#i was thinking they might be in another city

[bunnwich]

This is altogether random, but I feel you might appreciate the idea: since Leona is doing his internship with a mining company in Sunset Savanna, I like to think if he were to propose to his partner, any ring would have a stone he found himself (then or years later) that made him think of them, because they’re worth the effort.

No, I love this so much and this actually inspired to think of some HC for Leona and Yuu's engagement!! So pardon me as I use this as an excuse to yap/draw.

🧡Leona x Yuu Proposal

🧡Engagement:

I picture Leona and Yuu would be together a while time before he worrys about marriage. Leona as we know is not traditional by any means. And the two are so used to just…being there for each other, lives intertwined like a braid. 

At this time after NRC I see Leona having his hands in a few things, but mostly just there as support for Yuu and even Ruggie as they navigate graduating. After his internship he currently sits as a member of the Board of Environmental Utilization.

I think they would already live together in a somewhat isolated place near the edge of the Outlands and Sunrise City. Leona originally helped get it for Yuu to have a forever home but now he finds himself there more and more. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, reminding Yuu of the Ramshackle.

I imagine their house has a revolving door policy and often has uninvited guests, Ruggie comes to visit a lot and uses it as a place to crash when he's in town to see his Granny. And then there's Cheka (who is now a teen rebelling against his parents.)

Often the two take late-night drives in Leona’s jeep to get away from the craziness of all. Leona struggles trying to adapt to a more humble living situation and lifestyle. (he still can't work the microwave for a damn), but he tries enjoying the quiet life he has with Yuu. Yuu is still figuring out how they will fit in in their new homeland as a Sunset Savanna citizen.

I feel Leona’s family would be hassling them about marriage for years but neither are too keen on the idea of it liking their private life. However, Leona knows it’s the easiest way to protect Yuu and make sure they always have a home and inherit the house they fixed up together. (Should anything ever happen to him.) Plus, it would give them full citizenship in his homeland. 

So one day, he decides that it's time to make it legal. Of course, he already knew a long time ago that they belonged to one another, this is so cemented in his mind and he’s not even that nervous about it. At this point, they’ve been through so much together they live together, they are one. So, he does it in his Leona way.

On one of their sunset drives together he pulls out a special ring his sister-in-law helped him design with Yuu's three favorite stones that he’d sent them in their time apart. He had two requests when he had it made: it had to have a moon for Yuu and a stone for both of them.

Leona during his internship would often collect stones he would find in the mines, finding some to send to Yuu. He knew that they liked that sorta stuff even if he didn't care for it. And he didn’t mind writing down little geological facts for them. 

“So…ya wanna be married to me?”

Yuu would honestly not expect it. And he said it so casually too! Smug bastard. But as usual, he was…right, their lives were so connected they couldn't imagine not seeing his cocky face every day or hearing his soft words of encouragement then loud ass snores every night.

“Okay.” They say with a shrug, and Yuu would be crying for both them. He was right, it just made sense. Besides, what would the lion do without them?

After putting the ring on their finger he'd wrap his arms around them, intending to never let go after that. He can’t help but get teary too. He never thought that he’d have someone like his brother did, to be by his side always.

“Well, now, yer stuck with me.”

“That’s okay.”

🧡Wedding:

As for a wedding, I KNOW Falena and Sis-in-law would press for a big, fat traditional Sunset Savanna wedding. There is a bit of controversy among some old-fashioned council members that Leona is marrying an outsider and a few murmuring that Yuu is a human too. But Leona’s favorability in the kingdom has always been so divided that some take an apathetic view, expecting this behavior from the second prince anyway.

Being a “spare heir” works in Leona’s favor this time, as there is not as much pressure for an arranged marriage for him as his brother had. Though there’s still some pushback. They were fine viewing Yuuta as a fling but it’s tradition for royal family members to have political marriages.

It’s a bit of strain on their relationship during this time with the stress of the capital’s spotlight on them. Since Leona told no one about it until after he proposed to Yuu. But, because a few on the council are fond of Yuu already, (as well as the queen regent), it all works out eventually! (Leona threatens to take Yuu and run away so many times.)

It is an…adjustment getting this much attention for Yuu. But, because the house they chose is already out of the prying eyes, the two compromise by agreeing to a true royal wedding…

This doesn’t last long. The two get fed up and…elope a few months later in the middle of the night. Cheka/Ruggie sneak out to be witnesses. Falena and the queen are pissed and make them promise to get married again in a few years publicly.

🧡Traditions:

Rings are a bit more of a modern marriage tradition in the Sunset Savanna as other countries' cultures melded with theirs over the years. Leona has never been one for traditions anyway and he liked the idea of matching rings, made out of the same ore and gems.

An old tradition of Sunset Savanna marriages is that of permanent bracelets, braided by hand by the officiating party. They are meant to stay on til death. Often colored beads are added to represent each personality. The braided hemp itself represents an eternity together in this life and the next. Through the circle of life, they are connected from then on out. 

[lennjamin-o7]

Thought it was time to return the curse upon you for once... (also inspired vaguely by the DMs from earlier so hehe)

AU where Techno is a superhero.

Not just any superhero, really. One of the best. He manages to keep the city crime free almost singlehandedly and does so without breaking a sweat. Though he does work together with another hero named Phil and the two are thick as thieves.

It's hotly debated among fangroups of civilians why Techno joined the hero ranks. Since he doesn't exactly make it subtle that he's an introvert, fame is off the list. Techno is kind of brash and awkward too, he doesn't strike people as the sort of guy who does it for something as vague as 'helping people' - he also might get a bit too excited about new villains for that to ring true. There are rumors that his family was killed by a villain and this is Techno getting revenge, but this rumor is never verified. Maybe money? Money is a pretty good motivator.

The truth is that Techno is incredibly bored.

Techno peaked in high school and is so incredibly gifted kid coded. (/hj)

And hero work is a great adrenaline kick, a thrilling situation to throw himself into. Especially villains who come up with wild schemes. Maybe, just maybe, it's even bordering on depression. He has to keep busy with hero work or he literally can't bother to get out of bed or motivate himself for much of anything.

Things have been better since Phil came along. Phil is, in a twist on the usual dynamic, the less experienced one when it comes to hero work (despite being so much older lol, Phil was a civilian hiding his powers before). So he's teamed with Techno to learn the ropes, and the two hit it off, and the team-up becomes permanent. Phil is the first and only person Techno considers a friend. And after befriending Phil, Techno gradually gets a few hobbies (he's cultivating a potato plant in the hero association dorm, he's reading books Phil recommends to him, he's playing chess with Phil on slow afternoons).

But Phil would still like for Techno to have more of an identity outside of his hero work. Techno brushes him off. It's almost a running joke at this point.

(Technoblade is not his real name. It's his hero name. Techno has no civilian identity, never bothered to maintain one. This is concerning to Phil).

Whenever Phil thinks he's made some progress, a new villain will pop up or something will happen and ALL of Techno's attention will go to that again. And then after it's over he'll be bummed out because Techno usually beats the villain very easily and it doesn't pose a challenge for not. What Techno truly needs is an archnemesis.

Good thing that one day, a new supervillain pops up in town.

He's cruel, and he's smart, and he's ruthless. And he's very, very strong. Strong enough to almost beat Techno into the ground one-handed during their first confrontation, though Techno manages to win just barely. It's as if this new villain knows all his moves, his weaknesses. It's exhilarating.

The new villain calls himself The Crowfather.

(Fangroups don't really debate on why Phil joined hero work. But if they did some digging, they might find out that Phil once almost died, and the only thing that kept him from dying was a hero saving him. Technoblade.

They might find out that Phil became a hero not because he cares about the status, or saving people. He just wanted to get closer to Techno. To repay him, somehow, any way he can.

Even if it means murdering a bunch of innocent people.)

Hey, Techno is smiling a lot more now that he has The Crowfather to go up against. And isn't that all that matters :)

[this was so rambly, i'm not very good at this and u can tell lol]

I've think I've kept this hostage long enough Shara Friend. It has been kept for my eyes alone long enough. Now, I freely share it.

Fuck yeah bored Super Hero Technoblade! You popped off with this. I love Sneaky Philza standing by his side and, if it makes him happy, standing against him as well. Who cares about the ants he has to squish to see Technoblade HAPPY. An easy and small price to pay for the guy who saved him.

Gosh, I love this. The DRAMA that would ensue when everything is found out. How will that go? Will Technoblade be appalled? Disgusted? Angry?

Or maybe, just a tiny bit curious about how interesting it would be to be a Villain.

Love it. Love it so much. I want to CORRUPT this version of Technoblade so so SOOO much!!!!

[mmogurl]

Last to Fall Chapter 3 - Dark On Me

18+ | 2.9k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | Unresponsive Aegon | half sister reader - you're a princess now! Fastest elevation in class ever! wholesome, fluff, severe injury and burns, mentions of death and other bad things, but still... this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

Ok! This chapter was actually very emotional for me to write. I think sometimes I put my mind too closely into that of my characters, because as I was imagining several parts of this chapter from the reader's perspective, I found myself tearing up. Hopefully that emotion comes across in the work and makes it better.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall). I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - Dark on Me I especially like the line - 'But I found in you what was lost in me.. In a world so cold and empty.' Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for headers and I actually made all the gifs myself again! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna, @meggletoomanyfandoms, @theanbitchless (If you wanna be removed or added from/to the taglist, just let me know)

You hear the horns sound and watch from the balustrade as the procession makes its way through the city up towards the Red Keep. The soldiers return from battle victorious, carting the head of Meleys upon a wagon, but you haven’t seen Sunfyre return yet and nobody will tell you what has become of the king. You’ve heard his mother, Queen Dowager Alicent, mention Aegon in hushed whispers with some council members, but she has not deemed you worthy to share whatever information she has.

Even with the king’s decree elevating your status to that of princess, none will tell you what has happened. You must assume the worst. As the caravan draws closer to the castle, you can see another cart led by two horses. It carries what appears to be a casket covered by many blankets and your heart sinks at the thought of your most dire fears come true.

He cannot be dead. No, no. You won’t accept it.

You rush down to the courtyard, to await the arrival of your king, praying to any gods that might listen that he is still alive. A large contingent of the Kingsguard greet you outside and you feel even more strongly now that your assumption must be true. That Aegon is indeed in that wooden tomb, very likely deceased, but your heart still holds out hope that you’re wrong. The massive gates open to the inner wall of the keep and you watch with despair as the wagon is pulled forward.

As the wooden cart stops, your eyes dart to and fro as men step up to bear the casket forth. You catch the gaze of one of the white cloaks standing near you, and plead with him for answers. “Is he dead?” you whisper, desperate to know the fate of the man who had asked you to be his.

He offers a knowing expression of remorse, but nothing more. You are forced to follow behind as six men carry the king inside, be he dead or alive. You can’t help but wonder where everyone is. Where is his mother? His brother? Where is the small council? Is nobody here to witness the return of the king? You can’t help but to cry quietly as you follow the men of the City Watch and Kingsguard combined with your hung head low.

They carry the massive wooden crate all through the castle, heading upstairs until they enter Maegor’s Holdfast. You pass by Queen Helaena who is standing outside of her chambers, observing the procession with curiosity. You can’t help but wonder if they had kept the truth from her as well. When your eyes lock onto each others, her features twist with curiosity at the sight of your tears, but there is no malice present.

Helaena has never been rude or cruel to you, despite her knowledge of your role in Aegon’s life. She almost seemed grateful that you were able to offer him the companionship that she could not. The queen did not follow further, opting to stay back, likely having a sense that even more tragedy was on the horizon. You didn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t change that you must know. You had to see with your own eyes what had become of your love, Aegon.

