#i left the last line without internal monologue because

[dutyworn]

                                            @parameddic    /    cont. from ↷

She stirs at something poking her in the back, quickly alert at at the painful strain of her arms. Her head, as well, is pounding.

‘Nancy?’

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but Wren can’t place it. She’s lying down, hands tied behind her back (explains the strain  ⸺  the backs of her wrists against each other, someone knew what they were doing).    ❝ Sorry, ❞    she says, voice thick; she clears her throat.    ❝ Not Nancy. ❞    She doesn’t know who he’s referring to. Where does she know that voice from?

More urgently, where are they? Gauging herself in the dark, stuffy air, she assesses her body limb by limb  ⸺  head and torso hurt, the latter likely from the strain of being tied up, the former from having been knocked out, but her legs feel relatively normal, and are free. It’s  ⸺  the small space, the vibrations: they’re in a moving vehicle. How the hell did she end up here? She doesn’t remember being attacked  ⸺  whoever’s done this must’ve caught her sleeping, or been really good & managed to surprise her. Gods, she hates how much more vulnerable she is, in this version of Detroit. If she had her omni-tool, she could get them both out of this within minutes. If she had her gear, if she were working within an environment familiar to her, she wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. She’s more angry than she is frightened.

❝ My name is⸺ ❞    she catches herself, about to go with Shepard rather than her first name. Old habits die hard, and while her gut reaction isn’t to state her rank, anymore, she has to consciously lead with her first name, rather than her surname.    ❝ I’m Wren. I don’t remember  ⸺  are you hurt? Can you get free? Do you know what happened? ❞    Her questions are asked in the order of priority.

Her fingers bump into his as she twists in her restraints, pushing against pain. Whatever is going on, working on freeing her hands is essential: else she can’t help him or herself. Fucking zipties, really? The plastic digs into her wrists, drawing blood, as she tries to force against it enough to twist the position of her hands as to have more leverage with the insides of her wrists together, rather than the outsides.

She freezes when their surroundings lurch. There’s a moment of nauseating sway, the faint noise of metal creaking, creaking in a way she knows from when she... No, it’s not the sway that’s nauseating; it’s her body knowing what’s causing it, before her conscious thought.

She knows the noises a metallic vehicle makes, adjusting to water around it.

Oh, fuck...! OK, fine, she’s frightened, now.

❝ We’re in a vehicle of some kind, ❞    she states, tone calm, but body tense.    ❝ I think we’re in a body of water. Sinking. ❞    She twists her left hand violently enough to groan from the pain, working her own blood as a lubricant to slowly keep rotating it into a better position.

[starfilmz]

SHOW ME WHERE IT HURTS — SAM W.

⤷ An argument between sam and dean lead for the younger winchester to call the teen help line his friends has been bugging him about. ᡣ𐭩

cw: gn!reader, sam pov, platonic relationships, maybe a little of mischaracterization, jess is here, swearing, takes place in s1ep1, unbeta’d so mistakes are around, inspired by dawson’s creek’s college help line and this fic (read if you like cj braxton or jensen!), alot of sam internal monologue. banner || gif

It all started one night when Dean arrived at his and Jess’ apartment, out of nowhere, and tried to bring him back into hunting because of their dad’s prolonged disappearance. Sam’s mind was already a jumbled mess because of his interview on Monday; his brother’s appearance and his attempt to make him leave Stanford were the last things he needed. He can’t just leave the life he’s been building on his own—at first, at least, now he had his friends, his Jess— and Sam wasn’t willing to let it crumble down for the man that had shut him out of his own family.

He was quick to reject Dean, not even when he used his brotherly tone on him.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Dean said with a scowl. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Dad is—”

“I heard you, Dean.” Sam crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “And I meant what I said. This isn’t the first time Dad didn’t come when he said will.” He felt for Dean; he really did. If he were to have come sooner, before everything, Sam would’ve said yes. The guilt Sam had instilled in himself for leaving Dean weighed on his shoulders, but that wasn’t enough.

His brother’s frown deepened when he didn’t respond, though Sam could see the visible disappointment and anger in the boy’s eyes. The silence thickened the tension between them and deafened him—he swore he could hear Jess’ breathing in the other room.

Dean turned his head away from Sam, and with his jaw clenched in the same way he does whenever he wants to say something but refuses to. Sam, even with the little time he spent with Dean as a teenager, was able to pick up the facial expressions and unsaid words his brother would use when their dad was around.

“Fine.” It’s not fine. “I’ll go look for him myself, with or without you.” He meant that, actually. “Enjoy your little university, Sammy.” Go fuck yourself.

Sam suppressed a sigh as Dean left, who made sure to slam the door on his way out.

“That went well.” Jess was already behind him as she spoke. “He looked exactly as you described him; rugged and, I quote, like a ticking time bomb.” Her arms circled around his torso, managing to intertwine their fingers together. Sam remained quiet as he looked at the closed door.

He didn’t expect Dean to take his rejection so hard. Sam knew his brother was more than capable on fighting a house full of ghosts on his own, let alone finding a human being. Why did he need his help anyway?

Sam sighed, squeezing Jess’s hands. “It’s something you’ll need to get used to.” He turned around to plant a quick peck on the girl’s head, leading them back to their shared bedroom.

“I’m guessing this is a family matter you’re not going to share with me?” She asked as soon as she got on the bed.

“Jess...”

She smiled at him, though the corner of her lips didn’t exactly reach her eyes, and took his hand. Sam lets her gently pull him down beside her on the mattress, their feet planted on the wooden floorboards.

“I’m not going to pester you for it. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but judging from what I’ve heard, you guys have a lot to talk about with each other, not your girlfriend.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam agreed, running his fingers on his hair. “but I have a lot on my plate right now. I can’t just- you know, leave.”

Jess nodded, her expression never changing from her soft gaze. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you about it, since you don’t give me much detail about it.” Sam looked like he was about to be say her name again in that same tired voice whenever they would talk about his family. “But I know where you can. Anonymously, so you could tell all the details without trouble.”

He groaned, letting himself fall horizontally on the bed. Sam knew exactly what she was talking about. It’s been what his friends have been doing since the announcement from the school board. It was some sort of collaboration between neighboring schools— Stanford created a teenage helpline specifically for the university close to them, and vice versa. Some students confided in the helpline since the counselors weren’t from their university, but Sam had refused to give in.

It felt stupid to spill all your secrets and personal problems to another person, who’s most likely the same age as him, and expect to get the answers he needed. Sam had to point out that the helpline was used for normal problems, but that wasn’t something he could say to his friends, who continued to force him into dialing them.

“Jess, c’mon, I highly doubt a student can fix my problem with just one phone call.” Sam dismissed the idea entirely, but Jess seemed to be persistent with it, anyway. She lay on his chest, letting Sam’s hand twirl with the ends of her hair.

“Who said about fixing? or that it’s just one phone call?” Jess adjusted her position on the bed, letting her legs rest on Sam’s. “Sometimes, a person just has to talk to someone to help them feel better. Obviously the counselor won’t fix your family’s situation, but they could probably help you from exploding the pretty head of yours.”

Sam glanced at Jess, and from the tired tone in her voice when she spoke up, it didn’t surprise him to see her already fast asleep on top of him. He smiled for the first time in a while after Dean appeared, and the cogs in his head began spinning. For as long as he could remember, ever since he began studying at Stanford, Sam had nights where he’d talk to himself in his head. Sometimes, it would be about a test he needed to take the next morning— a topic he could easily make conversation with— but it’s usually about his family, more specifically his brother, Dean.

Especially during his first week, Sam found himself sleeping in a place that wasn’t a dingy motel with a roommate who wasn’t his brother. Sam wondered at night what Dean would be doing, knowing sleep was the last thing on the list. Then he would feel his chest tighten— the one thing his dad didn’t want his sons to have was fear. As much as he believed in Dean and the remaining fatherly instincts their dad had, Sam couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt for every possible injury his brother had or would have because he wasn’t there to back him up. The thought of the older brother, whom he viewed as the strongest person he knew (despite his lack of saying so), all bruised and battered, cornered by monsters no person should be laying their eyes on in the first place, clawed onto Sam the whole night.

And the worst part of it all was that he had nothing to prove himself otherwise, leaving him chained to his own guilt.

Sam closed his eyes, his migraine coming just in time. If monsters weren’t going to kill him, he was sure it would be himself who would do so.

—-

The next morning, as soon as he got his first vacant time in between classes, Sam had to excuse himself from his friends, including Jess, who exactly knew the reason why he needed to go back to the apartment. It was a now-or-never situation, Sam believed. He gave Jess a chaste kiss before leaving. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” she answered, though he was already a few steps away to hear it.

Sam entered the small home, leaving his bag on the couch, and grabbed the telephone from the bedroom. He was already pressing against the buttons before he registered what he was about to do. When it rang, Sam immediately began to think about what he was going to say.

It was an anonymous call, but surely he doesn’t have to be fully honest, right?

Even if Sam had never talked about his former profession to other people, he knew ghost hunting wasn’t exactly a well-received topic.

“Help line. This is Y/N.”

Sam held his breath for some reason, scared that even the pattern of his breathing could easily be an indicator of who he was. His leg nervously shook below him, still unable to say a word into the mouthpiece. A few seconds passed, and he heard your voice again; this time he could clearly hear your voice against his ear. Sam assumed you got closer to the phone.

“I could hear something shaking from your end, if I’m not mistaken. That’s either your hands trembling on the phone, your legs shaking against the floor, or it’s something else causing it.” His eyes widened at your observation just by what you’re hearing. This caused him to voluntarily stop his leg, embarrassed by his action.

“I guess it was you.” Your tone remained careful, though Sam had no idea why. “If there’s anything keeping you from talking freely, press on any of the buttons, please.” The boy finally registered your sudden change of mood— you were worried for him. It started to make him wonder what type of phone calls you receive every day.

“There’s nothing. I’m alone.” Sam leaned against the couch with a sigh. “Just nerves, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. A lot of first-time callers feel the same way.” You reassured him. He was glad your voice sounded much calmer.

“You can track those?”

“I mean, yeah, since you guys are anonymous, it’s the only way we can keep up with regulars.”

In truth, Sam fully expected a whole spiel from you. Like a robot scripted into saying whatever’s appropriate for the caller, he wasn’t fully prepared for your laid-back tone and casual words, as if the two of you were just friends talking.

“So, anything troubling you today? or in general?” He didn’t realize he’d been quiet for a whole minute. Again, he was surprised by the amount of patience you’re giving him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yes.” Sam coughed into his fist at how awkward he sounded. “You guys don’t usually get family problems, don’t you?” He would assume so, seeing as both Help lines were created a few months before Midterms.

Sam heard a quiet chuckle from you. “We do, actually. A lot of Stanford students seemed to hate their parents more than we thought they would.” He doesn’t exactly fall far from them, Sam thought to himself.

“But we try our best not to fuel them. The Help Line is exactly what it is; we help, but only to a certain degree.” You continued, your voice full of the most sincerity he’s ever heard from someone. He could tell you were quite fond of what you do.

“I bet a lot of your callers were glad they decided to call you guys.”

“Maybe,” You paused for a moment. “are you?”

The change of topic caught him off guard. Sam didn’t exactly plan to keep the conversation going about you and Help Line; talking with you made him forget why he called in the first place. To catch that as well— you were really good of a counselor.

Sam nodded and realized what he just did before answering your question. “Yes, I am,” he couldn’t help the smile forming on his face. “this is probably the most like-able conversation I had over the phone.”

You hummed as you listened. “Unlike-able people calling you often?”

"Not really, now. I did have a bit of an argument with my brother in real life last night. I didn’t like how it ended.” Sam’s words came out almost naturally, unaware of how open he’s currently being. You had that sense of familiarity in Sam’s head already, despite how little time has passed since the two of you spoke.

“Tell me about it.” And he knew you meant it, so he did.

Sam gave all the details of what happened last night with Dean, though he had to keep him under the alias of ‘Older Brother’ for his sake. He told you about his relationship with their dad and with Dean, how he was never the son he wanted him to be, which resulted in him leaving for good and his small journey to Stanford.

He was still weighing his decision to be completely honest with you, and he told you that as well.

“That’s totally up to you, really. If those details aren’t needed for what you need help with, then you don’t have to.” You responded, being the ever-understanding angel Sam was learning you were.

“I’m not really looking for fixing, if that’s what you’re thinking of helping me,” he recalled Jess’ words from last night. “I don’t like talking about these things with my friends or my girlfriend because they shouldn’t be burdened by my messed up life.”

You were quiet on the other line, except for the barely audible breathing that told him you didn’t hang up on him. Sam wasn’t expecting an immediate response; you needed just the amount of time to think of one, just like any other person in a normal conversation would.

“I’m all ears, then. I can’t imagine having to handle all that by yourself. This call isn’t just for fixing, I assure you; sometimes people just need to let out some steam to help them think, y’know?”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “I make a bunch of wrong decisions when I’m all worked up.”

“Like saying no to your brother?”

Sam’s lips thinned into a straight line, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. His silence seemed to have made you continue speaking.

“Hey, like I said, I’m all ears, but questions are meant to happen when you’re listening,” you said, your voice lighter than before, as if you’re trying to bring back the friendly mood.

Sam smiled as you did, scratching the back of his neck. “I get it, yeah,” he said, tapping on the back of the phone with his finger, thinking about your question. “my mind was a bit out of it last night, not to mention the—”

Pausing on his words, Sam managed to catch himself from mentioning how Dean greeted him that night. He didn’t think that was information you needed anyway.

“Never mind. What I’m trying to say is, yes, maybe my answer was a bit of a ‘heat of the moment’ thing,” Sam confessed. To you or to himself?

“I’m glad you finally managed to catch up with yourself.” Your voice was filled with humor, a teasing tone that somehow made Sam’s heavy chest a little bit lighter as he playfully scoffed.

“Is it allowed for counselors to make fun of their callers?” He challenged, but had no intention whatsoever. The chuckle from your end made him grin.

“Only if it’s needed in the process.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

The banter ended with the two of you laughing at each other, though Sam was laughing at himself a little bit. He knew Help Lines existed for a reason, but Sam doubted he’d get this much help if another person who wasn’t you had picked up his call in the first place. You were a good person in a good job that fitted you.

Sam’s mind was a bit clearer for now, definitely better than usual, and he wanted to fix his mistakes as soon as possible.

He was the first one to break the comfortable silence. “Thank you, by the way.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” You seemed to be genuinely pleased at it, though. “the best way you can thank me is if you feel better than before.”

“I do. After this call, I’ll probably start looking for my brother, if I can find a way.”

“Of course, you will. I can’t exactly help with that, but if you need me in ways that I can, feel free to call back next week.” Sam smiled at the offer. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

“How would I know it’s you I’m calling?” He asked.

“My shift starts at three pm and ends at eight. If you don’t get me, you’re allowed to switch counselors. Just look for the charming employee named Y/N and they’ll direct you to me.”

“I think saying your name would be just fine,” Sam chuckled as he heard your whispered protest. “okay, okay, I’ll ask the charming employee named Y/N when I call again.”

Your switch of moods made him shake his head. “That’s the spirit! You promise?”

“The name or the call?” Sam teased.

“Preferably both, but mostly the call part.”

“Yes, yeah, I will. I’ll update you on what happens.”

“Oh, gossip!” You faked a gasp, making you laugh at your own jokes as well Sam. “I’m so glad this isn’t a recorded line.”

[xerith-42]

Why Blaze is MyStreet's Most Failed Character

Blame the big bang discord for this post, I wasn't gonna write it until those fucks encouraged me.

Anyways here's an entire essay about why Blaze is the most wasted character in the entirety of MyStreet and I will literally fight Jessica and Jason Bravura with my bare hands.

