#i will lose my shit even more if they save using those clips in the recap of the finale two episodes

[leslieseveride]

watch me go insane when those clips of  tim and lucy saying “the thing you learn early on as police officers, is that your future is never certain.” and “anything can happen to anyone at any time.” in the opening recap 5x19.

like.... full exorcist, head spinning around on shoulders insane.

[charlotte-queen-owl]

Swapped Personalities AU 🤡

Appearance explanation:

Yuuji Itadori (Megumi's Personality):

Yuuji has longer hair because he hasn't cut it since his grandfather's funeral, if he had OGumi's tendencies then bro is depressed. Instead of his "I don't wanna die alone so I'll save everyone to the best of my abilities while I'm still alive!" mindset, he's got the "Since I'm still alive I might well do what my grandpa's wishes, it's what he would've wanted." Mindset, bro is Sukuna's vessel and he's depresso expresso but like he's good at hiding it. He doesn't wear a hoodie inside his uniform and doesn't modify it at all because man's doesn't really see the point of it. Still likes to read manga and watch movies but doesn't outwardly says he does (he likes to do those alone). Can totally go insane and lose his will to live if he loses everyone he holds dear.

Nobara Kugisaki (Yuuji's Personality):

Kinda see Nobara as a kind of happy-go-lucky country bumpkin with OGji's personality, She's all happy to be here in the city!!! Meeting new fellow classmates and make friends!!! Trying out new foods!!! Killing more curses!!! All the jazz. Her grandma is safe back in her hometown alive and well, She's in Jujutsu Tech cause she wants to make a difference! She's got a lot of bandaids because she has a lil bit of a martyr complex and gets hurt a lot (she doesn't have Yuuji's super strength so). She also didn't dye her hair because she isn't looking to be scouted or be model so her hair is still dark brown. Likes to wear a jacket OVER her uniform to prevent bad curse blood stains.

Megumi Fushiguro (Nobara's Personality):

Oh baby boy. Where do I EVEN begin. He knows he's a pretty little darling with long lashes and he THRIVES in being gorgeous. OGsaki's personality has him wearing good expensive clothing (from Gojo's black card), amazing beauty products and a knack for Black Fashion. Not easily angered unless you touch or damage his expensive shit even though he can just buy 20 more of them with his Guardian's money if he wanted to. Eyelashes on more fleek because he takes his beauty routine seriously. Yes he wears eyeliner. Has black earrings because they look cool on him (Tsumiki's words). Paints his nails black because his older sister used to do it. The only non-black thing on him is his green clip-ons, those are a gift from his older sister when they were playing dress up and has been wearing them ever since. (Even more so now since she's in a coma.)

[likecanyoujustnot]

ACOSF- Feysand’s pov

Part 3: The labour

A/n: last part 😤😤. Sorry it took so long. I hope I captured the emotions right. Feedback and even recs of what to write next is appreciated.

Again it’s really long.

Rhysand

Nesta had been kidnapped. Taken into the blood rite. The fucking blood rite. Fully grown Illyrian males went in there and didn’t come out alive.

Plus the other two. Gwyn and Emerie, Cassian had said.

I knew Gwyn, we had taken her in after what happened at Sangravah, offered her a place in the library, which she had gratefully accepted. I’d spoken to her on a few occasions, she’d gone through absolute hell at the hands of those Hybern commanders. I knew Azriel didn’t regret killing them.

And Emerie. One of the unlucky Valkyrie females to be clipped even after I made it illegal. She owned a shop in Windhaven, Cassian had visited there a few times before she went to the trainings. I’d winnowed her to training when I was free, spoken to her, got her recommendations on how to handle a few of the Illyrian issues with the females.

Feyre was stressed, three females were in the blood rite, Cassian and Azriel had gone to the continent to save Eris. Everything had gone to shit.

Even as High Lord I couldn’t interfere, it would give the Illyrians the right to hunt and kill me. Laws would not stop them if anyone stopped them from doing a millennias- old tradition.

I sat in my office, signing more papers. Building permits, shipping nonsense, etc.

Rhys

Gods I loved the sound of her voice. It come so close to losing her, thanks to my pride and tendency to burden all my problems alone. I’d spent the last months doing everything I could to make it up to her, but also to keep her happy and take both our minds off what was coming. I’d make her breakfast in bed, we’d take long walks across the Sidra, I’d show her my favourite places from the area surrounding Velaris. But it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I would catch her staring into space, hand on her stomach. I’d pull her into my arms and we would both cry. For the life we wanted, but might never get.

Yes Feyre, darling?

I was so grateful, so grateful she had forgiven me, we’d fought, we’d cried but we’d made up.

My water broke.

The pen in my hand snapped.

That’s not possible you’re no where near full term. Fuck no.

I know that.

We’re supposed to have more time, more time for me to save her, save us.

I ran out of the house and winnowed to her art studio without hesitation. She sat in front in front of an easel- a half-finished rendition of Thesan’s palace in front of her.

Sure enough the was wet staining the front of her leggings, she was crying.

“Rhys-” I ran over and pulled her to me, as tight as I could. I kissed the top of her head as she started sobbing, tears streaking down my own cheeks. I was going to loose her, seconds before I myself lost my life.

I reached out in my mind for Madja, praying the healer would be free.

My lord,

It’s happening, her water broke.

That’s… not good.

I’m taking her to back to the river house, meet me there.

Yes my lord.

“Feyre, darling we have to get to the river house, Madja will meet us there.” Feyre was still sobbing into my shoulder. I picked her up, bridal style, and winnowed to the front of the river house.

I kicked open the door, and Mor ran down the stairs, Elain close behind her.

“Rhys, what happened?” My cousin ran up to us, peering at Feyre.

Feyre screamed. Contraction.

Elain paled.

“Madja is on her way.”

“She can’t be going into labour now, you’re supposed to have months.”

“I know Morrigan.” I snapped, I set Feyre on the bed. “I think it was the stress from Nesta and the others being in the blood rite.”

Mor nodded, face pale, lips drawn. “I’ll go get some towels.”

Elain knelt down on Feyre’s other side, taking her hand.

“Feyre…”

Feyre opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “Elain.”

“It’ll be okay. I promise, we’ll find a way to save you.” Elain looked over at me. “Won’t we?”

“We will.”

My lord I’m outside the house.

“Madja’s here, I’ll go get her-”

“No! Stay Rhys, please.” Tears were shining in my mate’s eyes.

“I’ll go.” Elain stood up and exited the room.

“It’ll be okay, love.” I pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Don’t lie to me Rhys. We still haven’t found anything, Nesta is in the blood rite, Cassian and Az are on the continent, and we’re…” going to die.

She rested her hands on her stomach.

“Feyre, you should try shifting, it might be worth it, if there’s any chance it could save you.”

“Rhys-”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Madja walked through the door, bag under her arm. Elain close behind.

“If labour has already begun, the wings are already tearing her apart.”

I winced. And Feyre flopped back, turning into my chest.

My stomach dropped. No. That was our last option.

Feyre

I was going to die.

And Rhys was going to die with me.

Mor came back with some towels and placed the, on the bed beside me. “How are you doing?” Her voice was soft.

“I’m oka-.” I was interrupted by a contraction. I screamed.

Amren appeared in the doorway. “How is this happening?” Rhys must’ve told her about the labour.

“It’s probably the stress, Elain said your sister is in the blood rite.” I nodded at Madja. “Nasty tradition. Feyre I’m going to have to take the leggings off.” I nodded again, unable to form words.

“So… what do we do?” Mor’s voice was shaky from where she stood, hand on Rhys’ shoulder.

He looked lost, face drawn and eyes downcast. “I-” my mate’s voice broke. “I don’t know.”

“There has to be something.” Amren’s voice was uncharacteristically panicked.

The scent of blood filled the air.

Fuck.

Feyre. Rhys’s voice filled my mind.

Yes?

It’ll be okay, sweetheart.

No it won’t, Rhys, we’re both going to die. Nesta might already be dead, and who knows what’s happening to Cassian and Azriel.

Hours went by, I hardly felt as Madja poked and prodded me, tried everything to get Nyx to come out alive, and without killing me. The others spoke in quiet voices, trying not to disturb me as all my strength went into trying to heal my body. Contractions would take my body and Rhys would hold me as I screamed.

“What if she doesn’t make it…” Mor

“This is not fair…” Elain

“The babe is stuck…” Madja

“You Illyrians and your stupid anatomy…” Amren

“Open your eyes, Feyre.” Rhys.

He was stroking a thumb along my forehead. I looked up at him. His eyes were red.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I reached a hand up to cup his face.

I screamed.

Rhys sat up suddenly.

“Azriel.” His voice came out choked.

The heads of the other four females turned to Rhys.

“He’s alive. So’s Eris, but he can’t winnow.” Mor looked disappointed at hearing that the Autumn Court prince was alive.

“What about Cassian?” Amren acted like she didn’t care most of the time, but deep down I knew she did.

“He’s been taken.” There was gasps around the room. “Briallyn.”

The human queen, turned crone by the cauldron.

“Az says she’s going after Nesta.”

“Where is Az?” Mor voice was panicky.

Rhys rattled off a location and Mor kissed my cheek before running out of the room.

“Do you think Nesta is alive?” Elain’s voice was quiet.

“Probably.” Amren turned to my sister.

“She must’ve used the crown on Cassian.” Rhys said, voice filled with worry for his brother.

“Well then why not take Azriel as well? That would’ve been the strategic decision, he knows more about how the court works than Cassian, he’d be less detectable too.” Amren contemplated

“Because Cassian means something to Nesta.” My voice was croaky and hoarse.

Everyone looked at me.

“Think about it, there are more ways to hurt someone than physically, you take someone they care about, whose life they wouldn’t dare risk. Their mate.”

“You knew.” Rhys’s tone was soft.

“I suspected, it would explain why Cassian put up with her for so long, why he kept pursuing her. You thought so too.”

He corner of his mouth turned up. “I did.”

There was a loud crash downstairs.

“Mor.” Amren said.

Two sets of feet ran up the stairs and the door was thrown open.

Azriel’s eyes widened as he took in the room. He walked over to the side of the bed and knelt down next to me.

“Feyre. I-”

I cut him off with a scream and he flinched.

“I’m so sorry.” He continued. He looked over me to Rhys. “We put Eris is one of the cells in the Hewn City until we can make sure he’s not still under the crown’s control.”

Rhys nodded. “Thank you.”

“What do we do about the rite?” He scanned the room.

“We can’t do anything. If we interfere they will kill us.” Mor said as she sat back down next to Amren.

“It’s a bullshit rule.” Azriel spat.

“One we can’t ignore, boy, so you’ll do best to keep quiet until we hear something from one of them.”

“I can’t believe they were taken.” Azriel stood up and ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

He was concerned, he had been training them for months.

“You trained them well.”

Azriel glared at Amren, he had said the same thing to comfort Cassian when he was panicking earlier. He had been calmer then, his face was pale now and eyes holding worry.

“So we wait.”

I closed my eyes. The eventfulness of the last few minutes had tired me out. Rhys still sat next to me on the bed, laying at an uncomfortable angle so he could be close to me.

Rhys.

Yes?

I’m scared.

Me too.

I don’t want to die. We’ve come so far, defied death twice, it can’t end like this, it just can’t.

We’ll find a way, sweetheart, we always do. It’ll be okay.

Madja sighed.

Worry filled Rhys’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I still can’t get the baby to mo-” She was cut off by Rhys’s exclamation.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” I grabbed his arm.

“The wards at the house of wind have been breached.”

“By what.” Mor stood up, looking like if Rhys said the wrong thing she would run over there to kill it.

Azriel’s shadows swarmed, some of them rushing out of the room.

“Two people, females.” He paused and looked at his brother. “Your Valkyries are back, Az.”

Azriel slumped back onto the couch.

“Wait, two?” Elain spoke up for the first time in ages.

Azriel’s shadows came back. “Emerie and Gwyn.” He relayed. “Rhys, they’ve become Carnythian.”

Rhysand

Three females went into the blood rite, two came out Carnythian. Carnythian. There are only four living Carnthians, and two of them were in that room.

“Not only did they survive the rite, they’re Carnythian?” Mor’s eyes widened.

“Yes.” Azriel looked like he wanted to winnow out and make sure the two were okay, but stayed out of loyalty to myself and Feyre.