As the doors to the king’s chambers opened, your gaze fell upon Alicent standing to the side by the windows. Of course she had known, but chose to leave you in the dark, suffering alone with your doubts and fears. When she saw you, she averted her eyes for a moment, her facade of calm cracking slightly before she steeled herself and offered you a nod. You returned the gesture with a trembling lower lip stepping aside to watch what came next.

They removed the lid of the casket and a whimper escaped your lips as one soldier took Aegon’s sword, Blackfyre, from within and placed it to the side with reverence. The soldiers cleared the room as men dressed in black heaved a dark canvas bag from within the wooden coffer. The sight of this actually made you fall to your knees with grief, finally seeing proof that Aegon was not of this world anymore.

A lamenting wail throbbed through your chest as they placed Aegon’s body on the bed. Your hand clutched the footboard as you fell down on one knee, barely keeping yourself upright. Alicent came to stand beside you, and you barely noticed the presence of the maesters entering through your sobbing.

“Is he alive?” the Queen Dowager asked with a mixture of shock and trepidation. The words stopped your weeping instantly as you pulled yourself up and leaned over the bedframe.

“His Grace, remains with us, for the moment,” Grand Maester Orwyle answered somberly.

You let out whining gasp that makes you sound like a pathetic animal, but you can’t help it. “He was alive? And you carted him through the streets as though he were a corpse!?” You cannot help but cry out as you stare accusingly at Alicent, appalled by the treatment he’d received.

“I didn’t have much say in it,” the Queen Dowager replies looking bewildered as the sight before her seemed to sink in. “They told me.. They thought it would be best that nobody saw the injuries he sustained.”

You stop your outrage, realizing that she likely didn’t know the extent of the damage either. Still, you wish she would have confided in you what little she had known so that you might have better prepared for this.

Orwyle takes an instrument from his medical kit and begins to remove pieces of Aegon’s armor. The more you look, the more you begin to understand what has happened to him. The entire left side of his body, from his head all the way down to his leg, has been scorched by dragonflame. His arm appears to have been dealt the brunt of the damage, where the Valyrian steel has melted into his limb, leaving it a gored tangle of flesh and metal.

A cry threatens to escape your lips once more, but you stifle it. There will be time for sobbing later, but for now you wish to keep yourself preoccupied. “I wish to help,” you say desperately, but everyone is so busy at work that nobody even responds. “Please,” you ask again, your brows furrowed with anguish. “I need to help.”

Alicent offers a glance at one of the maesters assisting Orwyle and from there, a chain reaction of assent occurs, until finally a young man tugs your arm and pulls you to the side.

“You can aid me in making the poultices,” he says softly. You cannot possibly express how grateful you are for the opportunity to stay busy, while attempting to save your king. You offer the Queen Dowager an appreciative look from across the room and return to learning how to prepare the treatment for Aegon.

It is likely a good thing that you are not watching as they remove the king’s armor, for you can hear his ragged breaths and the gasp that startles from Alicent’s mouth in response to it.

“Is my son going to die?” she asks sounding petrified. You do not wish to hear it, but you can’t tune it out either.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Orwyle responds quietly, turning his head to regard the Queen Dowager for a moment. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

“Of course,” Alicent replies, taking a step back so that she’s no longer interfering with the healers work.

The young maester in training hands you a plate filled with individual leaves of steamed cabbage and notions for you to take it to the bed. “Take these,” he says quietly as a mouse. You don’t hesitate to obey, not wanting to hinder Aegon’s chances for survival.

You hold the tray out, leaning over Aegon’s bed, to an aged maester with a gray beard dressed all in dingy whites. He begins to take one piece at a time, placing the wraps at the bottom of Aegon’s broken leg and working his way up. Your hands shake slightly, but you do your best to stall your trembling so that you might be of use. Stealing a glance down the length of the bed, you see Orwyle sponging charred bits away from Aegon’s once pristine face.

Your heart aches, but you push it deep down. There will be time to grieve later if he dies, but you refuse to give into despair again before that actually happens.

“Someone will have to rule in his stead,” the cold and familiar voice cuts through your thoughts.

You turn to your right and see Aemond standing there, dead center at the foot of Aegon’s bed. He had always seemed dangerous to you, but has never looked this unhinged before. You can’t help but wonder what might have happened at the battle of Rook’s Rest to change his demeanor so drastically. The way he looks at Aegon, it reminds you of a cat playing with a mouse, holding it by the tail and swatting at it.

You can’t help but wonder how he stands there without an ounce of concern for his brother. As your discomfort grows, you decide that you will have to keep an eye on the prince from now on. You swear solemnly to yourself, glaring at Aemond while you do so, that you will keep watch on the king as though your life depended on it. Just in case.

————

It has been a couple of days now and while Aegon has not yet woken, he has not yet passed into the arms of the Stranger either. He’s been cleaned up considerably, and his wounds all tended to. The only remnants of the horror you witnessed when he first arrived in the Red Keep being the charcoal still tinting his cheek and of course all of the burns that lace his left side. His broken leg is propped up to keep the blood from swelling, but otherwise Aegon looks peaceful in his slumber, despite the audible struggle he has breathing. You lay next to Aegon on the bed, unwilling to leave his side for any reason lest he might wake alone without a caring face to welcome him back. Nestled carefully against the side of him that is not horribly burnt, it almost feels comforting to feel his chest rise and fall beside you with a fire crackling in the hearth.

At first, you worried that Aegon might pass at any given moment, but once he was out of imminent danger, it became a waiting game. Inevitably boredom overcame you as the king continued to sleep. You took to cleaning to pass the time. First, washing and scrubbing every nook and cranny of the floor in his chambers despite the objection of everyone that came across your endeavoring to stay sane. You then moved onto dusting and cleaning out the tapestries. It was one of the few times you’d left the king’s chambers since he returned, but you wanted to take everything outside to be aired out, lest there be a dust storm within.

A soft sigh pulls you from your memories and your eyes open to see Alicent sitting at the side of Aegon’s bed. Her hand is clinging to his as she leans slightly onto the bed. You can tell from her expression that this whole situation has been very taxing on her. Within such a short span of time, she’s almost lost her eldest son and king, and been passed over for the regency of the realms in his absence for Aemond. Given the predatory way the new Prince Regent had been staring at Aegon days prior, this is a decision you wholeheartedly disagree with.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve grown to appreciate Alicent’s company. At first she seemed annoyed by your presence, but you can only assume that in seeing your dedication to her son, she’s softened towards you. She’s even shared several kind words with you, which felt incredibly awkward, especially when she began referring to you as ‘The Princess,’ a title you are still not accustomed to hearing anyone speak, let alone her.

The Queen Dowager had never acknowledged the decree previously, but then none of the acceptance really matters without Aegon here to share it with. He’d talked of marrying you upon his return and now you wondered if that would ever happen. Your fingers caress softly along his arm, a motion that has become almost involuntarily by now as you huddle to him, hoping that your touch will bring him back.

Alicent stands suddenly, her eyes bleary as she places a hand on her son’s good cheek. She almost looks afraid to get too close, as though admitting the depth of her care for him might somehow make it hurt more to lose him. She nods a soft ‘good night’ to you and goes to leave the room. You watch for a moment as the maester opens the door for her in anticipation, and rest your head back down on the pillow.

And that’s when you hear it, so quiet and coarse that you might have missed it if you had not been right beside him. “Mummy,” he whispers without opening his eyes.

You dart up from the bed with haste, looking at him incredulously, as though he had just risen from the dead. “Queen Dowager!” you cry out, not wishing to disturb him, but needing to get her attention. “Maesters! He spoke!” You realize you are laughing with relief as you call out to the them, brushing the backs of your knuckles upon Aegon’s cheek gently as you coo to him. “She is coming, my love.”

As Alicent rushes back to her son’s bedside, you both share a look of hopeful promise. “What did he say?” she asks, her eyes searching over Aegon as though he might move, and than glancing back to you.

“He said ‘Mummy,’” you answer with a smile, happy to see the look of touched gratitude that appears on her face.

“Oh my sweet son…” she trails off, seemingly unable to put words to how she is feeling. She stands beside him, reaching out with a little more confidence this time. “Mummy’s here,” she offers quietly as the two maesters on duty gather behind her.

Aegon lets out a gravelly sound, his breath hitching as he fights for consciousness.

“We’ll let Grand Maester Orwyle know of this development,” one of the men in white offers. “But if he is soon to be speaking with us, it is good news indeed.”

The Queen Dowager is in high spirits when she is finally ready to leave for the night, so exhausted she can barely keep her eyes open. “Thank you,” she says, looking you in the eyes as she rises from her chair. “You didn’t have to call me back, but I’m glad that you did.”

“Who am I to deny him his mother if that’s who he’s ask for?” you say as though there was no other possible outcome in your mind.

She smiles at you with a warmth she’s never shown you before, nodding slightly. “Will you have them fetch me if he wakes again?” she asks with fondness in her voice.

“Of course,” you reply, settling back into the bed beside Aegon. You are surprised when she walks around to your side of the bed, and proceeds to mother you under the covers.

“If you’re going to spend your nights in here, than the least you can do is keep comfortable,” Alicent says with a hint of jest in her tone.

It is definitely a touch strange as she pulls the blanket up and around you, tucking it underneath you slightly. It’s almost suffocating, but in a nice way. “Good night,” you say, turning on your side towards Aegon. You’ve practically made a nook at his side from the amount of time you’ve spent there by now.

“Sleep well,” Alicent calls as she extinguishes the candles, leaving nothing but the hearth to light the immediate vicinity. She ushers the maesters out of the room, with an authoritative pitch. “Get some rest for the night, my son is in good hands as you can plainly see.”

As the doors close and you’re left in silence, you can’t help but consider how sometimes the worst things in life can really help to bring people together. You’ve also seen tragedy tear relationships apart, but when something beautiful can blossom from the ashes of destruction, it almost feels like everything is going to be alright again. Like Aegon is going to wake up and get out of his bed and move on with his life. And when he does, he’ll find himself rousing to a world in which his mother might feel a little more comfortable showing her thanks for his company.

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply of his scent. Despite all of the medicinal herbs and the lingering remnants of carbon, you can still smell him. You press a tender kiss on his neck, right below his ear, humming softly as you taste him on your lips.

Whispering softly, you beseech him with kindness, “I love you, Aegon.” You run the tip of your nose against his jawline, savoring the feel of him. “I’ll wait for you… As long as it takes. Just come back to me.”

[multipleoccupancy]

He chuckled at her tease and watched her as she insisted she knew he was a good kid. She had met a version of him trapped in the ward and the other who was just starting out in his work in Delta Green, "Every life has different chapters to it," he said calmly, "I'm glad you think I was a good kid, but if you want the real juice you could ask your grandparents." He cocked an eyebrow and a smile at her, it was a long time ago and much had happened since.

Surprised that the response to the fire had been so harsh at the school, Theo's smile practically fell off of his face. How horrible. "I'm sorry they treated you like that, it's not fair at all and speaks volumes about them, not about you or Klaus." But they had friends in New York now, they could be and he thought they already were very happy in the city with him and Andrea.

Another chuckle came as she explained what she might have done if a boy had been dating other girls and she only found out at prom. Nodding his approval but he knew it would be hard for her to pretend she was innocent if the school ever brought it up. "That would be very satisfying to see, I'm sure. But I hope you're never in that position and that you instead have a nice boyfriend who behaves himself."

Unaware he had not totally reassured or convinced her that it was possible to manage and the consequences of such a balance were heavy to say the least. He thought her thanks was and confirmation were acceptance and he smiled at her again. "You're going to do just fine, Violet. You've got so much ahead of you, you've got this, all of it."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"At least you learned from it," she teased him, though her face quickly fell. "You were a good kid. I know you were." She had met two young Theos already, and while they were different versions of her dad, she was still sure that he was just as nice when he was a teenager. Even if he was also, clearly, a heart-breaker.