To get us started on our harrowing tale of wasted potential and the best improviser Jessica ever hired, we need to go back a little. Back to Phoenix Drop High Season 2. We won't stay here long, I promise, I hate it more than you can possibly know. But the single saving grace of this absolute mess of a season is ya boi, Blaze. Introduced in the 18th episode of the season, airing on April 12, 2017, with the airing of Phoenix Drop High Season 2 Episode 18, Blaze was a character who started his brief tenure series with a bang!

Literally dude showed up and the first thing he ever did on screen as a character in a piece of media we can engage with is throw someone out of a window. We do not know this mans name yet and he's already left a lasting impression. Sure throwing people out of a window is common in werewolf culture, which I don't care what you say that's objectively funny, but it is bold to start a characters entire introduction with that. Blaze comes out of the gate swinging before he's said a single line.

And then after introducing himself he throws a dead bird at Aphmau to show off his hunting skills?? Okay so he's just that fucking weird and overly enthusiastic about things I guess! That's amazing! MyStreet always shines when it just lets it's characters be fucking weird without making a big deal out of it or talking them down for it. Dottie even says that it's romantic which is again just a great showing of Blaze's enthusiasm and lack of what might appear to be common social decorum because of said enthusiasm.

This is all punctuated and brought to a hilarious breaking point when Blaze's final showing of why he should be the new top dog at his school is when the crazy mother fucker rips his shirt off to literally flex about how he's one of the hottest guys in the school. And I'm going to be real with you, given Blaze's later characterization as a himbo, I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually care about this. He just says it because he thinks it'll boost his chances. Blaze is later shown to be a character willing to throw away his reputation for the things he cares about, but he does get a rather sincere moment with Aphmau, even if she's blushing the entire time.

It shows that Blaze is not only physically affectionate, but also weirdly comfortable with his shirt off. Because this is purely objective character analysis I will not be shoving my Blaze is autistic and has sensory problems with things touching his chest propaganda down your throats, but now that I've mentioned it once you won't stop thinking about it when this comes up.

The show admittedly fumbles the bag a little by having Blaze say in his internal monologue that he thinks Aphmau is cute and acts kind of like a tsundere, but this is Jesson writing so there's always bound to be a bit of That Shit. But in spite of that, Blaze is a character who has an instant impression that leaves a lot of room for comedy potential, and just good ol' fashion silliness. And while the werewolf plot of Season 2 is... bad, Blaze and the Werewolf Pups are stand out characters in the sense that their characterization leaves a lot of potential if they're in a different, better written story.

And even if the arc is bad, Blaze still is a quality part of it. His shallow but hilarious initial characterization gets built on in some really solid ways. Namely in how he acts as a force for good in Aphmau's life even if she doesn't realize or give him permission to do it. This entire season is about how the different men in Aphmau's life handle helping her in a crisis, and funnily enough, in a season centered around Aaron literally overthrowing Aphmau's new love interest, Blaze is the one who was consistently doing what was best for Aphmau.

Aaron fumbles the ball more than a few times, Ein is shown to be actively malicious, and Kai gets hate crimed. But Blaze, who's barely even a contender in this ship war, is constantly working to actually make things better while everyone else is pulling Aphmau away from what actively matters about her position. While Ein is manipulating her and Aaron is trying to prove that, Blaze throws caution to the wind and just does what he thinks is best to restore order.

But more important than that end conclusion is his true goal of standing up for Daniel. A wolf it is established he barely knew before this year, that Blaze is willing to throw his reputation and standing in a bull shit hierarchy because he's seeing how this hierarchy is hurting someone who doesn't deserve it. Blaze is the one who is baring his fangs and willing to throw hands when Daniel cowers away from bullies. By the end of the season Blaze has been given adequate screen time to not only show off his fun and maybe a tad out of touch side, but he's been given a real level of sincerity that's tied into the things he's enthusiastic about. He loves being a werewolf, and he extends that love to all the werewolves around him, until they start being dicks to other werewolves who are literally just sitting there.

At the center of Blaze is that inherent goofiness though. He's always cracking jokes, or the joke when he's on screen, and in a series that was originally pitched as a light hearted slice of life comedy in contrast to MCD's general misery, that sort of character is needed to keep the tone. Such is show in episode 22 when Blaze is reading a book on the Scientific Method to just learn more about science, but realizes the book is upside down.

But he actually understood it enough to properly apply the scientific method to this situation?? Iconic. It's played off as a joke of Blaze exploiting a loophole to get out of class, but even that's pretty smart honestly. Blaze may be a dumb ass but he's always willing to cheat an unfair system.

Episode 22 is basically a Blaze centric episode, which I did not expect, but now that I'm rewatching it for this post it might be the reason I love this character so dearly. It's not only the episode where Blaze manages to learn the Scientific Method upside down, but also stands up for Daniel in a really substantial way. Blaze is loud, enthusiastic, and strong, all traits that are celebrated by werewolf culture, and whether he realizes it or not, him just being around Daniel can do a lot to get bullies to back off. Everyone has seen Blaze toss a mother fucker through a window, they do not want to be on the receiving end of that.

He spends the rest of the episode trying to figure out what Ein's deal is when he hears that Ein went behind Aphmau's back on werewolf matters, landing Daniel in this situation. He hears Ein actively plotting against Daniel, but that is normal werewolf behavior. He concludes that he'll keep an eye on Ein. And this through line of "normal werewolf behavior" informs a lot of Blaze's decisions once he comes to the conclusion that Ein sucks and deserves to be undermined. He resorts to letting his actions speak louder than words and goes to violence after realizing that the wolves aren't listening to reason, they're listening to instinct.

He fights fire with fire, and while Aphmau might not approve, it's more effective than her soft rhetoric has been in getting people to be less of jackasses. This eventually lands him in hot water where he steps in for Daniel after Ein tries to get his goons to beat him up, and even if Blaze is fighting in a five v one, he still goes down swinging. And I'll say it, I think it's sweet that he calls Aaron after this happens. While it's clearly meant to be a thing of Blaze calling the last alpha because he's probably the only person who anyone will listen to, there's an important detail I think is easily overlooked.

He has Aaron's number.

He says he got it from the werewolf pups, but that means that Blaze went out of his way to make sure he could contact Aaron. He's the reason that Aaron even realizes Ein is playing all of them. Blaze is the catalyst for his undoing because unlike Aaron who's nearly imprisoned, heartbroken, and been hesitant to act in the plot as a result, Blaze doesn't actually care that much if Aphmau currently likes him because he's more worried about her physical and mental well being than whether she wants to kiss him or someone else.

How many Aphmau love interests can say that?

Can any of them say that?

Blaze can.

Blaze actually consistently shows a level of selflessness that's unfitting of how I've seen some people characterize him. He gives up his real chance to be Alpha because Daniel is so compassionate and earnest and genuinely deserves it. Blaze wants to believe in a future lead by people like Daniel and Aphmau where he might not have to keep fighting people to keep things sane. Blaze constantly gives up his pride, his power, his safety just to make sure that his friends are taken care of, or to effect real change in a school he's about to leave.

It wouldn't be long after Phoenix Drop High Season 2 ended that Blaze would make his debut in the main series My Street in the second episode of Season 5, airing only a few days after the end of Phoenix Drop High Season 2. Just like before he really shows up with a bang, literally throwing himself through the air between Lucinda and Kim just to catch a frisbee because Blaze is the most extra mother fucker ever, and then immediately proceeds to flirt with them. Iconic as ever. Short but sweet.

It's in episode 3 that it's revealed that Blaze and the werewolf pups kept Aaron company during his rehabilitation year. But from the way it's worded it sounds like Blaze was called in before anyone else by Aaron's parents. Based on the way they talked and actively planned together before, I wouldn't be surprised if Blaze was the first person who came to his mind when Aaron thought of a werewolf friend.

I think Aaron reached out to Blaze when he needed it.

And even though I've previously stated that I don't think Aaron's parents initially liked Blaze because by this era he's old enough to fully take on his persona as the cool stoner friend who's also a little insane in the most charming way possible, he has a good impact on Aaron. Aaron likes being around him, and maybe they smoke weed to help Aaron relieve some of the lasting pain when no one's looking.

Regardless of his methods, Blaze does an ultimate good in Aaron's life as a result of being there for him when he needed it. So much so that he was invited out to Starlight and is shown to be one of Aaron's main pillars of support. We are given scarcely little of this actual friendship, which is where the problem lies. While before Blaze was a surprisingly engaging part of an other wise terrible story, at least in season 5 the story is a lot slower and character focused. And Blaze can work in these moments, we saw him have real moments of sincerity before.

He gets some of it, but the issue is that Blaze isn't allowed to be alone anymore. The cast of MyStreet is huge, and Blaze is a character who is making his second major appearance, while some characters in the cast have been present since literally episode one. It's hard to justify giving him solo screen time when he's been in the series for such little time and we barely have enough time for certain significant characters to really have arcs (Lucinda). Most of Blaze's scenes are scenes with at least four other characters on screen, he's never allowed screen time without at least two other werewolf characters attached to him.

I don't object to Blaze hanging out with his friends, or even making new ones though out the season but... Would it kill the writers to let him have a scene with Aaron? Like. A single scene. Where it's just Blaze and Aaron. I mean just Blaze and Aaron without Aphmau there. They've done this before. They did it in the season Blaze showed up in. Just one scene where the two of them get to talk about literally anything would do so much. Even if they talk about Aphmau, it's better than nothing. It would strengthen both of their characters so much to be able to get a scene where they talk to each other not as conspirators who kinda know each other, but as real friends supporting one another.

Show that even though Blaze said Daniel was more compassionate than he was, Blaze still is a compassionate and even empathetic person. Show why Aaron was grateful to have him during his recovery. They have those scenes of Aaron at physical therapy, right? Why not have Blaze take him one time and just show how they interact then? The possibilities with this unrealized idea are endless, and that's genuinely upsetting. Opportunities like this present themselves every time Blaze makes an appearance, they even tease me by giving me scenes where Aaron is alone with a character he has little to no connection with, Maria.

Maria was a foil for Aphmau. And Ein was a foil for Aaron. And Blaze was a foil for Ein. There is no reason for Maria to really have a rapor that matters with Aaron. He doesn't really know her that well, she's clearly a friend by association, and it seems like an odd thing to focus on when Blaze is LITERALLY RIGHT THERE IN THE BACKGROUND OF THIS SCENE.

Why won't they let Blaze talk to Aaron? It's so infuriating. The closest we get is in episode 7 when Blaze attempts to calm down Aaron, but he's shown to be ineffective and it comes down to, of course, Aphmau being the one to talk him down. I swear to Hatsune the writers are making fun of me at this point. They're going "Oooooh you want Blaze to be an actually helpful and supportive figure in Aaron's life soooo bad." AND I DO!

I'm serious when I say the show is teasing me. I've been skimming through Season 5 and only watching the episodes when Blaze is on screen, and so far he has never been in a scene with less than 4 people in it. Never. And even in scenes where he gets to be at least a focal point, he's always limited because he has to share that moment in the spotlight with FOUR OTHER CHARACTERS.

Episode 14 is a great example of this. When the werewolf gang gets told they aren't allowed to eat at a restaurant because they're werewolves, Blaze makes it abundantly obvious that he's put up with this before and really doesn't feel like being hate crimed on his vacation. And he knows that actions speak louder than words and therefore joins Maria in saying they should "teach this establishment a lesson." Personally I think Blaze would've just thrown the manager through a window only to realize it's an outdoor establishment and throw him into the ocean. Which would be objectively funny and deserved because that owner was being cringe and racist.

I love the conversation that happens because it shows the unique way that Aaron sees things from passing as a human for most of his life. This has never happened, but he knows that further acts of violence as a result will only make it happen again. This is a great scene for Aaron. Not really good for Blaze, and the next scene makes him worse. I love the detail that Blaze is an instinctual person more than a planner, but it feels wrong that he doesn't even let Aaron consider planning. I know he wants Aaron to be more spontaneous but he should have more awareness of his friend and his habits and be able to accommodate it, not talk over it.

But it's Jesson, so misunderstanding even their simplest character is par for the course. At least episode 15 gives me Garroth and Blaze talking in the background, and I'm starved for good Blaze content, so I was eating this shit up. The problem with watching MyStreet this way is that Blaze... Just doesn't get a lot of moments... At all. There are some episodes where he doesn't even speak at all, and when he does get to talk in episodes, he gets a few lines in one giant ensemble scene.

I don't object to a show having an ensemble cast, or even a lot of characters with a few central ones, but it really is a detriment to the show that Aaron never gets a scene alone with any werewolf he isn't related to. Nana gets to talk to Blaze when she's having a crisis of her relationship history and experience, but it's just so Blaze can tell her the opposite of what she wants to hear. It's not a scene that feels like it was written for Blaze, because it wasn't. It was written for Nana.

And before some jack ass says it "Blaze is a side character he's not supposed to get a lot of focus" and I'm not asking for a lot. I watched every scene he's in in PDH to prove that it works

BECAUSE IT DID.

Blaze showed up officially in episode 18 out of 30, and he wasn't in every episode after his introduction. But the writers gave him a solid introduction, one good episode that spent most of its run time with him, and really good moments throughout the rest of his time in the series. All I'm asking is that Season 5 at least give me one of those things. Either a good episode where he and his relationship with Aaron is brought into focus, even if it's used as a vector to study Aaron's character, or just more sincere moments for him.

It feels like Blaze is a joke character now when he previously made it very clear he's far more than that.

And then they just forget about him. During the first part of the 3 part finale Blaze is there. He's the one who got everyone to gather at the docks because an mf wants to eat some scrumptious food. But when Aaron sees Ein and starts freaking out, Blaze is literally just not in the scene. At all. Not even as like a throwaway of someone who could've helped but failed, he just is not in the scene at all. It legitimately feels like the writers forgot about him entirely.

Blaze the minute the plot shows up:

He's there after Garroth gets turned and was apparently at Garroth's bedside trying to calm him down which I will be thinking about. A lot. I'll be thinking about how we deserved to see or at least hear some of it, about how the writers continue to tease me with an interesting scene that involves my favorite little fucker, about how heartbreaking it would have been to see Blaze and Melissa try to calm Garroth only for him to scream in pain and try to push them away only to reveal that Zane and Nana are able to hear the entire ordeal downstairs and Zane is panicking when he hears his brother screaming in pain. Just thinking about what we could've had if the writers actually cared about any of these characters.

And then after that he dies.

I'm not watching any of When Angels Fall because I know what's good for my health. I know what happens in Season 6 Episode 9 and that's all I need to know. It doesn't matter if the writers may have finally given Blaze an emotional scene, it doesn't matter if they finally gave him even a hint of character development, it doesn't matter if he made a connection in a real way. Because no matter what he did the result is the same. No matter what quality the writers might've pulled out of their ass, it would ultimately be in service of one end. From the start of this season these writers knew what they wanted to do. They wanted to up the stakes and add more drama to the show, and they wanted to do it by killing Blaze.

And I think I know why.

This is 100% a limited view, but I was on Aphmau Instagram at the time that this season was airing. And I ran a Blaze fan account. I talked to a lot of MyStreet fans during this time and I was constantly upset and disappointed that people didn't understand Blaze's character, or just didn't appreciate it as much as I do. Most people liked Blaze on a very surface level, or because he was attached to another character they liked. I found very few people who genuinely cared about him as an individual, probably because Blaze stopped getting scenes alone by the end of PDH, and because the Aphmau fandom (at the time) had more of a focus on shipping than character work and quality. Blaze was easily shippable with a number of characters, canonically shipped with Dottie a little, and had enough characterization that people cared about him, but not enough to get a large dedicated fanbase.

He was the perfect one to kill.

Enough people liked him because he was hard to hate, he was stapled onto Aaron's character with little regard for a story of his own, and his death could be eventually inconsequential. And it was! Blaze's method of dying is so bad it makes me physically angry!

