “Heyyyy…” “Aphrodite. My name is Aphrodite” “Aphrodite, thanks for tagging me in and saving my ass from the eradicator Rhea ‘Bloody’ Ripley. You new here?” Aphrodite said “Yea. I used to be an independent wrestler but I’ve never wrestled for WWE so yea today was my debut match.” Aphrodite explained flashing a smile. Solo stopped listening cause he was looking at Aphrodite’s icy blue eyes as if he was getting lost in them instantly.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to come to dinner with me so we can celebrate our win and congratulate you on your debut match if that’s alright with you?” Solo asked flashing a smile. “To celebrate? No one naturally asks me to celebrate with them 'cause it’s more of a personal thing for them.” Aphrodite whispered softly. “Maybe we could even call our little get-together a date, 'cause you’re really pretty… well that’s if you’re not seeing anyone at the moment!” Solo said as panic rushed across his face like the blood rushes through his veins. Aphrodite lightly punched him in his arms. “Sorry Solo, I’m gonna have to take a rain check. I’m seeing someone but some other time works. I gotta go.” She left and Solo backed off.

~Time skip 3 weeks after her debut where she catches JD cheating~

Aphrodite had woken up in the guest bedroom with all of her stuff packed but she didn’t know why. She got up and took a shower before going to her room to ask JD why her stuff was in the guest bedroom when she walked in on JD and Rhea making love. Angry she packed her clothes and everything she needed and stormed out of the house. She put her bags in the car and drove to the arena cause she needs to talk to Stephanie. Once at the arena she gets out and grabs her wrestling bag and goes into the arena pissed off.

She sees Solo and he says “Oh hey Aphrodite! How are you doing?” Aphrodite doesn’t answer and walks past Solo shoving him and goes to Stephanie’s office. Once out of Stephanie’s office, she goes to a vacant locker room, and when she sees JD she attacks him backstage in Gorilla. She screams at him “You’re a piece of fucking shit. I hope you enjoy Rhea ‘Bloody’ Ripley. Give her this.” She takes off the promise ring and steps on it. Breaking it under her foot. Aphrodite gets pulled off of JD by Rhea. Rhea wants to face her and Aphrodite accepts. Aphrodite goes to her locker room when she hears a knock on her door.

She opens it to see Solo. She motions for him to come in and she gives Solo some ice and says “Sorry for the shove. Why are you here?” Aphrodite asked in a bitchy heel tone. Solo says “I came to check on you. Are you ok?” He asked concerned about her. Aphrodite says “I’ve never been better baby. Now if you don’t mind I have to get ready for a match you ain’t the only one to witness the craziness that’s about to happen. You are staying with me at ringside. Now can you please leave I have to finish getting ready. Oh, you are finally getting your date. I’m single now.” A smile grew on Solo's face as he left. When Aphrodite was done she went to the ring and she unleashed the monster that JD had just created.

Once she won the match. She did her interview and she explained that JD cheated on her and created this monster that was waiting to be unleashed. Solo grew furious finding out the news but Aphrodite told him don’t worry about Judgement Day. Solo took Aphrodite on a date to celebrate and he got to know her a little bit better. She drove to his house in her car and they relaxed watching TV. Aphrodite said “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time. I really enjoyed myself. I want a second date. We should do this all the time!!” Solo smirked and started grinning he said “Yea. Maybe I’ll get showered with kisses on the second date!” which made Aphrodite laugh and she punched him softly in his chest.

-I hope you guys enjoyed this. Feel free to send your requests in my inbox. Love you guys <333.

[carpisuns]

Hey sorry reddit refugee with a quick question, I dont really identify with the super-fandom side of tumblr. A lot of my feeds get a lot of random like (character)x(character) fanfics and I'm wondering if there are a few common tags i could block to minimize seeing them?

Hey there, welcome to tumblr! Sorry if I tell you something you already know but I think this info is really important for curating your experience here.

While tumblr does have an option for a feed based on an algorithm, I’d say like 90% of users don’t use it. We use the “following” option, which shows only posts from people you follow, in the chronological order they were posted—with no additional posts chosen by an algorithm. If you’re on mobile it looks like this.