"Teenagers... can be cruel. After the fire, before moving into Count Olaf's house, we had to go to school for a bit, Klaus and I. No one would talk to us. We lost all our friends from San Francisco. I understand why you didn't want your classmates to find out."

She managed a little chuckle. "I guess I might have done somethin' worse if a boy ever did that to me," she conceded, "maybe put a trap in his locker, so he'd get covered in shaving cream as soon as he opened it." Yes, Violet was rather certain she would be able to keep boys in check. But she wasn't certain she would be able to actually date someone without scaring them away with Hounds, or the Horned One, or Sloane... What if she endangered them? What if she was too weird for them?

Her dad's encouragement did reassure her a little bit. It made her feel very loved, too. "Thanks, Dad," she smiled, "you're right, it's worth the effort."

[izvmimi]

cw: another wishful ending to bnha. about shigaraki but mostly from izuku's perspective. hint of a future healed!shigaraki x reader.

Izuku is not sure what he should wear for an occasion like this. 

Between the grueling, far too hands-on curriculum of becoming a hero, becoming the greatest hero Japan had to offer, and the aftermath of meta war that felt like ages (and probably aged him too), it was all too easy for him to forget that he is, in fact, still a teenager.

And a teenager doesn’t exactly always know what to wear when going to decide the fate of another man’s life.

Despite the fact that he’s pretty sure Hawks doesn’t actually care what he looks like at this point, Inko is kind enough to iron a suit for him and adjust the now shaggy-when-regrown mop of green curls into something professional once he’s dressed. She pats his face, letting her hand rest on the scarred side of his cheek.

“I think it will go well,” she reassures him, even though she can sense that he’s nervous. “You’re doing a good thing.”

Izuku is mostly sure, possibly 99% sure, but the 1% of uncertainty dissipates with his mother’s words. He nods.

“Right.”

—

About 5 months have passed since the culmination of the meta war. Owing to the valiant efforts of the people, with Quirks and without them, the guidance of multiple construction companies (including the Urarakas who have made not shy of hundreds of millions during this time), and heavy political support from local and abroad, the city is mostly rebuilt, to the point that it would be hard to believe that so much was destroyed in such a short time ago in recent history.

Izuku finds his way to the new Hero commission and stops at the front desk to present identification but is quickly passed through with a big smile from the security guard’s face. It’s still hard for him to get used to this treatment, but he remains polite and bows before making his way down to the conference room in the email.

A formal Hero Commission email addressed to around ten people, give or take, and he’s probably the last to arrive of those few, all of them seated at a round table once he arrives. Panicking a bit, he checks the time but before he can look at his phone, Hawks takes a moment to give him a once over and then stifle a laugh at his outfit.

“Now, don’t you look dapper?” he jokes.

Hawks is wearing a fitted suit himself, but he’s now president of the Hero Commission so it’s not out of the ordinary. All Might, offering a pleasant but weary smile next to him, is also dressed up, but he has been a fan of fitted suits in the public eye recently anyway so that’s not strange. Best Jeanist is… well, Best Jeanist… and perfectly coiffed and styled in… denim jeans. Mirio, however, is dressed down in a plaid button down and plain slacks, and bounces up to greet him pulling him to sit by him, Nejire, and Tamaki.

“Nice threads, Izuku!” Mirio cheers, while Nejire pulls at the sleeve and asks him if he bought it at the thrift store. Tamaki stares at a wall, having hit capacity for the number of people in the room.

Izuku wasn’t the last person here because Mirko and Katsuki squabble loudly as they finally enter the room, with Edgeshot in his diminutive form and difficult to see upfront trailing close behind, possibly annoyed (you couldn’t tell from this distance). Mirko is wearing athletic wear and Katsuki is wearing-

A suit.

Katsuki and Izuku lock eyes and the recognition sets in at the same time. His cheeks turn red and then he looks away before shuffling into his seat.

Once everyone has been settled and assistants have brought in coffee and pastries, Hawks finally moves to the first order of business.

A hologram shows in the center of the room with two images - one of Tomura Shigaraki taken as an aerial shot while he was screaming, in the midst of the meta war, and just beside it, an image of Tenko Shimura taken just a few days ago, at a construction site using his Decay quirk for demolition as part of a community service effort, quirk disabling wristlets in full display with the ability to be toggled on and off. The contrasts between these two images are evident - the rage distorting the young man’s features as Shigaraki as he is positioned to destroy and kill, unkempt white hair flowing in the air and a small serenity emanating from the young man’s visage as Tenko as he works to disintegrate rubble and clear land for reconstruction, dark hair cropped short and tousled slightly by fall breeze. If you look closely there is a hint of a smile in the second image, and fear in the eyes of the first.

Two very different men.

“We’re here to discuss our next steps with Shig-, Tenko Shimura.”

All Might lets out a breath no one knew he was holding. Izuku wonders if it’s by All Might’s request that Hawks has used his correct name, perhaps to honor his mentor and Tenko’s grandmother. He makes a mental note to always do the same. 

Katsuki keeps his lips pressed into a straight line and doesn’t say a word; Izuku doesn’t blame him, and in another circumstance would have never imagined being willing to sit for this conversation so easily, but he also appreciates that Katsuki is present for this vote at the very least.

“Let’s go through the facts.”

Hawks, pacing around the room, recounts the actions of the man once known as Shigaraki Tomura, as well as delineates what actions are his specifically and what actions were in conjunction with All For One. He shares testimonials from various psychiatrists who have worked with Tenko in this short period of rehabilitation before this discussion and the people who have worked with him on community service. He provides excerpts from social media influencers as well as political and religious opinions. 

The case is long and drawn out and by the time he is done, Mirko is yawning loudly and Mirio is trying very hard not to fall asleep. Aizawa, however, is asleep in the corner of the room, having shown up dead last, and not interested in a word being said.

A vote is meant to be cast by the end of today. Izuku wonders if Tenko is on the other side of that door, waiting for his fate to be decided. 

If no one can agree to rehabilitate him, he will most likely go to jail, deprived of the ability to use any Quirks possibly for the rest of his life. His best chance is now, as Izuku does not imagine any turnover in power will allow him as much amnesty as the current group here.

Izuku has spent the last few months pleading to the Hero Commission to consider his proposal, using the very fact that Tenko relinquished his OFA-related Quirks back to him almost immediately as a perfect example.

Tenko did give his inner child a second chance, and Tenko did fight back. He just needed help.

“All motions to go forth with a continued rehabilitation plan, please say-”

Mirko raises her hand immediately, interrupting.

“Aye.”

Placing both her feet on the edge of the table, she defends herself before anyone can ask.

“If he tries some shit again, I get a rematch,” she says, grinning. All Might gives her a pleased look but says nothing.

Aizawa chimes in from inside his sleeping bag.

“Aye.”

While Izuku’s eyes widen, Katsuki finally interjects.

“Have you guys forgotten this man killed me?”

“And lifted you up with his toes.” Mirko adds. “But you lived, didn’t you, pipsqueak?” she says, grinning. 

Best Jeanist, not at all pleased by the joke, raises his hand.

“Nay. This is a ridiculous idea.”

“What’s ridiculous is your outfits but we don’t-”

All Might clears his throat. “Aye.”

Endeavor takes a look at All Might, crossing his arms over his chest. His retirement is still hot off the presses, and he chooses to take a step back here too.

“Abstain.”

Izuku’s heart is racing and he’s not exactly sure why. Part of this waiting period involves Izuku keeping an eye on Tenko and in repeated conversations, he has always gotten the sense that Tenko could change but his hope had been tempered. The truth was, as much as he wanted to save Tenko, a small part of him was still a little angry for the harm he did, and he imagined that if he felt that way, it was only a fraction of what the public and his peers must feel.

But today, there seems to be a chance.

“Aye!” Mirio and Nejire say in unison and Tamaki quickly follows up. 

Katsuki rises suddenly and leaves the room and while Izuku wants to follow him, he knows that it’s a waste of time.

That’s a problem for days to come.

“And why exactly are we forgiving him?” Best Jeanist asks, as he rises himself to go after his student.

“Because we don’t plan to leave anyone behind,” Edgeshot finally admits. Best Jeanist shakes his head.

“It stays Nay for me but it’s your responsibility.” 

He files out of the room, but Hawks’ smile isn’t deterred, knowing he’ll come around. 

The majority chooses hope.

—

Four and a half years have passed since that vote.

Izuku watches his friend, a girl from the support class a year above him who isn’t Hatsume but just as good in her own realm, fiddle with tracking devices and quirk-neutralizing wristlets attached to the first iteration of Entropy’s Hero suit. Entropy’s hero costume doesn’t include a mask, but Izuku has an inkling that no one will recognize him prior to his debut as the man who almost laid waste to the entire country. There is something about a person’s soul that can permeate a vessel, it’s a reminder that beauty is only skin deep, but goodness will shine through no matter what one looks like.

Tenko is however somewhat handsome in the way that his Hero grandmother was beautiful and that helps. Wavy, dark hair frames his face to a shoulder length, and his dark eyes are actually warm now that he’s had time to shed off most of the loneliness. He’s filled out slightly with better food and less angst, which is another thing that is sure to make him more appealing to the masses. 

Izuku can still sense the trepidation however in the slight tremble of Tenko’s fingertips as he holds them out for the support engineer to readjust the gloves, and wonders if he’s projecting.

Part of the arrangement for Entropy’s debut is for Deku and Entropy to work as partners for at least a year to satisfy the civilians who still don’t trust him (with good reason) as a contingency plan in case Tenko changes his mind about being a productive member of society and needs someone to stop him a second time.

Izuku is pretty sure he won’t fall back into that dark place again by now, even if a select few will never, ever forgive him. Even Katsuki still grumbles, but agrees that Izuku might be right. 

“I feel like a leashed dog still,” Tenko finally pipes up as the engineer adjusts the literal silver collar on his neck. It’s meant to be a joke but it’s not exactly false. Izuku offers him a small consoling smile.

“It makes the commission happy, so bear with it, I guess.” Izuku says. It’s a lame response, he admits, but it’s all he has to offer. 

Between the emergency shock collar that’s stylized to appear as part of the prototype suit, a physical tracker, and internal restraints, there are a lot of things to stop Tenko from becoming Tomura again, but at least the adjustment of all of these in the homey atmosphere of Izuku’s apartment feels less like house arrest. 

Izuku’s girlfriend peers in from time to time from where she’s holed up studying for clinical examinations to check on their progress, a steaming mug in her hand. The girls wave at each other before she disappears again and locks the door, loud music with heavy bass playing from her computer speakers. 

It’s a miracle she’s not afraid of Tenko given Tomura almost killed her during the meta war too, but Izuku understands that this is a testament to how much she trusts his judgment. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he says finally to his friend. She practically beams.

“I’m just giving you the ‘your future wife is my bestie’ discount.”

Izuku goes red at the ears and Tenko stifles a laugh. She turns and gives him a look and he immediately looks away, somewhat startled by how quickly she gets into his face.

“It is however a really big favor, I just worry you’ll be somewhat accountable if something goes wrong, too.”

Tenko frowns. “I’m right here, you know,” he murmurs. He pauses before he uses her professional name, which turns out to not be so professional at all. “... Sparkles.”

Sparkles doesn’t hear him, the jitteriness of three days of no sleep in the setting of piled up audits at her security technologies company getting to her. “Just don’t forget to get me the paperwork, Izuku.” 

She then turns her attention back to Tenko finally as Izuku searches for a pen in a basket under the coffee table.

Tenko again, possibly too affected by how quickly, she moves, seems to stand up a little straighter as she sizes him up.

“Are you planning on hurting anyone?”

Sparkles hadn’t realized Izuku’s girlfriend had left the room again to grab more sugar for her tea.

