#i feel like most injuries that characters get are in places that are normally covered

[quirkwizard]

Final Chapter: A Look at the Ending of MHA

With the manga of My Hero Academia finally coming to a close, I thought I'd give my opinions about how the series ended. I will be covering everything from Chapter 424 to Chapter 430. This is going to mix my thoughts on the ending, a proposed rewrite, and a lot of responses to people's criticism towards it. Because I'm going to be real with you all: the past two months have been the most frustrating and exhausting experience I've had with this fan base. 

I have been writing this since the finale ended. In that time, I've been listening and taking in all the discourse of fans in order to make a more informed opinion. It's been miserable trying to read through all the thoughts people had about the finale. The sheer amount of opinions that were based off misinformation or misreadings of the series has been staggering. So, if I sound more exhausted or if the writing comes across as more scattershot then when I normally do something like that, that's the reason. And, as always, if you have anything you want to discuss, whether it be about the post or the ending, feel free to ask about it.

Review

Miscellaneous Notes:

So there are some bits of the story I wanted to talk about, but didn't feel the need to include full on diatribes about.

-Oh hey, Koichi from Vigilantes is here, that's so- and he's gone.

-Even when Izuku is his peer, Aizawa still finds time to be a jerk to his students.

-Mirio is the number one hero. Makes sense, but it does feel out of nowhere with how little Mirio has been relevant up until now.

-How on Earth is Miriko still working, let alone as a hero? She's down three limbs and in arguably worse shape then Enji.

-Man, they are really taking Kai to task these past few arcs, aren't they? I mean, I get why, but jeez. It's honestly sad to see what's been done with his character.

-I like how All Might's light returned to his eyes. It's a good way to show him getting his spirit back after all this time and reigniting hope in himself..

-So if Eri's horn is back, does that mean her power is back? Kind of wish we had something saying about why she isn't healing people. I get if it's her choice or the recipients choice not to do so, but there needs to be something for that.

Hospital Visit

This works as little cool down from the big battle, especially since we really needed to see some of the immediate consequences on the main characters. I actually like a lot of the stuff with Bakugou. After all this, he finally understands Izuku, shown by them getting similar injuries, and lets himself be emotionally vulnerable about wanting the two to be rivals. And we finally got some thoughts on part of Izuku here, like his regret about seemingly failing to save Tomura and how he doesn't feel hurt about losing out on "One For All". How he's glad that he even got this chance in the first place. I do feel the need to mention All Might saying that Izuku saved the "soul" of Tomura. I think a lot of people missed or ignored that line. It's important to Tomura's death, but I'll get more into that later.

Speaking of consequences, I don't mind Izuku losing out on "One For All". In the grander scheme of things, "One For All" doesn't need to be a thing anymore. With "All For One" gone, it no longer has a purpose to exist. And as we've all seen with All Might, someone holding that much power over he world is a problem, regardless of whether it's used for good or evil. Having it gone helps even the playing field and will push for the idea that people should rely on themselves and each other instead of focusing all on a single symbol. What's more, I think Izuku having to sacrifice it and lose it gives the ending a lot more weight. Because Izuku sacrificed the thing that made him a hero in order to stop Shigaraki. To me, that's one of the most defining aspects of a hero: the willingness to sacrifice something important to themselves to help others.

UA Stuff

All of the things happening at UA are fine.  I do like that Aoyama chose to leave 1-A of his own volition instead of being forced out. Plus, now Shinso is in the Hero Course. Good for him. I've never been all that invested in Shino's story, but this is a good way to get him into Class 1-A without making an exception or replacing any of the core cast members. I liked Mirio's graduation speech. I think it works with his arc of trying to inspire other people and trying to honor Sir Nighteye's memory. And they got to have their own little party. That's nice.

Honestly, I find myself having very little to say about all of this, at least the parts within the school itself. I'm all for a calm after the storm to talk about what happened and to build up characters. I'm honestly glad we're back at the school to help ground things after that massive battle. But I think there may have been too much time spent on this. It just feels a little longer than what's needed. Like the bits with the cotton girl feel like they weren't needed for the story and could have been better used setting up or wrapping up something else.

Todoroki Family Prison Visit

The Todoroki family drama has always been one of the stronger plotlines, especially in the latter half of the series. And I believe that it ended on a pretty strong note. It's to the point where I struggle to really say much about the resolution of it.  I do like how Shoto asks for something as basic as his favorite food. I also like how Dabi let go of his hatred towards Shoto, who was as much of a victim as he was in all of this, but still held on to it for Endeavor. Because in spite of what a lot of fans seem to think, the manga does take Enji to task and isn't saying he should be forgiven.

Dabi being in this condition is pretty awful, but I concede that it was necessary for him to have a resolution with the other Todorokis. I'll get to my thoughts on the condition of the villains later in the post. So for now I'll just say the metal coffin looks equal parts cool and horrific. I think it's too long at least in the wrong places. I understand that this is an important part of the story. But when it takes up so much of the chapter it's in, I feel like at least something should have been given to the other family members. They aren't the main players of the subplot, but they still could have used some resolution.

Afterburn

Now, there are those who say Enji got off too easy. Uh, no, he didn't. The man lost everything he strived for in the number one position, something that turned out to be totally hollow, and is left severely injured after the battle, due in large part to Dabi. Now the only thing that would bring his life purpose, his family, is all torn apart by his own actions. Now he's resigned himself to seeing his dying son, who hates him with every burnt fiber of his being, every day until Dabi dies. Enji's punishment is to live on, knowing what he did and failing to ever put his family back together. That's not a happy ending, that's a sentencing.

Which is something I do find frustrating about the end of their arc. While we get solid conclusions with Natsuo and Dabi, how Shoto, Fuyumi, and especially Rei feel about all this and their relationship with Enji is ambiguous at best. At least with Shoto and Fuymui, we had some idea of where they stood with their father before now, but Rei is still not clear. I'm not sure about the implications with Rei and whether she's still with Enji. I choose to think that she isn't just trying to help him out in the few panels we see them together, but it's not exactly clear. Which certainly does leave the door open for some... less than favorable interpretations.

Commissioner Hawks

I'm not sure how to feel about Keigo's conclusion. On the one hand, I don't mind where he ended up as the head of the Hero Commission. It's still a way for him to help heroes to make their lives easier without getting involved as a hero. And if there is anyone that can clean up the Hero Commission, it's the guy that's worked under them his entire life. On the other hand though, it does kind of feel like he did got off scott free for a lot of the stuff he did while under the Hero Commission, namely killing Twice. It never feels like Hawks personally was taken to task for his part in all of this. So now we have a murderer as the head of the Hero Commission. 

It doesn't matter if he was under orders to do it or not, nor if there were extreme circumstances that pushed him to such actions. The pragmatic side of me does see the reasoning of that, but the story enforces that what Hawks did is a bad thing and does so constantly. Nothing about the manga takes Hawks to task for what he did or makes it feel like he's been punished for that. He may have lost his Quirk, but we don't really know how he feels about that. Which is weird considering how much of his life came from having that Quirk. Unless his comment about not being ashamed of his "filthy wings" as long as he got to help Tokoyami? Maybe it will make more sense on another read.

Spinner and Izuku

I feel like this scene is pretty underrated. Heck, it may even cemented Spinner as one of my favorite villains. To me, it really goes to show the tragedy at the core of Spinner's character. That, for all of his desire to change things or help out his friends, he was too weak to see any change made for himself. So he attached himself to idols like Stain or Tomura. He was always manipulated or pulled by something else. Whether it be the radicalization of Stain or the machinations of All For One, his hopes were used against him, his mindless actions given meaning by peons. All it did was lose him everything. He was, ultimately, a kid who was in over his head and was turned into a monster because of it. The monster everyone saw him as.

And while I've heard some people complain about Tomura only having a message for Spinner, I think that's more about the relationship Tomura had with the rest of the League. They were aligned together for a mutual goal and had some care for one another, but I don't think they ever understood or were close to one another. Spinner is the only one Tomura had any kind of real closeness. That's the whole point of the gamer line, as silly as it was. So, while to the rest of the League, he was Shigaraki, the force of destruction and change, to Spinner, he was Tomura, a friend who he wanted to fight for. My only issue, again, is some unfortunate openness with the ending. Spinner writing a book to spite the heroes is fine, but it leaves this unfortunate implication that this book will be used to radicalize more people. I don't think that is the intention, but again, it's not very clear.

Everyone Do Your Share

I was originally frustrated by how much of the final chapters spent on the cleaning up of things, especially since there were so few chapters left. However, looking back, I do feel it's pretty important to reinforce the idea of everyone trying to help in their own way, no matter how big or small it may be. And in doing so, show the changes on every level possible. It's there to show how things are changing by how people act and see heroes. We've got the civilians doing their part to help the heroes, and we've got the next generation changing their perspective on heroism. All thanks to Class 1-A and their efforts. It's just a nice and efficient way to show things changing from a broader perspective.

Which leads me to the stitch mouth kid. I saw people begging that this kid would be the new Tomura and show that society is still bad and broken. As if something like that wouldn't undermine the entire point of the ending. The whole point is that anyone can be a hero in any way, as long as you are willing to reach out and help others. And people who see a problem can and should do something to help people. They should help when they have the chance before it is too late. So having the old woman reach out to help another lost child is a nice way to tie up that point. And the whole point of all this is that the heroes, especially Izuku, don't need to do everything themselves. 

The More Things Change

Many people were upset of the idea of aspects like hero rankings and the Hero Commission not being abolished by the time the series ended. I disagree. I never thought that the rankings themselves were bad or wrong, nor did I think the story ever shows that the rankings are bad. That only seemed to be an issue with Enji and that had a lot of personal issues behind it. Every other hero seemed to be perfectly content to do hero work regardless of the rankings. Now, the Hero Commission, I can understand more. It's shown to be morally gray with its power. However, I don't think the existence of this kind of system is inherently wrong. Having oversight to heroes isn't a bad idea. It's just that the usage of it use to a lot of problems. And most of those people that propagated it are dead and gone.

Further still, there are people that say nothing has changed in the setting. That, since these systems are still in place, it's always going to be like this. Again, I disagree. Because of the massive devastation wrought by Tomura, it gave Japan a fresh start with the current generation. This gives the country the chance to overhaul those systems, even if they are still around. At the end of the day, systems are made up of and by people. The story makes it clear many times how important it is to win the crowd over. And if you win the hearts and minds of the people, it could go on to propagate massive change to the system. If enough people want to change and push for it, things will change. Saying that "things didn't change because systems can't be changed" is such a horrifically pessimistic take on the ending.

The Death of Villains

I've mentioned it before, and I'll say it again: I don't mind Toga dying. By extension, I don't mind the villains dying either. While it may seem tragic and pointless for her to die, I do think that is kind of that point. And no, I don't think this means that she "couldn't be saved". I think it's more of a tragedy. She was the one that people could have been saved before, but it was far too late to help her given how far she had gone. And her dying isn't a failing of that. Because Toga's ultimate goal was to live and die on her own terms. Specifically, being able to express herself and her "love". And to a lesser degree, to have someone try to understand her. I think her dying to save Uraraka is a good end to her character. By extension, that's how I feel about a lot of the villains' deaths in this. They got what they wanted, tragically died in order to see it through to the end. At least there's some peace for them, in that respect.

There's also a matter of "saving". I think a lot of fans took this too literally. To me, "saving" was more about reaching out and trying to understand villains rather than simply fighting them. "Saving" was never going to be the same as "redeeming". Because let's be real, there is no redeeming these people. Not because they can't be redeemed, it's because they don't want to be redeemed, and I think it'd betray their characters to do so. They are unapologetically bad and have hurt a lot of people. Every member of the League is complicit in the deaths of thousands and throwing an entire country into chaos. They aren't wrong for fighting the system, they're wrong for killing countless people to do so. And I have to ask what the other options are? You either have them be forgiven and turn good, which would be insane given the crimes they committed and their characters, or have them locked up forever, which is a fate worse than death. At least in death they can have some form of peace by escaping the consequences of their actions and all the suffering they went through.

Izuku x Uraraka:

Yeah, I'm kind of confused about why it turned out like this. I'm ignoring all the shipping concerns that come from it. I'm more focused on the story and characters. The whole idea of Uraraka and Toga's shared story was about understanding your feelings, both towards yourself and other people. Especially how bad it is to repress and hide your feelings. The whole catalyst of Toga's story was her being forced to repress herself. So having this whole subplot end like this is really odd if Uraraka doesn't express her feelings. That's not mentioning all the hints, setups, and teasing that pushed these two as a potential couple that fell through by not having any conclusion. I honestly wonder why Hori, or his editors, decided to back down like this. 

Which, hey, now may not be the best time for a confession, but it's still jarring not to see anything come of it after all this time. Especially since so much of the chapter is about the two talking about their feelings. So why is it written like this? Now, I want to dismiss the popular concept that Hori changed this because of death threats between the two. While it's not something I'd put past obsessive fans, there hasn't been anything to substantiate the claim. So, barring rogue translators, my only guess is that Hori or an editor didn't want to do the reveal now and wanted to focus more on the important parts of the two's connection about inspiring one another. I can understand that, but it feels like a part of their dynamic is missing without any real acknowledgment of the two's feelings.

Izuku and Uraraka:

And I say all that to preface that I do like a lot of this scene and I do think it's important to each of the characters. Because Ochako is being open with her feelings here. It's just not the feelings that were being set up all the way in the first chapter. It's the two trying to connect and come to terms with their own failings with their villains. Only to have Izuku reach out his hand, reaffirming that sometimes all people need is a small act of kindness. Though it's hard to always do that, he's willing to do it because he's just that good of a guy. And having Izuku say that Uraraka is his hero is more heartfelt and important to these characters and the story at large then any confession could have been. 

And then we have the rest of Class 1-A coming to help as well. It works as a good parallel to Uraraka saving Izuku back during the Dark Hero Arc. It fits with the idea of heroes saving and helping one another. My only major issue is that I kind of wish we had gotten a little more with Izuku talking about his own feelings regarding Tomura, but we already got that back in Chapter 424. All and All: am I still disappointed that Izuku and Uraraka didn't have any romantic resolution? Kind of. It's less that I wanted them to get together and more I wanted some kind of resolution for it. But I still think what we got is good and that people are focusing way too much on what isn't there than what is there. Which I feel like is a problem with a lot of the ending, but we'll get to that.

Class 1-A Futures:

I do wish we got to see more of the future of Class 1-A, even if they were brief snippets. There are glimpses of Shoto and Bakugou. Bakguou's is alright, and I do like the final bit about no one connecting Shoto and Endeavor. I think that's a good ending for him. The most we get with any kind of detail are Shoji's and Urarak's groups. And I guess Shoji had a good future? Look, the Heteromorph plotline is arguably one of the worst parts of the whole manga. It may even be worse than the Stars and Stripes arc. So I can't exactly muster a lot of enthusiasm seeing it resolved by Shoji in the end. I suppose him thanking the people at the riot was nice? That whole part of the story honestly deserves its own post talking about it.

On the flip side, I'm fine with Uraraka's ending. Because I think people tend to conflate a lot of what makes up "Quirk Counseling", mostly thanks to people like Curious and Toga. One is part of a cult that wants to destroy society and the other most grievously targeted by it. From what we've actually seen of it, such as Tamaki's flashback, it just seems to be a lot of training and understanding your Quirk. Toga was just an unfortunate case where the system as it was couldn't help her and could only try and fit her into a niche. So I don't think expanding it is that big of a problem. Plus, expanding could include more extensive counseling that is more tailored to each child. I do think it's kind of odd that Iida and Momo seem to be stapled on to this ending, though. I'm not sure how this works as an end for either of them. I guess their roles as leaders of the class?

Great Teacher Izuku

Look, I don't mind Izuku having this job. Do I think there could have been other choices for this? Yes, but this is by no means bad. Being a teacher is a lot more respectable in Eastern cultures. Especially since he's teaching at the best hero school in the country, if not the world, it is certainly a high-profile job. And he is still being a hero in his own way and helping out the next generation as a teacher. More importantly, I still think that Izuku achieved his dream of being the greatest hero. The man brought down the greatest villain in human history and was one of the two people responsible for causing a massive shift in the way the world of heroes works. He is truly the world's greatest hero. There is no debating that. This is like some kid wanting to go to space to be the greatest astronaut. They not only go to space, they're the first person on Mars. They also stop the martins from invading Earth, killing the king of the martins, and save humanity. Now injured, they instead teach other cadets how to be astronauts. Would they not have success in their goal of being the greatest astronaut? I don't think anyone could match up with that.

However, my issue is with everything surrounding it. There isn't any set up for him becoming a teacher. It gives us the sense that this was the back-up option for when his real dreams feel through. Especially since Izuku gave everything he could to try and be a hero, and it doesn't happen until the very end of this manga. Which doesn't seem like the intention, since Izuku seems happy enough, but I heard a lot of people saying that. It's lacking in that catharsis and satisfaction that you'd expect from an ending. But you can have an ending that's not exactly happy and still be cathartic, and I think that still applies here. And another problem I have is that he's teaching at UA. Yes, he's helping out the next generation of heroes, but he's not helping out the people that need it most. The kind of people who don't make it into UA. The kind of people like Tomura, Spinner, and Twice. Those are the kind of people that should be getting help like this. Why not put him in a position with a much greater ability to help people? Finally, wasn't the whole point of All Might's arc? That there are other ways to be heroes and life outside of hero work? Why not have that aspect of the story be resolve with him instead of Izuku? He was already going down that route to begin with. Why repeat the same idea?

Walk and Talk

Again, I'm going to have to counter a major talking point I've seen in the fanbase. No, Izuku is not unhappy in his job. He seems to enjoy it and is in fact very good at it, as seen when talking to his students and the plate kid, Dai. He's only unhappy in one panel, in which he's being talked down to by Aizawa. No, Izuku is not forgotten by the world. He's mentioned in the same breath as some of the greatest heroes in the series, has his own statue with the rest of Class 1-A, and is so famous that people know his real name and is of such mythical status that people question if he is real. No, Izuku's friends did not abandon him. The most that Izuku says about that is that it's difficult for all twenty members to get together. He's still probably seeing them in smaller numbers. And I can tell you as someone who has had trouble even getting a quarter of that number of people into a single time slot, it's going to be difficult to get twenty people with separate schedules and lives together.

As for everything with Dai, it's fine. His perspective is pretty important as we get to see the changing worldview. With the demystification of heroes and the elevation of other roles in helping others, young people are now all getting into different fields. The talk around the statue is pretty good as well. Having Izuku effectively talk to a younger version of himself is a good way to close out his arc and all the insecurities he's had over the manga. However, part of me feels like this kind of talk should be done with the stitch-mouth kid. We do actually see him as a part of UA students with Kota. I think having Izuku end up talking to him about his Quirk could have been a good way to end his arc by having him be able to help someone similar. Not to say that the Dai stuff was bad or pointless. It just feels odd to include the guy that's supposed to be the metaphorical spirit of Tomura, put him in Izuku's class, and have them not interact.

The Suit

Again, this is another point where I don't have a major issue with it. At least, I don't have an issue getting the suit itself. I have some issues with the semantics. Did it take too long to build? I wouldn't say that. It was revealed in a piece by Horikoshi that it took all of All Might's vast resources to build, and it lacked a lot of the proper safety features. Having it take some time before it's battle ready for Izuku makes sense. However, that isn't in the manga, at least as far as I can tell. Maybe this makes more sense in the volumes, where stuff like this is included all the time. For real though, these people built this in secret for eight years, and they are just now letting him find out. Was there really no explanation you could have added to make that make more sense?

It creates this odd juxtaposition of endings as well. It gives the feeling of the story wanting to have its cake and eat it as well. Someone wanted Izuku come to terms with being Quirkless and to have a life outside of hero work. The other person wanted Izuku to still fight and be a hero. I also wonder why not just have be both at the same time instead of doing this twist. Make it clear that heroes have a lot more time, both thanks to Hawks and the contributions of the many heroes in the world all working together. Izuku doesn't need to be a full-time hero to save people and chooses to be a teacher to help people in a way that only he can do. That way, he can still be a hero that isn't necessarily the profession while being a professional hero without a Quirk.

Final Thoughts

Now, what are my final options for all of this? I think that ending was pretty solid, leaning good. I do agree that it's better than what is on offer than a lot of shōnen series and a good enough ending for the story. I'm not saying it's amazing or perfect. Though I do find myself more satisfied than frustrated. I get a lot of what the story is going for, and it makes sense. It just needed some refinement to really work. As for what everyone else has said about it, I honestly think that a lot of people are overreacting. I wouldn't go as far as to say people are "lacking media literacy" or that they are "reading in bad faith" like others have on either side of the debate. I just think this as a case where the context and delivery of it resulted in a lot of confusion. And more often than not, people will tend to go with the worst version of the implications. This is not helped by the leaks and bad translations which fans ran away with, as well the built-up hype and headcanons, which poisoned the well for a lot of people.

However, I cannot deny that there is part of the fanbase that is simply not getting the manga. I don't want to use the word "tourist", because that's a No True Scotsman fallacy, but it's starting to feel applicable here. The people who simply aren't reading the manga, whether it be through engaging with it solely through other people talking about it, or trying to look at it anything beyond the most kneejerk and surface level reactions. Because a lot of people tend to conflate what My Hero Academia is about or what its story is conveying. And unfortunately, those are the people with massive followings. Anyone with a differing opinion is drowned out in the sea of angry comments. And I think we really need to get away from that. What I'm saying is that you read the story as it is. Focus on what is happening and what it is trying to say. Don't force a meaning or headcanon on something that wasn't there and don't rely on word of mouth for what the manga is about. Just focus on what the story is trying to say.

My only hope is that this will pass, and calmer heads will win out. That once it's stepped outside the zeitgeist, people will be able to analyze it as a whole. If not, then I'm terrified to think that this will become My Hero Academia's legacy: a bunch of stupid jokes made by people who can't bother to read the official version of the story or try to understand a culture outside their own even when it plays a vital role within the story. If not, then I can hope that maybe something else will come to replace it. Because I'm not sure if this is truly the end. I've heard rumors that there's going to be something akin to Naruto: The Last or the Naruto Wedding Special coming out after the anime ends. If not that, who knows who other kinds of side material will come out to follow up on the world or characters. Which would make sense. The ending doesn't feel like an ending as much as it does "And the adventure continues." Which could be why I'm not as affected by this ending as other people.

There's certainly the cultural side and how that surrounds the manga. I'll always stand by the fact that this manga is a Japanese story by a Japanese author for a Japanese audience. And there's a lot of cultural context that goes into the series. I keep thinking about how a lot of Japanese fans seemed to like the ending and how much I wished I had the context to understand it. Another part of it is how much I'm thinking about Hori. Because for all the popularity of it, being a mangaka is one of the most stressful jobs in Japan. One where the artist has much less say over how their story goes. I'm so curious about what went on behind the scenes to make My Hero Academia turn out the way it is. Was all this Hori fumbling his own story, whether that be through incompetence or failing health, or were there outside forces pressing on him to do things a certain way? It's like how people became more forgiving of Kubo or Toriyama once they found out how hamstrung they were by their higher ups. I suppose only time will tell.

Rewrite

Now, time for the Rewrite portion. As a reminder, I do try to keep to what the manga does as close as possible. For example, I personally would just let Izuku keep some version of "One For All" if the ultimate conclusion was him still being a hero. However, it's obvious that Hori didn't want to go that route with it, so I'll be sticking to him getting with the suit.

Starting things off, we'll be in the hospital with Izuku and All Might recovering. We're told about "One For All" leaving him, and we'll get some reaction from Izuku about it. He will be sad but resolved. He may not have "One For All", but he's still alive. He's got the skill and will to help people without it. And he still wants to do that, even in his own way, because he still has value without "One For All". This could help soften the blow of Izuku losing out on "One For All". That and it's at least something to try to tie up Izuku's self worth issues. This will also be something confirmed by Inko, putting a nice little bow on all this with her being more properly encouraging of Izuku as opposed to how things were in Chapter 1.