I reached out in my mind and told Nuala and Ceridwen to go check on Emerie and Gwyn, make sure they weren’t injured, and that anything they needed they had.

I pulled Feyre into my chest and pushed her hair out of her face.

“If they’re alive then Nesta has to be right?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

So we waited, for anything. Madja was running around and grabbing things from her bag, pressing on Feyre’s stomach to try and coax the baby to move, pressing her hands into my mate’s body, trying to save her.

It was then I felt it. That presence in my mind, Cassian.

“Mor, Az.” They both looked at me. “Go to the top of Ramiel. Cassian is there.”

Mor let out a sob and Azriel started muttering. They both rushed out of the room.

“Is Nesta there?” Elain asked me after a while, eyes full of hope.

“He didn’t seem to be overly distressed, so she should be.”

Feyre screamed. I glared at Madja. It was hard for me, seeing her in this much pain.

The door was flung open and Mor ran in, followed by my brothers and Nesta.

I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t her fault she was taken into the rite, even if it did cause Feyre’s early labour.

Cassian’s face paled and Nesta’s eyes widened.

Madja didn’t look up as she said. “I’ve turned the babe, but he’s not descending. He’s wedged in the birth canal.”

Amren gasped.

“She’s losing too much blood, and I can feel the babe’s heart in distress.”

Fuck.

“What do we do?” Mor asked.

Cassian and Azriel came up behind me, placing their hands on my shoulders.

“There is nothing we can do, cutting the babe out of her will kill her.” Madja said.

“Cutting it out?” Nesta demanded, and I glared at her.

“An incision along her abdomen, even one carefully made, is an enormous risk. It’s never been successful. And even with Feyre’s healing abilities, the blood loss has weakened her-”

“Do it.��� Feyre’s voice held so much pain.

“Feyre.” No. There had to be another way, I wouldn’t lose her.

“The babe likely won’t survive.” Madja’s voice was soft, but uncompromising. “It’s too small yet. We risk both of you.”

“All of you.” I felt Cassian’s eyes on me as he said it.

“Do it.” Even on her death bed, body being torn apart, I admired her for her tone. No fear, only pure determination in the voice of the High Lady. She looked up at me and I felt my heart break. “We have to.”

I nodded slowly, tears lining my eyes.

Nesta and Elain approached the other side of the bed, heads lowered as Elain started praying.

I was trembling, Cassian’s hand tightened on my shoulder as my power flowed into Feyre, trying with all that it could to heal her.

Madja got off the bed and returned with knives and tools, but I barely saw it looking down at my mate.

Beautiful. Strong. The most important thing in my life.

Doomed.

We both were.

“Go into her mind to take the pain away.” Madja said to me.

I blinked and cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner.

Elain had grabbed Feyre’s other hand.

“Feyre darling-”

“No good-byes.” Feyre’s voice was strained. “No good-byes Rhys.”

And I physically felt my heart shatter as her eyes closed.

There was no sound when my son came up, as Madja passed the unmoving boy to my crying cousin. Tears fell down my own face.

Madja swore.

And I began screaming.

I knew what was happening, that she was losing her grip on life as I lunged for my mate.

Feyre

I could feel death.

It hovered.

Around me, my mate and our son.

I could feel it over the yelling of the healer, the pleading of my sister, the crying of my friend as she held my lifeless baby, the screaming of my mate, the grunts of his brothers as they held him back.

I could feel it.

Death opened its arms to me, getting ready to take me as my breathing thinned.

And this wasn’t like last time.

Death seemed to whisper to me. There aren’t seven high lords here to save you this time, Cursebreaker.

There was a golden light.

But I ignored it as I slipped further into Death’s arms.

Rhysand

Cassian and Azriel were holding me back, fourteen combined siphons blazing with the force it took to hold me.

All I knew was I had to get to Feyre.

It was a primal urge now. Get to my mate. Get to her before death does.

These bastards.

There was a golden light.

Amren gasped.

Nesta.

She was wearing the mask, the crown sat atop her head, and in her arms was the harp.

She had all the items of the dread trove.

No one had done that and lived.

Nesta walked to toward the bed. Toward Feyre.

I surged for her. I was not letting her anywhere near Feyre.

Nesta held up a hand and my body went still.

Feyre’s chest rattled, and I knew that was her final breath.

I knew it as Nesta plucked the twenty-sixth string on the harp.

And Time stopped.

I was able to move again. I lunged against the hold my brothers had on me. Amren stepped next to us and hissed. “Listen.”

Nesta was whispering. “I give it all back.” Her shoulders heaved as she wept.

My head was shaking. And I could feel my power raising like a wave. I couldn’t tell if it was me or the reaction to my mate dying.

Amren grabbed the nape of my neck, her nails digging into my skin. “Look at the light.”

And there was light. Flowing from Nesta’s body into Feyre’s.

Nesta still held her sister as she kept repeating. “I give it back, I give it back, I give it back.”

I stopped fighting my brothers.

No one moved. Not Mor holding the too small bundle in her arms, not Elain, who had stepped back from the bed, not Cassian, Azriel or Amren standing with me.

The light flowed all over Feyre, down her arms and legs, over her pale, lifeless face.

A delicate tendril of light floated over to Mor. Toward where my son was wrapped up in her arms. It set the baby glowing.

Nesta was still whispering. “I give it back, I give it all back.”

The light kept filling them. It lit my cousin’s face and the shock was thrown in stark relief.

“I give it back.” The mask and crown tumbled from Nesta’s head and the light exploded. Blinding and warm, throughout the room.

It faded and dark ink was splashed on Nesta’s back. She made a bargain with the cauldron.

I lunged for Feyre, and this time I wasn’t held back.

I ran to my mate.

Feyre

My eyes opened.

Death was gone.

No longer hovering in the room.

Almost like that golden light had scared it away.

I blinked at Rhys, tracks of tears running down his face.

Then I turned to Nesta.

“I love you too.” I whispered, and smiled. Nesta sobbed and launched at me and hugged me.

A wail went up from the other side of the room.

Mor was weeping as she walked over to us. The baby in her arms wasn’t small, as I had seen in my glimpse before exhaustion had claimed me. No, this was a healthy baby boy. With thick dark hair and wings.

I sobbed and took Nyx from Mor.

I barely heard Madja as she said “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you developed an Illyrian’s anatomy.”

Rhys put his arm around me as we cried and laughed and took in our son.

He looks like you. I said into his mind.

How dare he.

I laughed again.

Madja approached us. “Let him feed.”

I bought the baby to my breast. Awed.

It hurts

But Rhys wasn’t looking at me.

Rhysand

I whirled to Nesta, who had slid off the bed and stood next to the mask.

I surveyed her.

My sister-in-law.

I fell to my knees, grabbing Nesta’s hand. “Thank you.” I wept, head bowed.

She had saved Feyre, and Nyx. I knew we would never be the best of friends, but for this, I would try.

Nesta dropped to the carpet in front of me. She lifted my face in her hands, before throwing her arms around me.

And I hugged her.

Feyre

“He’s asleep.” I said as I walked up to where Rhys sat on the couch

“Thank the Mother.” I sat in his lap and he pulled me into his chest. “I would’ve helped you.”

“Yes well, you’ve had a big day.”

It’d been a week since we’d almost died.

Rhys went to the windhaven with Cassian where the General had killed the males responsible for taking Nesta and her friends into the rite. Rhys had made it clear what happens if anyone who did not consent to being apart of the rite was forcefully taken and thrust into it ever again.

He’d also dealt with the last of the issues surrounding Eris and the Dread Trove.

I’d wanted to help, but he’d insisted that almost dying warranted a couple weeks of rest.

Plus we weren’t getting much sleep with Nyx’s crying and constant hunger.

The people of Velaris were rejoicing.

They had a prince. For the first time since Rhys’ accession almost 500 years ago they had a clear heir.

We’d been sent well-wishes and gifts from all across not just the court, but Prythian and beyond. Including a stuffed white wolf from Viviane and Kallias, a card with no more than 5 words from Keir, a basket full of little toys from Miryam and Drakon, a few of those fish I’d had at Adriata wrapped up and spelled not to go bad (for when you’re good tired to cook- read the card) from Tarquin and Cressida.

It made my heart warm to see all these people who cared and would one day get to meet our son, (except Keir, we were going to avoid that for as long as possible).

“I did say everything would be okay didn’t I?”

I laughed and smacked his arm.

But he did.

I had my mate and son. I’d somewhat healed my relationship with my sister.

Everything was okay.

Again, thank you for reading, the other parts are on my page, feedback, comments and reblogs appreciated.

[cybertron-after-dark]

what is wayward sparks :0?

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD >:3

This is gonna end up being a long ass post about my very goofy iterations of my blorbos and the unbelievably fucked up version of Cybertron they inhabit, so to spare those of y'all that mostly follow me for the canon tf content, I'll just put all this under the cut

To summarize, wayward sparks is the non-existent tf cartoon I've been Envisioning for a few months that starts off goofy and low-stakes but gets progressively more and more fucked up as it goes. The absolutely BRAINLESS lookin bumblebee I keep posting is supposed to be from this AU, as well as the borderline catgirl skywarp, the really grumpy Optimus, and most of the other tfa-esque redesigns I draw.

The Story

Cybertron's been at war for millennia, everyone's sick and tired of it, especially the Decepticons. They're backed into a corner, being captured and killed left and right, and a loss is just around the corner if they don't do something drastic.

So Megatron does something very drastic indeed.

He steals the Allspark, in a heist that, frankly, should've gotten his entire high command killed (though, very suspiciously, they suffered no casualties and got out unscathed, save for Blitzwing, who clipped a wing), with the intent to ambush the Ark, and finally neutralize the greatest threat to his movement and his people: Optimus Prime. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Allspark doesn't particularly like being used as a weapon and instead decides to put everyone in timeout on an isolated little backwater planet called earth until they can learn to get along and stop trying to kill each other.

Team Prime (Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack and Prowl) are all WOEFULLY unprepared to be stranded on an alien planet with only each other, Decepticon High Command (Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave, Blitzwing, and Lugnut), and the very strange, very small, and VERY trigger happy humans populating the tiny rural forest town they managed to crash near.

Meanwhile, back on Cybertron, the remaining Decepticons are trying their damnedest to keep hidden, and survive underground, and the Autobots try to figure out what to do while their leader is missing. While the Autobots are left floundering without Optimus, the other active Primes and their followers (Sentinel Prime, Rodimus Prime and Windblade Convoy (yes I know she's not a prime anywhere else but let her girlboss)) try to garner favor with the Senate by picking up the slack, and taking the Decepticon problem into their own hands.

The Autobots

Aka, Optimus Prime's merry band of dysfunctional freaks.

Optimus had to find out the hard way that being a Prime means a direct connection in his mind and spark to an eldritch, incomprehensible god that likes trolling. So now he has to hear Primus in his head at random saying shit that does not make sense. And now that he's in there it's kind of a no takesies backsies situation

While being a Prime is supposed to grant you a degree of divine power, that power is only made manifest through strong dedication to a bot and to a cause. That intense loyalty is also what allows you to handle the connection in the first place. Primes that become disillusioned with their masters have a track record of going completely mad. Unfortunately for Optimus, pretty soon into his career as a prime, the Senator he swore loyalty to disgraced himself hard enough to be sentenced to shadowplay and empurata. Senator Alpha Trion ended up taking him in so he could keep functioning as a prime. It'd be a shame to lose such a talented bot. And with the whole threat of lovecraftian madness looming over his head, he pours his whole spark into following his every order.

Bumblebee is not a Prime, nor is he even particularly religious (even though his boss has a god that's taken up residence in his head) but for reasons nobody can quite seem to decipher, Primus absolutely loves the little gremlin, which manifests as Bumblebee having impossibly good luck.

There's not a situation he can't fling himself into headfirst and wildly intoxicated that he can't come out of with barely a scratch. It's actually given him a pretty warped perception of the war and hardship in general. He really wants everyone to just stop worrying so damn much. Everything always works out in the end, right? So why does everyone gotta be so grouchy all the time? Especially Prowl.

Prowl cannot fucking stand Bumblebee.