“If he says yes, what exactly are you gonna do, babe?” she hollers, disappearing again before waiting for the answer. Izuku chuckles.

“I’d ask him if he meant it,” she yells back. She turns to him again, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Do you mean it? Are you planning on hurting anyone?”

Tenko tenses up and Izuku tries not to laugh, wondering if he should leave Tenko to Sparkles’ charms or allow him to rest.

Regardless, he has great aspiration for the world’s former greatest villain’s future, yet.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

staring at you. l Frankie “Catfish” Morales

Summary:  he saw her in a bar and then everything changed

Warnings:  fluff, slow burn, two people are looking for each other

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a few days now. I hope for a few chapters. I don't know if anyone will read this... if that's you, good luck.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

chapter 1.

The first time he saw her was at the bar where he was with Benny and Will. It was a nice Friday night. The place was full of people having fun, pleasant music mixed with the buzz of conversation and laughter, and Frankie was sitting at the bar slowly finishing his second beer.

The feeling that he was being watched didn’t leave him, so he raised his eyes and looked around. At first he thought that Will might be looking for him in the crowd, although he had clearly told him where he would be. 

And then, on the other side of the bar, he saw gentle eyes staring at him. For a moment he thought that she must have mistaken him for someone else. But when their eyes met, she smiled, and Frankie felt a pleasant tickle in his heart.

She raised her drink as if she was making a silent toast, and he did the same, without taking their eyes off each other, they finished their drinks.

The decision was quick, but not quick enough. The urge to approach her was overwhelming, but when he finally lifted his ass off the bar stool, another woman approached her, whispered something in her ear, and she quickly stood up.

One last look, and she disappeared into the crowd of people.

The second time he saw her was a few days later, in a local store. And this time, the universe wasn’t on Frankie's side. 

His brain quickly registered a familiar face. After all, he had spent most of his last days thinking about this lovely stranger. 

He completely ignored Benny, who wanted to buy a beer for Saturday's match, and, leaving him the cart, he set off after his target.

His eyes were devouring her figure, and the girl must have sensed that someone was staring at her. She turned around and spotted him almost immediately. A beautiful and sincere smile appeared on her face, as if she had seen a long-lost friend.

Frankie smiled too. He moved towards her, bypassing a family with small children and an old couple arguing over laundry detergent. But this time he failed too.

The girl answered the phone, grabbed her shopping and quickly headed for the exit. Before she was out of sight she turned around and found his gaze. Frankie saw a sad smile on her face, her lips moving in a silent "I'm sorry."

And she disappeared again.

After a week he spotted her in the city, but before he could react the traffic lights at the intersection changed color and the driver behind him started honking, urging him to move.

"Fuck!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.

It wasn't even a game of cat and mouse. It was more like catching smoke and Frankie found himself looking for her among other people almost all the time. To no avail.

"Does she even exist?" Benny asked when he finally told him about her.

"Of course she does!" Frankie mumbled, scratching his head and pulling his baseball cap back on. "I don't even know her name, but I can't stop thinking about her."

He didn't know her name. He knew nothing about her. All he had was a few exchanged glances, a few smiles. It was next to nothing, but it seemed to Frankie that that should be enough to find her. Right?

And then fate dealt him a good card for a moment. Or maybe he himself contributed to it. He took the same chair again in the same bar. Now alert. His gaze wandered over the faces of the guests and each time he straightened up when the door opened. The first hour passed, and then the second. When doubt slowly started to creep over his skin, that's when he saw her.

She must have entered when he blinked, because Frankie couldn't find any other explanation for it. She was talking to some girl, but her eyes wandered around the place as if she was looking for someone. Him?

Now Frankie didn't wait anymore, didn't hesitate. He immediately headed towards her, afraid that she would slip away from him again. She noticed him the moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and her face lit up.

"Hi." was all he could manage.

"Hi." she replied, her voice sounding beautiful in his ears. "We should stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, a bit stressful." he laughed quietly.

He felt as if her eyes were devouring him and heat seeped into the back of his neck. No one had ever looked at him like that, it was even a little embarrassing.

Frankie wanted to say something, make a joke or ask if he could buy her a drink, but then a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

In a second her hand was on the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. Her lips met his in a soft and sweet kiss. A few seconds during which his heart almost stopped beating.

When she pulled away from him she was still smiling.

"I had to, I'm sorry." she said.

"Jesus, don't apologize." he rasped in surprise. "I mean... We’ve already done this in my head." God! He would do anything for that smile. "Maybe I can buy you a drink?"

"I can't. I should probably go now..."

Something in her eyes changed, some small detail that Frankie noticed right away. He quickly pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket.

"Will you give me your number?"

She hesitated for a split second, but took his phone anyway.

"Just please don't give me the number of a mechanic or something." he snorted, and she shook her head. "Your real number?"

"Check."

She handed him the phone and Frankie dialed the number she had entered. A soft ring sounded in her purse. They both laughed.

"I'm Frankie, and you are?"

She gave him her name, and he repeated it quietly. It was a nice feeling, finally being able to name the being who had been living rent-free in his head for a long time.

He opened his mouth to say something when the phone in her purse rang again.

"Not me now," he joked, but she lifted her hand slightly and reached for her phone.

She was visibly worried as she read the message, and then looked around for her friend.

"I'll have to go now, Frankie." she said as she nodded to her friend “I wish I could stay longer, really.”

He could tell in her voice that she really meant it. He felt strangely sorry for her, he didn't know why.

"Maybe we could meet up?" he suggested.

"Will you text me?" she asked.

"Sure. If that's what you want..."

"Yes, please."

She squeezed his hand gently, smiled, and left.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[swaps55]

I had to get up off the mat and attend a conference today. I was dreading it. Woke up at 3:30 this morning with a knot in my stomach heavy enough to be a murder weapon, and now I had to talk to people who possibly voted against my existence and act like it was fine.

But a couple of things happened today.

I work in a fairly niche industry, and in the sessions I attended today, people were talking about solving problems.

In one session, the speaker talked about discovering an accessibility problem on their college campus. This university is in a remote area, and students without cars weren't enrolling because public transit to get there took four hours.

So a group of people sat down in a room to try and solve the problem, afraid they'd run into roadblocks with costs and infrastructure. To their delight, they realized that by moving a bus stop and adjusting bus schedules by 15 minutes, they could take that 4 hours down to 90 minutes.

This speaker was so excited about creating better access for students who needed it. They'd found a solution for people who wanted to learn but couldn't due to lack of transportation.

In another session, a panel of people talked about how they integrate art into public buildings, and how the public entity, building designer, builder, and artist worked together to create art that belonged to a community, and how all the challenges to making it happen were worth solving. The building they did their case study on was beautiful.

In a later session, a room full of higher education professionals who manage transportation on their campuses talked about the growing need for EV charging stations on campus. It's a surprising complex and complicated challenge in terms of energy supply, infrastructure, cost, planning, etc. There are no easy answers on how to do it.

A few made the observation that by providing chargers, they'd accidentally wound up in the energy business, where they didn't think universities should be.

"Yes we should," one of them said. He went on to remind us that yes, we could expect students and faculty could go home to charge their cars instead of doing it on campus. But those are also the worst time to plug into the grid. It's overloaded. Solar energy can't handle it, so it taps into fossil fuels. It's dirty energy. And he wasn't satisfied for making it someone else's problem. "We don't have to be in the energy business. But it's better for the environment if we are. It's better for the future. We should be in the energy business, because it's the right thing to do."

All day I was surrounded by people who put their professional energy into solving problems, not because it would make them rich, but because they were problems that needed to be solved, and they were the ones who took it upon themselves to solve them.

And...I felt better.

After the electric vehicle panel, I thanked the person who made a plea for the right thing to do, because I felt a little less despair after hearing it. He smiled at me and said, "Yesterday was rough. But 48 million people in this country stood up and did the right thing. That's a lot of people."

On a lot of days to come that might not feel like enough. But in your city, in your town, in your state, there are still people who are taking on challenges and standing up to do the right thing, for both the small things and the big things.

It's not going to be easy. But I'm going to be one of them.

[icy-watch]

Ok, so. They're entering the Tournament, which I kind of thought was going to happen.

Lloyd is on a path of vengeance. Which is completely fair. I mean, have you seen how his life has been going for the past... how many years have passed since s1? He hasn't had the easiest life.

Jay is MIA. I have 2 guesses where he might be. 1. Some random competitor in the Tournament of Sources. 2. In the Wolf Army; he's going to accidentally reveal his powers, and Ras is going to use him to enter the Tournament. I'm legit thinking he was the wolf guy Sora was fighting in the intro.

A part of me is hoping that Arin finds a clue about his parents in the City of Temples. But I'm thinking he'll actually find maybe 1 of his parents there.

Beatrix is going to make a comeback this season. Or maybe it's her sister. They are (were?) twins after all. I kind of suspected that she was the Administrator, but if that was her in Lloyd's vision, she might be just another competitor in the Tournament.

Actually, swinging back to Arin's parents for a second, you know what'd be funny? If his parents somehow traveled back in time and 1 of them in the Administrator.

That'd actually be messed up. Oh gosh, I hate that idea. Bury it in the backyard.

We haven't seen Cole, Geo, or the kids. I hope they're doing ok. Losing Bonzle had to really suck.

We haven't seen Zane or Frohicky either. Huh.

Maybe they all went to meet Egalt and Rontu and learn the Rising Dragon Technique! Man, now I want to see Egalt with Fritz and Spitz. Oh gosh, that's too adorable of an idea.

I need that to happen.

Alright, so, getting back in the swing after a few days off. I'll have my normal liveblogging schedule unless something comes up. So, until tomorrow!

[holyguardian]

Aerith looked directly at Glenn. He said they had to walk a bit further, and her young mind struggled to come to the right conclusion. She was used to being presented with facts set in stone... and... that would mean their perfect home might be in Kalm, right?

Well, she went from her long, blank stare to positively puffing back up. Why? The homes were beautiful here. And on the horizon there was an endless sea of green to explore.

"Will you buy a house too?" she asked, as if that were a simple task. "You can live right next door ��� please??" Her feet kicked a little in her excited state.

It seemed like they were back at their rooms in a blink. No wonder, Glenn had long legs and it seemed like one of his strides could cover three of hers and that was when he wasn't even in a hurry.

"MUMMY, WE GOT YOU THE BEST SOUP!" Aerith declared not having forgotten a word of her promise. Her mother and the rest of the neighbourhood would hear. "And Glenn's going to be our neighbour forever~" she spoke with a full chest. They were words that fully made sense to her younger mind, wishes she already decided were truths.

Ifalna by no means intended to dally. When she initially answered the door, the tiredness etched into her face was obvious. Though it was masked quickly enough by an adoring smile as Aerith launched into an explanation about it being a good idea to bring a swing on their adventure.

With a shake of her head, her gaze picked up to focus on Glenn with a mouthed 'thankyou'. He had promised to show Aerith the swings to rattle out some of her pent-up energy, just as he had promised to look for a hat. She was pretty certain he kept his word on all accounts, except the ones out of his control.

"Ron, sweetie, remember we have to use our quiet voices?" It felt a little mean to essentially throw a bucket of water onto her daughter's excitement but it had to be done. They couldn't draw attention to themselves, when something as innocent as a child yelling for their mother outside a hotel room might just be enough for Shinra to track them down.

"I'm not — oh." Aerith blinked as the new normal slapped her right on the forehead. Right. Mummy had to call her Ron in case the bad men were listening. "Mmmh. Maybe we shouldn't be neighbours in Kalm..." It would have to be somewhere else.

Ifalna stepped aside for them — knew better than to hold out her arms for Aerith, even if it hurt her own heart admitting to herself she simply couldn't hold up her own daughter. Not like this. The medicine with the additional potion had been enough to send her into another small sleep, but she didn't feel any stronger. She thought with some distance from that draining city she might begin to feel a little better but her own expectations had gotten ahead of reality.