Then we're going to reveal how many people want to talk to Izuku. Reporters are going to be hounding Izuku for his story, considering how he was key in stopping Tomura. Which he obviously can't do right now due to his condition. After some time, he will eventually recover enough to give a press conference. This will also be where we get the varying opinions on Tomura, having a panel overwhelming Izuku with questions and thoughts. Izuku is now going to use his newly found position to try and change things for the better. He's going to emphasize the importance of the role of the other heroes and not have it all focus on him. He's going to use it as a platform to talk about who Tomura was and why he did what he did.

It's going to be something emotional and vulnerable, something propping up Izuku as a person rather than the hero Deku, working to prevent another situation like All Might where everyone keeps putting them on pedestals. This way, we have both the validation of Izuku saving everyone and wanting to bring about change on the societal level. It shows him being a hero in the traditional way with the defeat of All For One, now he's being a hero in the non-traditional way. This will be cutting into some of the time we have at UA, but to me, I don't think a lot of what's in that part is ultimately necessary to what the story is trying to say.

For the sake of this, Hawks will still be working as the head of the Hero Commission. He'll talk about how he feels free now that his Quirk is gone and everything that came with it, more so than ever before. However, he still wants to make life easier for heroes so that they can feel this kind of freedom. He initially didn't want the position, but felt the need to take it on after everything that's happened and make things right, implying the guilt he feels over his actions. Plus, it has some nice irony of Hawks still being trapped within the Hero Commissions. So him taking the role is more of his own penance and a punishment.

So while Izuku is fighting on the public front, changing the hearts of the masses to enact change, Hawks will be fighting on the political and systematic front, using the devastation of the country as a fresh start. He'll encourage groups of heroes to work together rather than focusing on the individual. He'll push for a greater level of training or vetting when it comes to people who can get a license for hero work. Most importantly, a greater level of accountability and transparency in both heroes and the Hero Commission as a whole.

Lady Nagant will remain in jail, but it's more for reasons of atonement rather than wanting to wait and see how things play out. Hawks will try to offer her some deal or reduction as a way to make things right, but she feels like it's the right thing to do rather than trying to pretend it never happened. This will also be the part where we explore some of the points with Hawks we talked about earlier. Lady Nagant can even question if the Hero Commission is needed, but Hawks can talk about all the reforms he wants to do with it.

For Chapter 426, we're shortening the Todoroki family time, and it will only take up half of the chapter. I will have some confirmation on whether or not Rei was able to move on from what Enji did and do more to cement how Enji is alone now. He may be resolved to change and make things right, but he is not getting his family back. That ship has sailed. Instead, we'll be sticking to everything involving Hawks and Toshinori in the latter half of this, with him talking to Lady Nagant and him discussing his plans for changing the ranking systems in general. I think it'd flow a lot better, works with tying up another character so closely tied to the Todorokis, and gives us more time for other stuff.

However, we're keeping 427 mostly intact. I think Spinner's material is good, and everything that got brought up needed to be mentioned one way or another. The most I'd do is cut down on the ending gag, since it frustrates me so much, and some of the interviews since we may not need them as much with how I'll be changing things in those sections. I am removing the Kai part of the chapter as well. I like Kai, but this honestly feels pointless in the grand scheme of things.

The biggest change will be that I'll include a bit where, instead of Izuku saying to make it a comic book, he'll remind Spinner to think about what would happen if someone like Spinner read it. About how important a book like that could be and how it should be written, but also how it could hurt someone who reads it. Spinner will remain silent in response, thinking back on how he saw Stain and how he was puppeteered around by the likes of One For All and the PLF during the Final War.

I think you could do a nice parallel between Izuku and Spinner here. They were two young men who were ultimately racialized and hurt by their idols and their lack of self-worth. Again, it's showing Izuku thinking about himself more with what has happened to him and tying that to Spinner's own situation. Plus, it prevents something like Spinner's book from having the unfortunate implication of turning out to something like the MLA book.

We're cutting Chapters 428 and 429 in half and stitching them together. Specifically, all the stuff with the new Class 1-A and the Old Class 1-A will be removed. I just feel like we don't need to focus on this as much as other parts of the world or story. Preferably, I would want them to get together. With the Bakugou and Shoto being seen bit, we're throwing in Izuku as well. There needs to be some confirmation that people did in fact see him as a hero as well and confirm that the three are in fact the new Big Three of UA. I'm not asking this to be the norm of it like they do in Naruto. I just feel like there should be some external validation.

The fight between Toga and Uraraka will be around and released to the public. Her death will be seen as something tragic to the world and help spark the change we see later on with people empathizing with villains like her. This could also lead to Izuku seeing it and being the impetus for Izuku and Ochako talking about their feelings. Yes, this chapter will include a confession for Ochako to Izuku. It won't be during a breakdown, but it needs to be put in somewhere and might as well be here. I'll even settle for an implication. Up to you on whether or not you think this should solidify them as a couple, but I feel like you have to include that in order to complete all of the set-up in the series and especially with Toga.

The new Chapter 429 will instead be a two-year time jump into the future before everyone is graduating. We can still start it off with some of the "where are they now" bits, but not have it take up too much time. With the final embers of "One For All" starting to fade out, Izuku knows this is the end of him as a proper hero, but it doesn't matter to him. He got to be the greatest hero in history who literally saved the world. He doesn't define himself by having a Quirk or not and knows that he can still help people without a costume on. Izuku plans on either going into counseling, charity work, or even trying to get a job at the Hero Commission. Up to you on this one. He still wants to help and stop the various hurting people of the world from ever becoming like anyone from the League ever again. Make it clear this is something Izuku wants.

This is when Toshinori gives him his graduation gift: the suit. Between Toshinori's remaining resources, gifts and gratitude from the various people across the world, and contributions from members of 1-A, they were able to build him the suit. Toshinori kept it from Izuku because it wasn't ready until a few days ago, needing to be properly prepared and built as opposed to the rush job that was the dangerous prototype he used. Izuku, of course, has notes and ideas for improvements on the suit. Toshinori reaffirms that Izuku earned this, and he will still be a worthy hero and successor, Quirkless or otherwise. The chapter ends with Class 1-A and 1-B graduating. I know that two years seems short, but I think that the timespan is enough of a time gap to get the suit together, at least with how I am setting it up, and to have the embers of "One For All" fade. 

The alternative route is that, knowing that the embers are running out, Izuku still wants to be a hero. So he's spent the last two years trying to prepare himself for that, putting as much time into training and learning how to use equipment made for him. He doesn't care if he isn't going to be the top hero. He's going to do what he's already been doing: helping people, because that's all he really wanted out of life. That this whole experience changed how he saw himself and hero work. You could even say that it's the prototype for him, eventually becoming the suit. Maybe even combine them both, with the former being a backup plan after hero work. And while I have never been the biggest fan of the whole "Quirkless Hero" concept with how little it's supported in the world, I think we can let it slide because it's the finale. But I wanted to mention it because I thought it'd be an interesting path for the story to take.

Then the real chapter 430 will cut to the future, roughly five to six years. I could take or leave Izuku being a teacher, but for the sake of this, let's say that he is one. Heroes have more time off, so he decides to help educate people. We'll get a similar series of panels that will focus more on the world with how it is now, mainly in relation to Class 1-A. This will show a lot more of how the 1-A kids have grown and the affects they have on the world, like Uraraka actually interacting and helping a kid like Toga come to terms with their power to show how Quirk Counseling has become a tool to help people. I think we really need more scenes like that to really show that things have grown and changed with the world. Izuku's suit will have changed as well, commenting on how much he's been involved with the modeling and planning throughout his most current iteration.

Toshinori will be living his life and still teaching at UA. He talks about how all the kids want to be like Izuku, especially with Kota, and that they never stop talking about him. He jokes to himself about how he feels like he's been forgotten. Cut back to Izuku's old school with the kid in the back. Events will happen similarly to what they did in Chapter 430, with Izuku meeting a kid similar to himself at All Might's statue. There will be the usual stuff he said, trying to encourage the kid, making comparisons to himself, maybe even showing the photos All Might took of him when he was training. He gets a call about an incident and needs to leave. He tells the kid to never forget about the hero he can be and to never stop striving to be that hero. The final words of the series are the ever-iconic "Plus Ultra".  This is beyond cheesy, but if we're going to end the series, we might as well end it with some cheese.

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.08 ~ ♆

“ You’re staring again, “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, PTSD, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, President Snow, time skip, unshared feelings, nightmares, unintentional self-injury, alcohol, sexual harassment, character death, gore/blood, etc

{{ word count }} 6.3 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} Desirability has consequences. Desirability is a cage, and you it’s prisoner. A product and a drug to the Capital elites as something to control and have obediently submit. But the drug of almonds and honey is something sweeter and you’ve grown rather accustomed to the taste.

{{ a/n }} This is another cliffhanger i’m sorryyyyy but thank you for all your patience i already have 0.09 in the works i’m hoping to get it up asap after this i love you all sm forehead kisses muah!!

If hell were a place on earth it’d be this room.

Quietly tucked in a penthouse apartment within Capital high-rise walls. With ornate furnishings and slippery silk sheets a stark shade of white that made your skin prefer the idea of being set ablaze and slopping off your very bones just to escape their ensnarement.

The scent of roses suffocates like poison.

If hell were a presence she’d slink between shadowed corners of the space, seeping through the walls, and the floor. Whispering through bars on the windows in the form of tightly drawn curtains blocking out what would have been a skyline view if it wasn’t to hide the happenings behind closed doors. The penthouse was kept cold. There was no love here, no gentleness, no kindness.

Kindness was scarce these days.

Had hell been a person she’d be the shadowed visitors with finely trimmed suits and dresses that glittered with each twist and turn. Gloved hands, colored hair, sticky fingers, and sultry lips covered in luster that held cruel, fanged smiles. Hands as rough as sandpaper that moved as aggressively as attempting to strike a dulled match with pointed nails that too often left angry crescents and small bruises imprinted on your waist and wrists. A predator.

And you were their prey.

Prey made to be caught and devoured.

Made.

You hadn’t always been this way. You knew that. You still foolishly clung to shattered youth and hopes of something “normal” but the pieces of that hope had become too small to pick up and too complicated to piece back together. Things were different now and there was no going back. The first year was the most difficult. Combined with the steep learning curve of mirror-practiced smiles and inviting the unconsented touch while maintaining the subtle demeanor you’d performed so well through The 67th Games when you’d rather commit treason and spill the blood of the penthouse visitors teetered over the edge of excruciating. What would be the cost of more blood on your already crimson-stained palms anyway?

Everything. Everything would be the price.

So carefully crafted were the claws you hid behind perfect manicures. The spiteful temper that blistered through your ribcage was now kept on an even tighter leash than before. You had to keep your loved ones safe. You had to keep that stupid Peacock safe. Your small family back in District 4 was kept unaware of what your frequent visits to the Capital entailed. However, the occasional resigned glances from your Father across the dinner table suspected otherwise. You met his gaze less and less as time wore on.

By the second year, you’d developed a routine. A controlled performance of engrained obedience and an equally forced smile laced with feigned pleasure to top off the act. On the outside, no one seemed the wiser, assuming you’d grown accustomed to being Desirable by the Capital District of Panem. Obedient - submissive, even.  But on the inside, a simmering flame groomed a hatred so vile part of you sometimes pondered how many worlds would shake when you erupted. A hatred for the President that forced you here and a hatred for the repeated lies you told and fell victim to in the name of survival thus far. There’d been plenty of liars in your wake of winning The Hunger Games. Wolves in bloody, rotted sheep’s skin stared down the last remaining lamb of the herd in the name of sacrifice and control.

You were nothing and everything and nothing again as the repetitive act carried on.

Desirability was a curse.

By the third year, You’re forced to mentor your first tribute. The boy had been young, just barely turning twelve a few weeks before The Reaping. The unluckiness of his name being drawn had reigned in pity from the Capital citizens and weary parents across the nation. It seemed to always be that way when someone young was Reaped. His name had been Trout Nettlewood. A gangly kid on the smaller end of others his age, but he was surprisingly nimble and could run like a fox, flaming red hair and all. Your assignment had been to shadow Finnick, learn the ropes, and inspire sponsors through your mere presence. Looking back, the rumors between the two of you had never been greater than during that time. The perfect picture of some twisted, hyper-romanticized, “what if - family” for the Capital’s voyeuristic viewing pleasure. At only only nineteen years old the sickening demand for the Peacock and yourself had never been higher.

Trout had been easily lovable by the masses. A small, scared fox who didn’t stand a chance. He was curious about everything and determined to learn despite his circumstances. The boy devoured the few books of healing herbs and edible foraging you’d scrounged up with surprising ease. He was smart and bubbly, dozens of freckles plastered across his cheeks, nose, and forehead that scrunched when he smiled. Your heart squeezed painfully when he did. The Capital fell hard and fast for the boy, adoring cheers ringing through the crowd during his brief interview with Caesar Flickerman. Warm smiles and a curious intrigue oozed from the auditorium that had you fear vomiting right then and there in the stage wings. Despite the adoration your Tribute earned, and much to your dismay, you knew the minute that bell rang in the Arena they’d look elsewhere. Even with the calculated facades and fleeting rumors, sharks were going into that deadly sea, and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill the weakest links the first chance they got.

You spared a sidelong look towards the bronze-haired man beside you and caught the creasing in his brows and pulse of muscle in his jaw with quiet observation. Both of you had matured over time. Finnick had developed like fine wine, of course. Whether it had been genetics or luck, the honey-tanned Darling was taller and broader, with refined features and a lean, muscular build that sent young women across the Capital swooning. If it had been possible for his charismatic nature and flirtatious attitude to get any worse he’d somehow found a way as well. The urge to punch the Peacock after every sneaking, sarcastic comment made on your maturity was growing as equally difficult to reign in as your hidden temper.

Victoriously, you managed a few jabs to Finnick’s inflated ego when no one else was looking now and then. Yes, you’d matured and better filled a few places than before, but you hadn’t seen yourself changing much at all these past few years. There was always something bigger to focus on and besides, vanity had never taken much priority when you’d grown up working day and night to feed the twins and aid your parents, especially following your mother's passing.

The banter between the two of you had made a routine of its own you supposed. Snapping retorts back and forth on the long train rides between District and Capital, or in elevators between revelries had become something you’d mildly looked forward to. Sometimes whispered secrets were traded in hushed voices when you'd manage brief relief from the vile clients that had purchased your company for the night. The secrets had started simple enough. Favorite colors and what pastries served at the Capital banquets you were forced to attend tasted best, just to name a few of them. You learned the Darling favored the small citrus tarts that seemed to only be served on special occasions when the fruit was in season, everything else was too sweet for his liking. Generally, he enjoyed anything citrus it seemed.

“You don’t have a sweet tooth? I’m surprised, Peacock.” You’d remarked at the time.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” He’d lilted in response, mischief gleaming in his sea-green stare. “You’re quite the mystery yourself, by the way.”

“I prefer the mystery. Why lay everything out like a book when you can keep someone guessing?” You’d replied with a wry smile of your own.

Another secret you’d learned was his knack for tying knots. He’d ramble off on tangents of different tying styles and their uses between hushed chuckles. The knowledge he shared was extensive, and you offered your versions from your time helping on the shipyards back in 4 before your games. He’d offered to show you a few times, but with your overlapping schedules, the time never came to pass.

That warmth in your chest sometimes flared when you caught yourself absently staring at his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners, or the pronouncement of the dimples that pressed into his cheeks when he smiled. You never allowed the warmth to spread, however, firmly smothering any chance the minute you caught yourself dwelling too much.

Your trade-in secrets was a small rebellion to the parts the two of you had to play. A performance of its own behind closed doors or in shadowed alcoves with prickly thorns and PeaceKeepers lurking nearby just out of earshot. Friendly or not, you were able to sense the mutual understanding of your situations. The predicament surrounding the rumors of the two of you being an alleged item made it easier to avoid one another at gatherings, the aid of clients dragging the two of you to different parts of the various pleasure halls and amphitheaters to keep you apart was mildly amusing at times. In its twisted way of course. But the slight draw, as if a thread tethered the two fo you to one another seemed to draw you both back in each time.

“You’re staring again.”

“Am not.”

Your eyes shift, gluing themselves to the suddenly very interesting floor.

“You bite your lip when you’re nervous or lying,”

You hadn’t even realized you’d sucked the flushed muscle between your teeth.

“Stop being creepy, Peacock.”

Finnick snorts, a roll in his shoulders following the motion of shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Sea-green eyes remained fixed on the red-headed boy across the stage. The spotlights were sweltering. Maybe if you prayed hard enough, the heavy, velvet curtains of the wings would push in and swallow you whole. You wished they would. The hazy image of layered gauze and Caesar’s cackling laugh from your interview just three years ago flickers in your mind. You shake your head to push the memory away.

“He won’t make it past the bloodbath,”

Your tone is cold, detached maybe. A lump had formed itself in your throat and you swallowed thickly, the effort futile. The reality of tomorrow had started to set in after two intensive weeks of training.

“You don’t know that. He’s fast.” Finnick quips.

His tone is also cold, though a hint of determination weaves itself in his drawl as you spare another glance his way. The Darling doesn’t look back. His gaze is still firmly fixed ahead. The crowd bubbles with ‘awes’ and laughter at a joke Caesar makes. Trout smiles. Your heart twists.

“We’ll see,” You respond.

A warm weight presses briefly into your shoulder as the tall Victor beside you turns away from the dazzling lights. Finnick was always warm. “Stop being so pessimistic,” Finnick huffs. But there’s no light in his ocean's gaze as your eyes lock. You feel the phantom warmth of where his arm brushed yours to the other side of the stage. Trout greets you with a hug and Finnick tells him well done, ruffling his fiery hair. Mechanical clicks and flashes follow as you guide your Tribute away from the commotion. This was his final night alive for all any of you knew.

Finnick decides to try and rally a few more sponsor candidates before sauntering off to the pleasure halls of the Tribute Center, leaving you with Trout for the remainder of the evening. Part of you wishes you could write off Finnick’s disappearance as neglect of his Tribute, but you know by the Darling's gait that the weight of tomorrow morning hangs heavy. One last ditch effort to try and bring Trout any chance of surviving.

“Let’s go get you something to eat.” You murmur to your Tribute, trying your best to smile warmly but you know the corners of your mouth are a bit crooked and your throat feels like it’s going to suffocate and collapse. Trout smiles with an agreeing nod, and your heart painfully squeezes, but you take his small hand and lead him away anyway. You don’t look back at the bronze-haired male behind you.

Trout scarfs down his food, despite the multiple courses. You barely touch your own as you stare blankly into the creamy, rose-petaled soup. Bile stings your throat at the floral, desserty scent. You push the feeling down the same as you push your bowl away, opting to offer it to the child beside you. Trout happily takes it with a grin. You dab a napkin to the corner of his mouth with a featherlight touch.

The evening is quiet, and a fire roars in the hearth of a grand marble fireplace in the common area of the Tributes of District 4’s quarters. The female Tribute of District 4 was under Mags’ Mentorship and had been scarcely seen these past two weeks. Her name was Annie Cresta, you’d seen her here and there over the years but didn’t personally know who she was. She’d kept to her rooms and barely spoke. You couldn’t blame her.

Trout had asked to sit with you on the sofa, Instinctively curling himself into your side. The small boy craved closeness, opting to stand close enough to either you or Finnick that body heat was shared or he could easily reach for a hand any chance he got. Initially, the two of you had tried to halt the child’s need for a caring touch considering what lay ahead, logically thinking it might hinder his independence in the area, but in the end, neither of you could stand to let him go into the maw of death without knowing the brief warmth of affection. Even though you were only seven years older than Trout, your viewpoints on the world were distinctly different based on experience alone. As mentors, it was your duty to train your Tribute and prepare them for the arena. The responsibility weighed heavy. 

But it was true you'd grown to love Trout in a way, just like you loved your siblings back in 4.

Maybe that made the goodbyes even worse.

Trout fell asleep nestled safely under your arm as your eyelids grew heavy while trying to recite the book of edible herbs you’d been working to memorize with him one last time. Your legs were outstretched across the leather cushions of the large sunken sectional, and your ankles lay crossed as the flame-haired boy slumbered soundly on your shoulder. He was still dressed in a finely trimmed, forest green suit though he lacked any dress shoes, just black crew socks. Trout hated shoes. The minute he got back from training they were always kicked off by the door. Thatcher had stumbled over them a few times and would grumble his distaste for the lack of manners but no one corrected the action, allowing the small freedom for the Tribute.

Your evening ensemble was a bit rumpled over your thighs and waist, but you didn’t mind. You barely registered the soft click of one of the heavy, entryway double doors as the wee hours of morning crept in.

Nor did you pay any heed to the whisper of a familiar almonds and honey cologne paired with a warm weight over your shoulders as the final pull to drag you into sleep.

No nightmares plagued your mind that night as the sweet warmth kept you safe.

The following morning was as unbearable as you’d expected.

You had awoken before Trout, grogginess trying its best to pull you back under the blanket of unconsciousness, but as your senses sharpened you remembered what today was. Dread settled heavily in your chest as you carefully adjusted your torso to prop yourself up better against the arm of the luxurious sectional in your best efforts not to wake the sleeping Tribute just yet. An ache splintered from the muscles connecting your right collarbone to your throat, howling in protest at the stretch of stiff muscle. You couldn’t help gritting your teeth at the adjustment, Trout's head weighing heavy on your shoulder as you shifted.

Blinking several times, your gaze finally shifted from the boy at your side to the slight weight over your body. A crease forms between your brows as your free hand shields a small yawn. Your nose scrunches with the action as you continue to wake up.

The faint scent of almonds and honey meets your groggy senses again, the worry in your brows deepening as you wipe away the sleep from your eyes. The weight and scent belonged to a familiar navy blue suit jacket, the material was sleek and satiny with a faint shine. It was Finnick’s jacket from last night’s interviews. A flicker of something warm strikes a thread deep in your chest, but you shove it so far down the feeling stops.

“Tch…” You click your tongue as you use your free arm to gently lift the garment, draping it over the back of the sofa as you turn your attention to the red-headed boy on your side. Tenderly, you give his shoulder a small shake and the boy stirs, eliciting a protesting groan from the child.

“Come on, gotta get up.” You murmur and Trout groggily sits up. A small, humored smile crosses your lips as you ruffle his already disheveled fiery locks. You try to ignore the deathly squeeze of dread in your heart as he breaks into a fit of laughter.

The morning picks up speed as Mags, Finnick, Annie, and Thatcher join you in the open-concept living area. Finnick takes trout off your hands as you quickly freshen up and find a change of clothes.

You don’t notice Finnick’s lingering gaze on your retreating form.

The air is heavy on the short trip to the flight hanger where the Tributes will be transported to the arena. Memories of your farewell and the bone-crushing hug from Mags flash in your mind. Casting a sidelong glance towards Finnick, you observe the clench in the victor’s jaw, which tells you he felt much the same about the hanger. Trout grips your hand like a vice as Peacekeepers lead the way. He’s trembling. Your heart squeezes painfully as it starts to splinter.

The peacekeepers around stand straight-backed with fingers warningly placed on the triggers of their rifles. There was no getting out, no last-ditch escape attempts.

Time was running out.

With a shaky sigh, you turn to face the small boy, who meets you with bleary eyes. “I-I’m scared,” He meekly stumbles over your name and you can feel the piercing pain of your heart breaking further. “I know, but you have to be brave right now, okay?” You try to soothe as you bend to be closer to his eye level. Finnick comes to stand at your side, taking Trout's cheeks in his hands gently as he too kneels. “You can do this Trout,” Finnick’s voice is firm as you nod in agreement. You bring a hand to gently stroke his red hair, the peppered freckles across his face scrunch as tears start to well up in his eyes. Finnick’s thumbs are quick to brush them away, continuing his speech. “You remember the herbs and you remember the knots I taught you. You don’t go near the Cornucopia - you run. If you find Annie that’s great, but your survival comes first, understand?” Finnick instructs as Trout nods, gripping The Darling’s wrists in his small, trembling hands.

You wished you could tell him everything would be okay. But you’d be lying through your teeth if you did.

You couldn’t give him false hope - it would dampen his senses in the Arena.