I know the whole story for the last few seasons has been all about Forever Potions and turning people against each other, but just mind controlling Blaze and having him die while under mind control is such such a missed opportunity. There's been a disappointing lack of proper Aaron and Blaze friendship content, but they could have made up for it in this scene with just a few tweaks. Just have Blaze not be mind controlled at the end. He can still go on that rant about Aaron being the cause of all the bad that's happened, but then the words start to become... disjointed. Jilted. As if Blaze is struggling to say them because he knows that they're wrong. Aaron's his friend, there's no way he'd say that about him.

Have it break.

Have him look at his friend in a worse state than he's ever been in, and instead of approaching him with intent to harm, it's intent to heal. A final attempt at getting through to Aaron. And like the times before, it doesn't work. Aaron's angrier than ever and he isn't seeing or thinking straight thanks to Ein's bull shit. All he can see is an enemy in his way. Maybe he sees Blaze's eyes but Blaze's green eye is still Emerald Green, even if the control broke for a moment. Whatever reason, Aaron still attacks.

He doesn't realize that Blaze wasn't trying to hurt him until it's too late. Aaron's anger already ruined a friend's life, it already pulled all of them into the hell they're in, and now it's killed one of his best friends.

ONE CHANGE. THAT'S ALL IT TOOK. ONE SINGLE CHANGE TO MAKE BLAZE'S DEATH ACTUALLY MEAN SOMETHING.

Ideally I'd like it Blaze just didn't die at all, least of all before the finale, but if you're going to kill him off unceremoniously at least make it have some emotional weight. You've been neglecting him for an entire season and now you just kill him off? Just like that? Oh he gets to show up in heaven? How nice. Is it a scene where he gets to express regrets, remorse, or even give any insight into his feelings?

Of course it fucking isn't! Are you kidding me, that's not even close to what happens. I said i wouldn't watch When Angels Fall but

I LIED!!

I watched Blaze's death scene and his scene in heaven to make sure I knew well and good how badly they failed to kill off my favorite character! And man, the scene in heaven is just the worst! Blaze does a genuinely kind thing for Aphmau and decides to stay with her when she's alone because he doesn't want her to hurt. He saw how much pain Aaron was in without her. He just wants to fucking help her.

But Aphmau's too self absorbed to realize that and instead goes on a whole rant about how she always needs other people to take care of or protect her and how everyone else would be better off yadda yadda. What she doesn't realize and what Blaze eventually gets to tell her is that people were around her and took care of her because they just wanted to. Because she was nice to be around. And they never expected anything else, and never saw her as a burden.

And that's actually a really nice moment. Sort of. There's two major problems. First, Blaze gets cut off from telling Aphmau this at first because Irene has to go on a whole rant about Aphmau being selfish. And she is right in everything that she says, but it feels weird for Irene, who literally doesn't know her, to be making this judgement. This scene should have been Irene observing a conversation between Blaze and Aphmau were Blaze just tries to make her feel better.

And that would hopefully solve problem number two. Which is that what Blaze says is very genuine and heartfelt, but severely handicapped by the fact that he and Aphmau were only friends for a short period of time in High School, and an equally short period of time within the last few months. What Blaze says about why he likes being around her is true, but it would have a lot more weight if there was a chance for Blaze to have been around her as a friend more.

Fuck it, if you need Blaze to be on screen with at least two other characters, why was there never a scene of Blaze, Aaron and Aphmau just talking? Would a single scene of that fucking killed you? Just one scene would have made their friendships a lot more solid and therefore heartbreaking to lose when it gets torn apart.

Third problem, the scene ends with a focus on Irene. Blaze's words echo in her ears, and remind her of her friends. And I like that idea because I'm an absolute sucker for MCD, but it takes the scene away from the focus. This should be a scene about one of Aphmau's friends encouraging her to not give up even if it all seems lost. At least don't let her death be in vain by saying such awful things about her friends while they may be grieving. But Irene is brought into focus again because the show isn't about Blaze, or Aphmau apparently, I guess her Aphmau Main Character Powers overrides Aphmau's. She has more experience with them.

Blaze and Aphmau's very heartfelt dialogue is brought down by the fact that these two characters lives didn't intersect very directly out of high school. Through the course of Season 5 I never got the idea that Blaze was Aphmau's friend. Not to say they weren't friendly, I think Blaze adored her just as much as he did in high school, but as a viewer I was never shown that they cared particularly for one another. I believe that Blaze sincerely cared about her even after all this time, but that's not because of anything the writers did with him in these seasons. It's just because that's the kind of person Blaze is.

But their friendship not being strong really weakens the scene. This is a scene that I know for a fact worked as intended when I watched it as it was coming out. I was an overemotional mess of a 15 year old who hated how this series was going but kept watching it because it was almost over and I might as well get it done with. It pulled on my heartstrings and they sang and I cried. I cried a lot. This scene made me incredibly emotional, and it still got to me as an adult, but the devil is in the details.

Blaze and his arc might work on the surface. They work if you don't pay that close of attention to it. They work if you care more about the characters he's constantly around more than Blaze. And when I first watched Seasons 5&6, I still had a very deep attachment to a lot of these characters, especially Melissa, who he shares a lot of scenes with. So I felt... satisfied? I would've liked more, but I probably wouldn't have complained about what I got (his death scene not withstanding I always thought that was bad).

My my, how the times have changed.

If it wasn't obvious from the four thousand or so words you just read, Blaze is a rather unique case of these writers failing as writers. A rather unique case where the perfect character to fix a lot of problems with their show practically jumped up in the air waving his arms around and they still brushed past him to focus on a predetermined story he was shoved into. I don't think the writers ever really had a plan for where Blaze would go or what he would do.

A lot of Blaze's best character moments are when he isn't being written by Jesson. The reason I love the minigames so much is because there, Blaze's incredibly talented voice actor Jason Lord is actually really funny and pretty good at improv. Obviously some bits of the mini games are scripted, but a lot of them are just seeing how much voice actors can get into their characters, which he's fantastic at. A lot of Blaze's funniest moments come from this too, which is great when the writers turn him into a comedy character but the characters voice actor is funnier than they both are and is only a funny character when they don't have direct control of him. Lord is able to bring life to a character who may have been lacking it due to the simultaneously focused and unfocused way the series was written.

Blaze is proof of what happens when writers don't bother to develop their characters beyond the outline. The draft notes for PDH Season 2 said "there's going to be a wolf character who tries to become Alpha and instead stands up for Daniel when he's bullied." and then Blaze was born. The writers gave him some characterization as a treat to make the story work better, and then were done with it then and there. We fleshed him out enough, good character, time to put him in season 5 so people stop criticizing us for not giving Aaron enough friends.

But the problem wasn't a lack of quantity in friends, it was a lack of quality. It was a lack of scenes that let Aaron interact with other characters without Aphmau present. It was a lack of characters to point to that were real emotional connections Aaron had that weren't his last minute family or his girlfriend. It was a lack of attention given to the few characters that could've filled that role. Dante almost filled it in season 2, and Aaron and Garroth could have arguably become closer after everything in season 4, but at that point Aaron's entire arc became centered around Aphmau.

It was the fact that Blaze was one of the few people who ever directly reached out to Aaron and then was never given a scene alone again. It was because the writers wrote too many characters, tried to give the series a more direct focus, and then failed to account for the characters that were dragged along even if they didn't necessarily know what to do with them.

So when Season 6 came around and they decided to make the show super serious no really stop laughing, they needed characters to kill off to up the stakes. It's not like Blaze's character was going anywhere. It's not like they had a plan for him. Nothing was really being lost.

It's not like Blaze was one of the most sincere and dedicated characters in the series. It's not like he had one of the biggest potentials in regards to his relationship with Aphmau or Aaron. It's not like there was time spent proving that he could be a solid pillar of support in both of their lives even under dire circumstances. It's not like he was set up that way through individual scenes where he got to talk to each of them on a personal level. That definitely didn't happen.

TLDR: MyStreet peaked at season 2 and they fumbled the bag with the best chance to make it peak even higher and I'm forever bitter about it. Now get out of my house.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Happy Couple 2

Part 1

I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t! But here we are. I make no promise and am just following a whim.

Summary: Your father makes a deal to marry you to his top capo. (mob au)

Warnings: dark elements such a mob business and intimidation. More to be added as they become relevant. You know what I write typically so you know what to expect.

Thank you all for the encouragement and I hope you enjoy.❤️

The newlyweds are elusive. You end the night alone, simmering in the back of the Cadillac, the driver silent. Another of your father’s men. Had he been promised a piece too?

The buzz of alcohol doesn’t last at the sobering revelation. The shadow of Bucky’s touch lingers under your dress, tingling down your leg, pulsing in the arch of your foot. His words replay in your head over and over, your father’s nod, the indifferent dancers playing their part in the background.

Bucky let you go with a kiss on the cheek, lingering but gentle. His lack of resistance betrayed his certainty. He has no reason to be pushy because the deal is made. Your father has made his irrefutable declaration.

You go to bed angry. The happy couple will be away on their honeymoon. A convenient escape.

The large house, the manse behind its tall gates, is empty and quite as you are left to mull in your displeasure. You rehearse all the words you’ll say to your father. Him? What am I? A cow to be traded? I am your daughter!

Your anger roils higher and higher as the night before curdles with the anticipation of your confrontation. Usually, you would enjoy the time alone. In fact, you were happy to have the opportunity to be free of Kendra and her laughable airs.

The time slogs by torturously. You should buy a ticket and fly down to Miami to confront your father. Kendra too. You know she’s had something to do with this.

You talk yourself down. No, that’s not the way to handle your father. That’s too far and once you cross a line, there is no going. Daddy he may be but dangerous nonetheless.

You resign yourself to a day by the pool, laying in the sun behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. The soft trickle of the filter only agitates you as dread tugs at your mind. Just stop thinking. You’ve never had a problem with that before.

You ask Marcia, the only constant in your life, to bring you one of the colourful vodka drinks from the bar. The loyal maid returns with the bottle, already uncapped, and leaves it on the square glass table beside your loungers. You roll over on your stomach and take a drink from the long neck before settling your forehead against your bent arms.

The sun beams down on your back, warm the fabric of your bottoms, raising beads of sweat across your skin. You nurse the drink until its no longer cold, chugging down the last stringent mouthful with a sneer. Another is in order if you’re going to make through today, let alone the rest of the week.

You drop your head again and close your eyes. Tomorrow, you could do some shopping, offer a little payback on the credit card statement. Maybe a party at the house, it’s the perfect opportunity and you could use company beyond your dire internal monologue.

You hear the sliding door and without looking up, you call to the maid, “Marcia, would you mind bringing me another? The watermelon this time, please.”

“I am a fan of peach myself,” Bucky intone and you shoot your head up in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” You snarl as his eyes rove down your back, shamelessly lingering on your ass.

“I’ve come to see my future wife,” he gives a crooked smirk.

You sit up and reach for the towel draped over the back of the chair. His hand settles over it and keeps you from swiping it away. You glare at him as he stares down at you.

“I wanted to take you to dinner. Properly.”

“Dinner? I don’t have much of an appetite,” you stand, lifting your chin defiantly.

“Ah, sweetheart, come on. We always got along so well.”

You scoff and look away, “I get along with all daddy’s men. You know how it is.”

“I’m not just your daddy’s man,” he brings his finger up under your chin and turns your head back to him, “you know I’m not like them.”

“I don’t know you at all. You all just put on the same act for him. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” he purrs with a wink, “I wouldn’t marry a stupid woman.”

“Ugh,” you shove his hand away and march to the edge of the pool, “I’m busy, can’t you see? Having a swim.”

You stretch to dive in but are suddenly wrenched back by your elbow. He twists your arm back painfully, spinning you to face him.

“We’re going to dinner, sweetheart.”

“No, we’re not. Get out of my house.”

He snorts, “your house? I think you mean daddy’s.”

You clench your jaw and gulp, gathering spit in the back of your throat.

“Don’t even think of spitting in my face,” he warns as he squeezes your arm tightly, “I’ve never earned that from you. Don’t be a brat and go put something pretty on for me.”

You jut your jaw and wriggle against his grasp, “how long were you waiting for it, huh? You fucking creep–”

“Now, don’t be rude. You always were sweet on me, let’s not pretend. Such a little flirt.”

“Ha, the midlife crisis is talking,” you retort.

His tongue slips out and he wets his lips. His eyes drift down and he considers you. He slowly removes his hand from your arm. You step back to rub the tender flush, keeping your arm across your chest defensively.

“I was nice, wasn’t I?” He softens, “you know I can be nice so why are you pushing me?”

“Because. I. Don’t. Want. To. Marry. An. Old. Man.” You enunciate each word sharply. “Even you.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t look angry. More amused. He crosses his arms, “old man, better than a little boy.”

You scowl, “can’t you buy a different wife? That’s all I am. As good as a suitcase full of bills.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not like them.”

“I’m not pretending. I asked your daddy out of respect. Tradition. But you’re not just any woman, you’re the one that I want. The only one.”

You stare at him. His blue eyes glint dangerously as he stands with shoulders squared, unflinching as he takes steady breaths.

“I’m a patient man, sweetheart,” he says, “so I’ll give you some time to get ready for dinner.” He smirks and bends his arm to graze the coarse hair along his chin, “I’ve waited a long time to have a doll like you on my arm.”

[kungukingi]

Meditations on bris/isbr [10/?] "Isagi as Barou's Catalyst of Change"

Link to previous part.

Later, once this match is over, Ego will bring up one possible dysfunctional way of coping with defeat. However, what he ends up describing here is not something that could have ever happened to Barou.

The reason for this is because Barou is not someone who is able to kid himself even a little bit about what he perceives to be reality.

He'd never be able to just dust himself off and vow to try harder next time, now that Isagi has shown him that his way (and by extension his ego) is faulty and ineffective against him.

Barou and Isagi are both the sort of people who consistently look at the world through a very objective lens in terms of judging their circumstances through measurable data. Because of this, they can accept reality without kicking and screaming their way through the process, when all the chips are laid down. They measure themselves through material achievements, and they don't blame the world when things don't go their way — they blame themselves.

And because of this, following his utter defeat against Isagi, Barou's self image quite literally crumbles.

The despair squeezing at his heart keeps him glued to the ground as he goes through every moment of the game while coming to the realisation of just how thoroughly Isagi played him. That last pass wasn't something he consciously chose to do, but rather a reflexive move Isagi forced out of him after pushing him to his mental limits.

He's self-aware enough to see that Isagi has 'done unto him as he hath done to others' — and recognises the cruel irony in that.

Barou is facing the facts, and from the perspective of his ego that means acknowledging the most unpleasant truth of them all:

Afterwards, Isagi and Nagi converse about how to deal with Team Red, and Nagi asks if they should include Barou in this strategising since it's going to be difficult to deal with Reo, Chigiri, and Kunigami with just the two of them.

Isagi goes silent for a moment before stating that nothing they can say 'will matter to that fallen king'.

It's an ambiguous line that could easily be read as one of Isagi's stone cold takes, but the way he's framed (small panels, eyes hidden) makes me think that he's not being callous here. Rather, I think he's feeling a deep sense of disappointment, and pain.

Considering what an impression Barou has left on him from the very first time they met, it's little wonder why he'd feel that way.

Because of the potential Isagi saw in Barou, he even eliminated Naruhaya, who had been his teammate since the beginning of Blue Lock, and was someone he could sympathise with on a personal level. That wasn't a trivial thing for him, which is highlighted by the fact that he'll return to that memory spontaneously almost exactly a hundred chapters after the event itself happened, when he thinks back to the things he's had to 'part ways with' after coming to Blue Lock (in chapter 152).

But even though Isagi has now lost his faith in Barou, there's still a match to win.

So he tells Nagi that they can settle this by themselves, and the game commences. A series of plays follows, which culminate in a risky move deviced by Isagi, where Nagi moves in to intercept a pass by Reo to Chigiri before the latter can receive it. And from the rebound of his interception, the ball plays a 'trick of fate' by landing at Barou's feet.