I just wanted to make sure you knew about this because if you are not interested in seeing certain kinds of content, I’d say the best way to not see it is to not follow people who post it a lot. Fill your dashboard with content you enjoy by following people who post the kinds of things you like.

That being said, of course no one is gonna share your taste 100% and the people you follow will likely post about things you don’t care about. Blacklisting tags will definitely help with that. People usually tag fandom posts with the fandom name or an abbreviation for it. so for example if you don’t want to see posts about the owl house you could block the tags #the owl house and #toh. (Also, if that’s the case, you should probably unfollow me, since I post about that a lot lol.)

Most shippers use a specific ship name, usually a combo of the two characters’ names, so figure out what it is and block it if you don’t want to see that ship. So for example, #zelink for zelda x link. I think that’s a much more common way of tagging ships here than character x character or character/character.

When you come across a post you don’t like, it might be helpful to check how the reblogged or the op tagged it and then block those specific tags.

If you don’t know how to block tags on mobile:

Tap the person icon on the bottom right of the screen. Then tap the gear icon on the top right. Go to general settings > filtering and add each individual tag you want to block. (On desktop I recommend downloading XKit—it has a lot of helpful customization options.)

There really isn’t a way to guarantee you don’t see any shipping fanfic posts on your dashboard in general, but again, if you don’t want to see that, don’t follow people who post it a lot. And don’t feel bad about unfollowing if you need to. I feel like the culture here is a bit different from something like twitter or Insta because our follower counts are private so they’re less of a focus. I wouldn’t worry too much about someone being offended that you unfollowed. Most people understand that we’re all trying to curate our experience.

Hope this helps! Have fun :)

[rileyslibrary]

I got you, don’t worry. I cropped everything out and covered the character’s name and other details in case anyone pins it back to you. I wanted to reply publicly since this might help someone in the same position as you. Also, please know that I deleted the ask so there’s no trace of you in my ask box, in case you feel uncomfortable. I hope you see this.

FYI, I’m returning after I wrote this just to let you know that this is probably one of the longest replies I’ve given. I think refraining from writing is making me compose chapter-length responses. Also, I had a beer while writing this, so please accept my sincere apologies if it’s too “chattery.”

You’re not asking for my assistance, although your message feels like a desperate plea for help. I think I can do that for you. You don’t want to? Too bad.

So, let's start with the writing part and then move on to the hate (eek!)

If you read/watched/studied the material and generally did your homework, as you say, then maybe you can go back to studying and see if you missed something. I, personally, won’t critique your work since I’m nothing but an apprentice myself. I won’t act as a know-it-all.

Something I personally like to do as I write, though, is to keep the campaign or cutscenes from Ghost playing in the background. Or, I try to be conscious, and ask myself questions like “Why am I making him do that thing? Is it something he would naturally do, based on what I studied? Or is it something I would do, and I’m projecting it on him instead? Am I making him do/say that just to progress the story, and I’m not thinking clearly?”

Also, don’t study only what the characters say. Observe their facial expressions. Their posture. Even if they are somewhere in the background, just standing. And, he doesn’t have to be perfect, mind you. I mean, what are you gonna do? Plagiarise the freaking canon?! No; Close enough is good enough.

I already replied to a request regarding writing, by the way. You can find it under the writing tag in this blog.

Now, if we’re talking about anons/readers who act as self-proclaimed undisputed authorities with biases and strong opinions, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do here. I mean it’s not the game developers who creep into your inbox/comments. Or the character himself.

It’s just… a hater. *dun, dun, duuuuun*

Like, it’s one thing not to like a person’s writing/story/content and another to criticise and spew hate while forcing your own personal opinions as if they are the bible.

The first one is normal, reasonable and reversible, believe it or not since you can move on and forget that that fic ever existed.

The second is *shivers* tacky.

Listen, though: if you have already made up your mind (stopping writing altogether), I 100% support you. You shouldn’t feel pressured to do so just because there’s a new game coming up. (I think that’s what you meant?)

But if you want to start writing again and decide to revisit the source material and apply the things suggested above, it’d be better to reform your relationship with this kind of feedback because me telling you that these people don’t matter won’t do you any good. It’s not a reasonable explanation. Sometimes, we want other people’s feedback; that’s why we share what we do.