The peacekeepers start to fuss - instructing you to finish up as they shift their weight and adjust their rifles. You shoot a deathly glare their way, not quite caring for the possible repercussions. Glancing askance towards Mags, you see Annie in tears as she embraces the elder. Your heart breaks for her as well, but you’re quick to return your attention to your Tribute.

“Survive,”

Your words are earnest as squeeze the small boy’s shoulder, repeating the word that had kept you alive in the Arena just three years ago. Trout’s resolve breaks, and he throws his arms around your neck, pulling from Finnick’s hands and burying his freckled nose into the crook of your neck with hiccuping sobs. The constricting lump in your throat only tightens as you wrap your Tribute in your arms with a tight hug, pouring every hope and prayer to whatever gods might be listening to keep him safe into the embrace. Your gaze locks with Finnick’s for a moment and his sea-green irises fill with heartache as well. After a moment the boy shifts to hug the Darling with equal vigor.

The Peacekeepers have enough, and bark orders to get the tributes on the hovercraft.

Annie sniffs as she pulls away from Mags, her shoulders tremble as she boards the craft with two Peacekeepers on either side, semi-forcing her along.

Trout is reluctant to pull away from you both, but as a Peacekeeper steps forward and you send another defiant glare their way, earning a growl from the Keeper, the boy peels himself from Finnick’s embrace only to pull you back in and hug both of you one last time. You gently press a brief kiss to his fiery hair, unknowingly tugging hard on that thread inside Finnick’s chest as he takes notice of your action before the two of you are forced to pull away.

“I’ll miss you,” Trout whispers to you both before turning.

Your heart shatters then and there.

“We’ll miss you too,” You all but whisper.

A final, silent tear rolls down Trout’s cheek as two Peacekeepers turn to guide him to the hovercraft. The Tribute’s stylists follow close behind and you remain rooted to your crouched position with your arms wrapped around yourself till the industrial sound of the hovercraft’s door seals shut and reverberates through the hanger.

You feel sick.

As you straighten up, your gaze catches Finnick’s again, but his eyes quickly avert from yours, a muscle fluttering in his jaw. A crease forms between your brows as you divert your gaze to the departing hovercraft, your arms securely wrapping around your middle as if to self-soothe.

The trip back to the Tributes Center is silent - the tension thick enough to be cut by a blade. No words are exchanged as you arrive, heading straight to the pleasure halls to witness the beginning of The 70th Annual Hunger Games.

A vile cocktail of queasiness and dread coats your tongue as you force yourself to keep moving. The hall is bustling with Capital elites as you enter, following Finnick with Mags close behind. Your dread pools in your chest like a weight as you glance towards the large projections of the countdown to the beginning of The Games. Clenching your jaw you do your best to dawn a feigned smile. Finnick has already settled into his Cheshire smirks and relaxed demeanor, plucking an invisible lint from his shoulder as he weaves through the crowd, greeting sponsor candidates and past clients as he plucks two champagne glasses from a wandering avox before returning to your side. A part of you wishes you could slip between acts as easily as the Darling, his languid movements leaving bystanders none the wiser that the two of you had just sent a child to his inevitable death.

A child.

Your broken heart painfully twists at the reminder.

Cesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith have taken their positions as hosts of The Games as they banter across the multiple projections. Their voices meld into the cacophony that bounces off the high-rise ceilings.

“Drink?”

The Bronze-haired male’s voice cuts through your thoughts as he offers you the crystal glass. Your gaze snaps to his before flickering down to the champagne.

“Am I allowed?” You murmur, to which he responds with a wry smile and a nod before you tentatively retrieve the glass and all but down its contents. Finnick raises his eyebrows at your action but says nothing, a small shrug rolling over his shoulders and a coy smirk passing his tanned features before he echoes your movement, his head tilting back as he empties his glass as well.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you observe the slight scrunch in his nose and the clench in the male’s jaw. The bitter aftertaste of the fizzed beverage leaves a tang on his tongue and a bubbling sensation in his throat.

“I always think it’ll taste better if I just drink it more,” Finnick scoffs.

“Sharing secrets already, Odair?” You murmur, your tone dull while passing your empty glass onto a passing tray as he does the same.

“You knew that one already,” Finnick quips, and you give a small shrug. The alcohol brings warmth to your chest as it disperses through your system. You’d allowed yourself one glass here and there after you’d gathered better control of the horrors that plagued your memories. Normally you tried to keep away from the drinks - mostly to keep the bad habit from developing again like it almost had after the 67th Games. But it helped to ease the edge before certain clients and at times like this.

“Maybe I did,” you reply, knowing full well he was correct. The dread still coils itself in your core but the normalcy of Finnick’s remarks is a slight comfort. A muscle pulses in your jaw as you protectively cross your arms over your chest once more. One of the small graces that came with mentoring; if it could even be referred to as one, was that neither you nor Finnick were allowed to take clients during the duration of The Games. As much as the Capital elites relished in gambling and playing dirty to gain loophole advantages, the rules for mentors were strict on prohibiting gaining Tribute favor by sleeping with sponsors. Despite the rules, that didn’t stop wandering hands and roving eyes over the honey-tanned Victor and yourself.

Rumors have still spread like wildfire alongside the grotesque demand for The Capital’s Darling and Doe - especially with the two of you appearing side by side regularly as mentors these past weeks, which inevitably sparked jealousy between clients as women and men alike shot possessive glares as they groped their chosen Victor. Bile threatened to rise in your throat as you bristled under a drunken man’s touch. Thankfully, his hot, liqueur-coated breath and wavering attention were pulled away as images of The Cornucopia swirled into view on the projections overhead. You don’t notice Finnick’s sidestep till his shoulder brushes yours, his radiating warmth lingering once again on your skin. Both of your eyes are glued to the screens, equal creases and hardened expressions replacing the parts the two of you too often performed.

Your eyes scan the small expanse of the arena you’re able to see, assessing your first look at the terrain while simultaneously scanning the other projections for Trout’s face. On another projection on an opposite wall, a grid of all the Tribute’s faces appears, prepared to blackout faces once the blood bath begins.

The Arena was set up similarly to a Pacific-northwestern mountain range. Tall redwoods and many caverns and cliffs are divided by a large dam. Your breath hitches as vague memories of the netted ravine of the 67th arena pass through your mind. Furiously, you blink the images away as the minute counter begins in a glowing hologram above the assembled stacks of weaponry.

“Do you see him?” you murmur, leaning slightly toward the male beside you with a hushed tone.

“Not yet,“ Finnick replies.

The bass of the automated countdown vibrates through your chest, each tick like an added weight to the dread that threatened to pull you under.

Warmth brushes your shoulder again as Finnick shifts, neither of you bothering to acknowledge your closeness to one another and neither of you moving away.

“You think they’ll make it?” You murmur again.

“I don’t know,” Finnick’s voice is clipped.

His unsure answer weighs heavy. There wasn’t any telling who would live or who would die.

Ten.

You swallow hard - resisting the urge to empty the contents of your stomach is proving to be a challenge.

Nine.

You still can’t see Trout.

Eight.

Where was he?

Seven.

“Where’s Trout?” You question, worry etching your tone.

Six.

“I don’t know.”

Five.

“Can you see him?”

Four.

“No,”

Three.

You drop one of your hands to your side, the action slightly brushing your knuckles with Finnick’s.

Two.

His callused fingertips interlace with yours almost on instinct.

One.

You don’t push him away. You don’t know why - but you don’t.

“Let the 70th Annual Hunger Games, begin.”

The silence in the hall is palpable as the bell tolls and tributes launch from their pedestals. A pain in your chest screams to look away but you can’t. You won’t. You have to find Trout. The first canon booms and your gaze momentarily tears away to the grid of Tributes. The boy from District 12 goes down. Another canon and another Tribute go down, but still not Trout. Several more canons fire off as the carnage begins, and several Tributes die in minutes.

Still no sign of trout -

“There,”

Your head whips as Finnick jerks his chin to one of the screens, a subtle point in the right direction. Trout is seen making a beeline from The Cornucopia for the trees, his speed and nimble movements allow him to flee unnoticed. You lose a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. However, you don’t relax - tensions still hold high as canons fire and the first few, crucial, hours of the Arena wear on.

There’s no going back now.

Neither you nor Finnick slept a wink the following days. He’d wanted to rotate in shifts with the sponsors but you’d protested - arguing there was a higher chance of gaining favor if both of you were there talking to the sponsor candidates. Your gamble worked. Trout received a handful of sponsor gifts thanks to Finnick’s charm and the weaponization of your own skill set. A canteen of water, some rope, and a small hunting knife had gotten him through till now. He’d managed to stay high in the redwood trees, passing from branch to branch and remaining vigilant for edible roots and foliage during his brief periods on the ground.

Four days in Annie had managed to find him, the two cautiously allying. Annie didn’t have any weapons - leaving you to wonder how she’d gotten through till now. Trout helped her scavenge, the pair silently traversing the woods and managing to stay out of range from other Tributes.

Nearly half of them were dead by now.

Many of the tributes had died from tripping off the cliffs in an attempt to reach the caves. Except the caves held mutts in the form of grotesque bears with too big claws and white, bubbling froth filling their sharp-toothed maws. The remaining Tributes learned quickly to stay away.

You stood anxiously rooted to your spot near one of the tall marble columns on the outskirts of the pleasure hall. Finnick was maneuvering through the crowd with his usual greetings and compliments to the sponsors. Mags was around but she’d been swallowed by the crowd. The Darling was much more of a people person than you were - you never quite could pin down his thought process or calculate his next move. The 65th Victor’s shift between his playboy act and usual demeanor was nearly seamless, the change so fluid you sometimes couldn’t catch it.

You’re nursing a glass of champagne, your eyes glued to the projections of The Games. Exhaustion was tugging at your eyes, the internal war between consciousness and sleep raging on as you subtly shifted your weight from foot to foot. Your attire for the evening whispered across the glossed tile with your movements. Hyacinth had kept your outfits rather simple, the garments sleek and elegant. However they still subtly matched Finnick’s - the trend having continued since your victory tour. You’d tried not to dwell on the matter, figuring it was simply due to the fact you hailed from the same District or the fact you had mentored the same Tribute. Neither you nor The Darling had directly addressed it with one another.

“Sponsors seem lively as ever,” Finnick sighs as he appears by your side, leaning his weight against the marble column to your left. “Is that different than usual?” you ask, sparing the male a sidelong glance before taking a sip of your drink.

“No, but tensions seem to be rising. Someone higher up was paid off to sponsor an enormous gift to the boy from District 2. Unsurprising, but we should keep an eye out.” Finnick explains, his tone plain as if he were just discussing the weather. “Do you know what it was?” you ask, fully turning your attention to the bronze-haired victor.

“No - but it can be assumed to be a weapon.”

“If it’s anything like that trident of yours, I’m sure they’ll talk soon enough,” You murmur into your glass. You knew bringing up the deadly trident that had been gifted to Finnick during the 65th Games was a cheap shot. Finnick’s jaw pulses at the mention, and he plucks an invisible lint from his jacket while turning his gaze up to the projections.

“I hope not.” That is all he responds with before the two of you settle into a tense silence for a moment or two.

“I didn’t mean -“ you start but he cuts you off.

“I know.”

You sigh through your nose, downing the rest of your glass with a small scrunch of your nose. You don’t pry further on the matter because that’s not how the two of you worked. There was banter and the trade of small secrets but never quite full apologies or sincerity. It was better to stay detached, you guessed. The weight of your responsibilities and the pressure of the capital was enough as is. 

Personal attachments only meant more trouble. 

“How far away is District 2 from Trout and Annie?” You ask, shifting the conversation just as the projections shift to a different Tribute.

“They’re on opposite sides right now, but District 2 is on the move near the cliffs.“

By now you’ve turned your gaze away from Finnick, but as you look away you catch the turn of his head from the corner of your eye. It was another dance the two of you had weaved, one person keeping an eye on The Games, and the other acknowledging the conversation.

“Have you seen Thatcher yet?”

“They’re out in the gardens. I caught a glimpse of them while making my rounds. speaking of which, did you make yours?” Finnick rebuttals your question with ease and your jaw tenses. “I did. I had to pry Mr. Sarginski’s grubby paws off me but I did.” You reply, slightly scoffing as you recall the drunken sponsor’s misconduct.

“I’ll handle him next time.” Finnick sternly replies, that same muscle pulsing in his jaw as his eyes flicker to the drunk across the hall.

“Tch, I don’t need saving, Peacock.” you quip, your gaze flickering to meet oceans of sea-green before returning to the Arena.

Finnick simply scoffs with a roll of his eyes that matches the shift in his shoulders.

“Still using nicknames?”

“Still trading secrets?” You rebuttal.

“Touché.”

A wry smile crosses the male’s face, flashing his too-white teeth and pointed canines as he lightly shakes his head. A somewhat comfortable silence replaces the lingering tension between the two of you as you return your full attention to The Games.

Hours pass, and night falls over the Arena.

The sponsors were starting to dwindle, a normal occurrence according to Finnick.

“They’ll pick back up once there are fewer Tributes.” He explained, earning a hum of understanding from you.

The Arena stills in eerie quiet for another hour or two before all hell breaks loose.

You almost miss it as Annie and Trout are ambushed.

Your breath catches as you startle, straightening as Finnick does much the same beside you. Panic surges in your chest as the Careers of District 1 attack. 

They didn’t stand a chance.

The boy Tribute of District 1 swings his machete with a roar, narrowly missing Annie as she shrieks in pure terror, scrambling backwards. Trout staggers back but brandishes his knife, the small blade like akin to a butter knife beside the older Tribute’s blade. A part of you instinctively wants to call out - scream maybe, but you don’t. You can’t.

There’s nothing you can do.

The girl from District 1 throws a dagger, striking Annie’s arm and she cries out again. Trout swings at their assailants, screaming for Annie to run but she doesn’t as she clutches her wounded arm. You’re screaming inside your head for them both to run.

But they don’t.

Trout lands a slash to the girl from District 1’s chest, but it’s not enough.

Her District Partner swings his machete again and it’s all over.

Annie’s screams reach a blood curdling volume as blood sprays, hot and sticky as it splatters across her face, her jacket, the grass. Everywhere.

Your stomach churns as bile stings your throat.

Annie’s screams blare through the hall, the shrill sound echoing off the high-rise ceilings just as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own sob at the unfolding horror. Your knees buckle - and you hit the tile below hard. Finnick is frozen in shock, rooted to his place as his gaze loses any light. His jaw pulses and he swallows hard as he can’t look away from the projections.

Gasps ricochet through the hall as Capital elitists witness the gore.

The canon booms.

Trout’s face goes black on the Tribute list.

His head rolls.

Annie runs.

The Hunger Games continue on.

You failed.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09@reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna@whens-naptime @violettbae@the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore@nexxus13@takanparadiae@yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69 @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jaileraka @inatimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewhiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut @el25 @sienaxgerali

[darkpeacemusic]

Slashers Reaction to their S/O laying on their lap (Aka my first Slashers imagine so most likely will suck)

Warning: Fluff

Characters: Daniel Robitaille, Bubba Sawyer, Jason Voorhees

Candyman/Daniel Robitaille

You were feeling very stressed lately. Working in the office was tiring for you. You just wanted to lay down for a bit.

You sit on the couch of your living room with your head raised up before hearing a smooth "Good evening, my honeybee."

You turn around to see Daniel standing by the doorway.

He sit right next to you and asked "Long day at work today?" To which, you respond with a nod.

You felt tired and laid your head on his lap, looking up at him.

He smiled as he looked down on you. He petted your hair with his non-hook hand like a delicate flower.

I hope you like sweet nothingness whispers in your ear because he most definitely will do that.

If you fall asleep, he will get a throw blanket and cover you with it. Though he will be very careful because of his hook hand.

Will cuddle you through the night until morning.

Bubba Swayer

Another escaped victim and you couldn't be more ticked off. This was the fourth one this month.

You lay on your bed, screaming into your pillow. Outside the door, you see Bubba looking concerned and confused. He walks over to you, worried you were hurt.

Bubba stands over your bed and taps you. You look up to see him with a look of upset. He never liked you see you feeling in any negative way.

You sat up from your bed as Bubba sat down looked at you for injuries.

To his surprise, you put your head on his lap.

Poor baby is so confused. He doesn't know what to do.

"I'm just having a stressful time, Bubba. These victims are ticking me off."

Bubba eventually realized why you were upset. He looked down on you with a comforting look that said "It's not your fault. It's going to be ok."

Chop Top would most definitely tease you two endlessly when he sees you two cuddling like that. "Bubba and his girlfriend are cuddling!" he would say until getting shut up by Nubbins.

If you fall asleep, Bubba would be very careful not to wake you up even if he has to leave to do his murdering business. If he has to leave, he will give you a soft pillow to cuddle while he is away.

Jason Voorhees

You were having one of your bad days. You didn't know why you were feeling upset but you felt like you could really use a cuddle. You sit on the bed looking down on the floor.

Jason was out killing any unwanted visitors and you couldn't wait for him to get back.

After what seemed to be like hours, you hear those boots stomp through the house. He was looking for you. Normally you would greet him by the door.

Soon, Jason reached the bedroom and saw you. He tilted his head as he saw you looking down on the floor, not even saying hi to him.

Similar to Bubba, he would try to make sure you weren't hurt, looking for injuries and everything.

As he sits down on your bed to relax after dealing with some teens, you lay your head on his lap.

He would knew slightly off the bat that you were upset but he would be confused by what you are doing.

He would look away from you for a second before looking back at you.

He strokes your cheek softly as you smiled and held his hand.

He would place small mask kisses along your face, making you blush.

Once you fallen asleep, he would place you back down on the bed and kisses your forehead, promising you that he will be back. Someone's got to protect Camp Crystal Lake from bad teens.

[nanabansama]

Who Hurt Amane

I recently got an ask about this topic! And I feel I've been pretty vocal lately about who I think did it. My opinion isn't new or unique, but because of this ask I wanted to lay out the facts to explore other possibilities and also reinforce why I think it is who I think it is.

So without further ado, let's list out the facts.

1. Amane has been getting injured since first year.

Tsuchigomori makes it pretty clear in Chapter 13 that Amane has been covered in injuries that "never go away" since first year, among other things like having no friends and skipping class.

Most can agree that Amane wasn't being abused as a toddler (post-Tsukasa's return) or at the Tanabata festival. He does not show any particularly concerning signs of a child who is being abused or bullied, and his bare skin shows no sign of injury. I think that rules out Amane being abused his entire life, or at least not as severely as he was during his second year of middle school.

We've seen Amane at two different points during his first year, though, and neither had him visibly injured. Those being his and Tsukasa's middle school entrance ceremony and during the 1968 school festival.

I feel it safe to assume that the physical abuse hadn't yet started at these points in time. (though considering Amane's dour attitude at the festival I wouldn't be super surprised if he's hiding scars...)

Also, remember that Tsuchigomori would have to notice these injuries, so I'm going to rule out the possibility that Tsuchigomori could skirt by on technicality just because Amane is hiding injuries on his legs or chest. Tsuchigomori wouldn't normally be able to see hidden cuts and bruises, so I believe he must have started noticing Amane is being injured sometime later in his first year. Remember, Amane still has about ~6 months worth of time to obtain visual injuries. That's a lot of time left.

We can at least confirm that Amane has no friends and skips class, though. Or at least see the beginnings of this. In Chapter 101, Amane confirms he has little to no involvement with the school play his class and Tsukasa are putting on and instead chooses to focus on fixing the clock. There's also a bonus comic where Amane calls out how peculiar it is that Tsukasa has so many friends while Amane doesn't.

It should only be a matter of time before we start seeing him covered in cuts, too.

2. Tsukasa isn't injured.

This one's a little harder to prove, but bear with me here.

We've had a few opportunities to see the twins during the murder suicide.

Here's Amane after stabbing Tsukasa:

And here's Tsukasa's body below Amane's in the same chapter that the above image was posted on Twitter to promote:

Take note of how pristine Tsukasa's arm looks: We get such a clear view of it, and yet all we see is a bit of blood splatter. I've seen this image dismissed before because Amane's arm is also missing his bandage (note how his right arm is bandaged in the art before this) but I still think this is substantial evidence to support the idea that Tsukasa wasn't injured like Amane was.

And if that's not enough for you, I have something else for you to consider:

This is Hanako in The Hell of Mirrors, a place whose mirrors reflect your greatest fears.

I've seen many people remain unconvinced that the character in the mirror is Tsukasa, thinking it must be Amane himself. And I can understand where they're coming from--why shouldn't he fear Amane? He's his old living self, the volatile one that committed the crime of murdering his little brother. That, and it's a mirror--why wouldn't it reflect the person inside?

So let's compare the face in the mirror with Amane's face.

Notice how the face has zero bandages. Amane has one on his left cheek, one above his right eyebrow, and one on the right side of his neck. The figure in the mirror has no bandages, not even on his arms.

This on top of the fact that I believe his little brother's dead body makes far more sense for Amane to fear than his own. If Amane himself is supposed to be his greatest fear, it makes more sense if it was him actually committing the murder, rather than his body on the floor after committing suicide. From what I understand of Amane, that would fill him with more disgust and self-hatred than anything.

So in conclusion, I either think that 1.) Tsukasa wasn't being physically abused, 2.) that he happened to stop being injured in the days leading up to the murder, or 3.) that if he did have injuries that they were in non-visible places. My default is that he wasn't, though.

And this leads us to...

3. Amane forgives them

Amane fully understands that his injuries aren't normal. That even in the cases that injuries like his could be justified, that his might not be. Regardless, he forgives it. He's allowing this to happen to him, and he refuses to tell Tsuchigomori the details.

After witnessing this, Nene comes up with the theory that Amane could be getting bullied, but if that were the case, I don't see why he would forgive some random bullies. The fact that Amane forgives them for their crime against him is an impactful moment! The chapter ends on it, even.

I believe the fact that Amane forgives this is crucial to understanding who did it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆.⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆.ೃ

While we don't know Amane's full backstory yet, given what we know so far, I think the only two possibilities are either Tsukasa or their mom. And frankly, I think it would be weird for us to know as much about Amane as we do now and have the person injuring him be someone we haven't even met yet. Not impossible, no, but you'd think they'd be more important to his life if Amane forgives them, right?

Let me argue against the idea that it's his mother, as well. The injuries started in first year, not when he was a child. By all means, Amane seemed to be an average child up until middle school. Take note of his appearance during the 1964 Tanabata festival, when he was 8. The only really concerning things we saw were a lack of parental supervision and the fact that he was disappointed his brother wouldn't spend time at the festival with him.

In fact, we've seen very little of their mom, with the most damning evidence against her being when she rejected Tsukasa as her child after taking him to a shrine to be exorcised. Other than this, we've seen no evidence that she could be hitting her children. I personally find it weird that she would only start hitting them in middle school, if she is the cause of all this. And only Amane, at that. (I will admit I find it odd that her son getting injured didn't concern her to the point that his teacher had to step in, though.)

I also need to stress that we haven't seen Amane interact with or mention his mom since he was 4. Tsukasa's relationship with their mother is much more important to the story than Amane's. But who has Amane interacted with? Whose relationship with Amane is very important to the story?? (hint: it's Tsukasa)

Unfortunately, I don't actually know why Tsukasa is hurting him. We know so little, it's still possible it isn't him. But we also haven't seen Amane interact with Tsukasa during the time period in which we know he was being injured. This seems... intentional, to me. As if Tsukasa were somehow involved, in one way or another.

Something to consider, though, is that Amane was being injured around the time he turned thirteen. The 1968 school festival is only about two months before his 13th birthday. Thanks to Kou, we know that Tsukasa knows Amane is going to kill him and commit suicide when he turns thirteen. I'm not necessarily saying that this is why Tsukasa would have hurt him, but it's interesting, to say the least.

Anyway, this last part is a lot of conjecture, so I've separated it from what I view as actual facts about the person hurting Amane. But what do you all think?

[captainremmington-13]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊

show!Luke Castellan x daughter of thanatos!reader

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the image above or any of Rick Riordan’s characters/world-building.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: swearing, injuries, jealousy, mentions of nausea and blood

A/N: i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, i had a bit of trouble writing it but i hope it turned out ok!