Still seeing Barou as a pawn that he can use, Isagi invites him to play, not thinking that he's going to try to do anything wild anymore. As Barou takes possession of the ball, we get this bit of inner monologue from him:

"After accepting this thing called "defeat" I can understand just how much this field is shining for one of Isagi's goals. But strangely, it's not frustrating. Is it because I'm not in the lead role anymore...?"

While he's lost credibility in Isagi's eyes, Barou's perspective has shifted in the opposite direction.

Ever since his first bit of internal narration, Barou has called Isagi by his name in his thoughts, so it's unclear if he did that before, or started unconsciously doing it only after Isagi bested him by 'devouring his darkness and turning it into light'. Regardless, where Barou previously defied Isagi in his thoughts, he's now in awe of him. From his perspective the pitch is 'shining for one of Isagi's goals', and it takes Nagi calling out to him from right next to him to get him to tear his eyes away from Isagi.

As the situation on the pitch shifts and the others stream past him, Barou wonders about this new sensation that he's experiencing for the first time.

"Even though I'm a supporting actor... if I pass the ball we can win!! I can be... one piece of the goal!!

Up until this moment he's played for his own goals alone, but since the lead role was torn away from him by Isagi, he's now instinctively grasping for any source of fulfillment to save him from this feeling of defeat. And for the supporting actors on the pitch, that fulfillment is best achieved by helping the dazzling strikers score goals.

"I can save myself from this sense of defeat if I entrust a goal to an overwhelming striker!!!

In spite of his urge to do so, right when Barou is about to cave in and accept his role as a supporting actor by passing the ball forward... he's stopped by the echoes of his core ego.

These shadows cling to him, mouths agape in silent howls as they try to prevent him from succumbing to this urge.

"It wasn't logic. It was intuition telling him that if he made this pass, everything would end for him."

In his moment where time seems to slow down for him, Barou's intuition thrusts him into a potential vision of his future, where he's sitting alone in his apartment, drinking beer while watching Isagi play:

It's worth noting that, while in the present moment Barou is dazzled by both Isagi and Nagi, it's only Isagi who features in this vision. It's Isagi who has taken the lead role from him, and it's for the sake of Isagi's goals that the pitch is currently shining. And in this vision, it would still be Isagi who has managed to snuff out Barou's own dream through pushing him into the role of the supporting actor here in the present moment.

In his imagination, Barou already sees him as someone who could reach the top of the world, and this level of implicit high expectations is something that Isagi has earned for himself.

If Barou were to surrender to the temptation to pass and therefore accept the role of a supporting actor, he would be acting directly in opposition to his core ego. Barou wants to 'win the way he wants to win and live the way he wants to live', and the way he goes about achieving this is through scoring his own goals. And in the context of Blue Lock's story and themes, someone who is not in touch with and does not follow his core ego will inevitably encounter a ceiling that they cannot penetrate through.

The reason why Barou's future looks so bleak is precisely because he is not someone who could lie to himself about this. His instincts are right to tell him that he could never reach the top if he were to choose the path of going against who he is.

And his choice is to reject that kind of a future.

He does not pass the ball, ends up discovering an alternative path to scoring that is still reminiscent of his core ego, and follows it.

In this process of discovering the role of a 'villain' to counter the fact that Isagi has taken the lead role from him in this match, he ends up devouring Isagi 'back' by using Isagi's overwhelming presence to hide himself much like Isagi himself used him earlier in this same match.

As he moves in to take his shot, the scoring sequence mirrors the panelling of Isagi's goal from before, and culminates in a spread where Barou 'reclaims' the darkness that Isagi has previously recognised in him, and used to his own advantage.

All the while Isagi looks on in awe as he realises what's happening. When Barou scores, he shudders with feelings of re-awakened respect and admiration, and we get another 'sugē' from him (translated into 'holy shit' in this instance).

In what has to be another heat-of-the-moment decision, he runs to Barou to congratulate him with a high-five without any regard for the emotional turmoil he just put him through.

But Barou isn't having it.

He easily lifts Isagi up by the front of his shirt and now demands that he take back the 'loser'. Where he didn't have a leg to stand on before when Isagi threw the word at him previously, he's now re-asserted himself as a formidable striker, and refuses to be at the receiving end of the insult.

Isagi just stares at him for a moment, and then without any resistance says he's sorry, before adding that Barou is an incredible guy after all. In doing so he once again manages to push the right buttons and mollify Barou by showing him 'overwhelming and due respect'.

Barou's line here has been translated into 'You drive me nuts', but I would say it's a bit of a mistranslation in terms of the tone. The English phrase used is an established hyperbolic figure of speech that specifically means 'You irritate me' — but in Japanese the phrase doesn't carry that exact connotation. Here's what he says:

"Omae to iru to chōshi kuruu ze" (おまえ と いる と 調子 狂うぜ)

Translated literally, it comes out as: "Being with throws me off."

chōshi kuruu (調子狂う): describes a situation where someone’s usual state, rhythm or balance is disrupted or thrown off.

So what Barou is essentially telling Isagi is that being around him quite literally throws him off balance, which at least I think has a very different vibe to 'You drive me nuts.'

Nagi jumps in, topples them over, and proceeds ask about his new chop dribbles before Isagi cuts in to plead that Barou 'tell [them] more about himself'.

A little side note about the translation here too because why not: The Japanese phrase used here does not directly specify who Isagi is asking Barou to tell more about himself to, but the translator has decided to interpret this as Isagi asking Barou to tell it to both him and Nagi.

However, in my view, considering his previous thoughts about how he wants to know more about Barou, and the attempts he's personally made to connect with him, I think it's likely that Isagi is just speaking for and out of his own self-interest here.

Once Barou explains how he came about his new 'villain' persona and his charging dribble, Isagi grins like a man who's never been more happy to be wrong about someone in his life.

Barou brushes this aside, and proceeds to announce his dream of becoming the best striker in the world as the king of the pitch, a dream which he shares with Isagi almost word for word (sans the 'king' part).

He then promises never to lose to Isagi again; a challenge which Isagi receives with visible glee.

This is what I wrote in a previous post:

Isagi wants Barou to succeed and continue in Blue Lock so that he'll have another chance to face against him on the pitch in order to surpass him. After all, Barou is the person who shook him to his core in the first match of the First Selection, and pushed him onto the path of egotistical playmaking. It's a very particular type of interest that stems from Isagi's admiration, his desire to extend the implicit rivalry between them, and from his desire to see Barou grow into that immense reservoir of potential that he sees in him. Isagi believes in Barou and wants him to live up to his own expectations — and that's why it's so frustrating to him to think Barou might end up disappearing here.

I think it's safe to say that Isagi is feeling very happy now that he feels like Barou will continue gunning for the top beside him, instead of disappearing here due to his own stubbornness.

And now that this match is over, their rivalry is no longer implicit — Barou makes it explicit with his declaration/challenge.

Finally, Nagi notes how this is the first time Barou's called Isagi by his name, and though Barou claims he doesn't pay attention to that stuff, he makes sure not to extend the courtesy to Nagi.

Which— sure, Barou. Have it your way.

But I see you.

Link to next post

[haesunflower]

hi tee,

hope it's not too late to send asks now.

where do u get writing inspo from?

2. do u have tips on how to improve ur writing (not necessarily grammar-wise, but in a way that makes the reader feel immersed and engaged)?

3. will u consider writing for blt blit? 🙈

4. what kind of concept do u want or think blit will have? im hoping fun & fresh because i really enjoyed wakeonez performances of "Say My Name" and "Left & Right") and it's age-appropriate for the kids (namely mun junghyun and park jihoo). i believe yunseo (other k-group yuehua member) and seungeon (svt guy) have perform svt songs on boys planet so i think it's suitable. im thinking they might have more ateez-isque vibes too? idk. share me ur thoughts and anything else related to their upcoming debut.

5. what's the last thing you listened to?

6. outside of writing, do u have any other hobbies or interests that you'd like to share?

7. what places are you interested in travelling to the future?

8. if u could live anywhere in the world, where would u live? (and why if u don't mind sharing)

HI MONI I MISSED YOU! Hope you’re doing okay!!

1. Writing inspo- I’m honestly delusional and most of my ideas come from my walking/gym sessions where I just allow my mind to float ?? Haha but I’ve been an AVID fanfic reader for years! I think I’m heavily influenced by a lot of seventeen/nct angst writers

2. For me, I always like setting the scene and adding a hook without giving too much away - makes the reader interested in continuing! I find it immersive to dedicate a few staring sentences to see the scene - give an idea of where the characters are. And Instead of going straight to the point with character dialogue, i begin with internal monologue, or a narrator insert - followed by some sort of emotion?? If that makes sense (ex: in “written in the stars” we start off with an scene setting of a busy and bustling palace, followed by y/n’s internal thoughts of wedding that is to take place soon, but it’s not her wedding? And she’s relieved about that??) this makes the reader want to continue to find out moreee

3. Hells yeah I will 😎

4. Literally give me jelly pop type concept I will be happy forever! But considering their very STRONG rap line, I’m inclined to believe that they’ll be leaning towards ateez esque vibes!

5. Always by Zhang Hao is playing at least once a day for me 😭

6. I’m a licensed scuba diver! And I genuinely love everything water related

7. Canada 🤔 and going around Europe! I’ve been to Poland but non of the neighboring countries

8. I’d love to live in Sweden for peaceful vibes?? The PH tends to get noisy and gossipy since the social circles are so small - so I’d like to go somewhere where literally nobody knows me! Maybe even Korea or Japan? Mainly because I love cityscapes and living independently in a city is actually my dream. Id say New York too but I know too many people who have moved there already

I’ll send you fun questions too!!!!

[blogauroragloryme]

Hello from the other side.

SPOILERS:

I wonder how many ghosts of the past Xie Lian encounter's from time to time. Fleeting shadows of three friends laughing and bickering together,too close to glimpse the smiles on the faces ,but yet so far when wanting to reach out.

It reminds me of a few lines from Adele's song "Hello"

(Hello, it's me I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet.To go over everything.They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing:

These line feels like an internal monologue of XL,FX and MQ. Time has not healed their wounds. They want to meet, but don't know what to say and how to confront each other)

(Hello, can you hear me?I'm in California {my head} dreaming about who we used to be.When we were younger and free.I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet.

There's such a difference between us.And a million miles.

This is like a reminiscence of their good old days when all they cared about was cultivating and answering the prayer of their believers. Especially that line which XL says to MQ and FX, "I hope the sight of the three of us standing together fighting will become a tale of the ages". They believed in a Happy forever.

But now they are millions of mile aparts both in body and heart.Their hierarchy has changed.)

(Hello from the other side.I must've called a thousand times.To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done .But when I call, you never seem to be home)

They're still trying to reach out to each other somehow. There is longing and so many things left unsaid,but they just cannot seem to reach out to each other without feeling choked.)

(Hello from the outside At least I can say that I've tried To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart But it don't matter, it clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore.

This line seems to be a sort of resignation. They try to reach out to each other,but at the last moment they draw themselves back because there are so many regrets and apologies are not enough. They all think that the other party has already forgotten and moved ahead from the past, while they don't realise time is still at a standstill for all the three of them.)

[Pheww.. I hope this didn't came out as too cringey.😅

This is my kind of interpretation for the time all those three spent apart and they cannot help but think about all their memories be it happy,sad, guilty, resentment etc.. I think it is more evident for FX and MQ who try their level best to be at XL's side after his ascension. For XL he has moved on in the sense that he doesn't hold his two dear friends responsible , but that doesn't me he does not have guilt and pain inside his heart.He has just managed to conceal it better.]

[rvspecter]

“With Donna and Harvey, the romance comes from the steadfast partnership and daily choice they make every day to choose each other.”

omg i love your description of their relationship as a partnership because yyyeeessssss 🫶🏻 and the daily choices they make to choose each other also yessssssss!!! i have always loved how often we see them just touch base - nothing big or dramatic just genuine concern and it’s actually SO ROMANTIC. like when jessica leaves and she asks if he is ok LIKE I WENT CRAZY!!!!!!! also re: being partners - it’s the line “once we were together it’s like we’ve always been together” they’ve always been partners!! they almost feel like a single unit. which is also why yesterday’s secret language video drove me crazy cause they even behave like a single unit with the synchronized body language and the internal conversations they’re having with their eyes !!????!!!!! crazy

harvey 10000000 percent worships donna!! (i feel like to the point of not seeing her) he doesn’t give a huge monologue about but every chance he gets he’s calling her amazing and irreplaceable and i can’t be me without u

omg so we share zero ships and ive never watched any of the shows u mentioned aside from stranger things but i only watched a season lol

so i have been wondering how my ships relate. darvey is my only canon ship i read fic for. idk if this is true buuuttt i think it’s rare to read fic for a canon ship because we know everything? the story has been told? so darvey is unique for me in that sense!! but i also think because they were a background ship for most of the show there is so much story to tell!!

OK LET ME TELL U MY SHIPS (ones ive read fic for)

HOUSE/WILSON from House

- i LOOOOVVVEEEDDD them. whenever i c gifs of them on my dash i get so happy lol. they r also extremely codependent. wilson is house’s only friend. he is an oncologist with very good bedside manner who dates a new woman every week. house is a vicodin addicted sherlock type with no bedside manner who commits medical malpractice left and right to solve a case. house satisfies wilson’s urge to feel needed every second of everyday which no one else can ever satisfy

in terms of similarities to darvey - both house/wilson and harvey/donna r codependent and portray a sense of shared history when we meet them. actually lol i just sent u an ask idk if harvey/donna r codependent idk idk. but i always see them described that way and i also thought they were but now I’m trying to remember why and I can’t

NEAL/PETER/EL from White Collar

- the canon pairing is peter and el. they r a perfect married couple and we do not separate them. neal is a beautiful boy who paints beautiful fakes topless and peter is the fbi agent who arrests him. neal is in prison when we meet him and he’s almost served all his time except he tries to break out because the girl he is in love is in trouble so peter arrests him again. except this time instead of going back to jail, neal serves his time by helping peter solve white collar cases because he has the mind of a criminal. they r such an interesting ship to me because peter is the most by the book fbi agent and neal makes peter break the law

peter and neal probably relate more to marvey than darvey actually. i mean i completely get the comparison BUT PLEASE DO NOT COMPARE BEAUTIFUL PERFECT NEAL TO MIKE OK BECAUSE THAT IS CHARACTER DEFAMATION 😡

oh and that brings me to my last ship lol

MARVEY

- i see a lot of similarities between marvey and darvey. i think it’s true that harvey would do anything for mike. i think it’s also true harvey would do anything for donna. (REMEMBER WHEN HE SAID THAT TO HER AND IT WAS SUPER CASUAL BUT I SWOONED ANYWAYS) other similarities: harvey has committed crimes for mike and donna. harvey’s risked his job for mike and career for donna. my hc is that he loves them both but only donna actually loves him back 🫶🏻

OMG BUT BACK TO THE REASON I ASKED THE QUESTION - i think the sense of shared history and body language is actually unique to them because gabriel and sarah have known each other forever. i feel like not many tv couples have that!!

QUESTION how does darvey compare to ur other ships?? i feel like their shared body language and the way they convey HISTORY is so unique ahaha

this is actually a great question and i would absolutely love to know your own other ships vs darvey, bc darvey is so different from so many of my ships!!!

i will say that joyce x hopper from stranger things is probably the only ship i have that even comes close to having any similarities to donna and harvey because of that sense of shared history, partnership, and platonic support leading into romantic support. but for the rest of my ships, it's like so opposite.

one of my main ships that is one of my most tagged ships on my blog is Julie and Luke from the netflix series Julie and the Phantoms!!! this series devastatingly only got ONE SEASON but had a huge following on tumblr. compared to donna and harvey's nine seasons and canonical 13 years of buildup, that inherently makes the ships very different, because Julie and Luke do not become "canon" (although mutual romantic feelings are made pretty darn clear). Julie and Luke have history together in an offhanded way - Luke is a ghost, and when he was 17, he actually met a young Julie's mom before she had Julie, and then he died, got trapped in purgatory(?) for 25 yrs, and then was brought back into the world as a ghost where he met Julie (after her own mom had passed away). This has resulted in a LOT of theories regarding them being soulmates - their characters mirror each other so well to the point that the colors of their costuming is often matching or inverted to each others clothing. They both have an undying love for music, mommy issues, and they fit together like two peas in a pod. Literally there's only one season of buildup, and there are over 3,000 works of fanfiction for them on ao3. Julie and Luke truly couldn't be more different lmao, because a lot of the magic that comes from them is a sense of destiny, inevitability, and their instant ability to be vulnerable with each other. With Donna and Harvey, the romance comes from the steadfast partnership and daily choice they make every day to choose each other.