It was going to take a bit more than distance to heal from multiple at-whim surgeries.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't even think to boil the jug." she commented as her hand wiped down over her eyes briefly. It didn't feel like a proper meal time without that simple little pleasure. Then again, she was the tea fiend of the room, Glenn and Aerith would survive just fine.

Carrying Aerith across the playground back to the alleys, Glenn listened to her naming all the things her perfect home needed to have. It were adorable wishes, surprising ones, too. This kid had been so excited about a bundle of dry grass and she actually wanted to grow many plants? Walls to draw on when she had been locked and hidden behind walls all her life?

Hell, his stomach still twisted when he imagined that he had spent years in the same building totally oblivious to their suffering. He could have found out, couldn't he? Maybe if he had dug a little deeper... questioned a bit more...

"Oh, I am sure we will find just the perfect home! But we will have to walk a bit further for that."

Far, far away from Midgar... however far that might be.

The night had settle din when they arrived back at the hotel, the sky a deep purple and hints of pink as the sun went down.

Glenn knocked at the door, though Aerith's excited exclamations about the soup would probably make Ifalna feel enough at ease to open the door. He could just add to it almost helplessly.

"It's still hot, they added some Materia stuff to the packaging! And Aerith is this short of devouring aaall herself!", he teased with a glance to the girl still carried on his arm, wanting to tease her a bit and get her mind away from the sadder thoughts. It wasn't just a possible home. It was her mother's state, too. Glenn had brought a few things, but he would want to check on her again. She maybe was too weak to treat herself.

[discordiansamba]

still thinking about the brainwashing au sorry. i truly love putting my guy in situations. sometimes these situations are horrifying.

because. the gaang does have to tell iroh eventually. it goes over as well as you'd expect. at this point they've collectively visited the tea shop several times now, each time gathering more information about 'lee'. they learn he doesn't think he has an uncle, so iroh's likely been erased entirely from his memory too. the gaang naively assumes that lee's 'father' is just someone else who was brainwashed.

iroh goes to ba sing se himself.

alas, he is the fire lord now. he cannot exactly visit a tea shop in the middle ring by himself. it would draw undue attention towards zuko- it is not so impossible that opponents of iroh's might be able to figure out his identity, and use him as a hostage. in his current state, zuko is unlikely to put up much of a fight.

but iroh does have a trick up his sleeve. it's quite the familiar one. iroh arranges with king kuei to have a certain tea shop provide refreshments for a small gathering he is having with the avatar and his friends. the owner is honored to accept- and naturally, she brings lee. he is the best tea server she has ever had.

lee wears his best clothes, and accompanies the owner and a few other members of the staff to the earth palace. he is nervous all the while. being able to serve tea to the earth king's personal guests is a great honor- even if most of those personal guests seem to have begun using the tea shop as a hangout space.

he passes through the gates, and wonders at the feeling of deja-vu it brings. he quickly puts it from his mind and sets to work. the only thought in his mind is that he has to do the owner proud today. they are introduced to their guests, and zuko bows- low and respectful. the avatar and his friends always tell him that he doesn't need to do that, but he continues to do so anyways.

all the more so because the new fire lord is also here.

lee looks up at the man- and can't help but notice that he is staring at him. lee feels his hand twitch, and is grateful it is hidden underneath the sleeve of his robes. he collects himself and sets to serving tea, determined to be as unobtrusive as possible. a servant like himself should be invisible to those above him.

but the fire lord smiles, and asks him if he will not share a cup of tea with him. he would like to get to know the people of the great city of ba sing se. he does not get many chances to speak to people who are not nobility, you see. and if he is being honest, you remind him a bit of his nephew, young man.

oh. he... supposes he might understand the fire lord's interest, then. everyone knows that prince zuko went missing during the war. many think he's dead- likely killed by his sister. lee gathers himself and sits across from the fire lord- but not before giving him another deep, respectful bow.

"i am honored for this opportunity," he tells him, "-please. let me pour the tea."

he begins before the fire lord can stop him. he is not certain why he is so sure the man will, if given the chance. he pours them both a cup of ginseng- he knows it is the fire lord's favorite. he drinks from it with a considering look, and praises the tea maker responsible for the blend.

the fire lord asks if he likes tea.

lee blinks. there's that question again.

of course, he tells him. he does work in a tea shop, after all. he is especially fond of jasmine tea. it's always been his favorite.

[thedept]

I've been on a hair-trigger all day. As have we all, I'm sure.

But this morning while taking my son to school, a for-hire driver (think Uber, but another company) was backing his car into the crosswalk, where the pedestrians had the right of way, because a school bus was down the block dropping kids off and he didn't want to wait. There are 4 schools on this block including my son's school.

The school crossing guard put herself between the car and the crosswalk, held up her stop sign and yelled at him to stop. He continued on.

He did stop, during which time my son & I started walking again, and then he started reversing again. I put my son on the sidewalk and ... shared my thoughts with him. Which is to say, I screamed and called him a fucking asshole. He shouted back. Another parent joined in to yell at him. I took a photo of his license plate and his TLC sticker, and he called me a "fucking f----t."

It's totally on brand for me to yell at a car behaving that way, especially if there's kids around who he might not see as well, but I normally would not curse like that when there's lots of them on their way to school. Not today though.

I was not proud of my language. My son thought it was hilarious. And I pointed out to him that while I may have cursed loudly, I did not return a slur with a slur. I think he saw that.

-----

This afternoon, when it was beautiful outside, I took a walk around SoHo. I went and got a coffee. And I saw loads of tourists around, as you do in SoHo, but all I could think when I saw obviously American tourists who were obviously not from the area was that I wanted to tell them to get out of my city and never come back, we don't want your dollars here.

-----

On my way home from work, someone cut me off walking down the subway platform and blocked me from getting on my train. The conductor closed the doors. I almost kicked the subway car, which would not have been a good idea. Thankfully two things happened at once: I thought better of kicking a train, and the conductor re-opened the doors.

-----

I want to burn it all down today. So much work happened for the 4 years of his first term, and so much more different work happened during Biden's term. I'm out of fucking gas. I've given time and money and time and effort and time, and did I mention time? I've got nothing left to give, especially not my time, to this place that would rather vote for a fake strongman than for a woman, because God forbid.

[additiva]

Can I ask two of the fic ask game?? Of course the fic I wanna know about is frechheit, and the asks are “dvd bonus” and “small things” 🥰

Hello!

You may of course ask two ❤️

Small things and a brief snippet for DVD bonus are both below the cut:

For small things:

One thing I'm not sure was noticed, and certainly wasn't commented on is:

When Charles has his little breakdown in Qatar, it's silent. He learned it when his dad was sick, because he didn't want to put more stress on his family by letting them see how affected he was by it.

The small things is that in Monza the following year after the podium, his breakdown that time isn't quiet at all. And it's because telling Ferrari is much worse to him than anything that happened in Qatar, so he can't hold it back. And also because he, by that point, trusts Max completely to handle all of him. And Max understands how important it is to Charles to hide it from the world, so he hides him away and covers Charles' mouth to smother the sound for him.

-----

Also, here's a snip for you, from that night in Monaco ❤️

-----

It’s late.

It’s really late.

Elsewhere in the city, the track parties are starting to wind down, revellers finally satisfied with the celebrations.

The tiny back-streets of Monaco are a little darker – a little quieter, free of tourists. Most of the residents are already asleep, preparing for work in a few hours.

Lewis wishes he was among them.

God, he wishes.

And he would’ve been if he’d – as planned – left Jimmyz a few minutes earlier; if he’d gotten into the car he’d called to pick him up; if he hadn’t run into the two dead-weights he’s now trying to drag home.

With a sigh, he bends to sit on the road-edge, tapping hopelessly at his phone.

Kill me.

Unexpectedly, it’s only a few minutes later that the response pops up on his screen.

Good morning Lewis. Do you know it is 4 am?

So it is. Actually it’s almost 4.30 -- 4.26. Lewis left Jimmy’z over an hour ago. He can’t believe he’s still awake. He can’t believe Seb’s awake.

I do.

After a moment, trying to feel bad about sharing his misery, he adds: Sorry did i wake you?

No i was awake

God, why?

Why

It’s a school day. It’s my turn to get the kids ready.

Lewis smiles at the image of him puttering around the kitchen in his slippers, making packed lunches.

That can’t be right. Your kids are here with me.

With it, he sends a snap of the idiots in question.

The two of them stand a few metres back, facing off in the middle of the street.

“Charles”, Max scolds, irritated. “You are completely missing the apex. You need to come like this—here, braking already.”

“What? No.” Charles is getting just as heated, tipping his head too far back to see Max under the brim of his Mercedes cap. With his hands, he gestures to a point on the track. “Like this, it is a better exit. Because the next corner, it is faster there. And already you can get on the throttle here.”

They stare silently at one another for a moment, and Lewis actually thinks for a moment that the argument they’ve been having for the past twenty minutes might be over.

“Well no because the track of course would go that way”, Max defends, indicating a spot where the road forks off in another direction.

And they’re off again.

Lewis groans quietly, slumping to rest his elbows on his knees as his phone lights up with a laughing emoji from Seb.

The bickering continues. They orbit one another, arguing. Their brows twitch with bemusement and irritation. They glare and laugh, grabbing at one another’s hands, interrupting gestures and explanations.

They sway together and apart, as Max jabs at Charles’ ribs for a particularly cheeky remark.

Lewis catches himself watching but can’t look away, warm with affection. He only stands to interrupt when they get dangerously close, unable to keep their hands to themselves.

As he approaches to drag them apart, they’re still whispering under their breaths about overtaking rules, lips almost brushing, final shreds of plausible deniability truly in danger.

They seem to have forgotten about him completely, surprised -- and delighted, on Charles’ part -- to see him. Fortunately, it helps to get them moving again, Charles easily shepherded along. Max, for what Lewis thinks might be the first time in his life, seems content to follow a step behind.

-----

Much love friends 😘 tell me your thoughts and feelings 🤍

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Love in the Big City, Ep 5-6: Visuals to Support Adaptation

So…I already covered a lot of the questions from this week’s discussion in the original book club and couldn’t think of anything else to talk about but the visuals which felt like a bit of a cop out since this is a book talk. So, shout out to @lurkingshan for encouraging me to write this! 

So, if you couldn’t tell from my original essay that got way too in the weeds about antiretroviral medications in Korea that Part 3 was one of my favorite parts of the book, then let me inform you that before I watched Ep 5-6 I…(1) finally purchased Love in the Big City, (2) re-read all of Part 3 before starting the episodes, and (3) actually took notes on my thoughts while watching 5 and 6. 

Which means Park Sang Young’s writing was fresh in my mind. 

What's Fun About Adaptation

Something that is always interesting to me in adaptations between mediums is how they convey information. Love in the Big City the book is very internal. Young is very matter of fact about a lot of his life. He doesn’t like to linger. And as such I think there are moments where it is harder to parse his loneliness in the book, just like there are moments where it is harder to parse his loneliness in the show. 

And despite the fact that Part 3 is the most faithful to the book, there are some incredibly important visuals that change or at least add context or depth to the story we have already been told.

The Funeral

One of the most glaring differences being the opening scene, because fun fact, in the book we never get confirmation that his mother dies.

Full disclosure, I cried at the end of Episode 4 with the ending scene of Yeong’s mother and him at the park because that image could have been plucked directly from my head when I read the scene in the book.