“Angel, wake up. We’re here.”

You groaned, instinctively covering your face with the jacket Luke had draped over you to keep you warm. “Five more minutes…”

You heard him chuckle under his breath. He lifted the coat off of your resting figure, making you whine. You were fully aware that you had to get up and face the deadly challenge ahead.  A couple more moments of rest would’ve made you feel at least a little better.

Luke reached over and unbuckled your seatbelt. He got out of the Mercedes-Benz and walked around to open your door. “You were asleep for almost three hours, baby. I think it’s time to wake up so we can get this over with, don’t you?”

You clumsily clambered out of the car, gripping onto Luke’s shoulders so you didn’t face-plant into the ground. Looking around, you realized that you were parked in the middle of a field. The sun was setting in the distance, casting an warm orange glow on everything its light touched. 

You would’ve stopped to admire the scenery if you weren’t so worried about getting mutilated by a dragon. 

Luke grabbed both of your backpacks and closed the car door. Slinging one over each shoulder, he unsheathed the sword attached to his belt. “Ready?”

You nodded, adjusting your posture to appear more confident than you really were. You headed towards the dirt path in the grass, which undoubtedly lead to the Garden.

“How far do you think we need to walk?” 

“Not too far, the tree should only be about a half-mile from here.”

“Flying would make the journey a lot faster,” you pointed out. You still weren’t a fan of using your wings, but you didn’t mind it if they would make tasks easier or safer.

“No.” Luke immediately shut the idea down. “You need to conserve your energy.”

You gave him an over-exaggerated pout. “You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re a brat,” he said, but you knew he was just teasing. He called you that all the time, knowing he was the only one who could get away with it and remain unharmed.

Besides, it wasn’t exactly untrue. You enjoyed giving your boyfriend a bit of attitude at times, just to get him riled up. After all, he looked even more attractive that way.

You would’ve continued playfully pushing his buttons if not for the sense of dread that was creeping up on you. Each step you took towards The Garden of Hesperides strengthened the feeling. The paranoia started overwhelming your mind, making your hands shake slightly. 

What if this was the last time you and Luke went a peaceful walk together? What if one of you didn’t make it out alive?

You swallowed, pushing the nagging questions aside. You would do everything in your power to keep you both alive.

And if your father decided to take his soul away from you, you would fight like the most vicious of demons to get him back. 

________________________________________________

Words couldn’t describe the beauty of The Garden of Hesperides. 

The colors were almost too overwhelming for your eyes to process. You’d never seen such radiant flowers, or such vibrant grass. It felt like you had stepped into a painting, rather than a real place.

The most stunning feature of the Garden, of course, was the apple tree. It was ginormous, at least five times as large as a normal one. You were no botanical expert, but it looked extremely healthy, especially for being as ancient as it was. 

The Hesperides, who laid peacefully in the soft grass, were almost as gorgeous as the magical plant. They looked nearly identical, but each of them were easily more beautiful than almost all of the people you knew. They wore traditional white chitons, enhancing their dark eyes and shiny black hair. 

If a mortal had somehow stumbled across this place, they would assume it was a safe haven. That is, of course, until they spotted the hundred-headed dragon wrapped around the trunk of the tree

You and Luke were ducked behind a hill about a hundred yards away from the Hesperides and Ladon the dragon. Even from afar, their presences made you feel uneasy. Ladon was much larger than you’d expected him to be, and you had a feeling the Hesperides could be vicious if they wanted to be. 

“So, what’s our plan of action?” Luke whispered, keeping one hand on his sword’s hilt. 

You sucked in a breath. You’d been brainstorming strategies during the walk to the Garden, and had finally come up with one that seemed feasible. You didn’t like it, but it made the most sense. 

“The Hesperides are known to like men more than women. They never get to leave the Garden, you see, so when they have male company they get…more excited. They’re more likely to let their guard down if you approach them and spark a conversation. They may be wary of you at first, but if you pretend to be a traveling demigod who simply wanted to admire the tree’s beauty, they should fall for it.”

“Okay,” Luke said slowly. “Then what will you do?” 

“I’ll turn invisible and slowly approach the tree. When the time is right, I’ll fly upwards to grab an apple, which will undoubtedly alert Ladon. Then, I’ll fly over to you and we’ll make a run for it.” 

You could immediately tell that Luke didn’t like this. Before he could protest, you said, “If I approach the Hesperides, they’ll immediately be suspicious and send Ladon to attack me. The only way to try and avoid a fight is by having me pick the apple.”

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. After a second, he sighed. 

“I don’t like it, but it does seem like our best bet. Just…please, please put yourself before the quest. Don’t sacrifice your life for a stupid magical fruit. It’s not worth it.” 

You nodded. “I understand. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Luke gave you a nervous smile. “Okay. I’ll be as careful as I can, but if I need to, I’ll fight my way out.”

You tried not to wince. You hated the idea of Luke facing Ladon alone. But you knew he’d fight any monster, matter how large, to protect you and himself.

Gently, you pulled Luke in for a passionate kiss. You tried to ignore the fear that this was the last one you’d ever share. 

When you pulled away, you gave his a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you soon.” 

With that, you closed your eyes, and willed yourself to become invisible. You broke into a sprint, heading towards the backside of the enchanted tree. 

You were tempted to pray to the gods for protection, but realized it was pointless. After all, the tree belonged to the king and queen of Olympus.

And they never really listened to demigods anyway.

.

.

.

You would’ve been much more upset about Luke being surrounded by beautiful, immortal women if not for the beast slumbering a handful of feet away from you.

Luke had always been a smooth talker, even when he was still in his “awkward teen” phase. It was one of the many skills he’d inherited from Hermes. He could talk his way out of trouble, even in the tightest of situations. 

With that ability and his good looks, he could easily get whatever he wanted from most people. 

He was sitting on a carved stone bench, telling a winding story to the Hesperides, who seemed very interested. Clearly, it had been awhile since they’d had male company.

You crept closer to the trunk of the tree, being careful to stay as quiet as possible. Ladon undoubtedly had an enhanced sense of hearing, as he literally had one hundred heads. 

You gripped the hilt of your weapon, prepared to fight at any moment. If the dragon attacked Luke, you wouldn’t hesitate to step in. 

You stood still for a few moments, observing Ladon’s body language. He seemed to be deep in slumber, his many eyes closed tightly and his breathing slow and steady.

Concentrating intensely to ensure you stayed invisible, you willed your wings to appear. The familiar cold feeling of them sprouting from your shoulder blades made you shudder ever-so slightly, but the effect quickly faded. 

Jumping into the air, you hovered for a minute, trying to decide which apple would be easiest to pick. The further into the branches you went, the more noise you’d make, undoubtedly alerting the dragon that there was an intruder.

You decided on one that was dangling at the very end of a branch, a good distance away from any of Ladon’s heads. You took a deep breath, and rose higher. 

Then, like a hawk targeting a field mouse, you swooped down, snatching the golden fruit from the tree.

Unfortunately, the snap that elicited from you picking the apple was enough to wake the beast below you.

“Fuck,” you murmured under your breath. Ladon began stirring, and then his many eyes shot open. 

You had been caught. 

There was no point in staying hidden, the dragon could use its sense of smell to detect your exact location. As soon as your invisibility faded away, you screamed, “Luke!”

You saw his focus immediately switch from the Hesperides to you. His eyes widened, and he unsheathed his sword, charging towards where the dragon was getting ready to attack you. 

You landed on the ground next to him and readied your sword. Ladon’s many heads were glaring down at you both, teeth gnashing together violently. 

He lifted a gigantic claw and swung at you. You threw Luke out of the way just in time, but ended up feeling the full force of the blow. The apple flew out of your hand, landing somewhere in the meadow. You were thrown at least ten feet, hitting the ground with a painful thud. 

You howled in agony, feeling your ribs crack painfully. Somehow, you got up, staggering to your feet. You glanced around wildly, searching for Luke. Your vision swam, but you were able to make out his figure in the distance. He was slashing at the beast, swiftly avoiding its foot-long talons. Somehow, he was able to detach one of Ladon’s claws, making the monster cry out in agony.

You stumbled towards him, using your long weapon as a cane. You no longer cared about the stupid apple. You just needed to get him out of here.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you saw one of Ladon’s claws make contact with Luke’s face. 

He screamed, reaching up to cover the gash, which was starting to drip with blood. 

Ignoring the searing pain in your torso, you ran towards him, stepping between him and Ladon. The dragon snarled at you, its hot breath fanning your face and making you even more terrified. Still, you leveled your weapon, prepared to keep it away from Luke, no matter what it cost.

You rose up into the air, until you were at face-level with Ladon. Before the dragon could lunge, you used your sword to slash through the eyes of one of his larger heads. The shriek he let out was deafening, and almost made you drop your weapon.

Quickly heading back towards the ground, you grabbed Luke and tried to get him to his feet. But he was clearly in an overwhelming amount of pain, and was in no shape to move, let alone run.

As you saw Ladon heading towards you both with a murderous glint in his eyes, you knew there was only one way to make it out alive.

Wrapping your arms around Luke, you closed your eyes and thought of Camp Half-Blood. You pictured yourself appearing at the border, right next to Thalia’s tree.

A sudden gust of icy wind swirled around you both, making you gasp. You held on tighter to the injured boy, afraid that if you loosened your grip, he would be lost forever. You felt dizzy and nauseous, and you were sure that if it lasted any longer, you were going to die.

Then, the feeling stopped. 

You opened your eyes tentatively, and that saw the trunk of a large pine tree was mere feet away. 

You had successfully teleported all the way from California to Long Island Sound. 

You’d made it home.

Dragging Luke towards the border, it took all of your energy not to pass out. Luke was barely conscious, still gripping Ladon’s severed claw in his hands and carrying both of your backpacks on his shoulders. 

As soon as you had made it past the magical barrier, you screamed, “Help! Someone, please!”

Because it was already nighttime, you couldn’t make out exactly who was rushing towards you and Luke. You were barely able to hear what they were saying, but you could tell they were panicked and confused. 

Finally, your legs gave out, and you hit the ground. Luke groaned as he practically fell on top of you, clutching at the deep wound on his face. 

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was Luke whispering your name. 

taglist: @orionspaperwork, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @marvelescvpe, @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry, @louweasleymalfoy, @stars4birdie, @stargurl-battleship, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @have-a-nice-day-k

Thank you for reading! Pls let me know what you think in the comments!!!

The tone of the story is going to shift beginning in the next chapter, it’s going to get more mature in a multitude of ways…

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added to the taglist!

[capricornlevi]

don't know what i wanted - kishibe x f!reader

cw: brief mention of violence, injury, trauma (not graphic), hurt/comfort, injury recovery, established relationship. brief mention of having children (no decision or plans made/no pregnancy mention), consumption of alcohol/cigarettes, explicit sexual content (oral sex f! receiving, fingering, hand jobs, vaginal sex), - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 12.8k

a/n: this is technically a sequel to one of my earlier devil hunter!reader x kishibe fics but can be read as a standalone fic as well! this fic takes place after kishibe's injury when he was in his 20s, but reader-character is his partner as opposed to quanxi. the fic essentially covers the aftermath of the injury & how they recover together. hope you enjoy my loves, thanks for reading! thank you so much to this anon who helped inspire the plot of this fic

if you prefer to read on ao3, it is published here

___

“Stay still,” you mumble, frowning as Kishibe pulls his head back when you try to unwrap the gauze by his jaw. He has a frown of his own etched on his face, eyes shut and lips pulled tight with discomfort – you’d feel pity for him if he weren’t being so damn uncooperative. “You’re gonna tear your stitches.”

Your couch, despite serving as Kishibe’s resting place while he recovers from his injury, is likely not the most appropriate place to carry out some fairly intensive first-aid. However, you have no other choice since he refuses to go to the doctor to change his bandages. 

One fucking hospital visit was enough, he’d muttered then, still drenched in his own blood, and you hadn’t the heart to argue with him. 

That was two weeks ago now – fourteen days of sleeplessness, of antibiotics and pain medication and bruise balm for his ribs, of waiting until the dead of night to cry so that he doesn’t hear you. 

You’re grateful that you weren’t there to witness it. It’s selfish, you’re well aware of that, but you’re not sure how you would have been able to cope if you had the images of the attack replaying in your head over and over, tormenting you both. 

“Thought you’d be nice to me,” he grumbles, and although he can’t really smile with his injury you can still hear one in his voice. “Your bedside manner is lacking today.”

“I tried being nice at first. You told me to ‘ act like normal and stop treating me like I’m dying ’, so that’s what I’m doing,” you counter, carefully grabbing the corner of the medical tape. 

He winces but doesn’t budge. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“A direct quote, I’m afraid. And that was before they administered the morphine, so you can’t even blame it on that.”

You pull the tape gently, exposing the stitches and bruised skin. Kishibe tenses underneath you, every muscle in his body going rigid, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

It breaks your heart.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers. His voice is quieter now since talking too much can be painful. “Bring back the tough bedside manner. I take back my complaint; I need to be humbled.”

You blink, trying to fix your expression into one that’s more impassive. 

“I’m just focusing on the stitches. I need to be careful at this part,” you say, knowing that both of you recognise the lie for what it is. 

This feels foolish. It’s everything you feared about getting involved with another devil hunter. You’re supposed to be unshakeable, callous to all loss, utterly focused on the mission. You’re supposed to be tough.

Instead, you’re close to tears at the thought of what would have happened if the strike had landed just a few inches lower.

Things were supposed to be different. You were supposed to do this whole hunter thing by yourself. This was never the plan; to factor another person into your life in such a significant way, to value their well-being as highly as you do your own. 

But he makes your days interesting. He’s kind at heart and values you as an equal as well as a partner. He always seems grateful to even be near you, and so you’ll happily tend to his wounds and keep him company, and even let him smoke indoors once the window is cracked. 

You remove the old gauze carefully, clean the stitches according to the nurse's directions, and replace it with fresh bandages while Kishibe stays still, eyes squeezed shut.

“Nearly done,” you reassure him softly, applying the medical tape at a careful angle, “nearly done, I promise … and … there. All clean.”

He opens his eyes and lifts a hand to his cheek. He’s not going to tug at the gauze, he knows better than that, but he ghosts his fingers over the bandages as if to check they’re really there.

You smile and lean in closer to press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the breath catch in his throat as you pull back. 

“It’s gonna make me ugly, y’know,” he says, letting out an amused scoff. 

“More ugly?” you gasp. He lifts up his hand to playfully flick your nose. 

Joking around like this is one of the only ways you know how to distract him, to show him this change is not going to upset things irreversibly. The last thing he wants is for you to be walking on eggshells around him. For his recovery to be a success he needs support, normalcy – he needs you to be yourself. 

“Yep," he agrees. "A nasty scar to complete the whole image.”

You scoff and climb into his lap, feeling him sink back into the couch cushions, muscles releasing their tension. His injuries are almost entirely confined to the upper half of his body but you still move with incredible care and gentleness as if he’ll break underneath your touch. Sensing your hesitation, he wraps a strong arm around you, pulling you closer. It’s easy to melt against him. 

“You know I could never find you ugly,” you reply with a chuckle, nestling against his shoulder. “I tried really hard, too. When we first got partnered up, I used to stare at you for hours trying to trick myself into finding you gross, but no luck. You’re stubbornly handsome and always will be. It’s a flaw of yours.”

“A flaw?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice muffled against his sweatshirt. “It’s really fucking annoying, actually.”

He kisses the crown of your head. “Ah, I can live with annoying .”

Even after the absolute chaos of the past fortnight, he still smells wonderful. Fresh and clean and familiar, with something deeper in there that draws you in even after smelling it a thousand times — it’s him. 

You hum thoughtfully. “I’m glad, because for a while there it was really inconvenient. Wanting to fuck your annoying partner is not something they teach you about during training.”

“But did they tell how inconvenient it is to keep fucking him afterwards?”

You laugh a little, your eyelids getting heavier and heavier with every passing moment. 

With Kishibe’s health taken care of for now, you feel at ease. The sensation of being wrapped in his broad arms takes you back to the first night you fell asleep beside him, where you let go of your worries and concerns, trading them for a brief window of serenity. 

It’s a type of comfort that you thought you could never have, a blessing only available to other people and never to devil hunters. 

“Nah, I just kinda accepted it at that point.”

He says something in response, but you fall asleep before you hear it. 

___

The pancake batter sizzles as it hits the pan, bubbles forming on the surface after a few moments on the heat – you finally got the temperature just right, and so you pour another serving alongside it for good measure.

Phew. You burnt the last one, and don’t have enough eggs for another batch.

This is your fourth time making pancakes this week since they’re a nice, soft food that can be easily cut up into tiny bites. They don’t cause too much strain to Kishibe’s jaw and you can flavour them with fruits and chocolate. Best of all, they’re significantly more appealing than the nutri-shakes the hospital supplied when he was discharged.

He took one sip before saying he’d rather you punch him directly on his dislocated shoulder than make him drink that shit again. 

As if on cue, Kishibe’s voice calls out from the living room. 

“Smells nice out there,” and it really does; the warm aroma of baked goods wafts through the air along with a hint of freshness from the fruits you prepared. It finally masks the smell of the smoke from the unsalvagable first batch. “Need any help?”

The offer sounds innocuous at first, but the desperation buried in the words tells you that he’s on the verge of disobeying his doctor’s orders.

“You’re on bed rest!” you shout back, stealing a chocolate chip from the bag on the countertop. The sweetness is enough to tempt you to grab another; this time, you pour a small handful and tip it into your mouth, savouring the taste. 

You flip the pancakes with a spatula only to wince as the metal burns your finger – you hadn’t realised that you’d left it so close to the heat. You drop the spatula and it clatters against the tiled floor. 

You groan, choosing to go clean the utensil before tending to your hand. It’s only a small injury but you grimace nonetheless as the pain starts to build, aching and throbbing. An angry welt forms on your fingertip. 

It was careless on your part, but it’s not surprising that your attention span is somewhat lacking as of late. You run your hand under some cold water and get lost in the sensation. 

Four days have passed since you last changed Kishibe’s bandages and two days since his most recent check-up (which you finally convinced him to attend), and things haven’t gone … smoothly, to say the least.

The doctor had kindly but firmly informed you both that in order for Kishibe to proceed to the next step in recovery, he needed to play it safe over the coming week. Unfortunately for him, playing it safe means that he has to actually get some rest.  

A lot of rest. 

He hadn’t even complained when receiving the news – he just sat there, utterly motionless, with displeasure and annoyance radiating off him like a fever. It worried you. This whole thing hasn’t been easy on you but it’s not exactly a walk in the park for him, either. He might pretend otherwise, but he doesn’t like to be benched. He’d do more to help you if he could.

As if it weren’t bad enough that he can’t hunt devils or even pay a visit to headquarters, now, he’s rendered completely and utterly defenceless, unable to even make himself a meal without assistance. It goes against every survival instinct in his body.

Part of you wishes he wouldn’t be so stubborn about saying on the couch. You had offered to share your bed with him - expected it, even - but he refused. Hurt at first, you hadn’t brought it up again, but once he understood your reaction he explained it was because his meds make him toss and turn in his sleep. He didn’t want to wake you. 

Then you offered to take the couch instead since he’s the one recovering, after all. Again, he turned that down, but you didn’t take that refusal as much to heart as the first one.

This setup - him staying on the couch, allowing you your own space - seems to be the one bit of independence he can hold onto, the one way he thinks he’s making your life easier amongst all of this.

The buzzing of a timer startles you out of your trance, and you turn off the tap to go pour yourself a coffee.

You plate the pancakes and chop some berries and fruits to serve alongside them, angling the knife so it doesn’t put too much pressure on your finger. In spite of this, the burn starts to sting once again, the pain sharp and angry. You give up halfway through. Taking the plates in hand, you turn to bring them into your living room.

When you enter the room you see Kishibe already standing. His arms are folded casually across his chest despite the damage he sustained to his shoulder and ribs. He’s pacing slowly, fixated on the wall to your left-hand side – from the looks of it, he’s browsing the books on the shelf behind the couch. He seems to be scanning the titles with interest.

Something’s … different. In a strange way, a sort of déja vu that you can’t quite place.

As he spots you, head turning in your direction, you know from the look on his face what he’s about to offer. You cut him off before he can do so.

“Don’t need any help!” you inform him. “I can carry the plates – you’re supposed to be resting .”

“Not what I was gonna say, smartass,” he huffs in amusement, until his eyes flicker down to your hands and you know he can see how you’re favouring one side over the other, gingerly holding one of the plates so as not to aggravate your burn. He lifts his gaze up, a question written on his face as he regards you. 

Playing ignorant, you choose not to address it. “So what were you gonna say, then?”

He’s not going to drop it entirely, of that you’re certain, but he does concede a little. He straightens his posture, a glint in his eye, and tells you, “I was thinking we could eat at the table tonight?”

His tone is light and ebullient, his demeanour carefree in a way you haven’t seen from him in a long time. He had spent the past two days in what could only be described as a pit of despair, and so to see this change now ... it stops you in your tracks. 

You blink at him. “What?” 

“Can we eat at the table?” he repeats. “Just this once.” 

It seems harmless, but you’re not sure if it’s wise. The instructions from the doctor were for Kishibe to minimise unnecessary movement and stay well-rested.

(He had also been told to try and eliminate stress as much as possible, but the two of you had laughed at the last part.)

Still, you’re not sure if this is a good idea; the last thing you want is to set back his recovery, even at his own request. 

“Please?” he follows up. The word stings you as much as the burn. “I just want to have a meal together like we always do. Just once, and then I’ll go back to bed. And I’ll shut the fuck up from here on - I won’t complain about the bandages or the shitty nutri-shakes or the exercises for my shoulder or whatever it is they want me to do - I won’t say a word about any of it,” he pauses and breathes in, breathes out. “Just a half an hour of being normal. Please.”

Looking at him now, it’s plain to see how being confined and restricted has eaten away at him.

You come to a decision quickly, happy that this won’t do too much harm. If anything, this might help his recovery somewhat. 

“... for half an hour only,” you direct slowly, not breaking eye contact, “and absolutely no unnecessary movement. If you try to pick up the plates or push in chairs or anything, I’ll give you a matching scar on the other cheek.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he answers quickly, and millimetre by millimetre, his expression lifts into something that looks a lot more like him – like how he looked when you walked in the room, like how he’s looked at you since you first got partnered up together. Even with the bandages, you can see his lips quirk upwards; the closest thing to a smile as he can manage. “And I agree.”

He lets you carry the plates in without objection, and you eat your meal together in blissful silence. 

It’s been a while since someone other than you has eaten at this table.

By the time you’re halfway through the stack of pancakes, some colour has returned to Kishibe’s complexion. 

"Fuck, these are the best yet,” he says after a particularly big forkful, “which makes me a little confused, because I could hear you swearing for about fifteen minutes while you were making them.”

“Well, I burnt the first couple,” you point out, taking a few orange slices and setting them down on your plate, “which I’m sure you know since the smoke alarm is a rat bastard.”

“That's not all you burnt,” Kishibe remarks as he takes a sip of water. 

You lift your head. “Hmm?”

He sets down his glass and takes your hand, flipping it so your palm is facing upwards. “I saw you holding the plates funny,” he frowns when he spots the welt on the tip of your index finger. “What happened?” 

You can’t help but laugh. Kishibe was nearly eviscerated a few weeks ago, yet he’s here worrying about a burn that will fade in its entirety before the month is out. 

“I burned it on the spatula,” you answer as he strokes circles on your palm with his thumb, “it was my own fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

His eyes flicker up to yours and you wish you chose your words more carefully.

It was my fault.

Wasn’t paying attention. 

My fault.

In amongst the near-constant worrying about his health and the gratitude at the fact he’s still alive, you can sometimes forget that it wasn’t only Kishibe who got hurt that day.

You open your mouth to say something but with a near-imperceptible shake of his head, he tells you that it’s not necessary.

“Did you put any burn gel on?” he asks then, moving on as if nothing happened. 

You try to take your hand back but he clasps it gently. “No, not yet.”