Another big ship of mine is Anne and Gilbert from Anne with an E (or the whole Anne of Green Gables book series lol, but them in the AWAE tv adaptation is so good)!! They have a good amount of buildup and a sense of choosing each other, but the stakes are nowhere near as high as they are in Suits. Gilbert is so down bad for Anne the whole time. He's so the perfect man that I have a framed photo of him in my home. The TV show introduces us to their plotlines and character arcs as parallel tracks as they are finding their way through life and eventually meeting at the same place, whereas Donna and Harvey are definitely just on their own crazy journeys until they crash into each other and are finally in a place to be together. However, a very silly parallel that Anne/Gilbert has with Donna/Harvey is there is a sequence of Person B running to Person A when they realize that they're meant to be together. And Person A is a redhead.

Other ships I have are like Nina and Fabian from House of Anubis, or Zuko and Katara from ATLA. Also Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett from P&P. I think a lot of my ships involve the man blatantly worshipping the ground that the woman walks on and constantly being complimentary and admiring of her; where we get only crumbs of that kind of dynamic with Donna and Harvey. Harvey definitely thinks, and has stated as such, that Donna is the most amazing woman he's ever met, but because Donna and Harvey are not thee main plotline of the show or even arguably the main relationship (when compared to Mike and Rachel), there's a lot less room for there to be blatant moments where Harvey is like "wow she's amazing!!!" because he's just not that guy.

please also let me know your thoughts on this and what ships you have!!! do we share any?

also, my response to your domestic!Darvey ask is still unfortunately in the works. i just want you to know i did not forget about it!!! <3333

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

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[starsinshadows]

firelightfables​:

Steve perhaps wasn’t helping the cemented vision Eddie had in his mind of a certain crowd at school. The jocks and preps of the world had done their best to draw the line in the sand. So what if Eddie had just deepened the divide over the years? He’d long since given up on fitting in and he’d felt the sentiment had been returned in full from the other side. If he was honest, he was surprised any conversation with Steve Harrington, former king of the school, had even last this long.

Then again, he never expected to be hiding his tattoos at school because of that very same king as well. Though for entirely different reasons than either of them were in the bathroom for as they spoke…

It was something else, however, to watch Steve up close. To see the subtle tick of his mouth as he frowned. To watch him swallow, to smell the metallic tang of blood, to see the sink spattered with it and hear the crinkle of shit toilet paper attempt to do anything resembling its actual job function. It was easy to slide back into a role; Eddie had always had a flair for distraction. But then and there, it was hard to keep his composure into something expected in that time and moment.

True, Steve was staring at him like he wasn’t sure if Eddie was about to spout a second head or not. Which, to be fair, was perhaps a little warranted from this whole…whatever this was. Neither of them were used to being in the other’s orbit, and certainly not used to the warm tingle that came with it. It made it hard for Eddie to really find it in himself to excuse himself. Even if leaving would be better than dancing the line of whatever they were dancing here right now. Eddie was weak, however, and Steve was…he didn’t want to say fascinating. But he wasn’t sure how else to put it without veerig into awkwardly stupid territories.

So instead, Eddie tossed his hair back a bit and shrugged a little. Hands finding his pockets to curl there, nail picking at a fraying pocket lining. “Sure do. Gets them to stop more times than not.” Though he gave Steve a sideways glance of his eyes, bringing a finger out to shake it at him. “Don’t go spreading my secret too far though. If everyone starts doing it, it stops working. And I can’t afford another expulsion.”

God, that had been a year. Which Steve knew about, granted. Harrington just didn’t know that he knew. Hand drawing back with the cigarettes, he considered another then put it back into his pocket. Listening instead and snorting a bit.

“Andy can’t see for shit anyway and Harry’s nose is probably an improvement.” Though all the shit talk in the world wouldn’t escape the fact that Steve had admitted to something; wanting to be left the fuck alone. And honestly? Eddie could understand that. His whole persona was designed to express himself exactly to the type of people he cared about. It was just something else to hear his own internal monologue coming from Steve’s mouth.

“Left alone, huh?” Eddie leaned back against the door with a dramatic sigh. Looking up at the shit vent in the ceiling that vainly tried to make the place smell like anything other than a shit show. “What would you do if you were actually left alone? What’s the great Steve Harrington got going on that requires no longer going after that crown of yours? Cause I gotta tell you, you’re veering dangerously close to social outcast territory, and I’m not looking to share right now.”

    Steve didn't know there was anything to be helped here. He didn't understand why he felt comfortable near Eddie Munson, who by all rights should hate him and probably did, and he didn't have any reason to think that the guy wouldn't take a shot as soon as he had the chance. Steve was vulnerable, but for some reason, the outcast was helping the jock instead of making his life hell. Why, though?     He was trying not to stare at the guy in the mirror and just put his focus into cleaning up what he could, even if his face looked like hell after the week he'd had. There was a thought to just leaving for the day, but that felt like running, too. "Trust me, there aren't exactly people waiting around to ask me much of anything right now, so your secret's safe," he pointed out, putting the shitty angle on himself rather than anything to do with Eddie's reputation or anything. Why, he wasn't sure except that he was feeling pretty rough and Munson hadn't done anything to deserve it, but he actually appreciated the company, weird as that was.     It actually wasn't that weird to him, but he knew it had to be for Eddie. Steve was slowly realizing that he didn't like who he'd been spending time with, and Eddie was very much not the crowd he was used to. He actually reminded him a little of the kids, which was a weird association to make, but he was keeping it to himself. He choked out a soft laugh at the trashtalk on Andy and Harry, shaking his head a little, but appreciating it. "You're not wrong, Andy hasn't scored a shot in his entire basketball career," he agreed. Harry's nose was a bit more up for debate, but he wasn't going to argue it.     The humor was short lived, as expected, with his agreement coming in just in time for Munson to get more serious with him and he winced. It wasn't the kind of question that he had an easy answer to. Did anyone? "I don't know. It's all just bullshit, right? Nobody actually gives a shit, not really."      He had no idea that Eddie Munson was one of two people who would know what the significance of ‘bullshit’ was to him, because it should have just been his soulmate and the girl who’d drilled it into him. 

[piecksz]

forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader 

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol 

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container. 

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen. 

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her. 

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.  

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.  

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.  

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.  

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.  

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process. 

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.

[potteresque-ire]

🏳️‍🌈 Rec post!! A queer film + a queer TV series from Hong Kong ~

1) Twilight’s Kiss (叔·叔) (Dir. Ray Yeung 楊曜愷; 2019)

Twilight’s Kiss offers a very realistic depiction of two elderly, in-the-closet gays in Hong Kong, who have dedicated their lives building a conventional family before unexpectedly falling in love with each other. It is a quiet film, and the romance is told in the same subtle manner as love is expressed (and not expressed) in their generation. The actors were phenomenal at playing regular Hong Kong men of their age (Pak mentioned he “came to Hong Kong”, ie, he was a refugee from Mao’s China, as the vast majority of his demographics was), which added to the resonance of the story ~ they could’ve been anyone, and anyone could’ve been them. 

The director of the film, Ray Yeung, is an openly gay man.

(Long review: Hollywood Reporter) Streaming link to film (with English subtitles; pls ignore and close the pop-up window)

2) Ossan’s Love (大叔的愛) (2021)

The unlikely (and hilarious) love triangle between Muk (Left), Tin (Center) and KK (Right) in Ossan’s Love.

For those who found the name familiar, it’s because the series is a (faithful) remake of the popular 2018 Japanese series of the same name. The Hong Kong version is longer (15 episodes; ~ 40 min each) compared to the Japanese original, and its mood is cheerier, sweeter, and also ... more BL, with the lead characters Tin (Haruta in the original) and Muk (Maki in the original) played by two idols, Edan Lui 呂爵安 and Anson Lo 盧瀚霆, from the very popular local boy band MIRROR.

(Being idols didn’t prevent them from kissing. Not in Hong Kong, 2021.) (Yes, they kissed, and hugged and fought and bantered...)

Ossan’s Love is culturally significant in that it became the first gay drama to be aired primetime in Hong Kong, and by extension, in China. Beloved by the locals, it was also very much discussed—hk-queers expressed their (surprised) joy that finally, they got to see a respectful, dignified presentation of who they are and how they love. More importantly, they got to see HKers, older generations included, glued to the TV for their kind of love story, rooting for the lead male characters to get together. 

This signifies a broader acceptance of LGBT+ in the city than previously assumed; this is very important and comforting to the community in June, 2021, when the future of LGBT+ rights in the city is very uncertain. After the 2019 protests, pro-democracy leaders have been arrested and jailed in large numbers; newspaper that advocated for freedom has been shut down. Meanwhile, during the airing of Ossan’s Love , the (in)famous pro-Beijing politician, Junius Ho, claimed the series to have violated the city’s much feared, much abused National Security Law—the law that officially aims to catch “traitors”, but has been used as a “catch-all” excuse to arrest political dissidents and suppress the freedoms of the city. Ho was of sufficient prominence that his words could draw the attention of officials who have been sent from across the mainland-HK border to do Beijing’s bidding.

Also, Ossan’s Love was produced not by the powerful, once popular TVB (local TV station), which, with Chinese investors becoming its major shareholders like many other HK press and media companies, has become very pro-Beijing and conservative. The series was produced by ViuTV, a much smaller station preferred by young, pro-democracy Hong Kongers ... which means the future of the series, of its stars (MIRROR’s members are once-contestants of a ViuTV talent show), of even the station itself is also uncertain.

Hence, I’m recommending Ossan’s Love now ... even if the official version doesn’t have the best English subtitles. The full series is on Youtube (links below); the soundtrack is in Cantonese and (Traditional) Chinese subtitles are available, but English is only available via Youtube’s built-in Auto-Translate function. 

For those who would like to catch a short scene of two cute HK boys in love, the last 5 minutes of Ep 11 would be a nice place to watch. You can see how comfortable these two bandmates were with each other—Edan (Tin) had played two supporting roles before this series, while Anson (Muk) had never acted before. Edan and Anson have claimed that being close friends in RL meant their intimate scenes were easy to film (BTW, Anson is gay, Edan isn’t).

Edan Lui (Left) & Anson Lo (Right), Harper's Bazaar HK, May 2021. Edan was a uni student before joining hk-ent. Anson was a dance instructor.

(You can also see why, when I watched the Gg + Dd Happy Camp episode very, very early on in my turtlehood, I assumed Gg and Dd would have ample opportunities to work together again, to play and be happy in front of the camera ... just like how I remembered on-screen couples from my days in HK—the couples, the CPs of the time, would collaborate repeatedly after having demonstrated chemistry and become commercial success—in film and TV projects, in variety shows, in awards ceremonies as presenting guests etc etc. This multi-project collaboration was, and still is, viewed as a Very Good Thing, and not only for commercial reasons. The inter-personal fate (緣份) to play on-screen couples repeatedly, per the tradition of HK-ent, is something of a blessing, talked about as a small-scale version of having the destiny, the luck to be together across multiple lives, multiple incarnations. Actors treasure this kind of collaboration and the HK audience celebrates it, regardless of the marital status of the actors in RL. Entertainment news dedicate articles about it.) (There’s actually an example of that in Ossan’s Love: Kenny Wong 黃德斌, the actor who played the titular Ossan, KK, and Rachel Kan 簡慕華, who played his wife Francesca, had already played husband and wife three times before. Rachel had retired from acting in 2017 and moved to Canada; she told reporters that she returned to shoot Ossan’s Love primarily so that she could play Kenny’s wife again).

* Below is a small warning for Ossan’s Love ~ *

The humour of Ossan’s Love is often wild and zany, especially where it adapts from the Japanese original. Some of it, i-fandomers may find uncomfortable. Notably, the titular Ossan (Japanese, meaning “Older Man”) was Tin and Muk’s boss; and he and Darren, another superior of Tin and Muk, were also part of the romantic story line.

One can argue, therefore, that Ossan’s Love contains a *very* “Me Too” situation; however, this is also why I find Ossan’s Love interesting beyond being a Chinese-speaking gay drama—it is clear that the production team of this series meant no disrespect, and from the series’ reception, it’s also clear that hk-queers and other more progressive members among the audience didn’t see disrespect in the product. This series therefore offers a glimpse to the answers of some questions I’ve had: how does Hong Kong of 2021 translate respect for queers (as well as for older men and women) into day-to-day words and actions? How do these culturally-specific habits in speech and behaviour compare to the norms in, for example, the United States (that I’m familiar with)?

“Political incorrectness” was also found in some of Tin’s internal monologue. However, I thought, perhaps, that was why the series has proven to be disarming to the general audience both in HK and Japan, places with a tradition of homophobia stemming often not from malice, but from ignorance, from sex being considered taboo for so much of the places’ history. Tin, as someone who haven’t seemed to have spared a thought about homosexuality before the story had taken place, spoke the minds of the audiences who aren’t familiar with homosexuality. Muk, meanwhile, presented the perspective of someone who already understood what being gay was and wasn’t about. Tin, therefore, led the audience towards Muk and his views step by step, all the while without being judgemental—how could he be? He was one of them too during his journey. He was the student, and he was also the protagonist who everyone—and I mean everyone—loved (in a rather funny manner :D). 🌈

(Long review: BLwatcher)

Links to Ossan’s Love, official version uploaded by ViuTV: EP 1 EP 2 EP 3 EP 4 EP 5 EP 6 EP 7 EP 8 EP 9 EP 10 EP 11 EP 12 EP 13 EP 14 EP 15

ETA 2021/09/16: Streaming with English subtitles is available here.

[moonbeamwritings]

annoyances and nosebleeds

Summary: In which you really hate Tōru Oikawa (or, more accurately, the time you realized that may not be entirely true).

A/N: this is my first haikyuu fic, so pls be very gentle with me! let me know what you think!

If there was one thing you knew with utmost certainty, it was that Tōru Oikawa was the single most annoying person you’d ever met. 

Not only did his gaggle of fangirls make you late for class at least once a week, blocking nearly the entire hallway as they giggled and whispered among themselves about who was giving Oikawa a present this time, but the boy himself was arguably more obnoxious— if that was even humanly possible.

He was aggravating and smug, always teasing you about his higher grades and poking and prodding at you for being single. So what if maybe, sometimes— on very rare occasions— you found his smile kinda cute in a “I want to punch him in the face” sort of way? You hated him and no amount of charm was ever going to solve that.

Right?

Your heart raced as your teacher worked through the list of partnerships for an upcoming project, leg bouncing restless as you waited, breath caught in your throat. As you heard your name being called, you prayed to whoever would listen that you wouldn’t end up with him.

Across the room, Oikawa was working through a similar internal monologue. He hated you in equal measure, that much was true. He hated your stick-in-the-mud attitude and the way you rubbed your grades in his face. He hated the way you glared at him and his fangirls in the hallways or the way you made a point of congratulating Iwa-chan on volleyball wins, but refused to do the same for him. 

He hated the confident lilt in your voice when you contributed something in class and the bright, almost blinding, light of your smile as you laughed with your friends at lunch. Well, maybe ignore that last part. Oikawa hated you. Plain and simple.

“... you will be working with Oikawa.”

Oikawa heard Iwaizumi and Makki snickering at the news, sending him teasing glances as they joked about his bad luck. Oh, if looks could kill.