This mostly stems from the fact that the little yellow bastard seems 100% intent on making him "happy" and refuses to leave him the fuck alone. Prowl is, to put it bluntly, really fucking depressed. Originally, his function was law enforcement, but he became quickly disillusioned with the job when he realized just how corrupt the Praxus police force really was. When he quit, he felt he lost his purpose, stuck living with nothing to make of himself. Joining the Autobots was supposed to fix him, but even though he's started to turn his life around, he can't say he feels much better. He spends most of his time holed up in his quarters, either maintaining the team's weaponry or just binging old datatrax on teletraan-1.

Oh, and ever since he got to Earth and found out about anime, he's gotten to be a bit of a weeb

Taking care of the team's medical affairs is Ratchet, and even if he wasn't a massive perfectionist he'd have his work cut out for him. His entire team is prone to making stupid, reckless decisions that end in somebody getting disassembled somehow. Their erratic, chaotic behavior makes his processor ache just thinking about it. Unfortunately Ratchet is pretty paranoid, and generally unable to think about anything other than how wrong everything can go all the time.

He typically tries to put forward a very straight laced, very orderly image of himself, but it's a bit difficult to keep up that demeanor when the overthinking spiral takes him. And nobody makes him spiral quite like Wheeljack.

Wheeljack is generally just here to blow shit up and do some Weird Science. Typically this results in Jackie himself getting blown apart with whatever he's trying to explode, but he had a blocker installed for most of his pain sensors ages ago, so he doesn't mind too much. Especially not when there's a top notch medic he loves to annoy that can put him back together when that happens.

And when the good doctor gets completely tired of his shit, he's got his good buddy and lab partner Bulkhead to help him out too.

Bulkhead is a sensitive type, and largely considered to be the voice of reason on the team. Unfortunately, he often has trouble making his voice heard to begin with. He tends to be pretty quiet and really bad at voicing his thoughts, especially when those thoughts are about something that stresses him out. Given he works with Wheeljack, it's a miracle he isn't nonverbal entirely.

He loves his friend, he really does, but it gets frustrating seeing him get blown apart so often Bulkhead worries for his safety because Wheeljack seems to be incapable of worrying about his own. It's pretty easy for him to get caught up in Ratchet's overthinking episodes with his own anxiety until someone snaps them both out of it

How all of them have managed to survive this long, let alone nearly win the war, is anyone's guess.

[Apparently I just hit the image limit so I'll do the cons in a reblog lmao]

[she-of-seidhr]

I have so many thoughts about The Rings of Power S2 SDCC trailer and some of the news that came out from the SDCC panel, but I am so unwell after watching it that I don't remember it all. Here's what I recall though:

The trailer is absolutely the best we've had of all their releases going back to S1. The difference is night and day. I like that this trailer has clear direction of what the general plot is going to be instead of just a bunch of clips that makes no sense whatsoever.

The Rhunic masks looked a bit futuristic to me. It reminded me of some background race in an MCU film, can't remember if it was in Thor 3 or Ant-Man 3, but yeah it looked a bit out of place and silly.

I really am quite puzzled at their insistence in dressing Gil-galad in gold hues when we have Pharazon and/or Sauron, or even the dwarves for that. I am hoping they are saving the silver and blues for the later seasons if we're not getting it now. That would look so striking since they went with the dark hair. Remember Thranduil's silk orange robe from The Hobbit? Now make it deep blue. Ah, a girl can dream.

I know this is a trailer so there's misdirection, but I wonder if that scene where Galadriel asks Elrond to promise he will not stop who I am assuming is Sauron is an indication that she's going to put up her sword (at least in S3 onwards) to do other things, bringing her closer to the Galadriel in the books in terms of character and also what we know she was doing during the Second Age. That will give Elrond and (as it should be honestly) Gil-galad the space to be the actual main protagonists along with the other prominent Second Age characters.

I wanted more of Cirdan instead of just a hand, and I got a different shot of his hand, this time going underwater. Exciting.

Entwives!!! I'm glad to see them featured, but I'm also terribly afraid they're going to show us how they were wiped out lost.

The Siege of Eregion looks fuckin' amazing. The shot of Sauron walking away with an explosion on the background? Sign me the fuck up.

Gil-galad's banners flying amidst the elven charge scene. Fuck me sideways.

Charlie Vickers was the best actor for me in S1, I have no doubts he will serve in S2. Owain Arthur, Charles Edwards, and Peter Mullan too.

I love Gil-galad to death but to be perfectly honest I kinda don't like how Benjamin Walker portrays him. That said, it definitely is also because of how he's being written. I imagine Gil-galad to still have warmth despite the burden of his position that has a 100% mortality rate.

Pharazon better not be fuckin' stabbin' that eagle.

Daniel Weyman's line delivery sounds so Ian McKellen, but I am still hoping he is a Blue Wizard. Then again, maybe he is just taking inspiration from the most iconic wizard portrayal we've ever had (that's not up for debate).

I know I said Robert Aramayo as Elrond is ok, but for some fuckin' reason I'm convinced that those curls is going to make him better in all aspects.

I love Elrond's hesitation about the Elven Rings because it deepens the mystery of just how much of everything we know so far has been by Sauron's design.

Really curious to see what Sam Hazeldine will bring to the Adar because he's got BIG shoes to fill. Joseph Mawle was born for that role. The subtleties and the quiet menace he brought to the Adar was just incredible.

Look, I like Tom Bombadil alright? But am I ever really hyped to see an adaptation of him onscreen? Not really.

Barrow-wights. Why, but yeah cool whatever.

I like that every ring has a different design and we're going to see all of them in their full glory.

Celeborn will show up, as he should. When and where, no idea but at least there's confirmation.

Glorfindel can show up. If I talk about this any more than I already have (although it's to my family members who don't give a single fuck about any of this), I would really start losing my shit.

Lloyd Owens who plays Elendil made some eyebrow-raising remarks in the SDCC panel in regards to Elendil and Miriel's relationship, so it has me worried about them going for a romantic route between the two. Theirs could be a story of friendship, loyalty, and steadfastness in the midst of all the unrest and danger, and it honestly cheapens the last scene they shared in S1, so I really hope they don't try any funny business with them.

Somebody did ask the showrunners if there's going to be LGBTQ+ representation which one of them answered along the lines of maybe we've already seen one. Is it really necessary? Is it really proper representation? Does it serve the story? There's so many additions to this series already that it's going to be one more thing that takes away from the lore characters who really should be the focus.

I know I'm still missing some shit, but yeah this list is long enough. Lots of good, maybe a little bad, but overall I feel good about this new season and I can genuinely say I'm excited again even after the meh that's S1. August 29 can't come soon enough!

[lover-of-mine]

When Buddie goes Canon all I ask for is a Buddie begins episode. How would you imagine it? For me the final shot of the last epsiode would be a angsty emotional kiss.

Then we pick up with them in the kitchen where they hash everything out. I want all the clips they have filmed but never used in there to tell a narrative. Maybe they move room to room. And when they bring up stuff like the bachelor party, we get the karaoke scene, you know? Explaining what it was like for both of them to see the other almost die. Talking about insecurities if they mess this up for Chris. What if Chris objects.

But I really want narrative dialogue between them pointing out everything we have ever guessed. Maybe the tit for tat of something like, I asked Marisol out because I brought you on a poker date then you said Natalia saw you. Please even bring up "you want to go for the title". Just a whole episode of them reflecting on how their story was started. Then ending with a, so are we going to try this?

Also maybe it's left in limbo for a few episodes where we don't know what the answer was and we scream in pillows examining everything about them till we get Hen and Karen catching them on a date.

I want a buddie begins episode so bad I can't even tell you how much I want it, but I would kinda chang the structure around a little bit, when I think about it, I kinda think about the scene in Teen Wolf where we find out Lydia has had feeling for Stiles since their kiss in s3 and grey's anatomy and the episode where Jackson and April get a divorce, I kinda want different perspectives to be added to established scenes while also getting adjacent stuff, not necessarily being that on the nose as to have them say oh I did this because you did that, but having Eddie confirm he felt like Buck had rejected him at cemetery in a more subtle way. Like, I wanna know about Eddie's conversation with his lawyer, I wanna see the scene of Eddie losing his composure Ryan allegedly filmed for 611 and we never saw, I wanna see them reflecting on the shit that happened to them, I mean, I really want them talking, just look the fics I write, but like, my theory so far is that it would work the best if they kissed in the heat of the moment and were forced to deal with the consequences later, so you have an episode ending with them kissing, their relationship forever changed, and then they're at Eddie's house talking, and I like the idea of them moving around a lot, so going through rooms while they kinda forcing each other to say stuff while showing other things to us. I honestly think about a buddie begins episode more than I should tbh. I don't love the idea of them getting caught tho, I wanna see them make the decision of sharing they are together, but that's personal preference. It would be fun if we got left on limbo after the conversation for an episode and we are all putting every interaction under a microscope trying to figure it out. I also see a buddie begins episode happening kinda like 606 is for henren, but we have something charged happening the episode before, maybe even a kiss, but we are in limbo, they are being #weird, and then something goes wrong, they get trapped on a call, one of them gets hurt, car crash, let's face it, it's buddie, they are not getting a peaceful get together, and they are forced to face stuff while trying to save themselves and we get those flashes intertwined with the situation in the present. It could be fun. I really want a buddie begins episode lol

[golbrocklovely]

Opinions now Corey has made his statement?Do you think he's going to get his ass sued?

my opinion is corey continues to be dumb lol

first off, i love that he claims to never start drama. which is funny as hell to me, since him and devyn literally made a mountain out of a molehill when it came to that old podcast clip from years ago - one where snc explained the drama that went on in the old trap house with elton/his gf at the time and c&d, only for devyn to lose her cool on snc on her private twitter (but still go to their house for a party) and for corey to say he's a real man who doesn't bring drama online….. and then went on to badmouth snc for years with elton.

also, it's very clear he is trying to cover his own ass by claiming to not know about the charity event. corey, bffr. if you didn't know, you would have said that first in your original response. but you didn't. bc now you're trying to find a way to save yourself. secondly, to then say "i would have done a meet and greet with those fans, free of charge" ….yeah babe, that's kinda the whole point. those fans donated so that they would meet yall. you don't make money from it. the money goes to the charity.

and if that's the case, meet the fans now :)

as for the money thing, him trying to explain it the way he did just makes him seem even more like an asshole. first and foremost, he didn't work a whole year and make 61k. he only worked like three months (based on the tfil and overnight vids he had to film), and that alone would mean he made more than minimum wage. and then for him to go off and say "i was only saying that i made that much from tfil and overnight, not other avenues" when like…….. dude, do you just think your audience is dumb or are you the stupid one? bc literally you SAID IN YOUR VIDEO "i only made 61k last year", which assumingly would mean that's ALL you made. not 61k + whatever other shit YOU DID WITH ELTON.

like??? i can't tell if he's just terrible at covering his own ass or if he's too dumb to do it correctly lmao

and look, i truly don't have a dog in this fight. i don't like either of them. however, i also don't like liars. and i also don't like when ppl pretend to come across one way when they really are the opposite. elton has always been a dick, and he knows that. for better or for worst, he's honest. but corey… has always come across, to me, like someone just trying to get ahead. he uses whoever he can to get to the next safe point for him. when snc's boat was sinking (so to speak) he jumped onto elton's and took shots at them. but they out grew him, and now he's jumping off of elton's for whatever reason.

and look, if elton was a dick to him and it was hell to work for him, then i get why corey left. however, you don't have to lie. pretending you didn't make bank with elton is funny to me, when 61k for like three months of work is NUTS and pipe dream to me. and that's on top of haunted homies and merch or whatever else random nonsense he did with him.

all of this should have been left offline imo. i get why elton brought it up, since apparently corey was badmouthing him to ppl irl and then saying things here and there (kinda like what they did to snc), but maybe they should have just handled this bts. but it's whatever to me. i hope they both sink their battle ships and just fuck off into the sunset lol

[cladestruction]

so: i am literally going insane waiting for the movie to drop so here's a list of stuff i'd love to see in it (a bitch can dream !).

to my fellow metalocalypse enthusiasts: i'd love to see your army of the doomstar bingo cards!