He raises his eyebrows with mock surprise and you chuckle, letting your head fall back with a groan, predicting what’s coming next.

“Don’t start," you warn him. 

He scoffs. “This coming from the person you gave me a lecture on how to properly care for wounds not two days ago-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take care of the damn burn-”

“ - and about the importance of recovery and taking proper medical advice - ”

“Fucking hell, I’m doing it!” you exclaim with a laugh, pushing back your chair and letting go of his hand. “Who knew you could whip out the guilt trips like that?”

He shakes his head and shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Not a guilt trip. Just pointing out the similarities.”

You stand up to leave but before going to the kitchen cabinet to fish out your heavily-used first aid kit, you lean down, tilt his face towards your own and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“You’re insufferable.”

He kisses you back. “Yeah, but you knew that already.”

---

He looks so … unlike himself. Hooked up to all these different machines, with gauze covering most of his upper body, he could be anyone. 

You thought there’d be some recognition within you, some moment where you see him in the hospital bed and just know it’s him, but you don’t feel anything of the sort. It could be a stranger lying there for all you know. His face is covered, the clothes aren’t his, there are no distinguishing factors at all that make you think that the person in front of you is Kishibe. 

Maybe they were wrong? 

The Division officials might have made a mistake. The scene was chaos; there were so many people running around, so many casualties, it would have been easy for them to misidentify a person in an ambulance, to have shouted the wrong name by accident. 

Maybe this isn’t him. Maybe he’s fine. He could be still at the scene helping to clear up, administering first-aid to the survivors …

But then you spot it – hanging on a coat rack in the corner of the hospital room is his jacket, torn and bloodied but still his. You walk over to it, movements so slow and mindless it’s as if you’re possessed. 

You barely register the low buzzing of the machines. Even when they emit a loud beeping sound every now and then you can’t bring yourself to look at them directly. He’s being kept alive by these machines. 

You stand by the coat rack and reach out a trembling hand. Some dust - no, it’s black, so it’s soot - starts to fall softly to the floor, almost like snow, and it stains your hand as you pull back the fabric to search for something. You rifle through the side pockets looking for it even though you know he never keeps it there, checking every nook and cranny –

There it is. His battered old lighter. It’s in the left-hand breast pocket, as always, but that was the last place you searched.

Your fingertips touch metal, tracing the outline of the lighter as your eyes start to sting. You breathe in through gritted teeth as you slip the lighter out of the pocket, clutching it in your palm as if it’s made of solid gold, and you turn it over to make sure it’s his. 

You make a choked sound that thankfully catches in your throat before it turns into a sob. 

You can’t cry here. The hospital is full of other hunters, milling about to try and find and identify any survivors. You can’t break down in front of them. 

Although personal relationships between two partners aren't banned or even all that rare, displaying such open, raw vulnerability in front of everyone … it would mark you for death. To let other hunters see you weep for Kishibe would mean that, in their eyes, you have become weak, soft, unfit for this line of work. They would never trust you on a mission, and being untrusted while out in the field is a guaranteed death sentence. 

A few tears might be excusable, but you know that the cry you just suppressed would have burst out like a dam breaking. It would have made it very clear that your relationship goes beyond that of coworkers.

It’s funny though, in a way; if they outright asked you just what your relationship actually is , you wouldn’t be able to tell them. You know it’s not casual – not anymore. The pit of agony in your stomach tells you that you’re even farther gone than you’d assumed.

But it’s not defined, either, and likely never can be.

You hear some people shuffle outside the hospital room as the door handle turns. You hastily raise your hand to your face and wipe at some tears that are threatening to spill, slipping Kishibe’s lighter into your own pocket as you do so.

Two nurses stride in and start to record some of the figures displayed on the machines, paying absolutely no attention to you. There’s a single chair in the corner of the room and so you go to sit down before your legs buckle underneath you.

You were warned it was going to be bad, and the hushed voices around you tell you that it can’t be good news. 

When you arrived at the hospital they had asked if he had any family, if you could contact them, that they should really be here for this. They said that if he has any hope of survival, he needs support.

You can only hope that when he wakes, you’ll be enough. 

___

Kishibe is no longer on bed rest, and he is delighted. 

He’s definitely not out of the woods yet - he’s still on a list of meds as long as your arm - and he’s been ordered to only engage in the lowest-of-low impact activities; walking, essentially, and maybe cooking a quick meal or two. Nevertheless, he welcomed the news with open arms. He expected it would bring him a degree of freedom and independence he’d spent the past few weeks yearning for. 

This morning, however, you’re discovering that this may not be the easiest milestone to have reached. Success and improvement aren’t guaranteed and he’s struggling more than he anticipated he would. He gets fatigued easily - walking from the kitchen down the hallway has his muscles aching and his body weak - and everything hurts. The many weeks spent without exertion have taken their toll. 

He’s at the stage in his recovery where the long-term effects of his injuries are starting to make themselves known. It’s too soon to tell for sure, but it looks as though his shoulder might be damaged permanently; as he tries to reach above his head he winces in pain, even more intense than in previous weeks. The resulting hit to his morale is tough to see. 

He tries to put on a brave face, but you can see right through it.

“Looks like you’re finally going to be the stronger one,” he jokes half-heartedly as you support him on his way back to the couch. He’s bearing most of the weight himself, but using your shoulder to keep steady. “Take this as my concession.”

“I was always the stronger one,” you mumble, lowering yourself down to let him sit. 

He collapses onto the couch, face twisted in pain. “ Mentally stronger,” he concedes. “And emotionally, I guess. Better socially, too, if you count having to put up with the brass. But I think I’d have put up a good fight for the title of physically strongest.”

You scoff as you release him. “Even with your best fight, I’d have left with a clean sweep.”

With his good arm, he clutches his chest dramatically as if gravely offended.

“Would lying to you be nice?” you ask fondly, arranging the cushions on the couch so he can sit more comfortably. “I thought you were sick of the sugarcoating?”

Laughing, he drops his arm. “Guess not.”

“Good,” you smile, watching as he settles himself. “I like when you’re agreeable.”

He chuckles again. “Ever thought of being a doctor? You’d be good at it, if you gave up shit-talking your patients.”

“Well, my patients would probably be more reasonable,” you say with a yawn, subtly rolling out an ache in your shoulder from supporting Kishibe up and down the hallway. “I wouldn’t have to shit talk them as much.”

Even in this hypothetical context, it’s funny to think of a world in which you and Kishibe work normal jobs. People become devil hunters for two reasons: revenge or necessity, and sometimes both. But over time, those reasons start to twist and change, becoming stronger or weaker or more obscure, and through the course of their career, hunters often collect new motivations. 

For you now, it’s just that you’re good at what you do - as good as your partner, if not better - and so you rarely let yourself think about what could have been had you chosen differently. It seems pointless. 

“And if you leave, then what would I do?” Kishibe pipes up with a grin. It’s a little strained since you know he’s in considerable pain, but he does look as though he’s entertained by all these impossible scenarios. “When you’re off being a big-shot doctor - can’t really be a hunter then, can I?"

You sit down cross-legged next to the couch, a place you’ve spent countless hours as of late. If you checked, you’d probably find an indentation on the carpet. “Why can’t you be a hunter? They’ll just give you a new partner.”

He makes a noise somewhere between disagreement and disgust. You laugh, feeling a little bemused; you’re far from being his first partner, and he’s not yours, either. You’re not sure where he got this strong distaste towards the idea of working with someone new. It’s bound to happen eventually. 

You take his hand in your own and give it a squeeze.

“Ah, I don’t think I’d want a new partner,” he admits casually. “I think I’m set.”

You arch a brow. “You know you won’t have to sleep with them, right? You can just work with them?” 

“Wait, really?” comes his sarcastic retort, his expression taking on a forced and sudden seriousness. “Holy shit, that changes things. Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

You release his hand for dramatic effect only for him to stubbornly take it back.

“... you’d really quit if I couldn’t be your partner anymore?” you ask after a moment has passed. The question gnaws at you, allowing your mind to revisit the prospects you had locked away in a box somewhere in its depths. You try to keep your face impassive as you can. 

He nods as though there’s no need for him to even consider it. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

“And do what instead?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Male modelling?” 

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Ouch, first of all,” he huffs, only to be met with an amused glance from you, “and secondly – I’m not sure, really. I haven’t thought it through.” Well, that makes two of you, at least. “I just know that it … I know we’re told not to rely on our partners to the point of it becoming self-sacrificial, but the thing is - I think I’m gone past that point. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. So, I just don’t think I could trust anyone as much as I do you.”

Something’s at the tip of your tongue; something that scares you. 

You don’t say it. Instead, you just enjoy the easy silence, both of you indulging in the frivolous what if’s in your own minds.

The quietness is soon interrupted by the sound of an alarm buzzing in the kitchen

“Time for your meds,” you announce. You get to your feet and ignore your own fatigue.

“The ones that taste like shit?”

You shake your head. “Nah, the little tiny ones you can knock back with water.”

“What a relief,” he sighs, eyes following you as you head out to the kitchen. “Thanks, doc."

___

It’s not always so easy for Kishibe to keep things light-hearted. As the week progresses and his injuries show no signs of improvement, he has taken to napping during the day, more to let the time pass by quicker than anything else.

He seems less willing to do the exercises the doctors assigned him, and the tasks that he once begged you to let him do no longer carry the same appeal. He eats a meal with you at the table, chats for a few minutes, then returns to the living room. Afterwards, he stays quiet unless spoken to. 

You know it has absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s not any form of silent treatment – in fact, you can see how he uses his very limited social battery to chat with you over dinner. His eyes still show fondness when he looks your way. He still kisses the crown of your head when you embrace him. 

He’s just struggling. And you are too.

You’re reading a book - or trying to, at least - as Kishibe sleeps off the morning’s unsuccessful attempts at stretching out his shoulder. Your eyes are unfocused, the page before you blurry. You find yourself thinking of that first morning you woke up next to him.

When you woke up in your bed, rays of sunshine streaming through the curtains, you knew Kishibe was lying by your side. You didn’t even have to roll over to confirm it; you could smell his aftershave.

It’s not that you forgot - neither of you had too much to drink the night before - but it all felt so surreal that part of you thought it was a dream. But you felt so grounded that morning, Kishibe’s arm draped over your waist, and you knew it was all real from the soft sounds of his breathing next to you. 

“You up?” he mumbled, his voice laced with sleep as it often is during your early-morning missions.

“Just about.”

“Will I get breakfast?” he asked as he suppressed a yawn. He made no attempt to move his hand away. 

“I can get it. You paid for the cab,” you replied, not moving away from him either. 

The cab. Last night. The cab you took home from the bar, to sleep with your partner, to make a decision with irreversible consequences.

Though funnily enough, the regret hadn’t hit you yet. You half-expected to wake up in a cold sweat, having come to the realisation that entertaining your feelings for Kishibe was the stupidest mistake you ever made. 

But you didn’t feel anything of the sort. This was … easier than you had expected. It was like a piece of your day-to-day routine you hadn’t realised you were missing.

You rolled out of bed and looked at him, his hair touseled from sleep and a satisfied smile on his face, and it took only that one glance to make you crawl back under the covers and let him take you apart over and over again.

The pattern continued over the following weeks, months. You worked as normal, bickered as you always did, and then went home together most nights. Your dynamic didn’t change all that much, except maybe for the fact that you were a little gentler with each other – not in the field, of course, but in the mornings when you woke up with bloodshot eyes and tired limbs. 

Of course, relationships don’t tend to work on that trajectory; the idea that you can just coexist forever without anything ever changing. Happy as you were, you knew things wouldn’t continue undefined, unexplored. Something would come along to disrupt things. Something big, something you weren’t prepared for – 

Just then, Kishibe stirs. You drop your book to your lap, ready to leap up to assist if needed, but he falls back into a restless sleep after a few moments pass. 

Despite everything, you smile. His morale may have taken a hit but he’s still trying, trying every single day, to get better. That hard work can’t just be for nothing. You’ll both see improvement soon.

You’ve gotten this far together, you think to yourself, and he just might make an optimist out of you yet. 

You thought he fell back asleep, but … 

He says it so softly that he could just be sleep-talking, but the words cut clear through the air, repeating in your mind on a loop until you can no longer think of anything else.

“Love you.”

___

It’s a bad night for Kishibe. 

Yesterday was his first attempt at sharing your bed, a fairly significant milestone in itself, but the pain kept him awake all through the night, tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning. Though you swore that you didn’t mind (and you meant it), he’s returned to the couch this evening and there was no convincing him otherwise. He stayed silent while you tried to argue your case.

However, you weren’t about to let him isolate himself indefinitely or stand idly by as he wallowed in his own imagined failures, and so tonight, you decided to stay with him. 

You’re curled up in an armchair on the other side of the room, wrapped in a blanket and resting your head against the velvet cushion behind you, watching in silence as his face twists in pain to the point it’s almost unrecognisable, clutching his sides as his aching muscles try to heal themselves. 

His breath sounds torn and ragged as it leaves him, but apart from that, he makes no verbal signs of discomfort. You start to worry that he’s holding back for your benefit. 

Obviously, you don’t want to hear the sounds of his suffering, but the idea that he’s trying to act tough or unbreakable or any of that other bullshit you stopped caring about long ago … 

He sucks in a shallow breath and his hands ball into fists, his knuckles turning white as he does so. 

You catch a glimpse of the clock above the window; it’s just after two a.m., which explains why it’s been a few hours since you’ve heard the sound of traffic or footsteps from the street below floating through the cracked window. You rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. 

Ordinarily, you’d be in bed by now, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. The thought of him being here alone in the dark, sweating bullets as he tries to struggle through the pain … you know you wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep. 

Just then, Kishibe makes his first utterance of pain; a low sound that gets caught in his throat, but you still hear it. 

You shrug off the blanket and rise up from your chair, quietly pacing across the room. You sit down on your haunches by the sofa and Kishibe opens his eyes – exhausted, bloodshot eyes that have something of an apology in them. 

He opens his mouth to say something but you just reach your hand out to cup his cheek. Your thumb traces slow, soothing circles and he leans into the touch, almost mesmerised by the movement. You don’t say anything, don’t try to crowd him or lay next to him or get him to talk unnecessarily; your touch alone is enough reassurance. His gaze softens. 

It’s been a week since he told you that he loved you. It’s been six days and twelve hours since you said it back. Neither of you has said it since, but you don’t really need to. This is enough.

The only perceptible sounds in the room are that of the two of you breathing and the tick-tick-ticking of the clock behind you, but you can easily tune that out, choosing instead to focus on how Kishibe’s chest is now rising and falling at a much steadier pace, on how the divot between his brows has fully relaxed. 

Your thumb gently grazes over the reddened skin on his cheek but he feels no pain from it – he told you before that the scar by his jaw is as close to fully healed as he’ll get it. His eyes flutter shut as you keep up your gentle caresses, but you don’t stop. You keep going as if it’s offering some comfort to you as well. 

This started out as a bad night, but it just might turn into one of those rare occasions where Kishibe gets more sleep than you do. 

And you don’t mind at all.

___

Kishibe finishes his first complete set of exercises the following morning.

Two days later and he can walk unsupported, up and down the hallways – it tires him out, but he can do it. He sleeps the full night in your bed afterwards.

He’s more proactive, too, in his recovery. He’ll make an effort to keep to a schedule, which certainly helps to keep him from falling back into that pit of despair. He responds better to feedback from doctors. That familiar glint in his eye returns, as does his sense of humour. He starts to smile more. 

As the days pass, his progress becomes more and more apparent - an exercise here, an independent task there - and it all adds up to a far more encouraging picture than what was painted at the beginning.

It’s not all good news, of course; there are still signs of long-term damage to his shoulder. His range of movement will likely never be the same.

But crucially, his outlook has changed. He no longer carries himself like a burden. 

As a result, you’re sleeping through the night again – it’s easier to wake up in the mornings knowing your day will have a sense of normalcy. 

Though come to think of it … it’s hard to pin down what ‘normalcy’ will even look like from this point on. 

As he continues to improve, you find yourself considering it more and more. Will it involve you going back to work? Or will it be both of you returning to life as Devil Hunters, living life exclusively in the short-term, never planning or aspiring to anything else? 

You doubt that’s even possible. Maybe ‘normal’ isn’t something that is casual, unlabelled. Maybe ‘normal’ isn’t about just hooking up and going your separate ways the next morning. 

Maybe it hasn’t been like that for a while now. 

___

“You take good care of me, y’know?” 

You lift your head, surprised; you thought Kishibe was asleep. It’s midday and he’s stretched out in your bed - he had the last of his stitches from surgery removed yesterday; the new medication makes him drowsy - and the last time you glanced in his direction, his eyes were closed. 

“Whatcha mean?” 

You ask the question through a mouthful of piping-hot vegetable soup, having made yourself a bowl while he napped. Sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed with a book in your other hand, you have the bowl carefully perched on your lap – eating in bed is not a common occurrence at your place, but you don’t like leaving Kishibe unaccompanied while the meds are wearing off. This way, you’re within reaching distance of him should anything happen. 

“Everything okay?” you follow up when you don’t get an answer. 

“Yeah, all okay,” he mumbles, his voice sleepy but still achingly fond. His eyes are still closed, a lazy grin on his face; you have to imagine that it still hurts for him to smile, but he seems to take some novelty in the fact that he can do it at all. “I was just saying: you take good care of me. Really good care.”

You chuckle softly as you take another sip of the broth. All it took was his stitches being removed and the sentimentality just starts pouring out. 

“Is this because of that stuff you were saying last week?” you ask amusedly, recalling his reluctant praise for your first-aid skills and how he said you’d make a great doctor . “About me quitting and getting into medicine?”

“Maybe?” he answers with the lilt of a question. He sounds a little hazy, almost unsure of whether he even knows himself. 

Now properly awake, he starts to sit up in bed, clasping his hands behind his head as his lower back stays supported by pillows – again, likely pushing the boundaries of his comfort, but he seems unperturbed by it. 

Despite the fact that he’s only wearing a t-shirt and that the windows are thrown open to allow some fresh air into the room, his cheeks are flushed pink. His hair is messy, too, the soft black strands pushed back as though he’s run a hand through it. 

He smiles at you as you eat, eyes scanning your face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was trying to commit it to memory. 

It takes a while for realisation seems to dawn on him, for him to figure out what he had initially meant to tell you.

“I just … wanted to tell you you’re great at this,” he says then, with considerably more determination this time. “At all of this. And to say how much I appreciate it. To thank you, as if that’s even enough.”

You lower the spoon from your lips and shoot him a bemused look. 

“You a little stoned off the pain meds, huh?” you tease. “They got you on the good stuff?”

He laughs. “Yep, a bit.”

“Knew it.”

“But I’m still telling the truth,” he continues with a shrug, and he sounds so sure of himself, “pain meds or no pain meds.”

“Always honest to an absolute fault,” you remark quietly, stirring distractedly as he gives you a wry smirk. 

And it’s true.

His honesty wasn’t the easiest thing to get used to at first. Teasing and flirtation aside, when it came down to it, Kishibe could be blunt – to the extent that it caused quite a few spats in the early days of your partnership. 

However, somewhat reluctantly and without any conscious decision on your part, you got used to it over time. It went from aggravating to just annoying to tolerable , and now, you figure that his honesty is more of a virtue than anything else. 

In your line of work especially, you can’t rely on someone who sugarcoats things and builds up a false sense of security. Dependability is everything. You’d rather hear the truth from him than something that could get you killed.

He’s an honest hunter. Part of you wonders if outside of work, he’s picking up some of your bad habits.

You slide off the bed and set your bowl down on the nightstand as his gaze follows you. When you return, you hop up next to him, laying down by his side. He shuffles over to make space and you pull the covers up halfway, staying on your side, propped up on an elbow and resting your chin against your hand. 

Then, you just look at him, taking in the relative peacefulness that he hasn’t been able to enjoy in so long. 

“Okay, in the spirit of honesty,” you begin, smiling to match the expression on his face. “Want to tell me how I’ve been taking good care of you?”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Oh, always.”

“Well now who’s being honest?”

You raise your eyebrows as a means to challenge him; he relents with a laugh. 

“Fine, fine. Want to hear me sing your praises?” 

You nod instantly and he rolls his eyes without any malice. With a fond shake of his head, he starts to speak. 

“Okay, where to start? I mean, I suppose firstly; you’re here all the time. I like that I can go to sleep at night and then wake up in the mornings, knowing that you’re here.”

You snort at the candour and his straightforward delivery. “Is this your way of telling me to back off? Because I won’t be offended. Too much, anyway.”

Kishibe barks out a laugh. 

“Nah, the opposite, actually,” he corrects you, his eyes twinkling, but then grimaces in pain as he rolls out a kink in his shoulder. You shift over to go and help him, but thankfully, the jolt of discomfort passes as soon as it hits. You return to resting on your elbow but stay a little closer this time. 

“I want you here as much as possible,” he says then, a softness to the words. “So I can take good care of you, too.”

Oh. Huh. You truthfully weren’t expecting that.

You chuckle, unable to think of any other way to respond. Ignoring the heat creeping up your neck, you try not to read too much into it. 

“You do take good care of me — saved me from that pack of fiends back in January, for one. Talked me out of signing a contract with that Devil, for another -” 

He shakes his head by means of interruption, clearly dissatisfied with the angle you’re taking. 

“I don’t just mean work stuff. I mean … I don’t know, doing extra stuff.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.  

“Like more than what partners do?” you ask, genuinely curious. It’s hard to think of anything he could do for you that he hasn’t already done. You share a relationship of equals; you’ve never wanted for anything.

“More than what partners do,” he agrees, tilting his head to the side. “I meant … like what husbands do.” 

Oh.

Oh. 

You blink at him. He blinks back. Neither one of you says anything else. 

An unfamiliar sensation rushes through you like a wave, starting in your chest and spreading up and out to your limbs, and it’s such a strong, visceral feeling that you have no idea how you can’t place it. 

Surely something this intense has a name? 

Kishibe looks far more composed than you feel, far more composed than he arguably should be considering what was just said. 

Other than his light blush and the way his pupils are just a little blown out, he seems unruffled. 

You, on the other hand, are decidedly not . 

Then, before you can even begin to formulate something resembling an answer, he ups the stakes once again. 

“Move in with me,” Kishibe says, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question, and it’s as though a year’s worth of unspoken words are hitting you at once.

In a way, you suppose they are.

Unable to do anything else, you sit up straight, lips parting helplessly while no words come out. 

If Kishibe is concerned by your lack of response, he doesn’t show it. He stays where he’s sitting, patiently awaiting an answer without so much as an anxious fidget.

An answer. 

Your answer.

You search for one desperately, trying to pick just one decipherable thought amongst the thousands rushing through your mind right now …

But before one comes to you, a lightbulb goes off. You don’t have to give an answer – no, you shouldn’t give one, considering that Kishibe’s on medication, recovering from weeks of pain and rehabilitation, and he’s not thinking things through right now. 

Of course, you think to yourself as the waves start to subside, this isn’t an official offer. He’ll forget all about this in the morning. 

Rather than stress him out with complications or details or promises that he may not even be aware he’s making, you decide to give him an out. To give him the opportunity to revisit this another time.  

You twist to the side to look at him, hoping your face doesn’t betray you. He looks back expectantly. 

“Maybe you should get some sleep-”

“I don’t need sleep,” he objects, frowning now. “I’m being serious. This isn’t the drugs talking - well, maybe part of it is, I don’t know … but I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” 

You laugh softly, marvelling at the absurdity of this conversation. “You want me to move in with you?”

He nods. “And, to be completely honest, I want a lot more than that.”

You know it’s a bad idea to push further, but your curiosity wins out. “Like what?”

“I want to marry you,” he answers matter-of-factly, and your heart goes from beating too fast to stopping entirely. “I want to wake up next to you in the mornings. I want to see you before we go to sleep every night. And if we get there and decide it’s something we can do, I want to have babies with you and see them grow up in a house we own together. I want to stay with you every day until we’re old as shit and you really do find me ugly.”

He stops speaking like he’s run out of breath. Similarly, you feel as though you can’t get enough air into your lungs. 