The reality is that there are people out there who are deeply troubled. They have issues with their families, their jobs, themselves, and god knows what else. They are in pain, and they don’t know how (or don’t have the means) to help themselves. Sometimes, this pain is beyond them, so instead of doing something to solve their problems actively, they displace it onto others.

Seriously, babe, it’s a thing. Here, look:

Displacement is a defence mechanism that involves an individual transferring negative feelings from one person or thing to another.

Example: “My father screams at me, but i can’t scream back at him because he is an ‘authority’. I’m in pain, so, as a result, I choose to scream at this less-threatening person who happens to be a stranger online.”

Mind you, this is beyond their comprehension, NOT because they are stupid, but because they never learned that this is an unhealthy way to cope.

So next time this happens, don’t get angry or upset. Empathise with them.

Hurt people, hurt people.

And if all else fails, just do what I do and block them; that’s what I do 🤷🏻‍♀️. Just don’t attack back and don’t reply; let it end there.

[pancake-breakfast]

I've lost track of what migraine day I'm on, but Trigun Book Club persists and so shall I.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 13, Chapters 4-6 below.

Chapter 4: Black

Voiceover Narration: Little did Livio know, but both the hat and the cape provided him with a +10 bonus to strength in addition to the moral boost. Someday, he would open up the stat screen for both and discover this, and then he would weep grateful tears that those who had so little gave him so much.

Oh, Elendira's got her own stat boost outfit, I guess.

I love how much tone she has in her voice. Between her body language and the translation, she's just a very easy character to hear in your head.

Ok, this panel is badass.

Ooh, she actually landed a hit on him. Hasn't done that in a bit.

Why's she sizzling? Is it because she's on fire right now?

(Also, she might be in full badass mode, but goshdarnit, she better not seriously injure my Livio. He's important to me and needs to live!)

Aaaand we're back to Legato's monstrosity.

Dude. He has to save some for fighting Knives, dummy. He's not Gojo utilizing Limitless and being able to just go forever. He's going through his Last Run. There's a hard stop to his power and it's coming up quick.

Hahahahaha, these poor guards. Space ships are, like, history bordering on mythology nowadays. They'd be more mythological if their bones weren't scattered across the planet. Seeing an actual functioning one that came from actual space would be quite something.

That's RIGHT, Luida's the one in charge!

Vance? As in advance? I mean, I know it's an actual name, but it's not a very common one and Nightow really seems to like just making names up, anyway....

Ok, so... Knives has always been a bit OP, but what I'm gathering from the Earth Fleet presentation is that this is a bit ridiculous even by the standards of a culture used to Plants.

Ok, I already have questions about how they know about any particular individual. I'm guessing they gleaned a lot of relevant information out of the remnants of Domina, but yeah.

Goshdarn, of course they were hoping to find Vash....

Dramatic Legato pose!

Man, why'd he get so sweaty all of a sudden? That can't be comfortable.

Awww, Legato's little toy got wrecked. TBH, that looks more like Knives' work than Vash's... but that's only because it's hard to tell the curvature of the cut. Knives tends to do straight cuts while Vash destroys things in orbs.

Ugh, Vash might look badass, but he does not look good. Someone get him a sports drink or something to perk him up. Do Plants love electrolytes in this world?

I wonder who the other two were. Knives and pre-bagworm Legato?

Uh, oh. Guess who's back. You done threatened Livio too much, Elendira.

Chapter 5: Battle of the Mystics

Yeah, Raz doesn't fuck around....

It's weird seeing Raz with short hair. Like, Livio with short hair? Not as cool as if he'd cleaned it up but kept it long, but it was so uneven I get it. Raz with long hair and that undercut? Good for his level of chaos. Short-haired Raz? Just feels too restrained for him.

"Some dumbasses," huh? That's a rude (but perhaps not inaccurate) way to refer to Wolfwood and Vash.

I do appreciate how much more intense and unhinged Raz is compared to Livio. Even Elendira seems a bit taken aback by the mood switch in her opponent.

Oh, that's right. He's used to wielding full-out punishers rather than the double-fangs.