FLASHBACKS!!! please give me flashbacks of young dethklok, i live for those

Toki's insulin shots and Pickles' inhaler. idk, those are very important to me lol

more of Nathan's creative process !!! let me see my man cook and struggle with the new responsibility of the song of salvation! (plus: how the rest of the boys collaborate with the writing/composing)

+ BONUS POINTS if it goes wrong at some point and we get to see some extra challenge for Nathan as a man AND as a lyricist

Skwisgaar being protective over Toki !!! give me that good worried boyfriend bandmate stuff !!!

Murderface-centric scenes that show us more of him: his upbringing, builtup trauma and psychology

+ Murderface full breakdown scene bc i love drama! the man has gone thru a lot and obviously deals with low self-esteem and emotional issues, and now he's dealing with a demon/posession??? i want to see tears i want to see blood!

something with their families. maybe some of them die as the metalocalypse advances + the boys' reaction to this

i really want the beginning of the movie to clear up what exactly happened post dsr (mordhaus security? how are the fans doing? etc) and how the band is doing without Charles

(this is very biased i'm sorry) nickles moments !!! please let me see them being band dads, or more of them being best of friends post reconciliation (UPDATE: i can settle for nickles angst too but pLEASE let me see Nathan be kinder to Pickles at the end please i'm literally begging)

SOBER PICKLES !!! considering this movie could possibly be more action driven or smth like that, i really wish we could see Pickles being sober and focused

the boys' reaction to their god-moment in dsr (do they even remember? what did it feel like? do they get to keep the powers all the time or how does it work? what even are their powers exactly lmao? etc)

spirit animals throwback yes please

more elaboration on the cave paintings and symbols tied to the band and the prophecy shown throughout the series

+ UPDATE: BONUS POINTS IF WE GET TO SEE DETHKLOK IN ARMOR AND WITH WEAPONS AS SHOWN IN THE STAINED GLASS YES PLEASE

band hugs. yes this is solely for my own happiness, nothing else

considering the clips, i really want Nathan to realize and say how much he values dethklok. he's stated how much he'd like to be a regular guy so i wold love to see him saying smth like "i never wanted any of this responsability!" but later on state that he does in fact value dethklok and would not have it any other way :') (yes it's fucking cheesy, ik)

rockso is back but as a ghost. he serves the only purpose of helping us see inside Toki's mind and shit

Murderface solo song/a very badass bass solo. i'd love to see him being better at performing as a side effect of the posession or something like that. that would also show a new appeal to him falling for the dark side

A CHARLES' SONG !!! specially with goth-religious kinda vibes or smth

MORE MAGNUS' FLASHBACKS

Knubbler being central to solve the conflict with Murderface

scenes with Jean-Pierre. it would be epic and you know it !

a near death experience with someone of the band. y'know, to help with the tension and the stakes. bonus points if it's while trying to save someone else of the band (my idea is something involving drowining, it'd be cool)

the battle with Salacia goes wrong at first. they're losing or they straight up lose and at the last minute they get to revert it with the power of friendship and shit

Nathan getting glimpses of how having a normal life would be (bonus points if we see Abigail as part of his fantasies of the dream life) but, in the end, he chooses dethklok (sorry Abigail babygirl ily). ig it could go both ways too, with Nathan getting to have both things at the end (the girl AND the band)

the boys FINALLY getting to care for the fans/the klokateers and showing concern over them dying!!! (like c'mon man, it's about time)

[ashwithapen]

poem #8

(this one is a long one and comes with a list of TWs, so the actual poem is below the cut. this one is also a lot more prose-poetry/slam poetry-esque than my other stuff :thumbsup:)

TW for school shootings, trans genocide/transphobia, abortion (mentioned), police brutality (mentioned), suicide (mentioned).

the thing about TikTok written 4 april 2023

y’know, i only opened this app because i saw a clip somewhere of one of my favourite bands. the singer made a joke in Scotland last night, and surely someone had to have posted a better-quality video on TikTok.

it was the first thing i saw when the app loaded, because they just know me so well. i watched it and saved it so that i can watch it again as a distraction or something later. but then i made the mistake of scrolling.

the next thing i saw was a 5-minute video about how people my age and younger were screaming for their lives just across the pond outside of government buildings. they are desperate not to be killed in their classrooms, desperate to live through this semester, desperate to be heard, but the suit-wearing rulers shuffled through their 1000-person sea, one foot at a time like it was dark and they couldn’t see the people my age and younger lining the walls, holding their signs, screaming for change. i watch it, and i have to keep scrolling.

some video about all the shit you can buy for just 8 USD from a gas station in Japan. i don’t watch the whole thing; i keep scrolling.

someone with a cool haircut is sitting on the floor of their bedroom, crying. the sound playing is saying something from a show i haven’t watched about a storybook fox who is sick and tired of living in a hole. they are crying, the tags say that they are trans, and they are crying. their bio says they are just 14, that’s three whole years younger than i am and something in me surges because that is my sibling whose name i don’t know and that i may never get to because the threat of genocide has them, 14, crying on their bedroom floor. not tonight, i think in silence. i do not want to cry tonight. and so i keep scrolling.

and the next video is an indie artist who didn’t exist a year and a half ago, but even so, their new single that when viral drops in a few nights so i follow their page and i hold my breath: should i scroll again? i do, i don’t learn.

and there’s a joke i don’t get with the loudest fucking noise i’ve ever heard. it makes no sense, i scroll again.

oh look, a 9-year-old girl who got shot when she went back to pull the fire alarm so her classmates would know to run. run. run. her face is the centrepiece, her smile from an earlier date something i need to learn to shake off by tonight. i can’t even imagine what being her might have been like. i scroll again.

a cover of a song, sung atop guitar chords; another joke that the comments don’t explain to me either; another reminder of the imposing genocide; abortion bans are being enforced; they’re using force against unarmed protesters again; a poem spoken to me by a person named Lee; more tour clips to distract me; some statistics about teen suicide rates rising in the States; and one of those checkpoints that tells you that it’s time for a break. stand up, stretch, get some water. the song playing low in the background is one i’ve heard maybe a hundred times by now, but i do as i’m instructed, and i take a deep breath.

my curtains are open and i can see through my window. i remember the song i started writing the other day about how people like me seldom live long enough to see their hair turn grey. i remember how i couldn’t finish it off because something salty and wet rubbed the ink off my page and i closed my book and i pretended that i wasn’t upset, like how, in an hour from now, when dinner is served hot in front of me and they ask me “how has your day been?” i will pretend my phone is not heavy in my pocket and that the kids' shouting isn’t plaguing me and that trans people aren’t losing their right to exist and be free and that a girl half my age wasn’t shot because she got unlucky one day.

and i regret opening TikTok every time that i do because i always fail to miss all those kids i heard dance on here. instead, i get singers on stages and artists who speak and kids who know how to barricade doors with desks and bookshelves and how to defend themselves with their trendy metal water bottles, and news about the latest legislation passed that ensures that more kids will be forcefully born into a cyclical mess where they don’t get to grow up without routine checks as to whether they can tell apart a juice box pop and a gunshot.

and there are not enough words to tell you all the things i have heard scrolling through TikTok, where the mothers are gentle with their children until they go to sleep, because then they take off their soft tones and don their broken voices, screaming out in hopes that their kids won’t have to.

it has to be a phenomenon: the ability you need to grow by my age if you want to use an app as unsuspecting as the sound of a clock, TikTok. if you cannot master empathy and apathy and the way in which you must be able to switch between one and the other at the littlest flick of your wrist because what’s funny one minute must always precede the latest tragedy, death giving way to a joke and a smirk from a pretty girl in a skirt whose page a month ago was all about ways you can help in Ukraine, but clearly, she has become a master of this miracle.

and at the end of it all, when it has been hours of hearing about Neo-nazis and the generalised patriarchy and the right or wrong ways to raise bread yeast, i think three things:

one: a simmering roll of “wow”. both my empathy and apathy have been expended, and now, i have nothing left to give.

two: i am never coming back here again, like a hotel where they promise a rest, a break, a chance to get away from your day-to-day stress. one star.

three: oh look, my band said something funny again, and god, i could use a distraction.

[yahargulian]

top five trigun moments!!! infodump to me ive only seen a couple episodes of the original

Oh gosh oh boy okay!! So this is across both animes, the manga, and also the movie. And also in no particular order:

Trigun Stampede episode 7's title card scene. Makes me go insane every single time! I've tried looking for a clip of it and can't find it, so I'm gonna have to describe it, and just... So. Vash has figured out what Wolfwood is fighting to protect and it's Hopeland Orphanage, his home. His family there. And Wolfwood is willing to blow up the sandsteamer that's about to crash into it in order to save it, which would kill everyone on board. Vash wants to try another way, and save everyone, and Wolfwood relents and says they'll try it his way, but that the Orphanage had better be okay by the end. Vash's expression softens completely at this, as he once again sees that Wolfwood is a good person, and he says his name so softly and goes to say more but Wolfwood stops him, corrects him. He's Nicholas the Punisher. He's an assassin, he's the role he was given, that's who he is. He and Vash are nothing alike - he refutes Vash's view of him before he can even voice it. He's Nicholas the Punisher. And then the title card fucking hits. And it's so so good.

Wolfwood beating the shit out of a fridge in Badlands Rumble after he thinks Vash has died. This is just. one of those moments that I keep coming back to because like. In context, this is agonising, but it's absolutely ridiculous to explain out of context. To quote my favourite post summarising his Whole Deal in this movie, he "absolutely decimates a fridge". Obliterated the fucker. Because Vash is dead and the fridge is red. He's so so full of grief and when you're watching it happen it's so painful! And then you go and explain it to someone who isn't seeing it all happen in front of them and you're hit with exactly how ridiculous it sounds when you just said it straight. He punches a fridge. Wrecks it. I'll never forget it.

Meryl experiencing all of Vash's memories in the Dragon's Nest arc of the manga, while also seeing the true extent of Vash's power in-person as he starts sprouting wings just. Everywhere. This is such a traumatic experience for her in so many different ways but despite how scared she is of the situation and of Vash (given that she sees him destroy the city of July through his memories, and is watching him nearly lose control of himself) she still protects him and fights for him and this is. So so important in her arc. She's Terrified but she's still fighting and I love her. This is also just... there's so much you can talk about with these two with this in mind. Like, as much as Vash and Wolfwood have a deep understanding of each other come the end of the manga, Meryl also understands him. And her whole deal is about wanting to understand him and help him. I'm really interested to see how much Stampede will take from this in the future, because it's not explored as much in the manga as it could be...

Vash using Wolfwood's gun in the fight against Knives at the end of the 1998 anime. I lost my mind when I saw this for the first time because there's just. So so so many layers to it. Vash's love for humanity and his bond with a human being the upper hand in the fight. The fact that the gun is hidden until he reaches for it under the sand - Knives never once paid it any thought once it was dropped there. Wolfwood's comment from early in the series that it's so heavy because it's "full of mercy" and it being integral in Vash beating his brother in their fight in order to try to save him. Not trying to kill him. Not shooting for revenge. It's all mercy.

The Vash and Legato fight in the manga. And I don't think a description of this will do it justice because it's just. The culmination of everything, it all coming to a head, Vash getting pushed to his absolute limit and beyond that and it's HARROWING. It picks up some super early foreshadowing and then starts beating you, the reader, to death with it. Just an absolute gut punch of a fight that's impacted me to an extent not many things have. It's so SO good and it's one of my favourite parts of the manga, hands-down. Makes me want to start screaming. Fuck.

[unma]

The Great Time Trio's take on its DustFell trio (see Merg's video on it here) is amazing and really addresses my main issues with Dust fangames: how the attack patterns are set in stone. Absolutely lovely how the patterns used (save for the phantom section) change each attempt. Not to mention the atmosphere set with the sprites. But there's much more to say about this. Excuse me while I ramble for a bit.

BadtrapBBits has said the reason they have unique designs so wildly different from the usual Dust Trio is because he can't draw hoods too well, but I think he did a really good on their designs. Especially their battle sprites, the way they move and subtle change adds so much to the fight.

Sans shows up in different states of being covered by shadow and he even has his smoke surround him near the end which is just so fucking cool.

Papyrus' hoodie has the word written on it change during the battle, his head comes off to attack you, his sprite seemingly seems to clip into its boundaries and partially show up on the other side, and while I'm not sure that last one is intentional (rewatching the battle as I write this and I'm certain it's 100% intentional) it really adds to the atmosphere of the fight.