You hadn’t realised that you’d started trembling. 

What he’s saying … it sounds like an indulgence. Something that’s so normal for so many, but so unbelievably idealised in your own mind that you hadn’t even allowed yourself to hope for it.

How can you possibly plan for your lives together when you can only take things week-by-week, grateful for every morning you wake up unscathed?

But now … Kishibe isn’t unscathed. The worst-case scenario actually happened, but instead of running away when faced with the harsh truth of your mortality, you both got through it. You stayed by his side, caring for and comforting him. He, in turn, placed his trust in you, entirely and without hesitation. And you know that things would be the same if the roles were reversed. 

But that doesn’t mean … you’ve never even thought about … how could you begin to take on all of those responsibilities …

Almost as if he’s reading your mind, he elaborates.

“But I don’t mean - I don’t want to force you into a life you don’t want, or anything like that. We don’t need to do it the traditional way. I don’t care about the official papers or the white picket fence or any of that bullshit, and the kids thing is a whole other conversation too, and … shit, I didn’t mean this to pressure you,” he says, and you know he really means it. “It’s just … I don’t know … with everything that’s gone on, I think I’d regret it if I didn’t say it.”

As the words sink in, something inside you clicks into place.

So that’s the feeling you just experienced: true regret.

Regret that you hadn’t said something like this earlier. 

Regret that you’d lived a whole life without even allowing yourself a glimpse at the other possibilities. 

Regret that it took Kishibe nearly dying to get this far, that you had wasted so long pointlessly holding back the inevitable.

But with the regret came a sense of relief as well, relief so great that it feels like a deep breath after being held underwater. Relief that offers your racing mind some much-needed clarity.

You look at him with a smile and his shoulders relax. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He exhales - you hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath - and nods slowly. “Okay, good,” he says gently. “Is that your answer?”

You shake your head once. “Not quite; I do want you to get some sleep first. I need to be a thousand per cent sure this isn’t influenced by those meds. Then I’ll give the official answer,” you finish, ensuring the words are delivered softly so he knows it isn’t a rejection.

Thankfully, he doesn’t interpret it as one. “Fair enough. Can’t argue there.”

You lean over to kiss him then hop out of bed to let him rest, picking up the bowl to take back to the kitchen. In preparation for his nap, he settles himself in amongst the pillows and blankets, beaming from ear to ear. 

“See you soon, doc.”

You head out, laughing, and just as you’re about to close the door behind you, you call out over your shoulder. 

“If this is going to happen, you need to do some serious work on those godawful pet names.”

___

At some point that night, Kishibe wakes next to you. He’d been in and out of sleep all day and you’d dozed off hours around midnight, but you’re not sure what time it is when your eyes open instinctually at the sound of him stirring. 

The air feels heavy but warm, almost like an embrace. 

“You awake?” he asks softly, but his words are clear and crisp. The medication’s worn off. 

You don’t roll over, don’t shift in place. You stay lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling your eyes inexplicably prickle with tears.

Happy tears, for once in your life.  

“Mhmm,” you agree softly once you’ve cleared your throat. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s okay.”

The only visibility in the room is from the moonlight trickling through a small opening in the curtains; not enough for you to see his face, but you know he means it from those two words alone. 

It’s time to make good on your promise. 

“You’re really sure?” you ask then. “About what you said, earlier?”

A beat of silence.

“Yeah. I meant it.”

Another moment of pure quiet, slow and sedated, without so much as the sound of a car passing outside. 

You breathe in deeply. 

“Then yes. My answer’s yes.” 

___

It’s difficult to pinpoint the moment at which Kishibe officially moved in. You both agreed that it was better for him to move into your place as opposed to finding somewhere new - he practically lives here already, plus you hate packing - and for lack of an official move-in date, today seems as good as any. Kishibe has finally been given the all-clear: a clean bill of health, with minimal long-term damage. The relief is so profound you could cry. 

And so tonight, you’ll toast his recovery and celebrate the move, celebrate getting to this point together, celebrate the good habits you’ve picked up from each other and the fact that you’re not as terrible at this as you once feared. 

Kishibe doesn’t have much left back at his old apartment, which makes the move-in process short and sweet. This morning he had gone back to hand in his key to the landlord, packed a suitcase with the few belongings that he hadn’t already moved over, and arrived back at your door with a smile on his face and an expensive bottle of whiskey in hand. 

Now, he’s in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Your offers to help him are pointedly ignored. In his words, he wants to start repaying the favour for all you’ve done – you explain that he doesn’t need to repay anything but he’s typically insistent – and, truth be told, it’s nice to sit back with a glass of whiskey while a meal is served to you. 

You enjoy the delicious smells wafting through the kitchen, the sight of Kishibe humming along to one of his vinyls as it spins in the record player on the countertop. You laugh as he tries (and fails) to hit one of the high notes.

He, in turn, appreciates the look on your face when he serves up the dish in front of you. He marvels at your strength, your resilience. He never imagined he’d be grateful for almost dying.

Hours pass with the two of you eating, talking, drinking, acknowledging your mutual ignorance over the course of your partnership - you think back to a time long before his injury when Quanxi mailed a package intended for him to your address, assuming that the two of you were already living together - and you feel your heart swell at how your little apartment is, for the first time, full of laughter and levity. 

After the meal has been enjoyed and the kitchen cleaned spotless by a highly-motivated Kishibe, you retire to the couch for the evening to sit together, not to rest. In a perfect world, that couch will never need to be slept on again. 

As you settle on the couch, you don’t miss how Kishibe’s gaze lingers on you – the later the hour gets, the more heated glances the two of you share. You feel a pleasant heat creep up your neck as his eyes trail downward.

You mindlessly flick through the channels, settling on some shitty murder mystery you have no intention of actually watching. He wraps his arms around you and you lean your head back against his shoulder, draping his arm over your waist. 

You hadn’t realised that the hem of your t-shirt had lifted a couple of inches until a few minutes later when you feel his fingertips graze against the exposed skin by your hip. It’s only the lightest of touches but it feels incendiary . 

Your enthusiastic reaction is understandable since you obviously haven’t been able to share any physical intimacy since his injury. His health, understandably, took priority, but now you’re now far more reactive to his touch after months of going without it. He notices.

Testing the waters, you push back against him and feel him already half-hard against your lower back. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs softly, his breath hot against the back of your neck. Your laugh is saccharine, playing innocent. 

You missed feeling him like this. You’d gotten so used to this type of intimacy, so familiar with each other’s bodies.  

Bored of the movie you’d barely been pretending to watch, you crane your neck around to press your lips to his jawline, only barely skimming the sensitive skin. He makes a gruff sound of approval that catches in his throat, and before the moment has passed, he has you lifted up and around onto his lap, pulling you in for a heated kiss. 

Wasting no time, apparently.

It hadn’t taken much to get him going, but then again, it has been a while — you can’t fault him for his eagerness when you're just as excited yourself. 

You return his kiss, eager and hungry as his tongue pushes into your mouth. This is far messier than usual – in the past, you’ve taken your time with soft, languid kisses, gentle caresses, but this is different; heated, urgent, as though you physically can’t stand the absence of his touch. 

With immense self-control you pull back, looking with hooded eyes as a thin string of saliva connects your mouth to his.

“Bed,” you choke out, the whisper barely audible as it leaves you, but he responds without question. He helps you up from the couch and grasps your hand firmly as you head down the hallway.

Once the bedroom door closes behind you, he half-guides, half-pulls you onto the bed with him. You don’t even have time to gasp. Within a matter of seconds, he’s lying on his back in the centre of the bed as you hastily move to straddle him, the movements a little unpolished and frenzied but you’re past the point of caring about appearances.

Your lips are so close to his that you share a breath before he pulls you in for another messy kiss. You grind down on his clothed cock and he shudders, grabbing your hips and grinding back, marvelling at the fact that he can finally, finally touch you like this again. 

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve fucking missed this?” he whispers into the shell of your ear, having moved his kiss-swollen lips to nip and suckle at your pulse point until you can feel his mark against it. “Weeks and weeks of having to look without being able to touch,” you tug his shirt up a few inches, mirroring his earlier movements on the couch. You gently drag your nails over his lower stomach, over his hips, running your fingers around the waistband of his pants, “… fucking hell, fuck, I missed this so fucking much …”

You want to hear more. Every word sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps prickling on your skin, and so you push him a little more; “how badly did you want to touch?” 

He laughs disbelievingly, the sound canting up into a sharp gasp when you slip your hand fully into his pants, cupping the bulge in his underwear. “W-well,” another shaky pant, “it’s … shit, it’s most of what I thought about the past month,” a groan this time, “...at least .”

“Mm?”

You lean in to kiss his neck, clouding his thoughts even further. He makes an admirable attempt at continuing; “yeah … spent every night thinking about the thousand different ways I want to touch you,” you nip his earlobe with your teeth, “... lick you, fuck you,” he swallows thickly. “And how could I not?”

You straighten up, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath. “What do you mean?”

His breath is heavy as you start to stroke him through his underwear. You feel a bit mean for making it so hard for him to reply, but his shaky moans and the way his muscles tense as you touch him are too much to resist. 

To his credit, he gives his answer. “How could I not feel that way when I was there on the couch, thinking about you in our bed? Imagining being able to just reach my hand down and make you come on my fingers, imagining how good you’d taste … knowing you were just down the hallway … holy fuck, it nearly killed me.” 

“Nearly killed you, huh?”

He nods, letting out a short laugh. “Part of the reason I insisted on the couch.”

You yelp with surprise as he hauls you further up his body – you remember his strength all too well, but hadn’t expected him to regain most of it so quickly. 

“And you know what I wanted most of all?” he asks once you’ve steadied yourself against his shoulders, pressing a kiss to your forehead before helping you tug off your shirt.  

Once your upper half is bare you shake your head to answer his question, going to open the buttons of his shirt with unsteady hands. You get the top one open, then the second, then the third - 

His grin turns salacious. “For you to sit on my face.” 

That’s enough to shock you into halting your movement. Your whole body heats, anticipation crackling through you. “I - what?” 

His large hands rest against your bare hips before moving up, up, up over your waist and ribs and finally, your breasts, cupping them in his hands and running his thumbs over your peaked nipples.  

“… for you to sit on my face, please ?” 

A giggle slips out in spite of everything. 

Months of not getting to touch like this, and that’s what he wants to do first? You’re not going to object too strongly, but; “I didn’t … I just … don’t you want me to do something for you?”

He smiles again, looking up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though he could devour you right now and it would be the best thing that ever happened to him. “This is for me.”

Well, no use in arguing any further. Wordlessly, you shrug off your skirt and underwear, tossing them on the floor as Kishibe’s eyes stay locked at the apex of your thighs. He lays his head back down on the pillow, practically beaming. 

You move to the top of the mattress, using the headboard for leverage as you angle yourself over him, thighs caging his head. Too far gone to feel any self-consciousness about your vulnerable position and how evidently wet you already are, you spread your legs further and slowly lower yourself over his mouth, feeling his breath against your soaking folds. Shaking already, you approach and just about feel him – 

You half-expected him to tease, but he doesn’t; as soon as you’re close enough, he cranes his neck to run his tongue all the way through your entrance, slow and deliberate. 

It’s hot, almost unbearably so, and you can’t help but cry out as your head falls back involuntarily. His movements stay slow and tantalising as he savours the taste of you, eating you out in a way that could almost be described as leisurely . 

Any words of praise you want to give him die a sudden death, caught at the back of your throat as keens and gasps and broken fractions of syllables are the only sounds that escape – you can only hope they are sufficient in getting your point across. 

They do. He groans his approval, spreading you open with his thumbs, marvelling as your thighs start to tremble with every motion he makes. Your fingers hurt from how tightly you’re gripping the headboard.

Your back arches, desperate to seek more of the sensation that’s sending sparks through your entire body, but he’s careful and methodical in the way he takes you apart. He takes his time, sucking your throbbing clit into his mouth and applying just enough pressure that the build is steady but aching. You start to rock back and forth against the wet heat, trying to resist the urge to ride his face.

He suddenly pulls his mouth away and you almost weep at the loss of contact.

“You don’t have to be careful with me, y’know,” he points out, the lower half of his face drenched already, “I’ve got a full bill of health, so please don’t hold back on my account.”

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly, and your clit gives an answering throb when he presses a closed-mouth kiss to it. 

“I wanna see you squirm on top of me,” he answers, low and heated now, and so you do what’s asked of you. 

Sinking back down on him, you start to writhe as his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up to circle the bundle of nerves, focusing solely on getting you as close to the edge as possible.

It goes from feeling too careful to too much . Too intense. It feels like a hot ball of fire building in your core, with every probe of Kishibe’s tongue stoking the flames. 

Then, just as easily as breathing, it goes from too much to just perfect. 

You weren’t expecting the feeling of his stubble against your thighs at this angle to be so uniquely pleasant. It stings a little as you rise and fall, yes, but it adds a whole new sensation that makes you keen almost pathetically, desperate for everything he’s giving you. Every lick against your slick flesh makes you throb, your swollen clit grateful for the friction. 

You sink your fingers into his soft hair. “More, fuck, please. I need more.”

He uses his hands to gently push your lower back, prompting you to bend and change the angle which makes his nose graze against your clit. You feel one, then two fingers slip inside you and work you open, the pressure building in your core as your body desperately chases release, moving in whatever way necessary in order to get it. 

Just as you feel yourself approach the edge, you distantly hear Kishibe mumble something between your thighs. As good as the vibrations feel, you raise yourself up to hear him speak.

“Can you - can you -” he mumbles, the words slurring. 

“Hmm?” you ask, a little cruelly, running a hand through his hair and admiring the view beneath you. 

“Ride me?” he asks. “Please, please fucking ride me … I know it’s not suave or cool to beg, but please, I need to know what you feel like around me. Fuck, I missed it so much.”

You don’t answer with words, instead moving down his body until you’ve reached his thighs. You straddle them, and when you pull him in for another heated kiss. you can taste yourself on his mouth. He moans into it, thrusting his hips up between your spread thighs, and you decide he’s wearing far too many clothes. 

You unbutton his pants with one hand, keeping the other at the back of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He opens his mouth and gasps into the kiss as you take him out of his underwear, his cock so hard it seems almost painful as it bobs against his stomach. He shudders when you slip your hand from his neck down his torso, index finger tracing his chest before you take him in your hand, giving his shaft a few lazy pumps to tease him.

“Please?” he asks once more, pupils blown out with desire, and you don’t feel like denying him (or yourself) for much longer.

You position your hips until they’re seated above his, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his cock which twitches against your touch, and you only let go of it to brace yourself on his shoulders.

You circle your hips so the head of his cock rubs against your slit; when it catches against your clit you let out a shocked mewl.

He smiles up at you. You smile back, and then you sink down onto him.

“Oh fu-u-uck,” he groans with every inch that slips inside, struggling to keep from bucking up into the heat enveloping him. “How … how do you feel even fucking better than I remembered?”

You feel the stretch even though you’re soaked, but it’s not unpleasant given how well he prepared you. 

He lets you set the pace as you ride him, pulling yourself up until he’s almost slipping out before sinking back down to the hilt, your slick walls coating his cock. 

For you, too, it feels better than you remembered. Even though you’re arguably more desperate, more fervent tonight than you have been before, time seems to move slower. It no longer feels as though these are just stolen moments that you need to savour before they’re gone forever.

This feels nothing like that – this feels wonderful, unending. 

You quicken the pace as his hips start to buck up into yours. He seems as though he’s resisting the urge to start erratically thrusting up into you, rutting into the heat that’s enveloping him so perfectly. He bites his lower lip hard. 

“Can’t believe … fuck …” he whispers, looking up at you with something that can only be described as pure reverence. “... can’t believe I get to have this. Get to have you.”

With that, all measure of self-control is out the window; you speed up your motions and he fucks into you desperately, hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure you’ll still feel it tomorrow. Every cell in your body seems to burn hot as you lose yourself in the sensation. 

“S-so good, so, so good …”

When his thrusts turn sloppy and his words start to slur, you know he’s approaching his peak. 

It’s close, you can tell it’s close …

However, you reach yours first; the orgasm hit you out of nowhere, the usual build-up lost to the overwhelming sensation. Your vision goes white as you throw your head back, crying out his name over and over again until it echoes in your ears. Unending pleasure wracks your body and happily, you let it. 

All it took was that sight – you, repeating his name like a prayer as you come undone above him – and he’s spilling inside you with a low groan. 

You hear your own name falling repeatedly from his lips as he thrusts as deep as he can, ignoring the aftershocks that start when you keep pulsing around him. He’s so beautiful like this it nearly hurts you. 

Exhausted, your upper body collapses against his chest and he wraps his arms around you, pressing your sweat-damp foreheads together as he gives a few more shallow thrusts. 

He doesn’t pull out for a little while longer, and when he finally does, he keeps you tucked against him in a tender embrace, filling the room with words of praise. 

How wonderful you are, how perfect. How loved. 

The two of you have all the time in the world, and you’re more than content to spend it this way. 

___

When you wake up the next morning, you immediately notice that Kishibe isn’t in bed next to you. Your heart sinks as you roll over – his side of the bed is still warm so he can’t have gone too far, but you didn’t even hear him leave. 

You sit up with a start. 

Was this too much? Is he panicking? Is the reality too different from the fantasy you both had come up with?

But before your worries escalate to something more, you pick up some soft sounds coming from the kitchen; pots and pans clanging gently, as if someone’s trying to use them as quietly as possible without waking you. 

The faint scent of coffee hits you then, wafting through the gap in the door, along with an aroma you’ve become very familiar with over the past while.

Pancakes.

You let out a short, relieved chuckle. It’s second nature for you to expect the worst and it will take a lot of unlearning, but you figure that there’s no better person to experience that with than your partner.

You yawn as you slide out of bed - you didn’t get much sleep last night, after all - before shrugging on a robe and padding down the hall. 

“Really leaning into the domesticity, are we?” you call out as you enter the kitchen, spotting Kishibe by the stove with a frying pan in hand. True to form, he has two mugs of coffee ready and holds one out to you as you approach – you accept it with a grateful squeeze of his hand, lifting the cup to your lips and savouring the bittersweet taste. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he picked your favourite mug.

“Indulge me?” he asks as he flips a pancake, taking a sip of his own brew, and you make a sound of agreement. 

“Never said it was a bad thing,” you add with a smile, blowing softly to cool down the drink before taking a seat at the little table in the corner. He has it set for breakfast - a cup of sugar, a little jug of milk, some sliced fruits are laid out in front of you, along with cutlery and plates - and he even has the newspaper folded on the table despite neither one of you ever reading it.

To say that it’s endearing is an understatement; you’ve earned one or two clichés of domestic life. 

He joins you once the pancakes are finished - “ how the hell did you manage to not burn a single one?” - and pulls his chair closer to yours. He glances at you when you take the first bite, almost self-conscious in the way he watches you eat, looking relieved when you hum your approval.

“So,” he begins, after taking a bite of his own. “Think you’ll be going to work on Monday?”

Though his tone is conversational, you know the question is loaded. It’s not accusatory in the slightest - you know he will respect whatever decision you arrive at as long as you come home to him afterwards - but he just needs to know, to prepare for whatever course you both choose to take. 

You think for a moment. You assume, based on the trajectory this conversation has taken, that you’ll need to look at other prospects. You’re not sure if you’ll quit outright – if that’s even possible – but you think it might be time for an extended hiatus in the devil-hunting department. 

The Division would have no hesitation in replacing you should you get injured or be killed in action – they can cope without you for a few months. Or longer. 

“I think I’ll call in sick,” you reply in between sips of coffee. 

“Really?” he queries with a grin, turning to face you – you can’t help but match it. “‘Cos I think I will too.”

You nod confidently, feeling your heart swell in your chest.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[rjshepherd]

Still in my Dishonored kick. Platinumed 1 AND 2 as of last night, now I'm working on doto, knife of dunwall and brigmore witches. Idk how I feel about the trials BC I've not even looked at them yet.

But anyways here's more art. Re uploading human!Outsider because his art was bugging me. Fixed his jawline, toned down his scars and desaturated the forget-me-not behind his ear BC it was distracting

Pose refs by Mellon-soup

Have more headcanons

More for The outsider

So @je-suis-problematique named him Rasmus and I decided to steal that BC it's a good name.

Since jindosh is losing his hearing, he's made an effort to learn sign language

I know he's cannonically 4000 years old but in my mind he's 17-19, physically at least.

Hella thin and constantly hungry. When he was murdered by the cultists it essentially preserved him in the last moment before he died, including any injuries or conditions like hunger ,thirst or exhaustion. It takes a long time for the feeling to wear off.

Billie brings him to dunwall for a few months to help him adjust to real life again. He spends most of his time sleeping, eating all of Emilys snacks and asking a miriad of questions to anyone who'll listen.

Billie Lurk

I haven't read veiled terror yet so I don't know what she's doing post dh2. In the au she's roving the isles looking for places where the void is opening up like a sinkhole and trying to prevent normal people falling in.

She did take a few months off to set up a lawn chair on a roof in Holger square so she had a front row seat to watch the abbey fall to bits.

Corvo occasionally popped in with popcorn and a spy glass for a better view.

When the void started leaking more and more into the real world billies arm and eye began to sort of stabelize. They still look odd but are definitely easier to disguise. Her eye can now be covered with a patch, although she can still see through it, and her arm resembles liquid gold as much as it does bone and stone.

Teague Martin

So don't ask how or why but this little bastard wormed his way into my top 3 DH characters. This drawing of him took me like 3 days BC I kept getting stuck on it but I'm happy with how he ended up.

Low chaos ending for him. Although I refuse to believe he didn't know his drink was poisoned, I'm fully convinced he drank it on purpose because he couldn't live with the guilt.

In this au he's been friendly with Lamb and Wolf for a fairly long time, since they normally live in Morley where teague is from.

He and Wolf have a friend's with benefits arrangement. They've been seeing each other since before jessamines murder.

During dh1 lamb and wolf relocate to dunwall, partly to deal with the influx of souls related to the rat plague, partly to be closer to teague and his terrible decisions.

He's fully aware that both lamb and wolf are void creatures, not to mention magic users but he justifies his relationship with them by adopting a lesser of 2 evils sort of mind set.

Despite being in his position for power alone, Martin really does what what's best for the empire

After his death, rather than wander the void for eternity he winds up working for them, collecting souls and ushering them to the void.

His tattoos where given to him by wolf, to allow him access to void powers. Wolf's particular gift, her equivalent of the outsiders mark is called 'fatal wound'. usually taking the form of a bite mark around the neck, allows access to extra powers.

Wolf painfully carved his scars herself to give him incredibly customised abilities.

His outfit is a modified overseer uniform, adapted for using movement abilities like blink. The scarf was a gift.

Wolf

Lamb and wolf have a sort of Kindred relationship. They are both void creatures, presumably knowing all the old gods who died before the outsider was created.

Where lamb is inspired by Inuit whaling culture, Wolf takes hers from west indies, 17th century whaling (think assassin's creed 4 style) . She has a more nautical pirate thing going on. Her original design had her eyes covered by a tritip hat rather than her fringe.

Wolf's ears are functional but she's not a werewolf or anything of the sort. Originally lamb had sheep ears but they were covered by her hair. She still has a lambs tail under her clothes though.

To cover her ears in public, she usually uses the silk ribbon on her waist as a bandana.

Although her eyes are always covered, they are the same void black as lambs.

She spends her free time creating bone charms. No one's sure what they do thought...

Originally Lamb and Wolf are from an island near pandyssia. The way they speak of it however makes it seem like the island no longer exists.

Like the kindred, where lamb goes wolf follows. She's never more than a few feet from lamb, even if you can't see her she can sure see you.

Everyone finds her relationship with teague Martin strange. Lamb often refers to him as " wolf's chew toy"

By the time of dh2 she can usually be found in the back room of Lambs apothecary, concocting potions and running the accounts.