But we open Part 3 with Young forgetting his passport and leaving Gyu Ho to go on a trip to Japan alone, rather than opening on a funeral. When Gyu Ho and Yeong meet for the first time in the show,so much of the scene is spot on from the book including the harassment of the DJ, the removal of the shirt, getting elbowed in the face, and Yeong kissing Gyu Ho on the dancefloor and Gyu Ho tasting his blood. With one major change, Yeong has his chief mourner’s band with him and drops it in the club. In the book, he does not have such a thing and instead drops his phone case. So we’ve already have a much heavier visual significance behind his and Gyu Ho’s first meeting re: Gyu Ho getting some information about how Young handles his pain (he’s at a club immediately after a funeral), and what he’s been through (literally just lost a parent).

Kylie

Gyu-Ho + Kylie

Another notable visual moment that signified a difference for me was during the scene where Yeong is telling Gyu Ho about Kylie. Because, as I mentioned in my og Part 3 post, not once in the entirety of the book does Young ever use the term HIV. The T-ara’s call it the bug, and he and Gyu Ho call it Kylie, and no one else knows. And that lack of visuals on the term HIV, I think, is an important part of Young’s character, and a good way to indicate Young’s shame around his diagnosis. So again, similarly to how we never get confirmation from Young in the book that his mother dies, we never get explicit confirmation that he has HIV. You have to read in to it, you have to know the context clues: the symptoms of acute HIV infection, what antiretrovirals are used for, etc. But in the show, we get some informational pamphlets slapped down in front of Yeong that tell the audience explicitly what Go Yeong has been diagnosed with, even if he still never says the term himself.

The T-ara’s 

The biggest example being the T-ara’s. For those of you who haven’t read it, it may be surprising to find out that in the book Young does not mention the T-ara’s were in his life at all until Part 3. And I say it might be surprising because in the show they have been there from the very beginning. They were at the hospital after Yeong’s suicide attempt, they were there to support him after his mother’s funeral, they have been there for years. And they were there for years as well, through Jaehee, through his mother’s cancer, in the book, but he only brings them up when he starts talking about how he was first introduced to Gyu Ho. 

And thus they come off as far less central to his life. 

Which diminishes the emotional impact of moments like the HIV joke and the fact that he doesn’t tell the T-ara’s about his status. Here is how Young explains it in the book: 

“I told my mother and the T-ara gang that I’d been discharged early for a ruptured disc….Apparently not all of them were total idiots because one of them did ask,  -What the fuck? Did you catch the bug? -Oh no! You’re on to me! We cackled it away. When I drank with them, and some guy rumored to be poz passed by, our resident clown Eun-jung would say 'Everyone cover your glasses,' and we’d all burst out laughing. I’d laugh along until I remembered, Oh right, I’ve got it in me, too, which sent a chill down my spine. But mostly I don’t think about it that much.” (p. 167)

But now, with the show using the T-ara’s as the throughline, emphasizing how important of a role they play in Yeong’s life, that scene carries a much larger emotional impact because a) we have seen the T-ara’s literally fighting hospital staff to show Yeong love, b) we have seen the T-ara’s acting as pallbearers for Yeong’s mother’s casket, and c) we can literally, physically see the emotional impact that the T-ara’s joking about catching HIV has on Yeong. Both in his initial moment’s reaction, the way he plasters on a smile because that’s how he’s always masked his pain, and the way he runs to hide in the dark with his secrets. 

All of this to say that the inclusion of the T-ara’s as the thread between parts exists for no other reason than to cause me and everyone else maximum emotional damage.

The Hands

That’s right…. CAPTAIN HANDS IS BACK BABY!!!!! *Insert air horn sound effects here* 

Because Hyung’s reaction to Go Yeong trying to hold hands and the subsequent unearned pinkie touch was already on my mind from last week, I took particular note of the portrayal of hands in Part Three both in the book and in the show. And I am so glad that I did. Because I got to experience the absolute highs of seeing the change from the book to the show of how visible Gyu Ho and Go Yeong are with their physical affection. 

In the book, Young describes the first time he holds hands with Gyu Ho as follows: 

“Words disappeared. I swallowed, loud enough to be heard, and our knees were touching. I covered our legs with my coat. We held hands underneath it. Soon, we were stroking each other’s thighs. Each looking in the opposite direction. We passed the Ambassador Hotel, Cheonggye Stream, and Ewha Wedding Hall, then the little theaters of Daehak-ro as we approached my house. Passing a firm and hot grip back and forth through our linked hands.” p. 157

Compare that to what Hyung says in Part Two:

“‘-Are you saying you’re ashamed of me?’ ‘-Yes, that’s right, I’m ashamed of you. You want to hold my hand in public, you call me baby. I mean, what would anyone think?’” p. 111

Compare that to what we see in Episode Four with Hyung…

…and to what we see in Episode Five with Gyu Ho…

THE COAT DOES NOT EXIST!

Gyu Ho is introduced in the story as the bartender at a gay bar, he is kissed by Yeong in public at the club and continues to pursue him, they get coffee together, they are physically affectionate on the street, and here they are meeting for the third time, and holding hands in the taxi where they could be observed. It is such an important little change for me to visually affirm that Gyu Ho does not have the internalized homophobia that was causing so many problems in Go Yeong’s last relationship with Hyung. 

And similarly we see Go Yeong and Gyu Ho cuddling up to each other in the passenger seat of the moving truck in full view of the driver, where in the book Young only describes them trading body heat through their thighs. 

And again with the rain sequence. Which I thought was interesting to include here, because it is such a prominent and important component of Part Four. Though it makes sense to include it here for the sake of maintaining a more cohesive timeline. But I was losing it when they were holding hands in the rain, with those double fucking rainbows cutting straight through them.

gif by @jimmysea

The Dream

The dream is a completely new scene in the show. Young does not dream of Jaehee or his mother, and I thought that was an interesting addition. To have Go Yeong hear Gyu Ho knocking at his door and to be haunted by the specters of the last two parts of his life, Mi Ae for the first part, asking him if he is okay and why he’s still living alone at her place. 

His mother and Hyung in the second, asking him when he is going to come home and asking if he’s met someone good, respectively. And what an ominous goddamn omen those three are, hinting at Yeong’s masking of pain, his feelings of displacement, and the specter of a relationship that failed. All things that will eventually contribute to the failure of Yeong and Gyu Ho’s relationship in the show.

Misc. 

This is, unsurprisingly, getting long so let me just acknowledge a couple of other visual moments that really fucking got me:

The red crucifix that glows out over the horizon when Go Young is telling Gyu Ho about Kylie. It’s the first thing my eye was drawn to, and it feels like a ghost of his mother looking in on Go Yeong, especially because it matches the red crucifix over her funeral portrait and on top of her casket. 

The child talking about their mother that makes Yeong turn back to chase after Gyu Ho

Yeong’s chapped lips when he’s being diagnosed with HIV as a juxtaposition to Gyu Ho helping Yeong put chapstick on.

The Kylie lyrics

FUCKING. GO. YEONG’S. SMILES.

[honorhearted]

Unsurprisingly, Caleb seemed enchanted by Emma's snark. He gave Benjamin another amused wallop, to which he scowled and rubbed his quickly bruising arm.

"Aye, he's got a bit of a stubborn streak," the whaler agreed, winking. "I guess that's why the ladies steer clear, eh?"

"Just one, thank you very much, and I'd hardly call her a lady," Benjamin grumbled.

Emma feigned surprise. "Really? Strange, I thought you preferred keeping swine between your legs."

Caleb cackled. "Oh-ho-ho, I didn't know you told her about Annamarie! She was quite the swine, if ya get my meanin'. Big an' round, with sweaty-"

"All right, that's enough," Benjamin growled, hardly finding the amusement in all these quips at his expense. "My conquests are no concern of yours."

"Hog or otherwise," Caleb agreed, looking to Emma with a sneer. "She squealed like one too. The walls that night were paper-thin, so -- ow!" Glowering at Benjamin, who'd unceremoniously struck his arm, the whaler pouted and rubbed at his throbbing shoulder. "Anyway, I suppose that's enough foolin' for one mornin'. It can't all be play an' no work."

To Benjamin's surprise, Emma stepped forward with what appeared to be genuine intrigue. She moved directly past him and to Caleb's side, appraising him with the impish, hungry gaze he'd been ensnared by only days prior.

“A legal pirate, eh? Color me impressed. And here I thought handsome pirates only existed in storybooks,” she purred.

Caleb laughed, sparing Benjamin a bemused leer. "I didn't know ladies were visually impaired in this city, but I think I might like it here," he quipped. "You flatter me, lass. T'ain't nothin' special 'bout what I do."

Emma fluttered her lashes, and Benjamin tried to ignore the nettled heat that swelled between his ribs, creeping and white-hot. The more she cooed and simpered, the deeper the blaze in his chest ignited. She was surely not sincere -- he knew she was doing this to deliberately incense him, and Lord above, he hated that it was working!

As if reading his mind, Emma coyly announced, “Actually, now that you mention it, I think I would enjoy some company on my ride.” Here, she turned to Caleb. “Mister Finnegan, if you’re not terribly busy, I would love to continue our discussion.”

The whaler grinned and gave an over-dramatic bow. "I'm at your service, mah-dame. If you're truly interested in privateerin', maybe we'll get along just fine."

With her hand on his arm, Emma glanced over her shoulder and smirked, causing Benjamin's temperature to spike at her outrageous liberty. "Mister Bolton, you wouldn’t mind being chaperone, would you? Just to make sure I keep my hands to myself, of course.”

"Of course not," he gritted, "but I would like a word in private first, if you'd please indulge me?"

Holding up his hands in surrender, Caleb reassured, "I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll be out around front -- just make sure ya don't take too long, eh? Or else I'll get suspicious." With a wink, he patted one of the horses on the rump, then ambled outside with a chipper whistle.

Once the barn doors closed and they were alone, Benjamin surged forward with a protective viciousness that sparked behind his eyes, fierce and electric. "I know what you're doing, and I don't approve," he hissed. Holding up a finger in warning, he vowed, "If you harm my friend's heart, I swear to you upon my very life: you will have far more to worry about than our failed attempts at marriage."

Caleb was jovial and carefree, but he had a tender heart, and one that could be broken far more easily than he cared to let on. Benjamin was content to put his own feelings on the line, but not anyone else's -- not his best friend's.

Emma fought to ignore his comment, not wishing for his words to unravel her so soon. She had been caught off guard by his presence one too many times thus far and she refused to let it happen again. Whatever came of this encounter, she would make sure she came out on top. Especially if it meant having him beneath her.

"I beg your pardon?" She blanched at Caleb's comment, raising her hands in protest. "I assure you I am not taken by Mister Bolton. The only thing this gentleman takes from me is my patience. And perhaps a bit of my sanity, for good measure." Ignoring the twitch in her brow, Emma tugged on a smile for show and continued her charade for the stranger. But as soon as Ben opened his mouth and attempted friendly small talk, Emma rejected such notions.

"Really? Strange, I thought you preferred keeping swine between your legs." The jibe came out quicker than she could control and, instead of blushing furiously as she would've in front of any other man, Emma straightened her posture and tried to stand her ground. The ruddy color on her cheeks be damned, she would not let him win. After a moment, she turned her attention back to Caleb, adorning her saccharine tone once more.

“I would never lie about such a thing, sir. I’m sure if you ask your friend, he’ll vouch that I am a woman of my word.” Perhaps too much so, she thought, but bit her tongue. Emma did find the stranger oddly charming, but any appeal he had was dampened by the presence of her opponent. "Though maybe he wouldn't, given he's so smitten with me."

His friend's responses were friendly enough that Emma didn't feel the need to be on guard as much as she would've expected. For a stranger, he was jovial and upbeat and she appreciated such a change in pace. He reminded her of the sorts of men she used to see by the docks, tossing cargo into ships and bantering loudly into the salty air. Whenever her father would let her accompany him to the loading sites, he would warn her not to pay any mind to the men's chatter, but Emma had never been the typoe to follow orders. Instead, she paid closer attention to everything the seamen said and grinned as they hurled vulgarities at one another.