Meanwhile, you’d decided that today, and the next two weeks where you’d be subjected to Oikawa’s company, was about to be the lowest point of your life. You couldn’t wait.

The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of an incredibly long day, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Oikawa sauntered over to your desk, teasing smirk already on his face.

This was gonna be good.

“It seems the tides of fate have blessed us both, hmm.” The way he spoke your name, tacking on a sarcastic honorific as he put on a front of sweetness, made your stomach churn.

“Trust me, Oikawa,” you bit back, closing your notebooks as you packed your things, “I don’t like this anymore than you do.”

He pouted, planting his hands on either side of your desk, leaning down to invade your line of vision, “I don’t know. I think you do. You are secretly in love with me, after all.” 

He watched in amusement as your face contorted in disgust, “and lest we forget I am smarter than you.”

“Bold words from someone who took a volleyball to the face last week.” You refused to look at him, shoving the rest of your things in your bag in an attempt to make this conversation as short as possible.

Your words only seemed to spur him on though. You could practically hear the way he was smirking, the bastard. “Hey, I thought you said you don’t come to our practices with all of my… hmmm, what did you call them again? Fangirls, was it?”

As you zipped your bag, he leaned over again, this time successfully getting you to look at him, “Are you a fangirl?”

With a huff, you stood from your seat, brushing your shoulder against Oikawa’s as you moved towards the classroom door. “I would rather keel over and die, Oikawa. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He caught up with you quickly, falling into stride with you as he shot a hand up to grip at his chest, “You wound me. I don’t think I can possibly go on.”

“Good,” you spoke resolutely. “Listen, I don’t want to talk to you any longer than I have to, so let’s make this as painless as possible. Just meet me in the library when you get out of practice.”

Without so much as a backward glance, you clicked your locker shut and ventured off, completely ignoring the mocking words Oikawa threw your way, whining about how he could really feel the love from where he was standing. Asshole.

The first meeting went about as well as you’d expected, with Oikawa arriving well after when you knew volleyball ended, seemingly more interested in making you suffer than he was in actually getting work done.

“Will you quit it? I’m not carrying this whole thing because you’re too lazy to do anything.”

He had his head resting in his palm, eyes memorizing the little crease between your brows as you got more angry. He wasn’t really listening to you and you could tell.

Sighing, you pressed two fingers against the inner corners of your eyes. “I hate you. Have I told you that yet today?”

“You might’ve once or twice. Or a hundred times. I’ve started to lose count,” he replied with a playful smile.

The next few meetings carried on much the same. You met with Oikawa after volleyball practice, you would get about an hour of work done before he began picking on you again, doodling on your papers or teasing you about being in love with him, and then you’d go home and complain about him to your friends.

Your life fell into an incredibly mundane cycle— go to school, meet with Oikawa, go home, and do homework— day in and day out. Until one particularly bad day sent you reeling, in more ways than one. You’d woken up late, forgotten an assignment, failed a test, and that was only the beginning of a very long list of grievances. It was overwhelming, to say the least. You’d been feeling the academic pressure for weeks; as if you had a storm cloud looming over you, invading your mind and making it harder and harder to work on your homework. You knew what needed to be done, but it never seemed like it was good enough, especially not today.

So, as you sat and waited for Oikawa’s practice to end, you allowed yourself to cry. Dark clouds usually meant rain, didn’t they? Hot, wet tears cascaded down your cheeks, slipping off your chin only to splatter across your papers, smearing the ink as they went. Furiously, you attempted to stop the flow, wiping tear after tear away until you finally resigned yourself to the pathetic mental image of what you must look like— alone, crying in some back corner of the library as you tried to muffle the hiccups that threatened to spill from your mouth.

In your flurry of emotions, you failed to hear the muffled thud of sneakers along the carpet.

“Hey,” a gentle voice called out, “you okay?”

Oikawa.

Bile slipped up the back of your throat at the idea of being caught by him, the sound of his voice nearly reinvigorating your tears as humiliation burned your skin. Barely able to muster the courage to speak, you simply nodded your head, wiping the remaining tears with the soft sleeve of your sweater.

Picking up your pen and completely ignoring the uneven sound of your voice, you began taking notes again. “Let’s just get to work.”

Oikawa was quick to sink into the seat across from you, mind reeling at what he’d just seen. His mouth fell open as he watched you, eyes still glassy, as your pen glided across your notebook.

You had just been crying. You didn’t really expect him to just carry on with the project, to just ignore the distress he’d walked in on, did you?

He gave you a hard time, pushing your buttons and making fun of you, but all along he’d assumed it was little more than hatred— physical and verbal manifestations of how frustrated he was that you wouldn’t give him the time of day. Now, with concern gripping at his chest after having seen you fall apart, he wasn’t quite sure what to think anymore.

“You’re not really about to act like nothing happened, are you?” A mirthless chuckle sounding from his throat, a tentative hand reaching out to stop your pen. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but this is downright insulting.”

“What do you want me to say, Oikawa? Don’t act like you’re some knight in shining armor after all this time.

Ow.

“I’m not heartless. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His words were short, leaving absolutely no room for debate. It was now or never.

“I’ve just felt a lot of academic pressure recently, that’s all.”

Oikawa nodded along and for once in his life, seemed to be genuinely listening to you. His hand hadn’t left yours.

“And?” He urged you to continue, leaning in slightly to take in your words.

“It’s just been a lot. I get good grades, sure, but it never seems good enough.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened, your words sounding all too familiar. He’d had these exact conversations with himself as he sat in front of his TV, watching volleyball footage over and over again. He was good, but there was always someone better. He knew how exhausting that could be, knew— too well — that nagging feeling of worthlessness despite hard work.

Maybe you weren’t so different after all.

“I feel like that sometimes too,” a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it squeeze of your hand, “maybe we can learn together.”

You didn’t respond, you weren’t sure you could. It was as if the entire image of Oikawa you’d crafted was crumbling, fragments of hatred tumbling to the sides to reveal, what you could only assume was the real him. And in this moment, though you’d never admit it, you were grateful.

You nodded, “I think I’d like that.”

Oikawa had to bite back a jest, some ridiculous passing comment about how he knew that you’d been in love with him all along, but he didn’t in favor of savoring the gentle smile you’d graced him with.

The rest of your little meetings were amenable and your encounters in the school hallways even more so. It wasn’t a complete 180, but it was definitely noticeable.

Your friends caught on to the shy smile on your face after Oikawa shot a wave in your direction and practically the entire volleyball team had seen Oikawa blush after he’d seen you at lunch one day. And both groups were going to get to the bottom of it if it killed them.

“You were at each other’s throats literally just last week,” your friend groaned, sending pieces of popcorn across the table and into your hair. “What the hell happened?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” your other friend piped in. “You actually considered going to volleyball practice the other day. You’ve never gone willingly.”

“And, you actually smiled at him in the hallway!”

You brought your voice down to a whisper, not wanting to be overheard talking about something so stupid, “I don’t like Oikawa. He’s annoying and full of himself. You guys are seeing things.”

They were unconvinced.

Oikawa hadn’t been faring much better.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi smirked, “you sure changed your tune.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “What’re you talking about?”

Iwaizumi pitched his voice up, a poor rendition of his best friend, “I can’t stand them Iwa-can~ How am I ever going to survive?” He dropped the act seconds later, elbowing the other player in the ribs, “Meanwhile you actually seem to enjoy doing this project with them.”

Makki and Mattsun laughed along before Mattsun interjected, “Don’t forget the blush!”

“Oh,” Makki howled, “how could we forget? He looked like a pink highlighter.”

All Oikawa could do was huff. “I don’t like them.”

And boy was he wrong.

With the project coming to an end, Oikawa laid awake, staring at his ceiling as he thought about how exactly he’d spend his time now that you weren’t meeting with him in the library every afternoon. Would you keep hanging out? Would you come to his games? What if you stopped smiling at him in school, returning to the bitter back-and-forths that had been so common before?

Oikawa shot up in bed, chest heaving and eyes wide. He liked you.

Oh no.

Across town, cuddled under the comforter in your own bedroom, you thought about Oikawa— as you had been most nights since you became partners. As your mind wandered, you realized that by now, you’d memorized the color of his eyes and that you could decipher exactly which of his smiles were genuine and which weren’t. You smiled as you thought about the feeling of your hand in his, about how warm his skin had felt against your own.

Your heart was in your throat. You were heading down a point of no return, one in which only humiliation awaited you. You liked Tōru Oikawa.

How cruel.

On your walk to school the following day, you’d decided that avoiding him would be the easiest option from here on out. The project was done and you were saving yourself the embarrassment of falling for someone who clearly would never be interested. You’d convinced yourself that day in the library had been a fluke, a trick of the light. He didn’t like you.

You ducked out of sight when he was about to pass in the halls, you pointedly looked elsewhere during class— whatever you could to suppress whatever feelings you had for him. All the while blissfully unaware of the effect you were having on the setter.

He knew this would happen, knew that the moment the project was submitted you’d begin to act differently, but he hadn’t thought you’d ignore him entirely. He almost missed the biting tone of voice you used whenever you scolded him, at least then you were looking at him, speaking to him.

He’d been so out of focus that during practice he’d taken one of Iwaizumi’s spikes directly to the face, sending blood dribbling down from his nose.

“Go take a walk,” Iwaizumi demanded, waving a hand in the direction of the door. “You’re no good if you’re just gonna stand there like a love-sick puppy.”

Sighing in defeat, Oikawa headed off, pinching the bridge of his nose as he went. His feet carried him along the tile, looping through hallways until he found himself outside of the library. You wouldn’t be in there, right? You didn’t really have any reason to be, not anymore.

Whatever.

Body on autopilot, he followed the familiar path, counting stacks as he walked along the main aisle. Rounding the final corner and expecting to be disappointed, he pinched his nose harder.

You let out a squeak at the sight of Oikawa, supposedly in the midst of volleyball practice, emerging from the stacks like a zombie, nose bloodied, face red and shiny with sweat.

“What are you-”

“I like you. A lot.” He had no idea where the words came from, but he wasn’t about to take them back now.

“Ha ha, very funny. You haven’t used that one before.”

A look crossed Oikawa’s face— one you hadn’t seen since the day he’d caught you crying.

Sincerity.

Your stomach flipped, “You’re not joking.”

He shook his head, using the back of his hand to wipe away the blood that was still steadily trickling from his nose.

Oh.

“I like you too.”

A smirk crossed Oikawa’s face, a joking lilt taking over his serious tone, “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, bringing a hand up to rub your thumb against his cheekbone. It was sticky with sweat, but it was either that or landing a kiss to his lips and interrupting his nosebleed. Gross.

“Wanna meet me back here after practice?”

“God, yes.”

[whump-town]

Stubborn

Everybody taking care of old Hotch because... I don't like it when old Hotch gets left to just die on his own :( don't ask why that's where I draw the line

No pairings

No warnings

In Jack’s second semester of his junior year, Hotch collapses again. He’s home this time, out in his garden under the glaring sun. The day had begun no different than any other. The birds on the powerline chirping and causing their disturbances, as eager for the day to begin as the school-aged children shouting in the street. He’d watched them from the sliding glass door facing the street, his tea warm in his hands. He’d waved at a few, the older ones who recognize him as a mystifying adult with stories to be unlocked. The younger children give him a face akin to a monster’s, his mystery horrifying in their already confusing enough lives.

It’s an hour before lunch. Two hours before Spencer shows up because it’s Thursday and he teaches a class on this side of town every Tuesday and Thursday at 2. One that he occasionally asks Hotch to attend -- as a guest lecturer, as a treat to his students, or just for the company.

He could call just about anyone.

Emily’s downtown, on her way back from a meeting with the Department of Justice. She’d be thrilled for an excuse to not go back to the office and spend an hour or two in his kitchen telling him about those pretentious assholes.

Garcia’s about ten minutes away, working at a nonprofit teaching “at-risk” kids how to code. Being the guiding hand she’d needed as a teenager so that they might not repeat the same mistakes she made. She was lucky, Hotch saved her but he’s not around to catch any more kids like her.

Morgan got hired by a family two streets over to fix up their house before they move in. He’s there now, tearing out rotting beams.

This collapse is not of the life-threatening kind. Not to Hotch at least. There’s no internal bleeding, no emergency surgeries. He doesn’t even need stitches but he’s on so many medications that thin his blood that it’s just on the safer side. From the hospital, he calls who he needs to. Reid first, he’ll worry when he gets to Hotch’s house and sees his truck gone. Then, Jack, it’s better to hear this sort of thing from him and not Emily in half an hour when she needs to yell at someone and who better than the son of the idiot she hates right now? Dave and Emily follow and he trusts them to carry the news the rest of the way. Rather, he simply doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and he’d rather Garcia and JJ and Morgan and everyone else just be mad at him than go on to have another conversation about how he’s feeling.

Fine. He just got light-headed. It was the heat and his perpetually low iron and probably his thin blood (the killer had been his blood pressure but they’re working on that). He just needs to get better about remembering to eat breakfast -- a larger breakfast than just tea and toast. Fainting, he assures Dave, happens. Jack’s seen it happen. The heat makes it worse, the summertime drains him. He’s come in from the garden and gotten weak in the knees plenty of times. He actually moved some chairs around the sliding glass door to the yard, prepared for this exact problem.

This over clarification does not help.

Made only the more complicated when he explains his head is fine. The fainting thing really isn’t a big deal, he just needs a ride home. He’d landed weirdly and pulled his back. He left with a new problem entirely, a torn ligament in his shoulder. That is a problem for a different day.

The surgery is set for the week just before Jack’s finals. Armed with a suitcase full of textbooks, his laptop, notes from this semester (and a few from last), and just enough clothes to recycle a few and still be fine, Jack shows up on his father’s doorstep. “I mean, the hospital isn’t exactly the library… but it’s not the worst place I’ve studied.” It’s far too late to send Jack back but Hotch is reluctant to let him stay. Even if he does prefer Jack be his ride rather than the likes of Penelope and that tiny green eye-sore of a car she drives or leave him to Reid and his defensive, jerky driving.

To the sound of “Aaron Hotchner November 2, 1971”, Jack settles down with his books. He tries to put himself in the right headspace for studying but it’s harder than he anticipated. The constant motion of the room unsettles him and he looks up several times to see his father’s reaction. To gauge the anxiety in his face, in the deep breathes that he pulls in through his nose. In how tight his fists are holding the sheets underneath him. It’s a simple surgery and they’ll be out of here in no time.

“Young” his heart had not handled the heavy sedatives and morphine well. Then again, those incidents are always hard to measure against a thing like this. Rushed into the ER with nine chest wounds and having nearly bled to death, it’s natural to conclude the stress of his depleted blood supply and his very recent trauma had caused his heart to stop on the table. That said trauma was the reason his heart had maintained to be a steady problem up until they released him. Again, when he was brought in with some of the worst internal bleedings the staff had ever seen. His heart had given them trouble too.

Jack is staring blankly at his flashcards when the doctor comes out.

Hotch had gone to Georgetown to be a lawyer like his father and his grandfather. Jack went to Georgetown to get an Art History degree. He was lead by something else. Not chasing some shadow, clutching at a lie he spoonfed himself. Jack didn’t live in anyone’s shadow, never felt the pressure to look and act a certain way. Was never beaten into submission or told to hold his tongue. Jack went to museums every Saturday with his father, preferred them to the aquariums and the zoo. Hotch held him close to the artwork, pushed his dense schedule around to go to new shows, and learned the names of pieces just to recite the knowledge back to Jack.

In his lap, Jack is memorizing pieces of art like his father had years ago for him. He’s stuck on The Anatomy Lesson, eyes glued to the details. The way colorless skin is held in forceps, peeled back to reveal angry red. He can feel the pinching teeth on his own skin, feels the heavy flow of hot blood spilling down over his arm.

“Hotchner?”