Chara's whole look is just awesome tbh and I strive to pull off something nearly as cool as them, and don't get me started on when they get their wings and their mask is replaced with that smile we know all too well. The halo too. All that, accompanied with the delta rune on their sweater, really does such a lovely job of leaning hard into that fallen angel part of their character and forcing you to look at it while the trio beats you within an inch of your life over and over again.

Also the fact that they very obviously resorted to determination is just the icing on the cake. Perfect. Explains what the fuck is going on with Papyrus too, who feels less like a monster and more like some ambiguous creature made purely of horror. Sans is 100% the one with the least fucked up shit going on with his body by the end, lol.

The trio designs are awesome too. Nothing much has changed about Phantom Papyrus, he just has the scar that regular Underfell Papyrus would have. Fellswap Sans is... honestly I don't know what the fuck is going on with him but that's just perfect tbh. Fits the whole schtick going on with DustFellSwap (that's a mouthful) Papyrus to a T and it's lovely. Little fucked up creature of horror. Asriel's design almost certainly evokes a strong image of just how he died and there's quite a bit to be gleaned from how you can't even see his face anymore. (Personally, I'd take it to mean that Chara can't remember or recall his face anymore, possibly due to guilt, but those are just my initial thoughts).

All of this does an excellent job at keeping up the downright oppressive feeling the player is burdened with from the fight select screen into the start of the fight. It feels like you're playing a horror game, and with how stacked the odds are against you, that might as well be the case.

Finally, and perhaps most important, the fact that they win is essential to this. You shouldn't be able to beat them, even when it was just one of them. The point of Dust (or at least my take on it, I should probably refresh myself on the original blog) is that the very best the player can hope for is simply retrying endlessly. With all three of them, and especially with Chara encroaching on your ability to save and load, it makes complete sense that you just plain lose. Especially love that they abuse that method to restore themselves to before their amalgamation took a turn for the worse, it's really cool that they've decided to exploit the save system for their own benefit.

I guess that's all I have to say for now until the next update (and Merg video). All in all, really awesome fight.

[thegraywitch]

Why am I here?

Dream of the Endless x OC Summary: A witch works to gain control of her dreams to a degree which piques the interest of a certain Endless. One night, she finds herself in a library... A/N: It's been a long time since I've written anything, and even longer since I've shared. Note, this it a fic I've been working on since the end of October after watching the show. I have plenty more where this comes from but this is the only scene I've fully finished. And I write out of order so, be aware of that! Hope you enjoy and please don't hate me if you don't

Warnings: None for the time being, save for a minor injury and some cursing. Oh and a good helping of sass ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I take a breath, closing my eyes and letting sleep overtake my mind. As with the previous nights, my body quickly turned heavy and sank right into the blankets. It’s not long before I feel the weight is gone, indicating that I’ve hit REM sleep and another night of dream shenanigans is upon us. As I open my eyes, I find myself in a…..library? The fuck? Was I so focused on work I craved it in my dreams….Wait, no…this isn’t my library. There isn’t a mural in the ceiling, there’s so many more shelves, hang on, none of the books have plastic on them, why the fuck is there a railing?! I walked around, taking in the sights and trying to wrack my brain for an answer when I heard a feminine voice with a rather clipped tone ask “And what are you doing here?” With a startled squeak, I whirled to find a tall dark woman standing before me, dressed in an elaborate suit with her hands clasped behind her back, peering over her large round glasses expectantly. Or was she…glaring at me?

“I, um, well, ya see…” The words tumbled out of my mouth, fumbling with an explanation while my brain was trying to even fathom what the hell I’d stumbled upon. The woman continued to stare daggers at me before there was a sudden gruff call of “Hey, Loosh! Need those plans for the…” As the woman turned away to tell newcomer she was busy, my flight response kicked into high gear and I quickly dipped into the shelves, immediately finding zig-zagging paths among the rows in efforts to lose my potentially would-be disciplinarian. Why did I dream her up? I really needed to get a handle on my dream interpretation. Maybe the shop’ll have some books…

My mind raced with my feet as I tried looking for any sign of an exit out of this place that I didn’t realize someone was in my way until I literally bounced off something solid and human shaped. “Shit! Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to - !” My voice turned high and squeaky with just plain embarrassment as I took in the sight of whomever I nearly ran over…only to have my brain go blank as I registered said whom.

It was the pale man from before, the one that kept catching my eye on the edge of my dreams. But now I could not only see him properly, I was monstrously aware of just how imposing of a figure he had up close. I had to look up, and up, and up, from my tiny height to meet his gaze. His…rather severe gaze with a hint of bemusement? Instinctively, I backed up, somewhat slipping awkwardly as I stepped on my heel wrong. In retrospect, I shouldn’t be scared. He was rather normal, albeit with a dark and gothic aesthetic I can appreciate. But his presence sent alarm bells going off in my head that there was more. And along with the alarm bells came my curiosity.

“Do…I know you?” I asked, unthinking, to the strange tall man. Really, I should have turned tail and ran again, but stupid curiosity just couldn’t be satiated until I got my answer.

A light smirk tugged at his features, giving him a bit more warmth. “...No…” He drew out the word, as if taking him time to find the proper answer before adding “At least, not yet.”

The actual fuck? Now the curiosity turned into indignation. Lips frowning, brow furrowed in annoyance at this predicament, my wounded pride riling up at the audacity of this man. “Who the fuck do - ?”

“My lord!” Wait, what? I turned to see the woman before striding in our direction. Oh, shit… She glared at me as she came up to the two of us. Yep, I’m dead. Mostly ignoring me but seeming to keep me in her line of sight this time, she addresses the man. “Apologies, my lord. Seems a stray human made her way into the library.”

OI! “A stray - Excuse me, what gives you the - ?” I growled before being interrupted yet again.

“It’s fine, Lucienne.” I look back at the man, who turns to me as well with another smirk. “She is my guest.”

Say what?

Clearly I wasn’t the only one surprised as Lucienne balks at the statement. “My lord? But…why would…”

He puts a hand up to stop her, still looking at me with that infuriatingly amused expression, all the while the little hamster in my brain is just whirling around its little wheel with all the questions. “I should like to see how her talents improve.”

I throw my hands up, backing up a bit from the two of them to shout “Wait a minute! I’m all the levels of confused. Where the hell am I? Who the feck are you two? And what the hell do you mean I’m your guest?!”

Lucienne continued to look at me exasperated whilst her “lord” just shook his head smiling. “You, human, are in the presence of Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams.”

I blinked. Did…did I seriously just run into and then yelled at the Greek god of dreaming?! My eyes slide back to Morpheus, who nods at Lucienne’s description of him before adding “And this is my advisor and librarian, Lucienne. Welcome to the Dreaming, Alyss Cromwel.”

That last part made me pale. I did not like the idea that a god knew my name, though by all accounts he should. Didn’t make me feel any better though. “Um…Hi, erp…Okay, that answers some things but…why am I…here?”

“I should like to know the same thing,” Lucienne echoed, looking to Morpheus with an expression I could only describe as “You have some fucking explaining to do.”

He nods to her and looks to me. “In time, I will explain myself fully. For now, a tour is in order. Matthew?”

At the sound of the name, a raven drifted down from gods know where and landed on a nearby railing. “What’s up, boss?” A high but clearly human male voice croaked from it, earning a few more confused blinks from my direction.

Morpheus, completely at ease with all this, tells the raven “Would you please show our guest around the palace? I need to speak with Lucienne.” Without waiting for an answer, he nods to Lucienne to follow before turning to me to say “Until we meet again, Alyss.” With that said, he took his leave as I was used to seeing kings do on screen, with a swoosh of the jacket and a stride in his step reminiscent of a self important cat. I heard Lucienne sigh before she squeezed past me, glancing back at me with a suspicious look before following Morpheus down the way.

Still confused and some odd mixture of frustrated and embarrassed, I looked to the little raven on the railing, who in turn looked back at me. We stared at each other for a good minute before the raven named Matthew finally just blurted out “Are we going to keep up the staring contest or do you want to see the rest of this place?” The snarky tone from him made me snort into a laugh before forming into a full blown cackle in the process. “Well, good to know the get-up isn’t just some cosplay thing.” He added dryly, though I could bet there was a smile there if the beak would allow and only made me giggle more.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said as I tried to catch my breath. “It’s just….very refreshing to hear a more normal voice. Well, normal for my snarky ass.”

Matthew tilts his head at me and flaps slightly. “You think this is normal?” He asks while taking to the air, clearly looking to take the lead on this “tour” I was to go on.

I shrug as I take the steps to follow, still grinning as I add “Well, believe it or not, ravens can actually learn speech. Just takes a bit. For all I know, you could just have a hella good training and been hand raised from birth.”

“Seriously? You think just any old raven could sound like this? Check out these pipes!” Twisting in the air, he turns to put one wing over his chest while croaking out a few “la, la, la’s” before gravity forced him to right himself again. I could feel the indignant glare from my laughing again before he spat “Ha, ha, laugh it up, Chuckles. Let’s see you try that while flying.”

Matthew took me through much of what was apparently called the Dream Palace, a place where the king of dreams ruled and managed the Dreaming so that humans could safely enter when they slept. This was also where Morpheus created the beings called dreams and nightmares that would exist in human minds to inspire or frighten us, which Matthew was apparently one of after dying in our world.

“So,” I ask, trying to wrap my head around the concept. “This place is like…the afterlife? Or an afterlife I guess, after you die in the real world?”

“Weeell, sorta,” He shrugged his birdly shoulders slightly from the spot on top of my hat he decided to sit on to rest his wings. “I mean, I ended up here but I don’t think everyone does. Otherwise this place would be a hell of a lot more crowded.”

“Soooo….yes to optional afterlife?”

“Something like that.”

“Huh…” I’d always thought the dream world and afterlife might be linked, it’s why it was so much easier for me to call spirits into people’s dreams rather than into our world. “I wonder, does time move differently between here and the real world?”

“I don’t think so? Also, don’t call it the ‘real world’. Boss doesn’t like that.”

I tilt my head up slightly, my eyes looking up and holding a dubious expression as if Matthew could see it under the wide brim. “Okay, what do I call it then?”

“Boss tends to call it the ‘waking world’.”

“Uh huuuuuuuh, and why not just call it the ‘real world’? I mean, dreams are dreams. They can’t hurt you if you don’t let them.” I suddenly felt wings flap around my head in an awkward manner, saved only by my conical hat from ending up with a face full of feathers. “Ow! Hey! The hell?!”

“Didja feel that?” He asked, clearly ignoring my grumbling to make a point.

Pouting, I mumbled “Yeah…?”

“So that felt real, right?”

“Well yeah, but of course it’s gonna feel real right now. I’m asleep! Everything feels real in your sleep! That’s what makes dreams so freaky in the first place.”

“How about when you ran into the boss early? That feel real?”

Red flashed on my cheeks and I was instantly glad that my face was hiding under my brim, not to mention that no one else was around to see it. “You saw that?” I groaned.

Matthew chuckled from on top of the hat. “Ooooh, yeah. Really should watch where you’re going, like right now before you trip on that crack-”

Just as he mentions it, the heel of my boot catches onto a large crack in the stone of the floor, causing me to lose my balance and pitch forward. There was a squawk as Matthew got thrown from my head but he’s able to right himself with his wings. Unlike, you know, me! With a shriek of fear, I threw my hands out in front of me in attempts to stop my fall, only to feel a strong arm catch me before I splatted onto my face. An arm that I only barely registered was clad in black. Oh please don’t tell me…

I looked up to see my “savior” was Morpheus himself, helping me get upright from my fall. Or at least I would have stayed upright if I didn’t suddenly realize the leg I’d tripped with had sprained the ankle as well, causing me to yelp in the process.

“Oh ho, was that one real?” Matthew cracked at me, still fluttering in the air while I struggled to hop on one foot.

“Shove it!” I growled, begrudgingly accepting the king’s arm for support while we continued down the hall. “Since when do dream palaces have big ass cracks in the floor?!”

“I do apologize,” Morpheus intoned. “The palace is still in repairs after…” The trail off itched the curiosity in my brain again, before he simply continued with “No matter, let’s get you looked at.”