I'm super proud of the way wolf turned out. I had no idea where I was going with her when I started, only that I wanted a visual foil to lamb. I think I'll draw them together and do more details about them and maybe their relationships with the other characters

[hopefull-mindset]

Hello this is my main for @/dazai-on-my-mind I was going through your abuse post (have yet to finish it so forgive me if you've discussed this already) what are your theories for what lies under Dazai's bandages? The main fan theories that I've seen so far is that they're either covering self inflicted injuries or Mori experimented on Dazai at times during his Port Mafia days but again coming from your abuse post this theory seems highly unlikely. So I was wondering if you had any thoughts about that.

Hello! Sorry this took a bit. I saw your other ask, so I'll try to get to that. It's absolutely fine you haven't finished it. I'm personally surprised at how long it is myself. I actually haven't talked about what is under Dazai’s bandages, so sure! I also have some brief thoughts on the bandages itself.

(Edit: that was not brief, it turns out I had a lot of thoughts)

It's an average topic with this fandom, so I don't know how much I can add really!

We do know he has scars from what Oda said in Dark Era:

And we also get this tidbit from Harukawa talking about designing Dazai:

The special thing about this series was that apart from the settings from Asagiri, the characters probably should have certain aspects of the authors they were based on, but I tried to draw them based on the character settings first when doing up the initial drafts. […] For Dazai, I wrapped him up in bandages because of his suicide mania, and took note with other items.

—Harukawa35, Behind The Scenes of The Character Design!

Of course, the intent behind what the bandages are and what is behind them can change over time when they get to know their own characters better! They look like they're implying two different things, but I'd argue it's the exact same thing, even if they come from different places.

Out of all the assumptions, what's under there is probably scars he gained while throwing his life away in the face of danger, even when he doesn't need to. It's no different than the average suicide attempt by him. I wonder if he has a scar from the Old Boss’s scythe, that'd be sick. This is what sounds most likely to me, but I’ll entertain other ideas for the sake of it being too short of a note to end on.

You can obviously tell I don’t dig the idea of Mori committing medical malpractice. Not only is that an insane idea to come by, how does he even benefit from that thought process? The only type of stuff happening is Mori forcing him to take his vaccinations and taking drugs Dazai got from his medicine cabinet out of his young hands. I also think people think this way because of what he said about Mori telling him the shots won't hurt in The Day I Picked Up Dazai Side A.

A doctor is telling a child his shots won't hurt… ??? Sounds pretty normal.

I know people won't like it when I say this, but that was typical teenage Dazai childishness. He does genuinely not like pain of course, so it could be that he's overexaggerating because that's what it felt like to him haha. That scene is meant to be comedic, so this sentiment shouldn't be that serious in context. It's not like this is idk Black Butler.

I remember in Side B that Dazai says pain is what reminds you that you're alive. Maybe that's why he doesn't like it, even if he was a torture specialist. To understand death, you have to understand what it is to be alive because life is both of those things. Dazai prefers the state of being dead rather than the process, but also thinks the attempt is easier than actually committing. Dear god, your commitment issues don't need to go this far.

As for self-harm, it's pretty 50/50 with enough arguments on both sides to make a case. Dazai doesn’t like pain, but people don't usually do it because they like the feeling of the pain itself. They could do it to punish themselves, the feeling of it afterward, etc. I think Dazai putting himself in those situations like I mentioned earlier counts enough as self-harm (you can even count his implicit drinking habits too if you'd like), but this specifically on what I know you mean just depends on whether you think Dazai would do so.

I can't imagine it from Dazai, but if people think so, there's nothing stopping them from it. There's nothing implying he wouldn't, suicidal people don't always resort to this. I’m personally just tired of people using it for their whump narratives, in all fandoms actually.

I don’t care much for it if that’s what they’d like to do because I understand, but it’s not something I like being depicted in weirdly graphic detail for no reason other than the character to suffer. Besides that, there no harm in it. I don’t want to get all “you shouldn’t write this stuff because I said so”, that’s stupid.

(-150 points if it’s for white knighting ship content)

Now I hope you don’t mind me rambling off a bit! It’s been on my mind since last week to talk about the bandages.

Symbolically, the bandages can mean a couple things. All very similar things haha. It’s like what Chuuya’s gloves are to him and how personal it is to take them off outside of Corruption, or how he said he used to put his hands in his pockets because he wanted to protect his humanity while fighting.

Core things they can mean are:

A thin barrier to separate and hide himself from others (including from himself)

To minimize skin contact from his ability aka himself (not as literal as it sounds)

Abilities in Bungou Stray Dogs are apart of the user. No matter if you move your ability on to your child (Kyouka and her Mother), have it be mutilated into something unrecognizable (Verlaine, Chuuya), or to naturally be imbedded into you, you cannot separate it from your humanity. It’s still you, as Atsushi had to eventually accept this fact.

You can say a lot about the nature of abilities and 55 Minutes made some worrying discussion points about Abilities that I wish were touched on more by others, but let’s go with first thought process because it’s the one Asagiri let’s us off easy with.

No Longer Human, as Asagiri told us, is based off of the feeling he got when reading Dazai Osamu’s writing. Functionally, his ability is a bit horrifying to me as something born from himself. Maybe I just overreact, but when you translate what his ability mean functionally against every ability user we know, you can come up with interesting conclusions.

It’s not like how Atsushi can cut through abilities as a Tiger as I’m sure that was meant to imply something about his psychological breakthrough and combating other’s soul born abilities with his own. Dazai just straight up takes away other’s abilities. As long as he’s touching you, you have become a victim to his soul’s vacuum of searching for humanity or lack there of.

That’s not to say others who don’t have abilities aren’t human, I think the difference is that ability users are forced to put a part of their humanity up for show and scrutiny, which makes them appear inhuman to the average human being. Dazai is as paradoxical as his own ability. He’s functionally the average human being, but he also lacks something… human when you put him up against another ability user.

Sorta this middle ground in what to think and how he also tends to be. When I read No Longer Human, it popped out to me too often that Yozo Oba was incredibly human while putting himself in this position of inhumanity.

When Dazai’s ability is in effect, he takes away a piece of your humanity, making your less than who you were before. So when Dazai covers skin with his bandages, he’s covering up the metaphorical cavity that is his ability and inhumanity. When the bandages starts going everything when he’s using his ability, he’s swallowing that piece whole and embracing you falling to his level.

Am I overanalyzing a stylistic choice that usually only appears in official art? Yes, but it’s fun.

You can tell I skipped the first one, but that’s because it has to do with an example that’s been the reason I keep thinking about this and it sounded more fun to talk about. In the Onsen CD Drama, there’s two scenes I want to put emphasis one.

The first one being when Dazai says that they’re all getting closer because of them being in the hot spring, but Kunikida calls out the fact he’s still wearing his bandages. I could’ve passed it off as being not that significant because it’s a joke scene if it weren’t for the next one.

Atsushi wanted to wash Dazai’s back since Kunikida had been occupied and he wanted to help them like they did for him, but Dazai had already walked away. Later when they’re still awake while the others had slept, Atsushi tries again and actually gets the opportunity to do it. Only problem, Dazai still has his bandages on. Dazai just tells him it’s okay and to scrub anyway.

This made me feel… how do I say this… speechless? Not because Dazai was entirely insistent on them being apart of his body like the troll he is, but because of the simultaneous intimacy of the act and abruption of it with the bandages. You can pass it off as a running joke, but we both know Dazai absolutely heard Atsushi thank him and avoided that confrontation by playing it off as being sleepy.

I’ve said this a couple times to people I’ve talked to before, but Dazai is the type of guy who you would talk to every day, invite you everywhere, and always go out with a lot of people, but if you were to be asked what you personally know about him, you’d be able to say nothing but surface level stuff everyone knows.

With anyone and everyone, there’s always this level of personal separation between them and Dazai, and they know it. Even if you are closer to him like Oda and Chuuya are and Dazai had willing shared stuff usually wouldn’t (mind you, it took Mimic for Dazai to share more about himself to Oda and Ango), he doesn’t let himself be that vulnerable or let himself go.

I’m arguing that the bandage are a more literal barrier between him and the world. Either to protect himself or to protect others from what they’ll realize about him. He hides himself because of what he is…or something like that at least, I don’t know what goes though his head. Im still trying to figure out his perception on things thoroughly and if he really cares about it.

The eye bandage has been talked to death by now. Yes yes, Dazai left his eye covered for depth perception in the dark and Oda uncovering it for him to see the light as well. We all know it. Still, I think it’s quite meaningful that when he’s finally having an heart-to-heart with Odasaku, he’s the one to open up that bandage. It doesn’t fix everything, but he’s been opened up to that possibility.

For Beast, Dazai having a bandage on the other eye can be seen as a misguided attempt of seeing everything with Oda in mind by seeing it all in the eye he uncovered, but still needing to cover the other to guide himself in the dark. He’s also a mirror image of the original Dazai if you’d like to see it like that.

In Side B, Dazai covers his whole face up. Ironically, while I called the bandages on his body a cover up for his inhumanity, the face bandages cover up his emotions, suppressant of himself. Dazai is not typically that emotional, but Side B Dazai is going through a lot when it comes to Odasaku… so while he’s covering his face to hide it from Oda, he is also hiding the overwhelming feelings he has.

In the ending of Side B where he takes off the dirty bandages, he’s so wracked with emotion he almost fails himself in his plans, and presumably forces himself to cover up his one eye again. When he falls to his death in the ending of Beast, bandages fall when he’s able to let himself go.

In the manga, Hoshikawa was evil and drew the bandages falling into Oda’s hands. Let’s say… they’re a symbol of his protect of Oda and remembrance of the scene where Oda pulls them off. You can even say they where still taken off with Oda’s influence!

OKAY ENOUGH, I’m talking you ears off. It seems I like the sound of my own voice and wanted to share as much as I could.

[darishima]

What do you like about Midari? I rarely find people who love the show :D

ohh boy that's hard to answer... is it a copout if i say everything? it probably is so i'm gonna try to pin down all the reasons why. sorry it'll probably be long and a bit rambley 😭 thank you so so much for asking though i have been WAITING for the opportunity to talk about midari

*tw for discussion of self harm, suicidal thoughts, and general mental illness (obviously, cause this is midari we're talking about)*

first of all, i think a lot of it is because i heavily relate to her. the feeling of never being fulfilled or truly happy and turning to pain and suicide as the apparent answer... it really hits home, and back when i watched kakegurui for the first time (in 2019) i'd never really seen any other piece of media that talked about it so openly.

that, specifically, is one of the things i find most interesting about her- the fact that (prior to meeting kirari and losing her eye) she'd never been "truly happy." and the fact that (self-inflicted) pain (or the risk of pain/death, specifically) is what finally made her feel something is so deeply sad. i feel like a lot of people brush her off as a "crazy yandere" or whatever, which is frustrating because she's so much more than that (and even her ""yandere"" side, the way she feels about yumeko, is just because she wants yumeko to kill her; it's not the typical yandere portrayal, like yuno gasai or the like, because it's not driven by romantic interest- at least, not fully). she's clearly struggling (the bandages she wears on her arms seem much too convenient to be there for any reason other than covering self harm scars/injuries), but she still has such a confident and "gives-no-fucks" attitude that i find genuinely admirable. she's really smart (she's a amazing gambler, has good grades, and i've always gotten the impression that she could easily be the top of her class, maybe even rival sayaka, if she ever bothered to study), very perceptive (as shown when she immediately saw through yumemi's idol façade and sayaka's intelligence), and also genuinely caring, like when she saves ayame nureba from suicide in the kakegurui midari manga (granted, she does it in a distinctly midari-esque way, but she still saves her life).

a lesser seen side of her, though, is that she's actually kind of... a adorable weirdo? it's most often shown in kakkokari (a manga spinoff of kakegurui that not many people have read, because it's never gotten an official english release/translation). like, she refers to animals with the -san honorific (except giraffes, she doesn't like giraffes),

cleans up trash around the school,

knows yumemi's songs by heart,

orders cutesy dishes at a coffee shop,

and when she gets 3rd place in a "which student council member do you want to be your girlfriend" competition, she's surprised and embarrassed (i'd vote for her in a heartbeat btw)

she's just so skrunkly yknow?? and there's dozens more moments like this from kakkokari, like when she wears a kigurumi hoodie like runa's, or when she gets hiccups and convinces kirari to choke her, or when she turns out to be surprisingly worried about how other people perceive her, and asks sayaka to teach her how to fix her "vulgarity" (and then gets told by kirari that she seems "normal," and immediately holds her gun to her head lmao).

TLDR; she's someone who is struggling a lot, and has been for years, but still manages to be smart, perceptive, confident, and kind. the issues she has with her mental health are things i've struggled with too, and really relate to (i'm a midari kin, after all), and god i just want to give her a hug so bad. and she's also adorable and goofy and weird in all the best ways, and she means the world to me <3

sorry that was SO long lmao... i had to omit a lot of character analysis from kakegurui midari (a manga spin off about her pre-canon, in which she has a girlfriend) but i hope i answered your question well enough!! thank you for asking, and giving me an excuse to ramble about midari :))

[adamwatchesmovies]

Evil Dead Rise (2023)

Don’t let the semi-comical (though extremely gruesome) pre-title sequence fool ya; Evil Dead Rise is not a horror-comedy. I can’t vouch for the Ash vs. Evil Dead television series, but 2013’s Evil Dead wasn’t funny either. Not even darkly funny. This franchise now has two modes: splatsick horror and visceral, unsettling terror. While you may not gasp in fright often, what happens in this film is so no-holds-barred that thinking back at it, I shudder.

After learning that she’s pregnant, guitar technician Beth (Lily Sullivan) visits her sister Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland), nephew Danny (Morgan Davies) and nieces Bridget (Gabrielle Echols) & Kassie (Nell Fisher). Then, an earthquake hits Los Angeles and causes a concealed chamber in their building’s basement parking lot to open. Inside, Danny finds a copy of the Necronomicon, as well as recordings of its passages. Once played, the incantations summon the demonic Deadites.

The main cast consists of two adults and three children. I figured the main cast would be "spared" (except for psychological trauma or minor injury) while everyone else in the building would get possessed by the evil magic of the Naturom Demonto. I was wrong. Writer/director Lee Cronin gleefully tears his characters apart, leaving piles of red goo and severed limbs all over the place. What’s particularly unnerving is that you have no idea how our heroes will make it out alive. Deadites are not zombies. Shooting them in the head only puts them down for a few minutes. Once they get back up, Deadites can use weapons, may wield supernatural powers (beyond rising from the dead) and they can talk. More than talk, they can strategize, deceive and taunt. That’s particularly relevant because Deadites are nasty. Not just physically; they don’t play fair. You keep expecting this to be like a possession movie, where you can exorcise the demons out of people and bring them back to normal, but that’s not happening.

The word to describe Evil Dead Rise is “deranged”. When you see the ways people and monsters get stabbed, shot, dismembered, shredded, grated, torn apart, impaled, mangled and mutilated, you wonder what sort of person dreamt up this nightmare scenario. I knew I was in store for something traumatic when the rental screen gave me chills - remember, it's just a still image. In action, it’ll have squeamish viewers running for the hills. In a way, I think the makeup and special effects artists might have overdone it. It’s not that they’re excessive, it’s that most people will be wincing and covering their eyes so much that if the visuals had been half as good, no one would notice. Try your best to keep your eyes open, however, there are some great monsters in this movie.

This fifth, standalone entry in the series pours on the viscera but it also takes the time to craft likable characters. This means you’re equally excited and nervous when the madness starts. Yes, Danny is warned by his sister not to touch the evil-looking book but he grabs it anyway because it looks fancy and most importantly, expensive. He thinks selling it might bring the family some much-needed cash. The relationship between several of the family members may be strained but you can tell much of the tension comes from the unfortunate circumstances that have been piling on top of their shoulders in recent months. Sometimes, our heroes do make mistakes that make their situation worse but more often than not, they’re making smart choices and in their defense, no one could ever be prepared to handle the torrent of hellfire unleashed upon them. Things are not completely hopeless, but it’s not looking good. 

The only major flaw in Evil Dead Rise is the opening scene. Firstly, because it means everything is told in flashback. Being shown that more goes on after the events inside the high-rise end feels unfair. Even if the entire family makes it out alive, it’s rather bleak to know they weren’t able to contain the evil and that it “lives” on. The second reason to criticize the opening scene is for its tone, which doesn’t match the rest of the movie. I wonder if it was made intentionally more splatsticky so that the die-hard fans of Evil Dead 1-3 would give this film a chance. There is something to be said about catering to your audience’s expectations, but it's inconsistent.

Evil Dead Rise is a frightening, unrelenting deluge of horror and gore that keeps you guessing, shows you something new, and gives you something to remember all while forcing its likable protagonists through the wringer. There aren’t any big names among the cast but I wouldn’t be surprised to see more than one make it big in the future. I was impressed. (June 14, 2024)

[dibrujas]

🏍motorcycle racing OCs🏍

It's been 2 whole days of thinking about these two characters, so I come to infodump about them.

[Also, please ignore any errors when it comes to actual motorcycle racing, I know absolutely nothing about it...]

First I came up with her:

Amancay Ballester (she/her). 27 y/o.

Amancay is considered one of the best racers in the Argentinian motorcycle racing space. About 3 years ago she got in an accident in one of the races, and ended up with pretty severe burn injuries in her upper torso and part of her face. This resulted in damage to her vocal chords, and is now mute. She had to retire for a couple of years, but she never gave up on her passion for the sport.

The story starts when, after intensive recovery, she's able to come back to racing! She's the most hyped figure in the competition, and everyone is expecting to see if she can go back to being the best, and winning. But she only really cares about racing again. She's very chill about the competition aspect.

That's when the next characters comes in:

Antonella Albani (she/they). 29 y/o.

Antonella is pretty nervous about Ballester's return to the races. Only because she considers that her recent streak of wins and scaling in the podium came because of Amancay's temporary absense. They're convinced that their victory streak will end the second they start competing with Amancay again, since, in Albani's eyes, she's much better.

The good (?) thing is that Albani is able to turn insecurities into a deep competitive spirit. As the first encounter of the tournament comes closer, they start becoming more and more eager to race with Ballester, this time in a more equal ground than when they last saw each other, since they have improved a lot in those years.

Ok. So. What's their relationship like?

It starts as them just being competitors, next to the other racers that make up the tournaments. But as the races pass, Albani and Ballester start getting in an equal field. They both start doing very well, and a rivalry starts to form. Even from Amancay's side, who doesn't usually care about being rivals with other compatitors. For some reason, competing agains Albani is particularly interesting.

It's all in good fun, kinda. As the time passes they also become close, developing a Nice Friendship in between the events. That actually makes them even more eager to compete with each other. Once they know what the other's goals are, and how ambitious they are about it, it makes the two of them want to compete even more intensely.

And, as you can expect from me, this rivalry, these feelings of passion, of competition, of comradery, even a small fraction of anger, all turn into something else. Is not love or romance just yet, but a deep, strong homoeroticism (lol). As exemplified by this drawing of them making out in a shower cubicle:

From here the rivalry still exists, but also laced with lesbianism as it should always be. And they continue to grow closer as the events of the story continue. Do they end up falling in love? Yes We'll have to see what happens (don't expect a comic anytime soon, tho).

Now...what is up with the bandages?

I'm still trying to develop this part of the story. Knowing me, I couldn't just make it a sports story with a completely normal plot and no weird worldbuilding elements. The bodyhorror always appears one way or another.

Something strange happened to Amancay on the years she wasn't racing...some kind of entity from time to time covers her entire body with bandages. She doesn't know what it means or what it could do to her.

The only thing she knows is that when they cover her body shape, if she reaches in between the gauze, there's only a black hole. Her body becomes hollow. She can only wait until the bandages leave, so she can have her whole body again.

[Btw, since this part of the story is quite underdeveloped, this things can change in the future as I write more]

I think this story takes place in an alternative reality where weird supernatural stuff just happens. Including a racer who gets covered in bandages from time to time.

All in all that's what I have plotwise so far. But here's some extra details and fun facts that I couldn't write in the other parts:

Amancay speaks in Argentinian sign language, and has an interpreter who translates for her in interviews. When she speaks with people who don't know sign language, she writes in her phone and uses a text to speech app.

Amancay is mute, not deaf. She can hear no problem.

Interviewers sometimes ask Albani if she's trying to copy Amancay, since they have a similar haircut. They just both have undercuts! And obviously, Albani is annoyed at these questions.

Both Amancay and Albani are butch lesbians!

In case it wasn't obvious, the story takes place In Argentina. And I think it starts in summer 2028.

Ok, that's it. I hope I can come up with interesting ideas for them in the future!

[ghostenluvs]

my little sister's rewatching s3 despite Also watching it yesterday and its just. so funny to me. like first off bc the fight against nine is paced like a rpg boss battle (which. nine also talks like an rpg villain so that tracks. he just keeps spawning minions and saying things like "you fools. bring me sonic")

also nine is just so. rotating him. id put him in the microwave but i do not think that would end well for anyone. BUT HES LIKE. "well i tried caring and it just got me hurt." and hes just so so scared of being hurt again, so he cuts everyone off and hurts the people he wants to care about him. bc he cant let anyone get close. robots are the only ones he can depend on, they won't turn on him because they can't. and he HAS to believe that sonic betrayed him, that sonic wanted to hurt him and never really saw him as a real person or cared about him, because if he does then he has to confront that He is the one lashing out. etc etc etc. i am one of those goopy eyed white grandma dogs and nine is the squeaky toy i am furiously shaking around and disemboweling.

ok so yes all of this.

nine just keeps doing such edgy boy anime villain in the background of a tvshow cover poses during this season.

nine is like. so cool to me. squeezing him like a stress ball. patting he on the head and giving him a nintendo switch and a hot chocolate. blasting a character analysis of him through my headphones at an irresponsible volume.

i have so many thoughts about him. like. so many.

most of them [many of them, not all] are like.

"hey nine is like [insert other character here] but [insert adjective here]" sort of. and like comparisons or situations and such.

for some reason after i realized "hey nine is like elsa but boy and technology" my brain immediately went: ctubbo dream smp

and i couldn't figure out why.

and then my brain went:

"hey nine is like ctubbo if he never had someone to lead him around places and just entered his 'ive been traumatized must build incredible technologies to defend self' phase wayyyy early."

so yeah i'm insane about him. because ive somehow made ctubbo connections to tails and nine now. [tails prime also he is like disc era-l'manburg ctubbo in my brain]

because like. he's a kid!!!!! that's a child!!!!! bro is like 8 years old!!!!!

he should be having beef with jessica over the swingset seat at recess!!!!! and instead he's getting horribly traumatized and left alone to deal with any injuries or fears on his own, feeling there's nobody else in the world like him and not seeing sunlight for years on end.

oh gee i just had more ctubbo nine thoughts dang it.

[tommy valueing the discs over tubbo even in the split second of an arguement and not meaning it really / sonic taking about the original people and green hill like he was this whole show despite the huge care he has for everyone in the shatterspaces]

IM NORMAL I PROMISE.

[outsideratheart]

I posted 1,835 times in 2022

That's 1,764 more posts than 2021!

1,667 posts created (91%)

168 posts reblogged (9%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@footygirl114

@cpheath

@putellas14

@outsideratheart

I tagged 1,307 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#ask - 1,090 posts

#woso x reader - 74 posts

#woso - 65 posts

#fcb femeni - 46 posts

#woso one shot - 42 posts

#woso imagine - 41 posts

#barcelona femeni - 36 posts

#espwnt x reader - 35 posts

#espwnt - 34 posts

#barcelona femeni x reader - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 49 characters

#you can always count on jenni to give the content

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Eyes open (Leah Williamson x reader)

A/N: This could be one of the quickest fics i have ever written.

This was based of an Anon request but I cannot find it. Anon, I hope you like it.

In the 85th minute. The game was 2-0, the win was England’s but Canada refused to give up. 

Leah stood on the edge of the box as Kelly sent the ball in from a corner. Everyone knew that your head was the target for corners so it came as no surprise that you are very heavily marked. 

The ball hit its target but it also hit the cross bar. With the ball in the air going from head to head, Kadeisha Buchanan tries to clear it with a high kick and it just so happened that you jumped for a second header at the same time. 

It’s as if it happened it slow motioned and Leah could do nothing but watch as the Canadian defender’s boot connects with your head and with force. You fall to the ground with a thud, there was no scream of pain and your body was limb as it fell. 