He's gonna burn through ammo so fast using them like that. It's a good thing the guns in this series have ammo in plot amounts.

LOL, Elendira is already sick of Razlo's shit.

Uh. That's a lot of nails. I don't like this. She's being mean to my boy.

Oh, gods. I'm not sure even he can survive this.

OH GOOD IT WASN'T REAL. Dammit, Nightow. Don't scare me like that.

Oof, he's still not in good shape. :/

Chapter 6: Tag-In A Person

I feel like... Livo and Razlo are gonna tag-team this fight somehow....

Mmm, seems like Raz can't deal with Elendira's bloodlust.

Elendira! He needed that leg!

Oof, tiny Wolfwood memory....

The way Elendira says this makes me think she has some experience being on the receiving end of this herself.

Look at him. Pumped full of nails again, but still going. He's a freaking machine.

Ok, I love how Nightow has used the dialog bubble to let us know that Livio is back in control here. It's a small thing, but excellent use of the medium.

I love this conversation between Livio and Razlo. It's Livio making peace with himself, with him recognizing his alter and... sort of validating Razlo's existence, I guess? That Razlo is him and isn't him, and that's ok, and they are part of a tandem structure?

Oooh, are they both fronting? Or... like... Livio's fronting, but Razlo's kinda there, too. I'm not sure how much that works with DID, but it's interesting from a narrative perspective.

Again, wonderful bit of paneling here.

Hahahaha, he didn't even bother to remove the nails. I realize this is a way of telling us that someone is a badass, but... like... having holes in your muscles and/or tendons seriously mucks with your range of motion. If you have a healing factor, get that shit out of the way so it can kick in. Otherwise, you're limiting yourself pretty severely. Like, he shouldn't be able to stretch out to his full wingspan with stuff popping through his back like that. Ok, I'll stop. I know I shouldn't expect realistic anatomical consequences in this series.

Wait, where's Vash? I'm worried about babygirl....

Heheheheh, backwards-firing gun trick shot. Again.

Oh, this is lovely. He's fighting right now with a balance neither side of him generally displays.

Ooh, he got a solid hit on her.

Heheheheheh, mind Razlo still has the mohawk. As he should.

Elendira's got her priorities straight. Kill first, ask questions later.

There's something very satisfying (and maybe very important) about Livio praising Razlo. Not just leaning on him when he's afraid, but honoring Razlo's skill and technique and complimenting him on it. Raz wanted so bad to be needed and to be praised, and now he's getting the praise from probably the person he needed it from the most.

Wait. Wait, is Razlo going somewhere??

What's coming next that's so bad that Raz isn't sure he can keep up with it??

Archive

Trigun Vol. 1: Covers + 1-3, 4, 5-6, 7-8, 9-10 || Vol. 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Vol. 1: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 2: Covers + 1, 2-4, 5, 6-7 || Vol. 3: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-7 || Vol. 4: Covers + 1-2, 3-5, 6-7 || Vol. 5: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 6: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 7: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 8: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5 + Bonus || Vol. 9: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 10: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-8 || Vol. 11: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 12: Covers + 1-3, 4-6, 7-9 || Vol. 13: Covers + 1-3

Extra Credit: Trigun Vol. 1: Nebraska vs. Vash's Motivations, Vash's Loneliness, Vash's Depression (pt. 2 of post), Soupy Brains || Vol. 2: Coin Factoids || TriMax Vol. 1: Lina, Vash, and a Haircut || Meryl, Vash, and the Pursuit of Happiness || Vol. 5: Knives, Vash, and Hatred for Humanity || Vol. 6: Coping Series: Wolfwood, Meryl, Vash || Vol. 8: The Uncoordinated Counterattack || Vol. 9: Justice, Punishment, and Mercy, The Tolling of an Iron Bell || Vol. 10: Crucifixion Symbology (pt. 2 of post), Merging of Families, Being Childlike (And Why God Hates Chapel) || Vol. 11: New Hair, New Outlook

[agentplutonium]

WIP Wednesday~

Another WIPW rolls around except this time i was tagged by @arrowfleur !! I’ve got a weird arrangement of things for y’all this week, but imma share them anyway.