“Yep, sure, thanks.” I winced as I hopped along with him, putting an arm on his shoulder while he wrapped his around my waist. Luckily, there seemed to be a bench suspiciously close to where we were. Taking a seat, I hissed as I stretched out my leg to rest it while Morpheus knelt to check my ankle. “Owie…is this going to affect me in the rea - I mean waking world? Wait, is this how you get those random bruises that just appear and you can’t for the fecking life of you…” I glance up during the babble, noticing Morpheus fully doubled over my ankle and his shoulders shaking. “Uh, your majesty, are you oh….” I wasn’t until midway through my sentence that I realized the motion came from the fact he was laughing at me, though he was trying to be quiet apparently. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Matthew shaking too and making a cawing sound that definitely was laughter. My jaw tightened, pride getting riled again as the embarrassment burned further into my cheeks.

Pissed and somewhat hurt, I jerked my foot out from his hands and moved to get up despite the pain in my ankle. But I was stopped for two reasons. One, my ankle protested at the thought of my trying to ignore it. And two, the Dream King also stood up and put his hands on my shoulders to guide me back down.

“Be still,” he implored me, the touch of laughter still in his features but there was a sincerity in his eyes. Enough that it cooled my quickly spurred temper, and begrudgingly sat back on the bench while he went back to examining my foot. “I apologize. I’m just not used to conversing with a mortal as curious or spirited as you.”

Pouting, I glance away while grumbling “Well, I’m not used to amusing gods so I guess that makes us even.”

“I’m not a god.” He says rather matter of factly, having at some point removed my boot and sock and was wrapping my ankle with some gauze.

I don’t know how I didn’t not notice the change but my attention was on the comment as I tried to unravel it. “Hang on, your name is Morpheus, yeah? That’s the Greek god of dreams. And you control dreams sooo I don’t know how that doesn’t make you a god?”

“Do you think only the gods can have the power to rule the Dreaming?” My annoyed silence must have been enough of an answer, because all I heard was a chuckle before he continued. “Yes, you are correct that the Greeks once named me Morpheus, and worshiped me as their god. However, long before the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Mesopatamians, before any of these gods you speak of, I was only known as Dream of the Endless.”

Something about that title tickled at my brain, like it was something I’d heard of. Twisting my mouth as I tossed the idea in my head before I finally went “Alright, I’ll bite, what’s an Endless?”

By this point, my ankle was wrapped up with my boot back over it and Morpheus (or should I be calling him Dream?) was sitting next to me on the bench. “There are seven of us, siblings who each represent an aspect of your reality and have a responsibility to keep your world from caving in on itself. In fact,” He reaches over and touches the ankh hanging around my neck, “You wear a symbol of my eldest sister, mistress of the Sunless Lands.”

I blinked again, the words slowly registering in my head as I thought about it. “Wait….your sister is Death and her symbol is of life? How the feck does that work!?”

MorpheusDream chuckles at that, apparently still amused at my shenanigans. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself one day. In the meantime, I believe your time here is up.”

“What’d you…” As I was trying to ask, my focus dipped and I suddenly felt heavy like I had at the beginning of the night, before just appearing in the library. Shaking the sleepiness from my head, I tried to refocus on Morpheam. “I…But, you never explained why I’m here. How I…even got here…”

The king stands up from the bench and turns to me. “You will be able to return, so long as I will it. Don’t worry, there is plenty of time for you to learn.” He places a hand on his chest and lightly bows towards me. “Until the next night.”

And then I made the mistake of blinking, only to wake up in my bed.

[walkerwords]

"Share Your Burden" Daryl Dixon & Daughter!Reader

Request From Anonymous: "Your writing is the best! You probably have a lot of requests, but if you wouldn't mind I'd like to request some more dad Daryl fics where he basically adopts the reader. Those are just always so good. Not sure I have a specific story in mind, just more dad Daryl and Daughter reader in general please. You're the best! 💖"

Summary: The reader is like a daughter to Daryl. When she sees him taken by the saviors, she will get him back and keep him safe even if it means losing some of her humanity.

Word Count: 4933

Warning: Violence, Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Carry You" by Fleurie and Ruelle

Note: Figured considering our show is coming back this month, I should get some stories in, huh? There are parts in this that are lightly inspired by Ellie in TLOU2.

--------

It had taken every ounce of strength not to move as you watched the man known as Negan brutally murder two members of your family.

Abraham’s blood was ingrained into your mind and Maggie’s screams echoed through your skull like bats in a cave. You wanted to scream, cry, and launch yourself at your new enemy to save those who you loved but you remained in the shadows of the tree you had climbed and waited. The group known as the Saviors milled around the clearing as Negan hauled your leader into the RV and drove off.

From your vantage point, you could see Daryl fading as he stared at the bodies of his brothers. Blood was dripping down his arm from the gunshot wound he had sustained from the blonde man above him. Looking at the way the sneering man held Daryl’s bow made you so angry it was hard not to drop down and plunge a blade into his pale neck.

Carl was with Michonne, trying not to look anywhere but the enemies that surrounded them. Carl was your age and he was also the person who you trusted the most to keep it together in situations such as this. You pulled your strength from your friend’s resolve and continued to wait.

Maggie was getting worse and that was why you had ventured out of Alexandria in the first place. Spencer had spotted you heading for the gate when he had tried to stop you. Ignoring him as always, you pushed past him and began the trek to Hilltop. It was on that journey that you came across the first roadblock and so you followed it.

You had never imagined that it would have led to the gruesome scene below you. Your knuckles strained around the handles of your knives, a pair that Daryl had given to you himself when you had settled at the prison. It was only after Terminus that he began to properly train you to use them. Right then, they had never felt more useless.

Daryl was your protector and he was the closest thing you had to a father. He had found you running from Walkers when the group was settled on the Greene farm. You had been alone for weeks and from then on, it was the two of you.

Daryl had been the one to protect you from Shane’s scrutiny, the piercing gaze of the Governor, and the cannibals of Terminus. In turn, you became his shadow, having his back wherever he went, always ready to defend him while also learning everything you could. Now, you felt as powerless as he looked. It had been a long while since the group had been this broken-looking.

It was heartbreaking.

It wasn’t long before Negan returned with Rick and after almost making your leader cut his own son’s hand off. Negan ordered his men to leave not without making demands of your family and hauling Daryl along with him.

Staring after the caravan of murderers, you weighed what you were going to do next. A weight was heavy in your pack’s front packet and while you knew it was risky, a plan began to form. One that would either get you or Daryl killed or perhaps even both. Still, you had to try.

Dropping to the forest floor, you took one last look at your people through the trees before taking off in the opposite direction and towards the main road, pushing your legs as fast as they would go.

“Hold on, Daryl,” you whispered in between haggard breaths, “I’ll be there soon."

-----------

Daryl was in the back of the truck trying not to grimace every time the vehicle rolled over an uneven section of road.

Everything hurt and nothing felt right. He felt sick and above everything, he felt guilty.

The shock was still coursing through his veins as he heard Negan laughing in the cab upfront but he tried to tune it out as he thought of Glenn. It was instinct to go after Negan. Daryl hadn’t even thought about the repercussions that might happen as he got to his feet and charged the larger man.

It hadn’t occurred to Daryl to take a breath and think about what would happen next. They had never faced a menace like Negan before. Daryl thought he had seen the last of the bloodshed when they had escaped Terminus. At least, escaped the violence for a while before it caught back up to them again.

It wasn’t long till Daryl’s pain began to increase as the adrenaline wore off. Dwight was sitting across from him, holding his crossbow and Daryl wanted to strangle the man.

He had helped Dwight with Sherry and Tina. He had tried to keep Tina alive when he returned the insulin. Daryl couldn’t help but be enraged while looking at him, but he understood the betrayal in a way. He knew what people became in the new world and according to Dwight, Negan was the lesser evil of trying to survive on his own.

Daryl then only wondered what happened to Sherry.

They were going down another road as Daryl leaned to the left as the truck turned sharply. He blinked away the sudden twinge in his shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in discomfort. He wouldn’t give these bastards the satisfaction.

Suddenly, from the front of the cab, Negan shouted, causing Dwight to jump in his seat. “Shit!” Negan swore and then there was a flash of light, a loud bang, and then they were airborne. Daryl had barely a second to brace his hands on the roof of the truck before it slammed into the road, the metal exterior shredding sparks along the neglected asphalt.

Smoke and dust filled the air as Daryl tried to get his bearings. He could hear the muffled shouts of Negan and his men followed by a few gunshots but his ears were still ringing.

Across from him, Dwight was groaning in pain as blood dripped from his brow. His hands had let go of the bow and in a sudden surge of energy, Daryl dove for his loaded weapon.

Clutching his hands around the crossbow, Daryl scrambled for the back door, trying to get to his feet. A hand then circled around his ankle as Dwight realized what was happening. Turning around, Daryl blindly fired a bolt and it struck Dwight in the shoulder, mirroring Daryl’s own wound for good measure.

Dwight went down in pain and Daryl continued to move. As he fumbled for the door that was hanging half open due to the crash, he could hear yells of pain out in the warm air followed by the sound of someone choking as if they were drowning. Even half-aware of what was going on, Daryl could recognize the sound of someone choking on their own blood.

Daryl slammed his good shoulder against the broken door with a frustrated yell and finally felt the sun on his face. “Don’t kill her!” Daryl heard Negan scream. “Jesus fucking Christ, Arat!” Daryl tried to get back on his feet but everything was too bright and he was still trying to figure out what had happened and who Negan was talking about.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand around his arm that he seemed to snap back into his body. Aware that he hadn’t reloaded a new bolt into his bow, he swung his arm, trying to clip his assailant in the head with the bow. “Fuck! Daryl!” a familiar voice exclaimed to his right. The arm around him tightened as Daryl’s eyes finally focused on the person at his side.

“(Y/N)?” he breathed as he took in your face that was covered in blood and a wild look echoed from your eyes.

“We have to move,” you said earnestly. “Now!” Not questioning your demands, Daryl nodded and allowed you to take his bow as you grabbed for it. Slinging the bow onto your back, you grabbed the lighter Daryl had given you and he watched as you took a breath, no doubt sending some kind of prayer to the universe before you threw it into a pool of gasoline, igniting it and sending Saviors diving for cover.

Bullets flew by you as you hauled Daryl to the woods. “Don’t fucking shoot her! She’s a goddamn kid!” Negan screamed at his men.

Daryl leaned heavily on you as you dragged him towards the treeline. He didn’t hear much of what you said after that as his feet blindly followed you. “Negan,” Daryl choked out, trying to get you to understand.

“Leave him,” you said, trying to carry both of your weights. “Come on, Daryl, I can’t carry us both,” you pleaded, trying to get his mind to catch up with his body. It took another minute or so before the ringing subsided in his ears and the world got back into focus. Taking a few deep breaths, he got back into his normal gait and began speeding up his steps as he followed you through the woods.

You kept the crossbow on your back but he was soon able to walk on his own. “What did ya do?” Daryl asked as you stumbled down an embankment and carefully crossed a stream.

“What I had to to get you away from them,” you said as you helped him over the slippery rocks. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to keep moving. There’s a town just through these trees, we can hide there for the night.”

“They’ll find us, (Y/N),” Daryl said as he pressed his hand against the bullet wound that was bleeding again. You looked at him, your eyes still wide from the fight.

“Then I’ll handle it,” you said. “It's my turn to keep you safe.”

-----------

The heat was horrid by the time you and Daryl arrived in the abandoned town.

Even with Daryl still in pain, you made the two of you circle back three times in order to cover your tracks. However, eventually, you knew he couldn’t take more before he finally keeled over. Keeping the crossbow loaded, you moved silently through the back alleys of the small town, looking for both Saviors and Walkers alike.

After the quarry horde had been redirected, the larger groups of the dead had been far and few between but that didn’t mean Walkers were gone altogether. Silently, you took down four Walkers before you found the destination you had in mind.

The old town library was something you and Sasha had found when you had accompanied her on a hunt one day. The latches on the doors still worked and it had enough blindspots inside to hide from the Living and the Dead.

You stood watch as Daryl wrestled with the doors. The Southern heat warped the frames a bit but eventually, Daryl was able to push one open and slip inside. You followed quickly and shut it behind you. Placing down the bow, you shoved a fallen bookcase in front of the double doors before collapsing against it for a second.

“Okay, this should hold,” you said with another breath. Daryl was swaying on his feet when you looked back at him. “Come on,” you said, picking up the bow and leading him into the main area of the library.