Jack flinches, caught completely off guard. He stands, flushing as he tucks his notecards into his textbook, and stands. “Ugh, yeah. That’s me.” He wipes his hands off on his pants, rubbing away the nervous sweat he’s built up.

The doctor recognizes him from earlier. He’d watched Jack and Hotch get out one last goodbye. Jack pulling up a nervous smile, dirty-blonde hair, and light eyes a complete contrast to Hotch’s ever-darkening features. Somehow more solemn, voice taken by the sedatives already working through his body. He hadn’t said a word, eyes vacantly following Jack’s movements but unaware.

Jack expects the same monologue he hears every time. The one that comes out so dry and perfect that they must practice it in front of the mirror, say it softly to themselves as they as they get ready each morning. He’s got it memorized himself -- the bits about recovering in post-op, make a full recovery, and whatever on the fly timeline they give for access back to the room.

“But he’s-- He’s okay? He’s--”

Jack feels impossibly childish. Five years old and Emily’s chilled fingers brushing his tears away, “baby, I know you miss your mommy. But you’re being so terribly mean to your daddy.” He had been, a terrible little monster squirming away from his father and refusing to eat anything. Throwing tantrums about nothing and everything. Screaming and crawling under his bed every chance he got. Pushing himself to the wall knowing he couldn’t be reached.

Now he can remember Hotch just sitting at the edge of the bed. There on the floor for hours. Sometimes he read, would pick up a book, and just start from wherever just to make it so his voice was reaching where he couldn’t. He slept there too, on the hard ground just to make sure Jack knew he was there. Slipped strawberry pop tarts on crazily designed animal plated under there, offered bites of his own food to the darkness under the bed. Sippy cups full of chocolate milk and juice.

He feels like a little boy again, getting news that he has no idea how to handle.

“He’s okay?” Jack stammers. “He’s going to be okay? I can see him?”

Hotch remembers those days under the bed too. Waking up in the middle of the night as Jack groggily curled close to him, still under the bed but crawling under his blanket. The ends of those awful sobs, Jack’s little chest jerking as he hiccuped. The force of his sorrow was too much for his little body. And Jack would fall into his lap, exhausted and needing comfort. His little fingers tracing the scars on Hotch’s face. How he whispered “thank you” and “please” from underneath the bed and how he’d pop his head out to say, “Daddy, I’m going to potty. I’ll be right back.”

Jack’s legally old enough to drink now and Hotch still sees that little boy. The three-year-old wiping his snot on Hotch’s dress shirt. The six-year-old holding his hand and reminding him to look both ways twice before crossing the street. The eight-year-old he left the hallway light on for, old enough now to think he needed to brave the night without a nightlight. So Hotch would offer to keep the hallway light on, not for Jack but for him because he doesn’t like the dark. The ten-year-old sheepishly offering him a father’s day gift he bought with saved allowance, a t-shirt he’s now worn the words off of. The fifteen-year-old curling up beside him on the couch, seeking his comfort but not sure how to ask anymore. The eighteen-year-old as tall as him talking his ear off while he tries to get dinner ready, sticking his fingers in the pan and sitting on the counter.

How did he grow up so fast?

He’s not a little boy anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

The creaking of a chair moves Hotch’s attention and he looks away from Jack. Away from the sight of his little boy curled up on a cot, drooling onto a pillow and notebook still open, a pen dangling from his fingers. He looks over and Emily’s sitting up, her reading glasses precariously sat on the tip of her nose. “Oh look,” she mumbles. She stretches out, groaning as her joints complain from being held in this miserable hospital chair for hours. “You’ve decided to join the land of the living.”

Hotch watches her fold the thin black frames of her glasses up, gently sits them down by his hand as she stands up. Jack had called her, even though he promised he wouldn’t worry anyone. Hotch didn’t want anyone else coming to the hospital over something so small and though Jack protested that their concern wouldn’t be because he was bothering them but because they love him. The very same reason he’d come home is that people gather after these sorts of things. They need reassurance that he’s alive and he’s just going to have to accept that. They compromised in the end, everyone could come to smother him in worry after he got home from the surgery.

But Jack was scared. He called the only person he could think to, the woman whose role in his life that was never really clear. She’d gotten on him about his grades, smacked the back of his head when he said something stupid, and always let him taste-test her wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Emily knew things that not even Jessica knew and she could be sterner than both Hotch and Jessica and also more relaxed, more understanding. She was always there for both of them, in the same capacity as Jessica and yet her own unique one. A friend Hotch trusted and loved and Jack could understand that. His friends always wanted to know if they were dating and he knew intuitively that the answer was no but he would hesitate to try and explain. But he didn’t understand the gravity that pulled them together, adults and their relationships far too complex to fit it into his simple understanding of love.

He did understand she was the only person to call.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked and knew she was playing the wrong role for the wrong Hotchner because no sooner than she could ask she had an armful of Jack. She sat with Jack for hours, let him get his fear out. Held him while he sobbed, felt pulled to the past. When it was Aaron on her shoulder, terrified he’d lose his son. Life has this very odd way of bringing everything full circle.

“I bet you’re hurting.” Emily moves to the table and pours water into the little paper Dixie cup left by the nurses. “Been right dramatic this afternoon,” she informs him, a dissatisfied matter-of-fact tone in play. “I know you find that to be particularly taxing.” She holds the cup for him, gentle despite her annoyance. She’s close enough to see the iodine on his skin. Dark orange swipes across his pale skin, the smell burns with its strength.

He pulls greedily from the cup, mouth impossibly dry. Stopped only by how little she poured, he sinks back heavily into the pillows behind him. His shoulder hot and angry from forcing himself upright.

“They’re going to let you go in the morning,” she says, sitting back down. He won’t remember this in the morning. Emily holding his hand, whispering thickly how angry she is with him as tears fall down her face. How scared she was getting that phone call from Jack, racing down here to be a composed person to comfort his son thinking her best friend was in the morgue.

He’ll wake up with a pit in his stomach, residual feelings from the night before he can’t tie down to memories. Emily shows no inclination to repeat herself, just coldly informs him that she’ll have Penelope make him a cardiologist appointment (it’s unspoken that no one trusts him to do this himself). Jack walks on glass, close by but terrified of being pushed away. Hotch is too out of it to put up much of a fight, by the time the morning shift has their hands on him he’s silent. Properly dosed up for a ride home and out of his mind.

He’s groggily propped up on pillows, watching Jack and Emily fight over if he has the right to wear shoes or not. Emily wants to hold them captive, he won’t run off or refuse the wheelchair without them and Jack shakes his head, “he’s not our P.O.W, Emily. He’s even going to get that far if he does try to run.” He’s given his shoes but Emily makes a point to collect his cane, holds it while the nurse helps him into the wheelchair. He’s a flight-risk and she’s not going to trust him, he’s run off on her too many times for that.

At the house the other’s have gathered up, having nothing better to do evidently on a Wednesday at ten in the morning. Penelope’s frying eggs and bacon, the carnage it takes to feed their brood spread out on his kitchen counter. Reid sitting on the counter, Hank in his lap, and the two of them watching Penelope. Derek’s on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Savannah learning on his shoulder. Dave’s getting orange juice from the store declared them all lawless, and didn’t trust them to get the right kind.

Hotch is granted his cane to get back inside the house but Emily threatens to kick it out from underneath if he tries anything fast. He smacks her ankle and Jack has to actually step between them to keep them apart. It’s in times like these where Jack finds himself wondering how these two ever had any role in raising him at all.

“Don’t you have jobs?” Hotch asks, hooking his cane over the coat rack and toeing his shoes off. He ignores the hand Emily places on his arm, afraid he’ll knock himself over. He manages just fine, has the whole house set up so that every other step is within arms distance of something to lean on. Fingers trailing the back of the couch he limps past Derek, smiling when Savannah offers a soft “glad you’re okay”. She pats his hand and he nods back.

“Up for some food, sir?” Penelope asks and she’s not taking no for an answer. They might be having heaping servings of eggs and bacon and gravy and orange juice but she’s made two small bowls of oatmeal. She takes the medicine Jack tosses up on the counter, puts it at the end where the rest of his medication sits. “I cut up apples,” she tells Hotch with a wide grin, sliding the bowl in front of him. “Dashed a little cinnamon and sugar in there, it’ll stick to your bones. Keep you healthy.”

He’s at a healthy weight at the moment, not as thin as he leans to when he’s sick but with Hotch, it’s always a good thing to have some collateral weight for the “in case”. Lifting the spoon in his left hand he scoops some of the oatmeal up, doing his best to hide his annoyance at how weak his extremities still are. How his hand shakes under the light strain of the oatmeal. He looks up, watches Spencer carry Hank over to the highchair sitting at the table beside him. He’s distracted so Emily swoops in, takes his spoon from his hand, and tries his oatmeal. He lets her do it. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. She likes it. He nods, it’s pretty good.

Hank immediately knocks his spoon on the ground and makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. “Hop help,” he whines, pointing down at his spoon. His speech is still developing so he pronounces help and hop nearly identically but Hotch understands the difference. He just can’t bend over like that. His right arm is still pinned to his chest in an intricate web of gauze and this sling.

“Reid,” Hotch calls. His voice is deep, strained from intubation and anesthesia. It makes him sound sick. “He’s dropped his spoon.”

Reid nods, he already knows.

Hank points to his shoulder and frowns, “Hop fall down?”

Hotch nods, that is pretty much what happened and at the same time, Emily sweeps in and tickles Hank. She presses kisses to his face and making him laugh loudly. “That’s what happens,” she says. “Hops is just old.” Hank is too distracted by the ongoing attack to defend Hotch not that a toddler rising to his defense is very helpful.

Hotch sighs as Jack comes up behind him, stealing his spoon too. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and deems it nearly as good as the kind that Jessica makes. Hotch wants to be annoyed by it and yet all he does is nod and finds himself smirking just a little.

Penelope calls everyone in for breakfast and Hotch ignores the kisses pressed to his cheek as people drag chairs to the table around him. To the hands that slide over his back, assurance of life he remembers Jack calling it.

Derek slides him a mug of tea, made exactly how he likes it. He sits across from Hotch, close to Hank in case either needs assistance. Emily sits to his left, slides her coffee up beside his tea so he can have some if he’s quick about it. Jack sits beside her and the rest is a blur, too much motion at once for him to take in without his contacts or glasses. Penelope slides a tea plate to him, his medicine on it, and kisses his head while he’s still scowling at the plate.

They don’t leave him alone all day.

He ends up taking a nap with Hank, the toddler’s sticky little fingers holding onto his shirt as he finds himself unable to fight off the effects of the medicine and his full stomach.

He’s squished on the couch between Derek and Dave, forced to watch baseball because he can’t worm his way upright again just yet.

They change the dressings on his shoulder, his teeth clenched tightly so that he doesn’t let anything slip.

At midnight he wakes up on the couch. Jack’s bedroom door is shut, he’s sleeping peacefully inside. His heating blanket is pulled up to his chin, the heat turned up all the way. He can’t remember getting into this state himself but he has a fate memory of JJ helping him move his hand to his mouth, encouraging him to take the pain killers before bed. Of Derek making sure he didn’t just fall straight over onto his side. He manages to find Dave stretched out on the Lazyboy -- the chair he got Hotch for his fifty-something birthday. He’ll wake up in the morning to more food being made in his lonely kitchen, JJ this time. She’ll make blueberry waffles.

If he’d wanted attention, Emily will tease the next morning, he could have just asked. And he didn’t even know he wanted this. He never finds the words to ask for it to continue but every Saturday morning it happens anyway -- his kitchen and living room full of pajamas and suits in varying degrees depending on who has what to do that morning. The fainting thing is not cool but he considers this to be a good trade.

[insomniacowl]

Neon genesis Evangelion Analysis Chapter 23: Katsuragi Misato Part 2 Dear Shinji, this is my will.

Misato: So you don't want to meet your dad?

Just like me

Let us start from the beginning. The scene in the first episode where Misato drives down to meet Shinji. Her first words to him were, "Sorry, I made you wait." This, I believe, is the first of many times their interactions will revolve around the theme of "Waiting." The line also contrasts with her final words to Shinji, "Let's continue when you get back."

Her cross is first brought to our attention through Shinji's eyes as Misato shields him from the blast of explosions from the Self-defense force's missiles used against Sakiel. Then, on their way to NERV, Shinji confides to her about his feelings towards Gendou. Misato empathizes, saying, "You're just like me," pointing to their commonalities.

She later consoles Shinji as he refuses to pilot Eva-01 and tells him to "Not run away from himself." At this point, she was already seeing herself reflected in Shinji, and those words were meant for herself as well.

After this point, Misato constantly finds herself reflected on Shinji. While it has a positive influence, like in episode 1, it also frequently caused Shinji to hurt. One criticism viewers lay on Misato is the sarcastic tone she sometimes takes when talking to Shinji about his actions. "You don't want to pilot the Eva? With that kind of determination…. What a pain!", Is one of the harsh words directed at Shinji. Even in episode 12, her cold reaction to Shinji's contemplation regarding Asuka is also, in its own way, infamous.

Yet, if we consider that she sees a lot of herself in Shinji, those lines come to represent her self-contempt rather than how she sees the fourteen-year-old. Misato was not really in the position to take care of teenagers if we consider her character flaws.

While such actions are worthy of criticism, there is room to empathize considering the traumas she had to endure, which has shaped the kind of "Adult" she became. As a young child, she was in the center of the Second Impact, and the psychological impact has led to her being mute for a few years. However, she seemed to have eventually recovered. Perhaps to compensate, we are told that she became an overly happy and talkative person. On top of this, she has studied hard and become a student at the Second-Tokyo city University. She met and began living with Kaji in the year 2005, at the age of twenty. According to Ritsuko, she even had a week-long sex marathon with Kaji, where neither of them left the house during the period.

To elaborate on her constant need for physical pleasure, we can start from the glimpse of her inner monologue we get during the instrumentality. We learn that it was one of the few things she had control over that made her feel alive when she was intimate with Kaji. Yet she breaks up with him because She saw a glimpse of her father reflected in him, although that was what got her attracted to him in the first place.

What are you embarrassed about? You wanted the man you love to see you for who you were. NO!

I wonder about that. You wanted your father to see you for who you were. That's not true!

We can identify Misato as struggling with Electra Complex (Oedipus Complex for girls) regarding how she views her father. She then attempted to quench the thirst for affection her father failed to provide her from a different man who felt similar to him. This can be observed through Kaji and Shinji. Two people sharing the same character flaws as her father (Workaholic and being bad at human interaction) being the two people she opened herself up to (Mentally, emotionally, and sexually). Misato was hoping to compensate for the loss she suffered and recover from her past trauma using her relationship with these two.

Consciously or unconsciously, she likely understood this side of herself. She felt disgusted by herself, leading to her breaking up with Kaji while punishing and labeling herself as someone "Undeserving to love." While her relationship with Kaji was open and overtly described in the series, some of you might wonder how Shinji is involved in this process. Especially regarding the sexual aspect of this analysis.

We can definitively say that Misato and Shinji do not share a simple Guardianship relation. But the discussion about Misato and Shinji can wait for now. First, let us discuss Hyuga Makoto.

Hyuga is seen approaching Misato as more than just a direct superior at work (Especially after Kaji's death). "Only if it's with you (I don't mind dying from the base self-destructing)." It is a telling line that highlights Hyuga's feelings that he begins acting on in the latter part of the series. Turning him into a more dimensional character. While Misato seems to be aware of such advances, we never see her acting on it. Neither accepting nor rejecting him outright. Since this is at the low point of her emotional journey, Misato would have been okay with anyone. Thus, it makes us wonder if there could have been more intimacy between the two off-screen. I'd argue that Hyuga died a virgin (or at least that there was no sexual relationship between the two) based on Hyuga's fantasy during the instrumentality.

To bring our discussion back to Kaji, we are shown that he was the first man she trusted and gave her first intimacy to. At the same time, she was someone Kaji was able to trust and be vulnerable with. We never see either of them refer to each other by their names. While the reason is not depicted, we can make an educated guess and say that it stems from their determination to interact professionally. Without letting their (embarrassing) past hinder their work.