As for this new stranger, Emma regarded him with a sincere smile, admiring the brash and careless demeanor he wore with such ease. If only she could carry herself in such a reckless manner, she thought to herself, she might not have been caught in such a sticky situation. If only she could bring herself not to care what other people said, she wouldn't be trapped in this stupid bet.

“No, I confess, I’m not entirely educated on the matter, but I’m eager to know all there is to know about... Well, everything. And thankfully, I’m a quick study.” She shot him a playful wink, stepping closer to him, ignoring the looming form of John Bolton in her peripheral.

“A legal pirate, eh? Color me impressed. And here I thought handsome pirates only existed in storybooks.” She fluttered her lashes and smirked. In another life, she might've found herself genuinely charmed by a man like him, but Emma was too caught up in her ulterior motives to dwell on such a thought. And as guilty as she ought to have felt for planning to use such deceitful tactics against an innocent man, she had a feeling only one of the men would truly mind in the end.

"She can count, if that's what you mean," He quipped and Emma shot him an icy look. If it were anyone else on the opposite end of a joke, she would've laughed it off, and perhaps thrown her own self-deprecating jibe in for good measure. But knowing that such a comment came from him make her want to spit on his shoe and smack him all over again. He could try to embarrass her all he wanted in private, but she wouldn't let him do so in front of potential business partners.

Fighting the urge to grumble and stalk off, she bit her longue, pressing her lips into a thin line. Truthfully, Emma was surprised that Mister Bolton had been so quick to admit she could count, given how little she figured he thought of her. But she wouldn't let one comment ruffle her feathers. Not yet.

“Actually, now that you mention it, I think I would enjoy some company on my ride.” It took every ounce of willpower in her body to ignore Ben as she kept her eyes trained on the other, smiling as sweetly as she could muster. Worst case scenario, she thought, one of the men walked away with an ego boost. And as long as she walked away a victor, she didn't care what had to be done to achieve it.

“Mister Finnegan, if you’re not terribly busy, I would love to continue our discussion.” After a long moment, Emma finally drew her eyes away from Caleb and flicked them to her true target. Meeting his gaze, she fought to keep the blush on her cheeks at bay. She couldn't let her body betray her plans. “Mister Bolton, you wouldn’t mind being chaperone, would you? Just to make sure I keep my hands to myself, of course.”

Despite her words alluding to such untoward behaviors with his associate, Emma couldn't ignore the memory of her hands exploring the landscape of John Bolton's body. An image of his bare chest flashed in her mind and all she could think of was the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers, the warmth of him against her own body. A breath hitched in her throat, the mental visual causing the flush in her cheeks to brighten.

Damn him, she wanted to hiss. She swore to herself that she wouldn't get attached to him, that she wouldn't form any sort of attraction to him. He was horrible and rude and arrogant. He was not someone she wanted to like. It was all an act. She wasn't actually interested in John Bolton, she merely wanted him to fall into a false sense of security before she pulled the rug out beneath him. But the fear that she might be getting too caught up in her own scheme grew stronger by the day.

Flirting normally came so easily for her, and yet Emma was finding it difficult to angle her affections towards someone else when the object of her desire stood so close. If the other night hadn't happened, she might've been able to wear her indifferent façade for a lot longer. She might've been able to ward off such lewd thoughts in favor of winning the game. But now that she knew what it felt like to kiss him, to touch him, and to feel his hands running over her body... It was hard to remain focused on the task at hand.

[kimmie2me]

# 02. Street Smarts & Tough Lessons

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

.....

The cruiser’s interior was cramped, filled with the scent of stale coffee and the lingering traces of early morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the windshield, casting soft patches of light over Bakugou’s face as he drove. His gaze was fixed on the empty city streets, his expression as sharp and unyielding as if he were navigating a minefield. The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence, an ever-present reminder of the tension simmering between you two.

You shifted slightly, the seatbelt pressing into your shoulder as you stole a glance at him. His grip on the steering wheel was ironclad, fingers flexed as though the leather itself might slip through his hands. His jaw was set, a muscle in his cheek jumping each time he exhaled, a small, annoyed huff breaking the silence.

The morning light softened the cityscape outside, revealing clean sidewalks and storefronts that had yet to see foot traffic. You watched as people began trickling out of apartments, coffee in hand, ready to start their days. The world outside was calm, bright, and indifferent to the tension stewing inside the car.

You tried to ignore the oppressive silence, focusing instead on the quiet streets and the rare passerby. Your earlier rookie mistake hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet potent enough that Bakugou’s simmering irritation seemed to intensify with every block you passed.

When you finally dared another glance in his direction, his eyes remained trained ahead, his jaw visibly clenching. When he did speak, his voice was low and edged with barely concealed frustration, slicing through the quiet.

“Hope you’re actually paying attention this time,” he muttered, eyes still on the road. “Last thing I need is you messing up again.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself for whatever scathing critique was coming next. You’d heard Bakugou had a reputation for being rough on rookies, and he seemed determined to live up to it.

As you both exited the cruiser and stepped onto the pavement, you felt his gaze bore into the back of your head. He walked beside you with a predatory stride, hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking over the street like he was cataloging every possible threat.

.....

“Why the hell do ya walk like that?” he snapped, startling you.

It's literally been not even 10 minutes into this.

“Like what?” you asked, frowning in confusion.

“Like we’re out for a Sunday stroll,” he grumbled, giving you a look that could melt steel. “You think anyone’s gonna wait around for you to take in the sights?”

You stifled a sigh. Apparently, he wasn’t just hung up on your earlier mistake and the fact he's forced to be your partner; now he was criticizing the way you walked.

Bakugou continued, his tone unrelenting. “Look around with some purpose. Head up, eyes moving. You look soft—like you couldn’t catch a runaway kid, let alone handle anything serious.”

Resisting the urge to retort, you lifted your chin, adopting a more purposeful stance. But his gaze remained fixed on you, his scrutiny relentless, catching every slight adjustment in your posture.

“You even know what you’re lookin’ at?” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he followed your gaze. “You’re wasting time, staring at every shop window like it’s got some hidden clue. We’re looking for threats, idiot, not window shopping.”

Your frustration bubbled, but you forced yourself to keep quiet, focusing instead on what lay ahead. This entire shift, he’d been taking every chance to point out your supposed flaws, his tone drenched in disdain. Yet beneath it, there was a challenge, like he was testing to see how far he could push you.

“I get it,” you said finally, barely keeping the irritation out of your voice. “I messed up, but I’m here to learn. You don’t have to keep pointing out every single thing I do wrong.”

Bakugou stopped short, fixing you with a hard stare. “Learn? You think this is about learning?” He gestured to the quiet street, exasperated. “From where I’m standing, you’re barely paying attention to anything useful.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to keep calm. “I’m listening, alright?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Every time we turn a corner, you’re more interested in someone’s shoes than what’s actually going on. You think it’s cute to notice all that?”

“It’s not useless,” you replied, defensive. “Noticing details is part of the job. Being observant is important.”

“Observant?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Sure, if you want to notice every detail that doesn’t matter. You’re acting like some over-eager intern, playing cop.” He nodded toward a figure across the street. “See that guy? His hand just twitched near his pocket. What do you think that means?”

Caught off guard, you stammered, “Uh… maybe he’s going for a phone?”

“Or a weapon,” Bakugou interrupted coldly. “Or maybe he’s nervous. Could be anything. You don’t get the luxury to guess.”

You bit back the sting of his words, forcing yourself to hold steady even as frustration prickled at you. “Then what would you do?” you muttered.

Bakugou scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’d size ‘em up without getting distracted by useless crap. We’re not here to admire the scenery. You’re supposed to notice what doesn’t fit, not give people fashion critiques.”

Your hands balled into fists as you kept pace with him, trying to absorb his harsh words without snapping. You’d heard Bakugou was a challenging mentor, but this felt more like a gauntlet than training.

As you neared an alley, Bakugou threw an arm out to stop you. “Stay back,” he ordered, voice dropping low. “Don’t just breeze past an alley without checking it out. You think muggers are gonna announce themselves?”

You swallowed, taking a step to scan the shadowed alleyway. The sunlight filtered in, casting long, deceptive shadows, and you couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease. This felt a bit much to be honest, but he seemed dead serious. Might as well attempt to get something out of this..

Bakugou noticed your hesitation and rolled his eyes. “And another thing—quit fiddling with your belt like some nervous kid. If you can’t handle your gear comfortably, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

His words cut deep, and you felt frustration building. “Are you actually going to teach me anything? Or just keep criticizing everything?”

For a long, intense moment, he just stared at you, eyes narrowed in a way that made you feel like he was measuring your worth.

Then, he scoffed, a smirk twisting his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

Fucking fantastic.

.....

After hours of covering the same old route, checking in with local shops, and keeping an eye on the usual suspects, you finally breathe a little easier. The sun is beginning to rise, and the shift is winding down. You’ve survived it, you think. A few hours with Bakugou and you haven’t completely messed up yet.

You’re starting to feel the faintest spark of relief, the first signs of the end of your shift in sight, when Bakugou suddenly turns, face as stern as ever, his eyes sharp despite the early hour.

“Alright, rookie, that’s enough of your daydreaming. Back to the precinct,” he snaps, not bothering to slow his pace.

For a second, you think you’ve misheard him. You weren’t expecting to be thrown back into another assignment. “What?” you manage to squeak out, your brain still foggy from the hours of patrolling.

“I said we’re heading back to the precinct. That was only the first part of the shift, dumbass.” His voice is like gravel scraping against your nerves. “You think just because you walked around a few blocks, you're done?”

Your stomach drops.

You try not to groan. You had genuinely hoped—prayed—that once the patrol was done, you'd be free for the day. Maybe you could grab a coffee, and take a second to breathe. But no, that wouldn’t be Bakugou’s style, would it? Curse you for getting so used to the usually nothingness with Kaminari.

“No, we’re not done,” he says, almost as if reading your thoughts, though his words feel like a sucker punch to your optimism. “We’ve still got work to do. Don’t get used to thinking you can take breaks just because you’re ‘done.’”

Great. This day is never going to end.

.....

The precinct buzzes around you all day, a strange blend of organized chaos and constant interruptions. It feels like Bakugou has somehow crafted the worst possible introduction into this job just for you—hours of grueling tasks that demand your attention at every turn, all while he manages to keep up a steady, biting commentary that you’d swear is designed to throw you off balance. At one point, he barely glances at you as he flicks through a pile of paperwork, but you swear he’s smirking as he hands you another stack. And you’ve barely started when he’s already moved on, barking orders at someone across the room.

The hours grind by slowly, your feet aching by midday, and your brain’s a blur of unfamiliar forms, barely decipherable police shorthand, and Bakugou’s voice echoing in your head. No matter what you do, he always finds something to comment on—a quiet scoff if you manage something right, a darkly amused grin when you slip up. It feels like you’re in some kind of endurance test, the kind they warned you about in training but somehow didn’t quite prepare you for.

As the day stretches on, a headache starts to throb at your temples. Bakugou’s still charging forward without any sign of letting up, taking you along with him from briefing rooms to meetings to the field, and by the time the clock finally edges close to eleven at night, you’re nearly nodding off on your feet.

Then, as he heads out the door, he turns back to you with a look that makes your spine stiffen, “You better be early tomorrow.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you almost choke. Early? EARLY? After everything he put you through today?

You’re still reeling as he strides away, leaving you alone in the emptying precinct, barely able to keep your eyes open. But when you stumble inside, you catch sight of Kaminari lounging against one of the desks, scrolling through something on his phone.

Lucky bastard.

“Hey,” he calls over with a smirk, glancing up and giving you a once-over. “So how’d it go?”