For such a small town, the library was a decent size. You figured that it was probably the main community hub for the neighborhood. It made its untouched books and abandoned keycards that much more sorrowful. Depositing Daryl on one of the lumpy couches, you grabbed your flashlight from your pack and clicked it on.

“I’m going to go make sure there’s no Dead in here,” you said. “Stay here and I’ll be back to take a look at that shoulder.”

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, grabbing your hand before you could move.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. Daryl seemed to be wary but he was also exhausted so he relented and let go. You gave him your canteen, ordered him to drink, and then you began your search.

The dried blood on your skin was driving you crazy as it itched with every second. When you had set out after the Saviors, clutching the grenade you had stolen from Spencer’s stash a few days before, it hadn’t occurred to you that there would be a before and an after.

Before you managed to get to Daryl and after you got him.

Now, it was all about survival. You knew what you had done. Negan was pissed and if you knew anything about his temper solely based on the clearing, then you knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

You feared for your family back in Alexandria. If he wanted to, Negan could go and terrorize your family, perhaps kill more of them. None of that had been on your mind when you began your rescue operation. You weren’t thinking about anyone but Daryl. You had to save him and you were willing to risk your life. Though, now, you realized it wasn’t just your life you were risking.

Shaking the thoughts out of your mind, you finished your rounds through the two stories of the library. You were surprised to only find two Walkers who were less than “alive”. Both were barely hanging on and you figured one of them had been the librarian at some point. You took them both out to end their suffering and then headed back to Daryl.

Daryl was still awake when you joined him on the couch and helped him out of his shirt. The gunshot wound was getting worse and you could tell he was trying to put on a brave face for you. “You don’t have to do that, you know?” you said as you dug through your bag for the alcohol and bandages you always had with you.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Act as if nothing is hurting,” you said, pouring some of the alcohol on a rag. Not giving him a warning, you pressed it against his shoulder and Daryl swore as it burned the wound. “See,” you said with a smirk.

“Ya shouldn’t have done it,” Daryl said after a second.

“If I hadn’t, then you would be dead or worse,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let Negan take anyone else from me. Not after Glenn and Abraham.”

“You saw,” Daryl said and it wasn’t a question. You began cleaning the excess blood off before finding your suturing kit.

“I was in a tree,” you whispered, threading the needle, suddenly very grateful for the lessons Herschel had given you. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

“Maybe he should have,” Daryl said and your hands froze. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you could see the emotions that were raging in him.

“Daryl…”

“He said not to move, kid,” Daryl said. “I lost it after he killed Abraham. If I hadn’t… Glenn would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that. We slaughtered that outpost, hell, I’m surprised he didn’t take more people out. I know you and the others think I’m just some kid but I notice more than you think and I have learned to read people. Negan is… I don’t think he’s some kind of deranged maniac but he’s ruthless and he’s not going to stop until he feels as if he has all the power again. At least I can see that he’s not willing to kill kids. Guess that means Carl and I are gonna be on the front lines this time,” you finished with an attempt at humor.

“Not funny,” he said.

“Daryl, you and I both know that this isn’t going to end without a fight.”

“You ain’t fighting,” Daryl said sternly. You ignored him and began stitching up his wound, careful not to pull too much.

“Considering the way Rick was looking at Negan before I left, it doesn’t look like he had much fight left in him. Someone has to do it.”

“Rick has a lot of pressure on his shoulders,” Daryl defended but you just shook your head.

“I watched him tear a man’s throat out with his teeth, Daryl,” you said. “This was different. I warned you about his pride and how it was going to be his downfall. He just needs to be reminded of the leader he is.”

“Since when are ya so mature?”

“Since I watched the people I love get killed again and again,” you said as you tied off the last stitch.

“You blame Rick,” Daryl said.

“I blame all of us,” you said, picking up the clean bandages. “We believed that moron at Hilltop… We never should have gone after the Satellite Station, Daryl. We keep doing this, getting involved in fights that aren’t ours.”

“We have to help people,” Daryl said. “It’s what we do.”

“Why? Why do we have to? Why is it our responsibility? Why can’t we just survive like everyone else?”

“Someone has to be the good guys,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he believed it.

“I’m sick of being them,” you admitted, finally sitting back.

“Ya really mean that?” Daryl asked as he shrugged his shirt back onto his shoulder. You sat there for a minute before sighing.

“No,” you whispered. “I’m just sick of the death.”

-----------

Daryl was asleep finally and you became the sole protector.

It was odd, the role reversal. So many times you had been the one hurt and cowering as Daryl protected you. Now, after seeing all the horrors you had since Terminus, your skin was stronger than stone. It was going to take a lot more than a bastard with a bat to break you.

You could hear Daryl’s soft snore from the lounge as you scanned the darkness. You stayed there, watching until the soft rumbles of a truck echoed through the night. Ducking down, you watched as a pickup truck drove slowly through the town, a spotlight scanning the empty storefronts.

"Fuck," you whispered. Glancing at the bow by your side, you made a quick decision as the truck came to a stop and three men, Saviors, jumped out.

Sneaking back towards Daryl, you left his bow, loaded, by his side. Taking one last look at him, you slipped your jacket over your shoulders and headed to the second floor. An open window welcomed you near the back exit. Being an avid climber it was easy to maneuver out onto the slanted roof and grab onto the drainage pipe to take you to the ground.

Muffled voices reached your ears as you kept to the shadows. "Spread out, kill the man, take the girl," a man said, a voice you didn't recognize.

"That girl nearly killed Negan," another said.

"We are Negan," the third said. "And we do what he orders. Saviors don't kill kids. Find her." While it was a bold statement, you knew it was false. Hilltop had said, a boy was murdered. None of that fit.

Trying not to overanalyze anything, you focused on the task at hand. Picking up a large rock, you threw it as far as you could. The sound of breaking glass shattered the air and a set of boots took off in that direction.

As the second man went West, you focused on the solo scout who headed towards the abandoned police station. As you got closer, groans reached your ears. Spotting the Walker first, you snuck up behind it and slit its throat with a single slice. The gargling of Dead blood and empty lungs perforated your surroundings but it was enough to call attention to the Savior.

"Ugly motherfucker," the Savior said, not yet spotting you as you stood behind it. As the Savior drew his blade to silently end the creature, you shoved the Walker forward onto the man.

Stunned by the sudden momentum, he cried out as the Walker bit into the face before it. The Savior’s scream was cut off short as the Walker found its next meal. As soon as the damage was done, you finished off both, making sure to stifle the sounds that would pull your other two targets closer. Dragging both bodies out of sight, you slipped back into the shadows.

-----------

Moving West, you avoided any other Walkers who were wandering.

Not looking to be tracked by the Walker equivalent of breadcrumbs, you made sure to stay hidden for the most part. Finally spotting your next target, you began wishing you had grabbed Carl’s gun with his silencer before you had followed after the caravan. Only armed with knives now, you had to make do.

The Savior was looking through a desolate pet shop as you snuck in through a broken window, careful not to make too much noise with the shattered glass.

Picking up a tennis ball that had been neglected, you rolled it towards the aisle the Savior was looking in. Just like a curious golden retriever, the man followed the little ball right into your path. He barely had time to shout a warning before your knife was embedded into his carotid.

His eyes were wide as blood poured onto your hand. Keeping your nerve, you twisted the knife and fully severed the artery. The man fell to his knees as you pulled the blade free. Clutching his throat, he tried to speak but no sound came. “You’re not going to find him,” you whispered as he fell back and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Quickly, you shoved your blade into his brain before grabbing his weapon. It wasn’t silenced but it would have to do if it came down to a firefight. Turning back towards the main street, you ran from the store in hopes of catching the final Savior before he sounded the alarm.

-----------

The truck was still there but its driver was nowhere to be seen.

Noticing the keys were still in the ignition, you rolled your eyes. Pocketing them, you waited in the cab, hoping the final man would return soon.

Fatigue was starting to set in as you waited and you began to think of when the last time you slept was. Before the turn, you had imagined your teen years to be full of parties and late nights studying for tests in high school. You did not envision you would be waiting in the dark of a truck, ready to get more blood on your hands.

Unlike Carl, it hadn’t been at the prison when you first killed someone. It had been before you had even met Daryl. Before you wandered onto the Greene farm and Daryl and Carol had found you, you had been traveling with your aunt and uncle when bandits had attacked you and killed both before turning their sights on you. Not knowing how to use a gun, only ever seeing your uncle use it and of course, in films, you blindly fired and killed one and then the other. The third, who was just a teenager, had runoff.

After that, you felt ashamed at how you didn’t feel bad about doing it. Shane had explained that it was okay because you did it out of self-defense and Daryl and Maggie had agreed.

Now, as fresh blood joined the flaking blood on your hands, you tried to rationalize that what you were doing now was in defense of another. If the Saviors got Daryl back or killed him, you would not have been able to handle it.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself. “Handle this and get back to Daryl. He needs you.”

It didn’t take long for the man to return. The man was speaking into his radio and it had never occurred to you to take the other walkies off the other bodies. However, now you knew you weren’t leaving without this one. If Rick wanted to fight and you were hoping that he was, then having a Savior’s radio, attuned to Negan’s base of operations would be a great start to gather intel.

Angling yourself in the front seat, you waited for him to open the door. Steadying your hand, you took a deep breath in, leveled the stolen gun, and just as the driver’s side door pulled open and the overhead light clicked on, you fired one bullet, hitting the man in the head.

Surprised by your own accuracy, you shuffled out of the cab, grabbed the radio, and shoved the body underneath the car. You waited then, for either more Walkers or the cavalry but when none came, you ran back to the library, hoping the shot didn’t wake Daryl. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

-----------

“Are ya really that reckless?” Daryl said as soon as you snuck back into the library.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you said, nonchalantly.

“Bullshit, I can practically smell all the blood on you,” he said, folding his arms. His bow was still by his side and after the small amount of rest, he was clearly not in the mood for your aloofness.

“I told you I would protect you,” you said as you moved to your pack and grabbed the discarded canteen, and poured some water on your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the sick smell of iron. "Now, we need to figure out what to do," you said.

"We need to get home," he argued.

"We're going to Hilltop," you said. "They'll be looking for you at Alexandria and you know it."

"Both of us," he pointed out with a slight glare.

"Negan doesn't scare me," you said to him.

"He should."

"We've seen worse," you countered.

"You're too young for all this shit," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"So you've said before," you reminded him.

"(Y/N)..."

"If you're about to say that I need to distance myself from you. You'd be a moron. I'm not leaving you. If you don’t like it, any of it, then you never should have taught me to fight.”

“That’s right, I taught you to fight, not to kill,” he argued. Throwing the water bottle down, you turned on him.

“What is this about? I’ve seen you kill people. I’ve seen you do worse than taking a few people out to protect someone in our family. What is actually going on here and don’t say that it’s because you’re feeling guilty. It's more than that.”

“Ever think I don’t like seeing you like this," he gestured to your bloody clothes. "Do ya think I want ya to become someone like Negan? Ya act like taking a life ain’t that big of a deal!”

“Will you stop shouting,” you hissed, moving closer to him. “Daryl, I did what I had to. I am so sorry that you think you are the only one who is allowed to cross lines to protect us. I think you forget all the times we have had to save you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you getting mad at me for saving your life. Do you not realize how much you mean to me? I lost my parents before the turn and then my aunt and uncle and I had nobody. Nobody until you found me in that field. You are the closest thing I have to a father, Daryl and I don’t care what I have to do to make sure I don't lose another parent. I can’t handle it, okay? Please, just let me protect you for once!"

The emotions were taking you over then and it was hard to control them. “I don’t mean to cry and all that,” you said, sniffing back the tears, “but you can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing when people keep trying to take you away from me.”

Daryl’s stern look dissipated then and it made you feel a bit worse. Wiping at the tears on your face, you turned away from him. Soon, you felt his arms around you as he pulled you into his chest just as he had earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, you were just tryin’ to help. Okay, I ain’t mad.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you said into his chest.

“I just worry about ya,” he said. “Ya know why?” Shaking your head, he tightened his hold. “Cause I see ya as my kid, too and I would do anythin’ to keep ya safe. I guess I gotta accept you’re going to do the same." Stepping back, he wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Just no more sneaking out, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed. "Daryl, just know you don't have to carry it all. You can share your burden."