I’m gonna no pressure tag a few people this time as well cause I think it’s fun but @penncilkid and whoever else wants to do it cause I can’t think of anybody else (please tag me i love reading y’all’s work!!)

This week I have (a very small) snippet of the next chapter of Like Real People Do, a Imp! Sam/Darlin’ AU that i’ve been writing for a year ish now. I will also give you guys ~ five hundred words on the creation of The Hellish, aka aiṓnios as Terra named them, which are creatures who exist in the universe I am building :D

As always, asks are open for any questions y’all have cause I itch for reasons to talk about my works !! have fun y’all and happy timezone <3

Fic Snippet:

Milo put a hand against their arm, a reminder of what he promised. Out of the corner of their eye, someone shifted against the wall, and when Tank glanced over they could see Sneaks there. For some reason it helped knowing they were there. That, coupled by Milo’s attentiveness, they felt like they could at least try to explain to the pack.

Bringing themselves to take one step at a time while they could feel the eyes burn into them was the hardest part. They knew that every individual had a different perspective on who they were as a person and it genuinely did freak them out. What did these people remember that they didn’t? What kind of common threads were there between the interpretations of who they were? How close were any of them to Tank before the accident? Would the pack expect them to remember anything?

“Just start from the beginning,” Milo muttered to them when they were finally at the front. “There’s no rush.”

Tank, practically instinctively, straightened their posture and crossed their arms over their chest. All eyes were on them, waiting for them to talk, and Tank had a feeling that they were waiting for confirmation that this was real.

“I won’t drag this out,” Tank started after a second. They could see a few people react to hearing their voice, but they didn’t think about that. They could only focus on pushing the words out, trying their best to explain well enough. “A year ago, I was abducted, and it was made to look like I had died. In that year I have been alive and doing jobs for him, and I just managed to escape a few months ago.”

“Who took you?” Someone had called out, but Tank didn’t see who.

Tank took a deep breath, glancing at Asher who nodded ever so slightly. “Quinn.”

The room burst into noise. Raised voices, questions, yelling, you name it. Nobody was happy about what was just told to them. Tank could sympathize, a little. They really wished they didn’t say it either.

“But he was killed!” One voice yelled.

“What about David, then?!” Another questioned.

Tank almost couldn’t take it, unconsciously shrinking back at the noise.

World Things:

(Before we begin, a small explanation of just what The Hellish are: they’re my monsters, basically. I wanted an excuse to create creatures and this was it. I don’t exactly have any yet, but the ideas in my head are all my babies i love them so much. They really don’t serve much purpose to the world, which is the point. This is Terra having fun as you’ll see. And, for context, Terra and Caelus are my worlds gods essentially. They’ve created the beings on earth and all.)

Some would describe Terra as creative. Caelus would say that she is reckless with her creativity. It got to her head that She could do anything she wanted.

It boiled down to Terra having fun. She liked having the creative control of things. She liked that she could breathe life into something that most others wouldn’t even think of.

So, this is how The Hellish are born. Terra takes something that she imagined and puts so much love and care into them that they come alive in her hands. They don’t look like the Humans, or even the other animals that reside on earth, and one might even recoil at the way that they look, but Terra loved them more than anything. Finally, something was hers.

She put care and devotion into them, only showing Caelus what she was doing when she had a small army of different creatures.

“What are these?” Caelus would ask, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice.

“I call them aiṓnios,” Terra said with pride. “What do you think?! And be honest, you don’t have to sugar coat things for me.”

Caelus didn’t tell her what he was really thinking. One look at her and that beaming smile she had broke his resolve to tell the truth. It would crush her if he said that the Humans would probably hate them, and that they are all rather repulsive to look at. Instead, he gave her a small smile and said, “They seem pretty neat.”

He knew he made the right choice when Terra lit up, somehow growing even brighter than she was.