He pauses, and then his expression changes, eyes widening a bit as he takes in your slouched posture, the bags forming under your eyes, and what’s probably a permanent frown from all the things you’ve had to hold back today. “Never mind. You look like that thousand-yard-stare guy. I’m actually kinda afraid to ask.”

You laugh, but it comes out a little too deadened, a testament to your exhaustion. “Day one, and I’m already dead on my feet,” you mutter, rubbing your face. “Not exactly sure I survived, actually.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that new recruit look—like they dropped you into the deep end with weights tied to your ankles,. Man, I kinda wish I took a picture so we could do the 'this is me before my 12-hour shift,' and 'this is me after'” he sighs, giving you a sympathetic wince. “The good news is, it gets…well, easier’s probably the wrong word. But at least you’ll get used to it.”

You manage a weak smile. “Comforting. Thanks.”

He grins back, but then his eyes catch on something over your shoulder. “Oh, hey,” he says, waving over your shoulder. “I’m out, though—good luck. And if you need a rescue mission, just call.” He gives you a wink and a mock salute before sauntering off.

As you turn to see who he waved at, a familiar bright red head of hair bobs into view.

“Hey, didn’t mean to startle you,” Detective Kirishima says, coming up to you with a friendly smile that makes you feel like you might actually be able to breathe again. His energy is a bit much for your current state, but something about him is…nice, grounding. “Sorry, don’t think we’ve met yet,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro.”

You give a tired smile, introducing yourself with a nod. “Yeah, I, uh…definitely know who you are. Heard a lot about the whole ‘Red Riot’ thing.” You gesture vaguely, almost missing his look of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, yeah?” He grins, clearly pleased, but it’s easygoing, lacking the cockiness you’ve come to expect from Bakugou. “That whole title is a bit much, if you ask me. Well, it’s good to meet you, even if it’s been one hell of a day, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it,” you say, sighing. “You could also say I was dragged through the nine circles of hell and back.”

Kirishima chuckles, nodding knowingly. “Bakugou’s a bit intense, especially on new recruits. But he’s actually…well, he’s a good guy underneath. If you’re looking for a tip, though, one thing that might soften him up a little in the morning—”

You raise an eyebrow, almost unable to believe there’s a way to make Bakugou “soften” in any capacity. “What, like a bribe?”

“Sort of.” Kirishima chuckles. “Coffee. He can’t stand the usual stuff most people get him—like, black coffee with no sugar. Everyone thinks that’s his vibe, but it drives him nuts. Just get him something decent. And not with that sugary stuff, either. You’ll figure it out.” He smiles kindly, though he must see the exhaustion in your eyes, because he takes a step back. “But hey, I’ll let you get going. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than you have to be. Good luck, though! And…hang in there.”

He gives you a wave and an encouraging nod, then heads out, leaving you with a sense of surreal hope mingling with exhaustion. You don’t know if coffee alone can really fix Bakugou’s attitude—or if there’s some magic in the world that could make him less impossible—but as you finally drag yourself out into the quiet night, the thought lingers.

Maybe.. it's really that easy?

.....

The morning arrived way too early, especially for someone who’d dragged herself to bed with just enough time to catch a few precious hours of sleep. But here you were, practically clawing your way out of the sheets at an ungodly hour, rubbing at your bleary eyes as you blearily shuffled to your computer. Because today was going to be different.

Kirishima's advice had stuck with you, gnawing at the back of your mind until you finally gave in. If a decent coffee could improve your odds of surviving another day with Bakugou, then hell, you’d become a damn coffee expert. After all, who’d have thought the ticket to maybe, maybe earning a sliver of respect from this guy would be a cup of coffee?

Problem was, you had zero clue what that entailed.

You’d Googled “coffee orders for grumpy cops” and “coffee orders that scream I hate everything” before even realizing how ridiculous it sounded, then quickly deleted your search history in a flurry of shame and annoyance. Next, you’d tried browsing lists of “strongest coffee,” “bold coffee blends,” and “top coffees for strong personalities”—only to end up with pages of coffee snob jargon and fancy words that made no sense. Cold brew? Double shot? Espresso macchiato? Why did coffee need a PhD to understand?

The only thing you usually got yourself was a matcha latte with a splash of creamer, maybe a hint of vanilla. But Bakugou was definitely not a “matcha and creamer” type of guy. No, he probably preferred something bitter, with a kick that could wake the dead. After close to an hour and a mental Venn diagram of “strong flavors” and “no sugar,” you thought you’d finally cracked the code: a triple shot espresso with just enough milk to take the edge off, but not enough to ruin the bite. It seemed… strong. Just like him.

On your way to the precinct, you swung by the nearest coffee shop, eyes darting across the menu like you were analyzing a tactical map. You read and reread each option, carefully cross-referencing every espresso and cold brew with your phone’s coffee notes app (yes, you’d made an app folder just for this).

By the time the barista finally got to you, you’d zeroed in on the perfect drink. Or, at least, what you hoped was the perfect drink.

“A triple espresso macchiato with a splash of milk, please. To go,” you added, hoping to sound decisive even though you were already second-guessing everything. The barista gave you a cautious look, probably spooked by the intensity of your stare. But hey, desperate times.

When the order came up, you took a long, evaluative whiff. It smelled dark and bitter, which you were sure was promising. With a steadying breath and a pep talk (“It’s just coffee”), you marched into the precinct.

You made it in early, nerves a mix of dread and determination as you took up your usual spot in the briefing room, coffee cup cradled like it was some kind of peace offering. You’d barely been there five minutes when you heard Bakugou’s heavy footsteps, purposeful and brisk.

He didn’t even acknowledge you at first, just dropped his bag on the desk with a scowl that could curdle milk. Perfect timing, really.

You cleared your throat, extending the cup his way. “Thought you might want some coffee.”

Bakugou shot you a look, eyebrow raised in skeptical surprise. “Y’don’t know how I take my coffee, so why the hell’d you even bother?”

Your grip tightened just a bit on the cup. Oh, you were very aware of that fact, considering the Herculean effort you’d just put into decoding what he might possibly like.

“Just… thought you’d appreciate it,” you managed through gritted teeth. “Triple espresso macchiato. Strong, no sugar. Figured that’d suit you.”

He eyed it, a shadow of… compilation? Annoyance? You couldn’t tell. With a scoff, he took the cup and, in one quick motion, took a swig. And immediately, he stopped.

For a heartbeat, you held your breath, half-hoping he’d give even the tiniest nod of approval. But instead, he made a face, as though the coffee had personally insulted him. He lowered the cup, glaring at it like it was the last straw in a long line of disappointments.

“Seriously?” he grumbled, looking from the cup to you. “What is this crap?”

Your stomach dropped. You’d woken up ten times earlier than usual, spent your entire morning dissecting coffee like it was a crime scene, and this guy couldn’t even pretend to appreciate the effort?

“It’s a triple espresso,” you said, voice taut with barely contained exasperation. “Supposed to be strong, y’know? Just like you.”

“Oh, so now you’re some coffee connoisseur?” he shot back, holding the cup away from himself like it might explode. “This’s strong, alright. Strong enough to taste like mud.”

You practically felt steam shooting out of your ears. Mud?! After all that research? All that lost sleep? A tiny part of you wanted to take the cup back, drink it yourself, and walk out. But Bakugou, with his unflinching, unimpressed stare, left you no choice but to swallow your frustration.

“Fine,” you muttered, resisting the urge to yank the cup from his hands. “Next time, I’ll just get you water.”

“Good idea,” he deadpanned. But then, with a tiny, grudging glance your way, he took another sip—still cringing, but now eyeing you from over the rim of the cup like he was testing your reaction.

With a huff, you turned back to your desk, grumbling under your breath as you reached for your own drink. So much for softening him up. So much for making things even a fraction easier.

But, just as you sat back down, you caught a glimpse of Bakugou out of the corner of your eye—leaning back, lifting the cup once more. Hope sparked in your chest. Maybe he’d decided it wasn’t so bad?

Then, with a disgusted curl of his lip, he chucked the entire cup straight into the trash can without a second thought, like it was yesterday’s garbage.

In your mind, you nearly screamed. He threw out some perfectly good coffee… in this goddamn ECONOMY?! Your fingers twitched with suppressed rage, jaw clenched so tight you felt your teeth ache. Fuck you, Bakugou Katsuki. Fuck you and your coffee-hating soul.

You settled back into your seat, mentally replaying every penny wasted on that triple espresso disaster, resolving that next time he’d get whatever was cheapest. Maybe decaf, for all you cared.

[slut4evanpeters]

One Way or Another

pre death!tate langdon x reader

song i recommend listening to/based on: one way or another by blondie

warnings: stalking, obsession

word count: 673

notes: enjoy this drabble guys! i was listening to my blondie vinyl and immediately wrote this🙏

The final bell rings, echoing down the hallway like a calling card just for Tate. He slinks out of his last class, letting the bustling crowd swallow him up, using it as his cover. Everyone’s moving, laughing, jostling for the best spots on their bus rides home. No one sees him. No one ever does. Except maybe you.

You used to, at least.

It feels like years since your eyes last met his that once looked at him like he was more than just another lost kid at Westfield High. You were his other half, his better half. But now, you’re untouchable, one of the popular kids, adored, almost worshiped. And he… he’s left in the shadows, cast aside like a broken toy.

One way or another, he thinks, pushing through the swarm of bodies. He’s going to find you. You can’t stay hidden from him, not forever.

Tate steps outside, onto the cracked pavement of the school parking lot. His eyes dart around until they land on you, standing with a group of friends, laughing. That laugh—the one that once belonged to him, that’s now thrown freely at everyone but him.

There’s something unsettlingly perfect about you today. Maybe it’s the way the late afternoon sun hits your hair, giving it that halo effect, or the light wind tugging at your jacket, making you look like a vision from some golden dream. He can feel his chest tighten, his fingers twitch. You’re so close, but you’re untouchable. He doesn’t want to just look at you. He wants more. He wants everything.

When you finally get onto the bus, his heart quickens. He slips back into the crowd, just far enough behind to stay invisible but close enough to catch every turn of your head, every flicker of movement. He can’t sit still; his fingers clench and unclench. The desire to reach out, to grab you by the arm, tell you everything that’s twisting inside him, is almost overwhelming. But no, he needs to be patient. You'll come to him.

The bus pulls away, and he’s quick to his bike. Trailing it from a distance as it winds through the city, watching it move block by block. He knows the route by heart, knows where it’ll stop, where it’ll speed up. When you finally get off, you don’t even glance back. But Tate’s there, slipping through the streets, hiding in shadows.

You head into a convenience store, chatting with friends as you browse through rows of magazines and candy. Tate leans against a wall outside, waiting, listening to the buzz of a flickering neon light above him, the hum of his own thoughts mixing in with the static.

He watches as you and your friends move toward the bus stop again, laughing at some joke he’ll never know. The laughter twists something inside him. You used to laugh with him like that, let him in on your world. You were his girl, his muse. But now, it’s like he’s a stranger to you. And yet, he’s closer to you than anyone else. He knows every inch of this city, every shortcut, every street you walk down. He’s memorized your patterns, your quirks. He’s in your shadow, in the air you breathe.

When you get home, he watches from across the street, from under the shadow of a tree. The light in your bedroom flickers on, and he imagines you pulling off your coat, tossing it onto that same chair you always throw it on. He’s seen it through the window enough times to know.

Inside, you’re probably brushing your hair, maybe glancing out the window every now and then. Sometimes, he swears you look right at him. He feels that flicker of hope, the thrill that you might know he’s there, that you might want him to be.

The house goes dark. Tate feels his heart slow, his gaze lingering on your window. One day, you’ll see him again. One way or another, he’ll make sure of it. You’re his, and no one else’s.