"I thought I was the parent here," he said.

"Family works both ways."

"Yes it does," he said.

Then with a bit more of a smile, you produced the keys you had stolen from the car. “I got us a ride cause you're still stuck with me."

"You're so stubborn," he said.

"I got it from you," you said with a gesture to the street. "You're going to have to drive."

"Right, no need to almost die twice in twenty-four hours," he said and you offered him a small smile. Daryl then took your hand in his as he gathered your pack. "I ain't leavin' you. You're stuck with me, too. I got you, kid,” he said. "And thanks for comin’ to get me.” You looked up at him and nodded.

“Always.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @agent-laufeyson @lucillethings

[andysbubba]

home to me

↳ andy let you go once, he doesn't wanna lose you again

a/n: a little series? this one's probably gonna have another chapter or two hehe <3

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

---

Andy's stomach churned when he sees you. In a very good way. It's been a good two years since the break up and he can barely believe that he's seeing you right then and there— in the corner of the cafe that Andy knows you love going to. Your voice made his heart flip. It's so goddamn beautiful and Andy misses it so damn much.

He doesn't even know why he's so stunned at the sight of you. It's the only reason why he's there— why he's always going there almost every weekend, hoping to get a glimpse of you sometime. You're in the fuzzy, furry jacket that you're always wearing on chilly days, your hair pulled up with a claw clip and your laptop right in front of you with a cup of coffee right by the side.

He tried to get over you, he really did. But even after all the women he met after you, no one made him feel the same way you did. The butterflies in his stomach he gets just talking to you like some teenager, or how his heart just flutters when you smiled at him with that beautiful grin.

Andy couldn't help but look at you every two minutes, while he's waiting in the queue for his turn. He's thinking of what to say if he even has the guts to walk up to you and say hi.

The break up wasn't necessarily bad... it was mutual. Kinda. You were in the middle of your studies and you just wanted to focus on doing well and getting your masters. It's not that Andy was a distraction— really, he actually helped a lot. But between studying and trying to make sure you don't abandon Andy, you realised that taking a break would be good for the both of you.

You were young, only 24 while Andy was 14 years older than you are. He's so mature and wise that you just felt that you just wanted to grow as your own person before you and Andy took it any further and got more serious. You thought that you'd work on yourself, fixing up your flaws and make yourself just grow into a better version of yourself. And as much as Andy disagreed, he didn't want to force you to keep being with him. He thought that maybe, you both could just grow as time passes, and that you can change right next to him.

But he just agreed with you, because he definitely does not want to pressure you into being in a relationship with him no matter how much he actually wants you to stay with him. So technically, it was a mutual break-up to you. But he didn't really feel the same.

And unsurprisingly, Andy simply cannot get over you. Two years passed, and he just wishes that you're by his side again.

"Hi! What can I get for you?"

Andy snaps out of his trance, stepping towards the cashier and ordering his coffee to-go with a bagel as well. He takes a quick glance at you before he decides to change his mind. "Actually— I'll just have those here."

Wait— you recognise that voice.

You instantly glance up from the screen of your laptop, watching the familiar back and broad shoulders standing at the cashier. Holy fuck- Andy?

Your gaze turns back down to your laptop, your mind trying to decide between approaching him or just letting him go... again... like you did 2 years ago. He still fits into those polo tees like a glove, the jeans barely doing his ass justice but it really accentuates his goddamn thighs.

Fuck. Two damn years and you still have it bad for him.

"Can I join?" Andy glances down at some blueprint or floor-plan thing you have on your laptop. "Unless I'm interrupting— you look busy."

"Andy—" You turned to him and back to the opened floor-plan on the screen. "No, no. Hey-" You lowered the screen and put it aside, leaving some space for Andy. You gestured at him to join you in the booth.

Andy takes up the offer, setting the cup in his hand and the bagel right in front of you before he slides in. "Hey,"

You let out a breathy laugh as you look at him, fidgeting with your fingers underneath the table. "Been a long time."

"Yeah," He nods, offering you one of his adorable smiles as he rests his forearms on the table. "I stopped seeing you around, thought you moved away."

"I thought you did— till I heard the news talking about one of your cases." You retort, lips curling into a soft smile. "How've you been, Andy?"

"Same old, y'know. Long hours at the office and takeout nights. Nothing really changed." Andy grins, "How's everything goin' for ya?"

Oh— and he definitely isn't wrong when he said 'nothing really changed'. For this 40-year-old man to still look like the Andrew Stephen Barber you met like 4 years ago? Phew.

"Uhm- pretty good! I'm uh- I just signed a contract with Perkins and Will."

Andy's lips curled into a wide grin. "You did it!"

He remembers?

Your head tilts as you look at him. "You remember?"

"Of course, hon. That's your dream firm." He reaches over table and pats your hand. "I'm happy for you, Y/n."

"Thank you, Andy," You brush a hand through your hair, eyeing Andy in his whole polo tee and jeans glory. "I'm surprised you aren't working on a Saturday morning,"

Andy lets out a laugh at your words, "Yeah- I just thought, y'know. Uh- I'm old enough to stop being such a workaholic."

You raised a brow at that, "Andy, you aren't old." You give him a suggestive glance as your eyes trace his whole figure. "Definitely don't look like it."

"I'll say the same thing for ya, Y/n." Andy didn't bother hiding his gaze either, eyes trailing down your body till it's back up to your face. "Two damn years and you still look as gorgeous as ever, sweetheart."

A breathy laugh leaves your lips. "Always as flattering as ever, Mr Barber."

"You know I'm an honest person, sweetheart." Andy winks before he takes a sip of his coffee.

You hum as you run your finger on the edge of your own cup. "I remember you telling me that all lawyers are really good liars."

You love how familiar this feels. It's like nothing has changed and both of you are back in 2019. Good, good days. Letting Andy go was a dumb move on your side, you realised that pretty soon after the break-up. You should've known that you and Andy would've made it work someway, somehow.

"C'mon, honey. Y'know I can never lie to you." The wide smile he has on his lips is as charming as ever and god if it doesn't just make you fall in love again- as if you ever fell out of love with him in the first place. Andy clears his throat, a hand inching to the back of his neck and softly rubbing the spot. You instantly realised that he's a little nervous. "You dating anyone?"

You let out an almost silent snort, scoffing at his question. "Ya think? I just called you hot five minutes ago, handsome."

Andy takes a bite of his bagel, looking up at you through those goddamn long eyelashes as his mouth moves to chew the food and those fucking pink lips making you stare at him like a horny teenager.

"You've got to stop staring at me like that, sweetheart." He warns, but the glint in his eyes is telling you that he really doesn't mind you staring him up like that.

Your brows raised immediately in defence. "Like what?"

You tried your best to fight the grin fighting its way to form on your lips. But Andy is a goddamn lawyer, after all. He knows his shit and he knows that you're just being a tease.

He huffs, brow arched as he looks at you. "Like you wanna eat me." He replies shortly, lips curling into a smirk. "Cause I was planning to take this slow after 2 whole years. And you aren't helping."

You hum, picking your cup up and taking a sip from it, hiding the grin forming on your lips behind the cup. "You can still wine and dine me if you wanna." You set the cup down and lean forward, head tilted to one side with your head resting in your palm. "But y'know, I'm pretty impatient."

Andy laughs, backing away from you and resting back against his seat. "Guess it's good that I've got enough patience for both of us, huh?"

You laugh at his words. "We'll see, Mr Barber."

He takes your words as an invite to ask you out. "Dinner tonight? My place."

You playfully rolls your eyes, ignoring the little flutter in your heart. "Who's impatient now?"

"It's a yes or no question, sweetheart."

"Still that cute little loft?"

"I'll text you my new address later."

You couldn't fight the grin forming on your lips. "It's a date."

---

He was at the grocery store when he pulled out his phone and goes to your contact to shoot you a text. It has always been there, saved and never deleted. He didn't want to get rid of the hope that he might have you back.

Andy: 242 Warren St [sent 3.24pm]

Andy: See you tonight, sweetheart. [sent 3.25pm]

You didn't reply so Andy just assumed that you read it. He's looking forward to seeing you again tonight and he's excited.

---

It wasn't till you got home that you realised that Andy doesn't have your new number.

-

LOL I LOVE CLIFFHANGERS.

thanks for reading and uhm come join my taglist if you liked this little chapter? I'm definitely looking forward to writing this one.

do tell me what you think about this, lovelies! i'm kinda excited to see where this goes

-haney

taglist: @milea @ajeff855 @fanofalltheficsx @justile @christowhore @amelia-song-pond @melissad1974 @thegirlwiththeimpala @bval-1 @suchababie @ephemeralfics@franzliszts-wife @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hallecarey1@paintdripsandbrownies-blog @notbrooklynsblog @perfect-peter@alwaysclassyeagle @coffeebooksandfandom @gitasor @mansaaay @iguess-vall @feralherbs @kaiparker-avengerssmut

[mlmxreader]

Heatwaves | Aldo Raine x m!reader

Anonymous: may i request aldo x male reader. anything you want story wise

summary: heatwaves are never any good for anyone, but at least you and Aldo have a little privacy.

tws: swearing, smoking

An amber warning for extreme heat was in place, humidity levels were high and the temperatures higher, and although it was tough, Aldo did try and find a way to make it more bearable; since the war had been over for years, the two of you lived quite peacefully in Tennessee, occasionally entertaining the other Basterds when they had time to visit, sometimes going over to see them when there was time.

No such visits would come for a while, the heat was too unbearable, and travelling in such weather was far from desirable; communication slowed to telegrams and letters, sometimes a phone call, although those weren't as regular.

You could feel the heat seeping in through your trousers as you lounged on one of the outdoor chairs, one leg swung over the arm, the other hanging off the edge, your head tilted back as you sighed heavily and grumbled.

"Aldo?"

"Yeah?" He leaned forward, cupping his hand around his cigarette as he lit it.

"Y'think this'll end?" You asked, desperation in your voice. "I mean, it can't be hot like this forever, can it?"

He leaned back again, putting his feet up on the table and crossing his ankles as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Nah. It'll rain soon."

"Thank fuck," you breathed out. "I thought fuckin' France was bad, but this..."

"Yeah, it ain't great," he agreed, but then he laughed quietly. "Shit, remember when we went skinny dippin' in that shitty little river? Wicki damn near killed us."

"Yeah, 'cause we scared the shit out of him," you laughed. "Poor bastard nearly had a heart attack."

"Well it ain't every day y'catch your Lieutenant and his Captain boyfriend nearly-"

"Do not finish that sentence," you warned quietly, shaking your head and leaning over, taking his cigarette. "You forget your place, Lieutenant."

"Now," Aldo shook his head. "If I remember correctly, didn't me and my boys save your life when them fascist fucks take your plane down?"

"My plane only went down because I got cocky," you admitted. "Thought I could outrun 'em."

"And ya got your wings clipped," he muttered. "Thought I'd lose you... I mean, when I saw it was you in that wreck, I thought I'd lose your dumb ass."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "It'd take much more than a few Nazi cunts to take me down - you know better than anyone how well I did during training."

"Yeah, I know," he hummed. "You was the best damn pilot I'd ever seen."

"You would've thought that I'd get a medal for that shit," you passed the cigarette back after flicking some ash down on the grass. "For all the cunts I took down, for making damn sure that my Hurricane got hardly any damage."

"Join the club," Aldo joked. "We didn't get shit, neither."

"It's a bit fucked, innit?" You asked. "I mean, for everything we did... and they can't even be bothered to recognise it?"

"Yeah, it's fucked," he agreed. "But at least the war's over. At least we won."

"You and your boys saved a lot of lives," you said, a little proud as you flashed him a smile. "Including mine."

"Captain (y/l/n), I'll always save your ass," he grinned. "I need somethin' to look at."

"Don't be vile," you chuckled. "It's too hot for that kinda talk."

"What? A man can't look at his husband's ass, now?" He whined playfully, making you roll your eyes. "I take that as a no."

"I ain't saying anything," you smiled, shaking your head at him, but you dared to get up, groaning softly as you stretched and heard bones click. "I'm gonna get a drink."

"Wait," Aldo caught your wrist, pulling you down so that he could steal a quick kiss, his other hand gently patting your ass as he smiled. "That's better."

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.