“You really think so?! Oh, I’m so glad! I worked really hard on them, after all, and I just love them all so much. I mean, there really is just so much special about them and they’re all so different in their own way. Oh! If you look closely, you can see-”

And Terra went on. She went on and on, gushing over the details that went into each of the creatures she had. She went into the plans for future creatures as well, talking about specifics she wants to see in play. She tumbled into what she thought the Human reactions were going to be—awe, wonder, amazement—and Caelus didn’t have the heart to stop her. Not really. He knew it was going to crush her when the Humans didn’t respond in the way she was imagining, but there wasn’t much he could do at that point. He could just sit and watch as his love raved over her creations, his favourite smile across her face.

He’d be there when this went up in flames, just as he was there now at their beginning.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

have you ever considered some abstract-ass pairings? like the "how the fuck did you even come up with that pairings?

im not accusing you of doing it lol, but i personally do and am. curious to see if i am normal

IM NOT TOTALLY SURE, because i tend to have very specific reasonings for why i think two characters would be good together, but i definitely think that from an outside perspective some of my ships can be seen as pretty abstract..

(under the cut again sorry im nonstop yapping for way too long guys..)

BUT almost any pairing you think of in a semi-popular fandom like saiki k, SOMEBODY has probably made content about it.. and its more popular in japan, so you may not be able to FIND ur pairing but theres probably SOMETHING out there about it, just in a language you aren't searching in or something.. like, toritsuka x kuboyasu is one pairing i have NEVER seen an english speaking person post about, but if you go in japanese or korean speaking saiki k spaces, that ship is EXTREMELY popular! theres TONS of fanart!!

so yea, whats popular or even what gets any content at all can be surprising sometimes.. like, a few of my favorite tdlosk ships are arisu x rifuta, arisu x aiura, and rifuta x yumehara (+arisu x yumehara but this is kinda popular i think) (im just a lesbian with a bias towards sapphic ships, i see two pretty girls and i ship..) and i shipped them before i ever started looking online for content and when i finally did, i didnt think i would ever see any content of them but. there is. theres plenty of content of them. theyre rare enough pairs that i dont think they have ship names so it can be hard to actually find that content since theres no ship name ever tagged, but it very much exists!

if youd asked me this like a month ago i wouldve said that saiki x suzumiya is one of these abstract ships for me (if you wanna know why i like it, i just like the idea of instead of satou being so average he balances her out, saiki just like superhero-ing every other minute without her even noticing. i also like this as a polycule which ill talk about in a minute-) but somebody on here posted it around that time LOL.. theres also some other rare pairs i enjoy like mera x saiki or kuboyasu x yumehara, but though these are rare-ish pairs, they still have a notable presence so i wouldnt quite call them abstract.. (also yo damn well kubosai is my NUMBER ONEEEE ship, which you could call a rare pair if you didnt go on tumblr or ao3 cuz its VERY concentrated over here and doesnt really exist anywhere else.. except in the japanese fandom LOL.. but yea its definitely not a rare pair over here, its gotten way more popular recently too..)

the more abstractness comes when you start shipping polycules... then its way less likely for you to be able to find your specific ship.. lol.. like the ones i just talked about, you put rifuta x yumehara x arisu x aiura all together ?? no WAY am i gonna find that, it may exist somewhere but youll never find it, or at least i couldnt lol.. some of my fav rare (more like completely nonexistent except for some IVE posted about) polyam ships are the one i just said, kuboyasu x saiki x hairo x nendo, (also love kuboyasu x saiki x kaido but this one actually gets content hehe.. same with kuboyasu x kaido x yumehara.. LOVE that one..) mera x yumehara x aiura, kuboyasu x saiki x saiko (x kaido maybe), toritsuka x kaido x yumehara, mera x saiki x kuboyasu (x saiko sometimes and/or hairo) and probably more that im forgetting... i also really love the psychickers x satou and suzumiya which im actually not sure if theres ever been content of them, i think the only time ive seen it mentioned is someone being like "theyre dating hehe" on a pic of them lol.. its a funny ship for me because its actually one of my favorites even though some of the individual ships im not a fan of + i also hc that satou is very very straight but idk.. somehow this works.. i feel like maybe if he starts dating suzumiya and shes bi and polyam then it might accidentally give him a sexuality crisis because hes probably never even considered that he could be queer before.. idk.. whatever.. it just works..

idk, someone give me examples of tdlosk rare pairs that could actually work...