“Y/N” Leah quickly ran to your side. 

Lucy was kneeled beside you in a matter of seconds as she tried her best to keep you conscious. It was obvious from look in your eyes or more so the lack there of which told the defender the severity of your injury. 

“Keira you need to keep her away” Lucy says. 

Keira hated it but she knew Lucy was right. There was a huge laceration on your head and blood was flowing out fast. 

“Leah, she is bleeding and you’re not good with blood. We can’t have you the two of you passed out” 

“She’s unconscious?” Leah asks and although she didn’t think it possible, the panic within her grew tenfold. 

“I’ll be ok. It’s Y/N. I need to see her” 

Keira turns to to Lucy as if asking for permission.  The defender takes her shirt off so that she can cover the wound then she nods her head. Whilst Leah rushes to your side, Keira shouts for the medics to hurry up. 

“Y/N” Leah’s voice is barely a whisper. The way your eyes fail to focus on anything scares her. It’s like your body is there but your mind isn’t.

You can hear someone say your name and the voice is familiar but you can’t place it. You can hear people talking and you can feel something warm falling down your face but what you feel the most of the excruciating pain in your head. 

“Something’s wrong” your eyes get heavy as the pain consumes you. 

“What! No! Y/N keep your eyes open. Lucy what do I do?” Leah begins fearing the worse. 

Lucy freezes. You are her best friend and as much as she wants to reassure your girlfriend she can’t. She is frozen in the spot as she looks down at you and her once white now red shirt. 

“Y/N It’s Keira. I need you to keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me?” 

You try to do as she asks but your eyelids are too heavy. 

“Ke” 

“Im here. Leah is too and Lucy. The whole team is here” 

“It hurts” you try to move you hand to the source of the pain but it feels heavier than normal and then you realise that someone is holding it, that someone being Leah. 

At this point the medics arrive and the team move so they can treat you but Leah, Lucy and Keira remain by your side. 

When the medics ask Lucy to remove her shirt so they can access the wound Leah winces. The cut was about 4 inches long and it was deep. You would need stitches, no doubt about it. 

“Keira try to keep her talking. She is going to be in a lot of pain” the medics ask. 

You and Keira can talk about anything. It’s one of the reasons why you are so close. From serious topics to top ten pizza toppings, yet in this moment her mind is blank. 

“It must be bad if you can’t think of anything” you use every ounce of energy to muster together a sentence. 

See the full post

470 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

#4

Contract Negotiations (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: I went to this game, it was amazing! Also, I started writing this fic in Barcelona.

Throughout the season you have some pretty amazing games but no matter what, your favourite is always the last home game of the season.

This season that game is against Atletico Madrid making it that much better because you get to catch up with some of your closest friends who you don’t get to see that much during the season.

It is bitter sweet though because it is Melanie’s last game and you are 99% sure that it is Leila’s last game too. It could also be yours and Jenni’s last game at El Johan if Barca don’t stop dragging their feet with the contract extensions.

Barca is winning 2-1 and Aijbade is making a run towards the goal with you and Mapi not too far behind her. When you see Mapi slide in and miss the Atleti player you know exactly what you have to do. You are exhausted due to the heat and the physicality of the game but you put all of your energy into catching up with Aijbade before she gets into the box. You pull her shoulder back causing her to fall just in time and you have no arguments when the referee pulls out a red card. 

Two minutes later you are back on the pitch celebrating the perfect season, 30 games and 30 wins. When you exit the tunnel you see a certain Ballon D’Or winner waiting for you.

“Fancy seeing you here” you say playfully as you bring her into a hug, holding her a little tighter as you both take in your surroundings. When you let go Alexia keeps her arms wrapped around your waist, her head resting on your shoulder as you put your arm around hers.

She watches you watch the crowd as they cheer and wave their flags. A few seconds in and you are lost in the moment, that is until Alexia nudges you.

“Don’t think about it” she says as if reading your mind.

When you turn to face her you see her looking at you.

You chuckle slightly “I didn’t say anything”

“When you weren’t saying anything very loudly” 

You don’t respond, truth is you wouldn’t know what to say if you wanted to. This is something Alexia picks up on.

“Who would have thought” Lola says as her and Jenni walk towards the two of you “Alexia misses a penalty, well I save her penalty and Y/N Y/L/N gets a red card”

“It won’t happen again” Alexia says confidently and you can tell that she isn’t happy with herself for missing it.

When she turns to you she sees that Jenni’s head is buried in your neck. She sees Jenni’s body shake slightly making it clear that she is crying whilst you cover you mouth with your hand so no one can hear what you are saying to her.

You walk around the stadium with your team mates knowing for some of them it might be the last time and for some it definitely was. Looking around you wanted to say to thank you to every single person that had attended a game this season and you always wanted to say goodbye but you wasn’t sure if that was necessary, at least not yet.

As you get back towards the benches you and Mel get pulled for interviews. You go first, answering every question as well as you can without getting emotional. You and the team had just completed the perfect season and you wanted nothing more than to celebrate with them. As you hand back the microphone you hear the fans shouting your name.

“Y/N” “Y/N please will you sign this” “Y/N can I have a photo”

You hold up a finger “Uno minuto” you tell them as you listen to Mel give her last interview at El Johan. You notice one of the twins crying so you move behind the camera signalling your head to Itzel, mentally asking her if she wants you to take her daughter to which she nods her head. You quickly taking the small child from her.

Looking down at the baby and then at Mel who is holding the other twin you can’t help but feel jealous. You want what she has, you wanted to have a long career at Barcelona, have children with Alexia and have them with you at the games. You begin thinking of you future and how the next couple of days will either cement your future with Barca or it will flip your life upside down.  

You go to the stands starting at the goal line to meet the fans with the aim to meet, sign and take photos with as many people as you can. You give your shirt to a young fan who created a sign asking for it. You then tell the fans thank you before running into the locker room to get the shirt you wore during the first half so you can give that one away too.

Alexia talks to her friends whilst watching you.

“She is making us look bad” Ana tells her.

Your girlfriend doesn’t face her team mate, instead choosing to keep her attention on you.

“She lives for this. No matter the game or the score, she always makes time for the fans” 

Ana hums in agreement, she had watched you do this so many times though out the season.

“Ale” Mapi says “why does it feel like she is saying goodbye?” 

Alexia looks at her national team mate, someone who you are very close with. She knows that you haven’t talked to anyone other than her about your future so she understands the uncertainty radiating from the defender.

See the full post

489 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

#3

Never Stopped (Leah Williamson x reader)

A/N: So I started this on 20th April and I kept coming back to it every now and then but I was determined to finish it before the Euros so here it is and it could be one of my favourite fics i have written so far, also could be my longest at 6.7k words but i’m not sure. Anyways, I hope you guys like it!

Dubai is beautiful. You were skeptical when you were first told about your pre world cup training being held in a different time zone, to you it didn’t make sense but this is exactly what the team needed. It was a chance to get away from the pressure that mounted back in England and it gave the team the perfect opportunity to bond. A lot of the players saw each other frequently with most of them playing in the WSL but it was different for you and Lucy as you both played in France with Lyon. 

You remember when you made the decision to leave Arsenal, you would go so far as to say it was the hardest one you have every made. You left the team that raised you, the people that you called family but most importantly it would mean you living over 580 miles away from your girlfriend. 

Leah was your everything. You remember when she first joined the Arsenal senior team, it didn’t take long for you to fall for her and god did you fall hard, you put the cheesy rom coms to shame. Despite her being your girlfriend she was also your best friend but she wasn’t your only best friend. It was you, Leah and Jordan, you were dubbed the three amigos by your team mate Alex Scott.

The distance was thing that killed your relationship in the end. You thought it was worth it, you were willing to fight for your happiness but Leah couldn’t do it and it broke your heart, but what hurt more was that a couple of months later you found out she began seeing Jordan. It went from being the three of you to being the two and them, then you, all the way in France. 

You are in the recovery room with Lucy scrolling aimlessly through twitter.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Lucy look up from her phone then back down then back at you. This sequence repeating itself a few more times but you lose your patience.

“What is it Lucy?” You ask your best friend.

The way she looked at you, you could tell that she was debating saying something.

“I’m just going to say it” Lucy pauses causing you to let out a small chuckle.

“Well you are doing a rubbish job at it” you say thinking of the irony.

“Leah and Jordan broke up” your body tenses at her words though it wasn’t a surprise, it was what Beth first said to you when you got to the hotel.

“Doesn’t change anything” you say bluntly before turning your attention back to your phone.

“Liar” Lucy whispers to herself but you hear her and deep down you know she isn’t completely wrong.

Considering your history, you and Leah still get along. It was difficult to talk about her when you broke up, let alone be in the same room together. After time you realised that you cannot spend your life avoiding Leah Williamson, truth is you didn’t want to. You and Leah both agreed that you wouldn’t let your past affect your future, that your lives would be a lot better with each other in it. Over time it got back to how it was before you started dating, you didn’t hate her anymore, you didn’t hate Jordan, you liked that your two best friends found happiness in each other even though it could hurt at times.

After a few weeks, the camp in Dubai ends and the team is the strongest it has ever been. The way you played on the pitch filled you with confidence going into the World Cup. 

The flight from Dubai to France is 7 hours and no mater how hard you try you could not go to sleep so you settle with watching a film instead. You look up when you see Kiera grabbing her things making it known that she is moving seats which you found strange. 

“I’m sorry” she mouthed before moving to her new seat thus adding to your confusion.

Things soon became clear when the person she switched with sits in her seat. That someone is Leah Williamson.

You can see her staring at you out of the corner of your eye. You ignore her hoping that she will go away. Although you two are good you still avoid been alone with her, even though technical you aren’t alone with her now but everyone was doing their own thing which mean’t it was like it was just the two of you.

You pause the film, taking you headphones off and turning to face the blonde.

“You look good, I mean I couldn’t keep my eyes of you when we were in Dubai, whether in was on the pitch or when we were at the beach” the flirtatiousness in her voice is clear but it didn’t have the effect on you Leah has hoped it would, instead it has the opposite.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you do so. 

“You don’t get to say shit like that anymore” you whisper through gritted teeth. 

Once upon a time you would have loved to hear Leah say that but things are different now.

“Why not?” Leah asks innocently “I’m not with Jordan anymore” you laugh her at blatancy.

“I know, the whole team knows. I don’t see why you think that would change anything” 

“I just though that now that I’m single we could, you know” Leah stumbles on her words.

You shake your head in annoyance “Stop talking Leah” you tell her before putting your headphones back on and resuming your film.

See the full post

501 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#2

Dropping Hints (Christen Press x reader)

A/N: I had two requests so i put them together, in result we have this fic. Also, i didn’t know what simping was so i had to google it, it must be an american thing.

Anon request: 1:hi can you write one for christen press where the reader is famous and everybody is obsessed with her but they don’t know her and christen are dating. 2: Can you pls write a Christen press x reader where the reader is really famous (you can choose what she’s famous for) and the team is constantly simping over her but they don’t know the reader is dating christen ( you can pick how they found out)

Touring was one your favourite parts of your job. It was what everything led to, all of the writing sessions, hours in the studio and time away from your girlfriend.

Tonight was your first of two sell out shows at The Forum, the last two shows of your tour. Best of all you had sent your girlfriend tickets so that she and her friends could come watch.

“Happy Birthday Mal” Christen says as she hands her an envelope.

Everyone watches as Mal opens it, her reaction is priceless.

“Are these real? How did you get them?” Mal asks as she gets up and hugs Christen tightly.

“Yes, there real and let’s just say I know a guy” Christen says.

“Or a girl” Tobin whispers so that only Christen can hear her.

“Shut up. You’re just jealous that she likes my present better” Christen sticks her tongue out at her best friend.

“What is it Mal?”

“Yeah, show us”

Mal stands up and shows the team the Y/N Y/L/N VIP tickets.

You could only send a certain amount of tickets so you jokingly told Christen that her team mates would have to fight over them, little did you know that this is exactly what would happen. 

You are one of the team’s favourite artists, it seems like every single player liked at least one of your songs. They would listen to you during workouts and in the locker room before and after games. You were a staple for the USWNT.

You had told Christen that the tickets were for anyone but her attendance was mandatory and you knew she would bring Tobin because she had been a keeper of your secret relationship since the moment is started.

After an hour of negotiations Christen texted you to tell you that it would be her, Tobin, Mal, Sam, Rose, Sonnett  and Kelley that would coming to your concert. 

You reply to her saying that you will be looking for her in the crowd and that you will see her after the concert.

***************************

You were sat backstage waiting for your manager to come and tell you it was go time. You were exhausted, your throat hurt and you missed your girlfriend, it wasn’t a good combination.

“Cheer up Y/N you will see her soon” Your manager sits next to you.

You don’t respond as you get a text from Christen. It was a selfie of her and the rest of the girls in their seats.

“Do you want to know where she is sat?” Your manager asks which gets your attention straight away. You nod your head.

Your manager tells you that they are sat to the left of your drummer.

“In all seriousness I do need you to cheer it, it’s showtime”

“You know me, always ready to put on a show”

You both walk to the stairs that lead up to the stage. She connects your in ears and hands you your microphone.

“Two more shows Y/N, I know it had been hard but I am so proud of you” 

“Let’s go!” You shout and watch as your band walk out and you can hear the fans screaming. When you walk out the arena erupts.

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519 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

All Is Fair In Love and Football (Alex Morgan x reader)

A/N: Here’s a little Alex x Reader + Charlie fic that i had no intention of writing but it has been stuck in my head for a few a few days so i thought i would share it.

Angel City FC vs San Diego Wave

Captain vs Captain

Wife vs Wife

This is the fixture that you have been looking forward to since you and Alex decided to leave Orlando Pride and today is game day.

In the tunnel, you stand at the front ready to lead your team. When you turn to the right you see your wife who had the same job. You give her a quick wink, to which she shakes her head, before walking onto the the pitch.

As you stand in line you look into the crowd and you see your biggest fan, Charlie. This is her first game where she isn’t wearing a shirt with Morgan or Y/L/N on the back. You and Alex decided that Charlie would remain neutral when the two of you played each other.

You and Alex shake hands before taking your places on the pitch.

“Remember, she is our enemy today” Christen tells you.

“I hope you told Ali the same thing, she is the one who has to stop Alex” You say jokingly.

Truth is you love to play against Alex, no one pushes you more than she does. Now it actually means something, this isn’t a scrimmage at practice for the pride or national team, it is an NWSL game and in some ways it was a derby, San Diego are your rivals.

Angel City are dominating the game in the first 15 minutes so it doesn’t come as a shock when  Christen crosses the ball into the box and you get your head on it perfectly. You run and jump into her arms as you hear the home fans cheering. 

It doesn’t take San Diego long to come back though, they are a strong side and you are prepared for a battle but you also know how hard Alex is to stop when she is determined to score, which happens just before half time.

The second half is a lot more physical, you are running down the middle when you are knocked off your feet, you expect to see Abby Dahlkemper or Naomi Girma as they are two that have been marking you the whole game so it is safe to say you are shocked when you see Alex standing over you holding her hand out.

“Sorry baby” Alex says as she helps you up. 

You simply shake you head in frustration, you were going to be one on one with the keeper and Alex knows that you don’t miss in that situation. If is was anyone other than your wife you would have reacted very differently.

Call it childish but when Alex next had the ball you wanted payback. You may be professional athletes but you are also very competitive and she needs to know that she won’t get away with taking you out.

Alex gets up without your help “Sorry baby” you say reiterating her words, just as you did she shakes her head but when she turns around you see her smiling which you reciprocate.

It is the 85th minute and the game is still tied.

You manage to get past Naomi now all you had to go was get past Abby but you realise that you don’t have to when you see Christen running along side you. You play a simple through ball to Christen who hits it perfectly, the two of you once again celebrating with each other as the ball hits the back of the net.

The final whilst gets blown with Angel City winning 2-1.

You shake hands with the San Diego players, Alex is the last person you get to.

“Now I remember how much I hate playing against you” Alex says as she wraps her arms around your waist.

“Is that why you took me out?” You tease, raising your eyebrows. 

“All is fair in love and football” Alex tells you “I have some media, are you”

“Going to get the little one, I sure am” you say finishing her sentence.

You walk towards where Charlie is sitting with Alex’s family, signing a few signs and taking a few photos along the way.

When you get to where your daughter is you are surprised to see that she has changed her shirt, her pink nike t-shirt had been replaced with a San Diego shirt which you are guessing has your wife’s name and number on the back.

You reach you arms up and Charlie practically jumps in them.

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525 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

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[crocsfoot]

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[ladylolalilly]

Okay, @harveythewendigo asked, so here’s an infodump.

Chuubo’s Marvellous Wish-Granting Engine is a diceless TTRPG. The system itself is pretty flexible, but the main setting is Town, which IIRC is the last entirely-real place in the universe. (The rest of the world(s) got swallowed up by unreality for reasons that aren’t explained, probably very long and definitely tied to the author previous work, Nobilis.) It’s pretty chill and slice-of-life: I’d say “except for all the weird shit”, but actually the weird shit doesn’t really interrupt the slice-of-life at all.

I feel like the best way to illustrate what this game is like is by introducing the eight premade characters from the Glass Dragon, so here’s the list:

Chuubo, the Wishing Boy: A perfectly ordinary kid who made a Wish-Granting Engine in a basement and can also turn into a giant snake. He’s never been mentioned to have a surname, and apparently none of his friends have ever seen his family, but he asserts that he does have one (his playbook suggests that this could be a completely innocent coincidence, him covering up a completely mundane secret “like a divorce or time warp or something”, or something actually serious).

Seizhi Schwan, the Best Friend: Chuubo’s best friend, who also happens to not be real — Chuubo used his Wish-Granting Engine to wish for a best friend, and so it summoned Seizhi out of nonexistence to fill the role, complete with a fake backstory, a full set of fake memories and a family that may also be fake (the book leaves it up to the table’s interpretation). Also has an older brother named Laodemus Schwan, who may or may not be the Spirit of the Wish-Granting Engine depending on table preference (more on that later), and also a luchador/masked adventurer who’s also probably gay and has a “life partner” named Aidan.

Leonardo de Montreal, Nightmares’ Angel: A self-proclaimed master of nightmare science (basically mad science with a biotech angle). His backstory is long and complicated by the fact that he has the power to erase events from everyone’s memory, so it’s entirely possible some or all of it is BS, and the book outright suggests he may have erased his memories of a relationship with an important NPC because it hurt too much to remember. Notably, he believes he’s a 16-year-old human orphan with no known family, but he’s survived several years (campaign default is seven, but it can vary) without his heart, can canonically grow flaming wings at will and is implied to have firsthand memories of an event that occurred over twenty years ago. Anyways, he’s a mad scientist who usually lives in Old Moulder, the failed industrial district of Town, but is currently renting a room in Fortitude while he investigates something (what he’s investigating is up to his player). One of his core mechanics is that he can use injuries (both physical and intangible) to give himself new powers at the price of them taking a permanent chunk out of his HP, but if he loses enough HP it unleashes a massive disaster. (I am absolutely ENTHRALLED with Leonardo right now, if you can’t tell. There’s just so much to talk about with him.)

Rinley Yatskaya, the Troublemaker: The youngest child of the Yatskaya family, which is important for reasons that are kind of complicated and generally require their own paragraph to explain. She used to be a really shy kid, but then she met and befriended a talking rat named Prince Eduard Fujimoto (yes, talking rats are a perfectly normal thing in this setting, and yes, that is how you spell his name, it’s not Edward) and decided to try and come out of her shell. By default she’s a year younger than most of the other PCs (who are mostly 15-year-olds, with the exception of 16-year-old Leonardo and 22-year-old Entropy II), and is intended to be the social glue of the campaign. She’s also a good storyteller and gets XP for doing so. (Oh yeah, and her family’s descended from selkies but heavily associated with cats, to the point speaking with cats is a standard Yatskaya ability.)

Natalia Koutolika, the Prodigy: A recent immigrant from Russia (by default at least, the game lets you pick whether she’s Russia, Spanish, French or African). She has enough emotional baggage to fill an entire closet with suitcases, and her first quest is hunting a giant golden snake that contains some of her rage while hanging out on rooftops (probably with the talking rats, because that’s also where they hang out). Her main powerset is basically just Hypercompetence The Character Class (although it’s well-balanced, at least as far as I can tell), and she has a special ability called Frozen Heart that’s basically just Emotional Trauma The Ability.

Jasper Irinka, the Child of the Sun: The daughter of the town’s sun goddess, who was murdered by her lover and Jasper’s father when Jasper was a kid (by default she was 8 when it happened, but it can vary). She’s also the new sun, as the sun was destroyed and recreated when her mom died, but she hasn’t figured that out yet. Being the sun goddess apparently comes packaged with being a bringer of hope, and one of her core mechanics is growing new limbs in response to other people’s hopes, or as a reaction to damage (not that doing that keeps her from losing any HP, it’s mostly just a flavour thing I think). She also has an evil mode thanks to her dad’s genetics, which lets her swap the hope part of her godhood out for disillusionment (by default, anyways: other options provided by the book are despair or death, but it does recommend going with disillusionment). She’s also technically homeless by default, because her home was in Celestia (sky kingdom her mom ruled) and after she died it vanished and nobody has any clue where it went or how to get back there, Jasper included.

Entropy II, the Angel of Fortitude: The 22-year-old principal of School, which is apparently the only high school in Town. He inherited his position from his father, Entropy I, who was the god of evil, ruler of the evil world and founder of School. (Entropy I is also from Nobilis.) He has a cool motorcycle and his father’s blood dripping eternally from his hands. His initial quest involves fiddling with a large part of Fortitude’s streets in an attempt to create a fountain he can use to wash the blood off his hands temporarily. It is casually implied that this could potentially upset the Outside, which would definitely be bad. (Also, his player has the option to make him a woman or a woman who’s pretending to be a man.)

Miramie Mesmer, the Dream-Witch: I feel like to explain Miramie, I have to explain Melanie first. Two decades ago, Melanie Malakh was a student at the Bleak Academy, which is basically a school for teaching people how to destroy the world. (Long story, ties into Nobilis.) Melanie was sent to Town to destroy it, where she used her powers to mind-whammy (book’s words, not mine) a magical glassmaker named Hideo Hayashi into helping her build a glass dragon that she could fill with all the reasons she felt the world should be destroyed and use to destroy Town. Except that backfired, and the glass dragon shattered, and Melanie did too. Over the next two decades or so, Hideo ends up studying abroad and then returns to run the Archive, which is like a fusion between an actual archive and a halfway house. (Town is weird.) Then, two decades after the whole affair, Miramie emerges from the Archive, having (re)constructed herself from some of the shards of Melanie/the glass dragon. (I’m not super clear on whether or not there’s a difference between the shards of Melanie and the glass dragon. If there is, she’s reconstructed from the shards of Melanie and not the dragon.) (Players also have the option of saying that Miramie is a teenager who got a part of Melanie’s soul stabbed through their eye, and now the original teenager is either dead or fused with Melanie.)

There are more player characters mentioned, both in published material and the author’s Tumblr, it’s just that most of them (like the Spirit of the Wish-Granting Engine) don’t have character sheets available yet.

Also, in case it wasn’t obvious already, the premade characters are all pretty flexible. Each character has a genderflipped variant, and then a bunch of options to customize them more, like turning Leonardo into a robot or a sorcerer, or making Jasper the North Wind or a rainbow instead of the sun. (My personal favourite variant is probably female ghost-whisperer Seizhi, but I’m sure everybody’s got their own favourite.)

Hey, anybody want to talk about Chuubo’s with me? I’m bored, obsessed and lonely, and this tag is DEAD.

[starbuck]

okay SO...

When Billy fights Vane in 2x09, he gets this cut on his arm, right?

But somehow I’d never noticed before that he has a scar from it in s3...

(this being one of the clearest shots of it I’ve found thus far lol)

...and I just find that attention to detail on the show’s part extremely impressive!

You can see it pretty well here too:

By s4 the implication seems to be that it’s faded almost entirely but you can still see it sometimes if you’re looking for it.