But perhaps it was destined that this guise was not meant to be. In episode 15, we see the two confide in each other. Misato laments about her father and her regret of not being a good lover for Kaji. Kaji embraces and accepts her of it. The last time they ever shared a bed, Kaji gives her his final present. His death led to Misato shedding many tears, but the present helped guide her to her next step. Before this point, we see her constantly drinking her favorite beer, but never after this event. All we see her drink from then on is canned coffee, Kaji's favorite drink. And now, two peoples' worth of "Will" lived on inside her. One from her father, the other from Kaji.

Now, let's discuss the last "Male" in her life: Shinji. As mentioned earlier, Shinji was more than just a child under her care. Shinji's first introduction of Misato was through her photo that she sent him. It is a revealing photo of herself with arrows drawing attention to her breast. As a side note, the actual words in this image were written by Anno himself, and the lipstick mark was from one of the female Gainax staff.

From the photo, we can see that Misato wants Shinji to see her as more than a potential caretaker (as ethically should), but as someone of opposite gender and a "potential" love interest. Although, of course, we can brush it aside as a part of her quirky and fun-loving attitude. But the problem arises in the latter part of the series where this attitude crosses the line. The suspicion is confirmed in the official pamphlet's character introduction describing her as Shinji's family + co-worker + superior + "lover."

Misato: Shinji, I'm going in. This is about all I can do for you right now.

Shinji: No!

The scene central to this discussion happens in episode 23 when she takes her seat next to Shinji, who is grieving the death of Second Rei on his bed. Although surface-level reading is, Misato wants to hold his hands to comfort him. If that is the case, the line "This is all I can do for you right now" is unnecessary. And not only that, but Shinji's rejection of this advance is also too strong to justify the conclusion of the surface level analysis. If anything comes to mind about an act that two grown-up adults do on the bed is "Sex."

Even if we try to give the benefit of the doubt and stay at the surface-level conclusion that is psychologically comfortable, this is Evangelion. It refuses psychological comfort. The film book released by Gainax has a note about this scene that says, "Misato is attempting to give Shinji her body." This is even alluded to in the shot right before the line, the head of the chair being where Shinji's Penis would be, and Misato coming to sit right on top of it.

Throughout the series, both Misato and Asuka approach Shinji as the "Other sex." it's natural for Asuka since they are the same age. However, it is unnatural to think of Misato (Who is twice his age) approaching Shinji sexually (neither should be accepted). So let's dive into how Misato might think about that. As early as episode 2, we are shown Misato yelling at Ritsuko through the phone, saying, "There is no way I will lay my hands on a boy!". This is perhaps foreshadowing what she will be doing in the later part of the series. So what changed in her throughout the series that she would end up trying to lay her hands on Shinji sexually. Did she genuinely believe that it was the only way she can console Shinji? Or perhaps there was a more selfish reason, to distract herself from the sadness of losing Kaji? Well, it could be both. There is a middle ground and an explanation that I prefer. Kaji was the only man she allowed herself to be vulnerable with. Because the best means of communication between the two have been sexual, she most likely believed this to be the most effective way to empathize and be vulnerable with Shinji.

We can see this as another manifestation of her Electra complex if we consider that Shinji also reminds her of her father.

As many of you are aware, Evangelion borrows concepts from psychology and is strongly influenced by Freudian psychoanalysis. Psychological terms are heavily used, especially in later episodes. The characters' internal conflicts are put into the spotlight in episodes 18, 19, and 20. All these episodes use terms from psychoanalysis for their title. Let me touch on each of them briefly over here. Episode 18's title is "Ambivalence." It refers to the coexistence of two conflicting emotions (Love and hate) regarding something and was coined by Eugen Bleuler in 1911. Freud borrowed this term in his analysis. His followers believed it to be an essential state that leads to the sadistic sub-phase of development. Episode 18 is also when the dummy-controlled Eva Unit-01 destroys Bardiel. Thus the title can also help us understand the Destrudo-led sadistic destruction of the dummy program.

Episode 19's title is "Introjection" and was a term heavily used by Freud. It is the unconscious adoption of the ideas or attitudes of others and a psychological defensive mechanism used by the ego to minimize anxiety. Almost every human being goes through this phase and is a part of healthy development as an individual. Episode 19 is when Shinji emits a strong dose of Destrudo and achieves a 400% synchronization rate. Here, we can try to explain the use of this term for the episode title in two ways. The first is to refer to the synchronization process of the pilot and the Evangelion. Secondly (and more specifically to the episode), to refer to Shinji becoming an individual that has become a part of Unit-01. Becoming a part of Unit-01 who have just absorbed the S2 engine and become as though god.

Last is episode 20, titled "Oral stage," and is the stage central to Freud's theory of Libido's development. Libido is the potential sexual energy, and Freud categorized the development into four distinct stages, starting with the oral stage. During this stage of development, the child clings onto its mother's breast for nourishment. This is also when the child begins to develop the ability to distinguish between themselves and the other. The significant happening of episode 20 is salvaging Shinji from Unit-01's Core, trying to bring Shinji back as an individual and away from the comfort of his mother. This can be seen to parallel the child leaving its mother's womb and coming to be born into its own person. And to add, they had to inject Libido into the Core to salvage him.

To return from our long detour, Evangelion is a series that heavily draws its conceptual inspiration from Psychology and Freudian psychoanalysis. What Freud posits, and perhaps most central to his scholarship, understands that desires created by both Libido and Destrudo, any forms of mental energy are irresistible and irrepressible. That is to say, if during one's development if any of such mental energies' expressions are disturbed and blocked off, it will results in the development of harmful coping mechanisms as an adult. In the case of Misato, her father's absence resulted in the absence of ways to healthily release her Libido. Therefore, Misato's inappropriate advance towards Shinji could manifested the harmful coping mechanism she developed as a child.

Losing her father as a child resulted in dysregulation in Libido. Losing Kaji, the only person she truly loved, left Masato broken. At this point, she had no other way to release her desires other than laying hands on a vulnerable child. When both Shinji and Penpen refused her the physical affection she needed, she could only find comfort in listening to Kaji's final voice message in repeat. Yet, she did not lose all possibility to recover. She was able to dry out her tears and began to follow the road her father once took. This leads her to analyze the evidence Kaji passes onto her and begins questioning the truth behind Rei. By the end, she manages to reach close enough to understand the "Truth." This is how she was able to explain to Shinji what was going on. She also experiences character growth through this process, becoming able to fully understand and empathize with the pain of others.

This is also when we see her starting to differ from Asuka. While both lost Kaji, whom they both loved, Misato comes to accept this loss and can carry herself as an adult. By the end, she was mature enough to send the grieving Shinji to Unit-01 during the End of Evangelion. While Misato has always convinced Shinji to get on the Eva, now, she was different from the past. Unlike in episode 4, where she emotionally manipulated Shinji into piloting Eva. Unlike episode 12, where she drew a hard line and coldly forced him. In EOE, she was no longer forcing Shinji out of her own hatred of the angels. All there was, was a grown adult's desire to convince a child that "Life is worth living." Even if she were to die during this process. All there was, was Misato's advice as an adult to the crying child. And it was this "will to live" that was passed on from Misato to Shinji.

Misato places her necklace on Shinji's hands and wraps his hands around it. Just as how she once held onto it while facing death in its face. Her father's memento. The love towards one's family. Hope for humanity. And all else that the cross symbolized. And the cross passed on from Misato to Shinji like the passing of the torch. To pass on the will to live. This was followed by a grown-up's kiss, just like how Kaji showed her, the perfect way to, perhaps the only way to fully communicate this will and pass it on. To want the other to continue living and hoping to live on as a part of their memory.

With the kiss, Misato stopped pretending to be Shinji's inept guardian.

She sent Shinji off, hoping that he could become a grown-up who can stand by himself.

Misato: You will be alone from this point on. You need to choose for yourself.

Shinji: No. I can't.

Misato: Crying isn't going to solve anything, either!

Misato: You hate yourself, don't you? That's why you hurt others. Deep down, you know that you suffer more when you cause someone else pain than if you just let yourself get hurt. But Shinji, that was your decision, so that makes it a valid choice. That's what you wanted, so that makes it worthwhile, Stop lying to yourself, and realize that you do have options. Then accept the choices that you made.

Shinji: But you're not me. You don't understand!

Misato: So what if I'm not you?! That doesn't mean it's okay for you to give up! If you do, I'll NEVER forgive you as long as I live.

Misato: I'm not perfect either. I've made tons of stupid mistakes, and later, I regretted them. And I've done it over and over again. A cycle of hollow joy and vicious self-hatred. But even so, every time, I learned something about myself.

Please, Shinji. You've got to pilot Eva and settle this once and for all. Find out why you came here. Why you exist at all.

And when you've found your answers, come back to me. Promise me. See you soon.

Kaji: Go and do what you can. No one will force that choice on you. Think for yourself and decide for yourself. GO and do what you must right now. So that you don't live to regret it.

Misato: If I had known it would end like this, I would have changed the carpet as Asuka suggested.

Many discussions about Eva centered around her last words, the one about the Carpet and Asuka. Most of the theories have interpreted it with the spilled coffee during the instrumentality scene. I'll touch on the scenes shown in instrumentality in future chapters. But for the discussion here, note that the coffee was not spilled on the carpet during the instrumentality scenes. So I'd instead interpret this line separately from it. Personally, I believe this to be Misato, as an adult, regretting not being as kind and compassionate as she could have been to Asuka.

Unlike Shinji, who she managed to pass on her will and true feelings, she did not have that privilege with Asuka. Instead, she wallowed in her sadness, not looking out for Asuka, who was herself suffering from traumas and grief. The regret of not being a good guardian and not making the home comfortable for Asuka would have hit her as waves of regret crashed in as she laid bleeding cold on the floor of section R-20.

After Shinji, who she just sent off, Asuka, who she feels sorry for, After Penpen, who was always there for her, Kaji now crosses her mind. Was she waiting for his praise for passing on his will to Shinji?

As though she can see him, she stares at the sky. Right before the explosion, we see Rei standing over her. Perhaps it was Lilith who traveled through time.

And we come to the final scene of the EoE. Shinji and Asuka are lying down on the shore, staring at the sky. At this moment, we are reminded of Misato through the cross, now nailed to a wooden post. The cross has come to symbolize Misato's hope and dreams for the two children who will now be growing up into two adults. Will Misato be able to revert back to her human form by her soul desiring it? Nobody knows. But I don't think that matters. Because now, Shinji carries on her will.

Let's continue when you get back.

I'm back. Welcome back.

Welcome Shinji, this is your new home.

I'm back.

Welcome back!

Sorry, made you wait!

TBC Chapter 24: Ritsuko Part 1 Mother and Daughter

[jaskiersvalley]

Ugh I love your fics so much 😍 I’ve read them all, most of them more than once, and I log on every day just to see if you’ve posted a new one 💕 They always make me so happy, especially the fluffy ones ❤️ You are a lovely writer and I adore you 🥰 Also, “oh what a hairy valley it is” makes me giggle every time I see it 😂 Thank you so much for blessing us with your wonderful writing 💗 I hope you are well and send you love and good vibes always 🤟🏻

This message has actually kept me writing more times that I can say. It’s been sat in my inbox for a good long while because I didn’t want to lose it. But it is only right that I say thank you in the only way a stranger on the internet can and write you something to express my gratitude to you, Nonnie.

Lambert’s Laws

If anyone had ever asked Vesemir who he credited with the successful survival of his wolves, he wouldn’t have taken credit. No, he would have said they’re alive because of each other. Right from a young age, Eskel and Geralt had looked out for Lambert and each other. Without them, Lambert wouldn’t have survived. Not that anyone was expecting him to live through the Trials but there he was, full of mutagens and bitterness. It was definitely the other two that pulled him through the worst of it and, to that day, still kept him going.

It had all started off when Geralt and Eskel got back from the Path and Lambert pestered them for stories. He was still reckless, struggling to meditate and snapping at anyone who even looked like a figure of authority. In a way, some things never changed but Vesemir had learned to navigate the prickly nature well enough over the decades. That was beside the point though. What was important was the parchment that was on Lambert’s wall, held up by a mysterious substance Vesemir didn’t want to ask about. Last he checked, there was no glue readily available for trainees to use so Lambert either stole some, made some or used something else. Vesemir wanted to think about exactly none of those options. The parchment held a list. It had started off with just one cardinal rule.

Lambert’s Law

Do not fuck a rock troll.

It was sensible advice, on one level, Vesemir approved of such a law. However, he couldn’t figure out how that had become a law that needed to be noted. When carefully probed over dinner, he watched as Eskel’s face went carefully blank while Lambert and Geralt snickered. It was the first time in his life Vesemir was disappointed in Eskel. And it was a use of witcher healing he never wanted to consider.

For a couple of years, that single sentence adorned Lambert’s bedroom wall. Then, another line was scrawled on.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Images of sword fighting with feet sprang to Vesemir’s mind when he saw that. When he dared broach the topic, Geralt was far to quick to reply.

“Yeah, sword fighting with feet, obviously.”

Lambert brayed nearby. “Or armpits, or backs of knees or- Hey Geralt, what else can you clench?”

Paling a little, Vesemir decided not to think about it. But, in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep, he did try to hold a sword between his (clothed! He had respect for his sword.) butt cheeks. It was a miserable failure and he had to admire Geralt for being able to hold a sword up like that. As he mulled it over, his hand brushed suggestively over the pommel. Staring at it, Vesemir put it to the side, internal monologue a solid loop of “nope, nope, nope”.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

That last one was added by Jaskier the first winter they met. Nobody quite knew what had happened. But it involved a lot of howling (Lambert), aggressive lute strumming (Jaskier) and the application of copious amounts of snow to the crotch (Lambert. Rumour had it, he even had tears in his eyes.).

Three cardinal rules Lambert seemed to live by. It seemed to do the trick and even the other two appeared to take those laws to heart. Even if Eskel decided that just because a rock troll was a bad idea, fisstech and a succubus wasn’t (once again, Vesemir was disappointed in Eskel. But that was no longer a new feeling). It was all quiet until Aiden came along. He took one look at the list and burst out laughing.

“You’re missing a couple.”

Vesemir watched in despair as Aiden took Jaskier’s quill and gleefully began to write.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

“Lambert, what happens when you eat griffin steak?”

The reply was a mumble and Aiden cupped a hand to his ear expectantly. Lambert rolled his eyes. “You get the shits. And you vomit. At the same time.”

If that had been it, Vesemir would have despaired, maybe given a few cookery tips over winter and left it at that. However, Aiden was far from done.

“That’s right, you get violently ill from both ends. Next law, collars for what?”

“Collars are for animals only.”

“That’s right pup,” Aiden beamed. “Unless you have someone to look after you and make sure it isn’t too tight.” That got scribbled on the sheet too.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

By that point, Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier had also crowded by the door to watch Lambert’s humiliation. He had teased and annoyed enough over the decades about their mishaps, revenge was sweet.

“Pretty berries...?” Aiden prompted.

“Are not tasty berries.”

Eskel hid his guffaw into his elbow and Geralt forcefully patted him on the back. 

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

Pretty berries are not tasty berries.

Finally, Aiden seemed satisfied and he stepped back. However, Lambert was grinning as he took the quill.

“Hey Aiden.” Attention drawn, Lambert pulled a ball of twine from his pocket and showed Aiden before casually rolling it under the bed. Everyone watched as Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, body tense and trembling. Lambert smugly added the last law.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

Pretty berries are not tasty berries.

Balls of twine are not prey.

The battle was lost and Aiden launched himself under the bed with a chirruping growl. That was quite enough and Vesemir sighed. It was just as well Kaer Morhen no longer created witchers. He had more important things to do than run after younglings. Like trying to make sure his three remaining idiots survived. Cooking lessons were definitely on the agenda for that winter.