#it was hard to understand the light and volumes and all that shit

[nadiuu]

@mattmelloweek 2024 - Day 5: Birthday / Freeday

[trueebeauty]

It's a regular afternoon at U.A., and you're in the training grounds with your boyfriend, the one and only Bakugo Katsuki. He's been working on a new move, all explosive power and razor-sharp precision. You, on the other hand, have been practicing your own quirk, pushing your limits.

Maybe you pushed a little too hard.

"Shit!" you hiss as your quirk backfires. A sharp pain lances up your arm, and you look down to see a nasty cut, blood welling up in crimson beads.

Bakugo's head snaps around at your curse. His crimson eyes widen a fraction - to anyone else, it would be imperceptible, but you know him well enough to see the flash of concern. "Oi!" he barks, stomping over. "The hell did you do?"

You wince, both at the pain and his volume. "Pushed too hard, I guess."

He scowls, but it's his worried scowl, not his angry one. Roughly gentle, he takes your arm, inspecting the cut. "Tch. Dumbass. You're supposed to go beyond your limits, not break yourself."

The cut stings, and honestly, you're feeling a bit shaken. Training accidents happen, but still...

"It's just a scratch," you say, trying for nonchalance.

Bakugo snorts. "That's not a fucking scratch, you idiot." But his touch is gentle as he takes your arm, inspecting the wound. "Recovery Girl's gonna have a field day with this."

You wince, not just from the pain but at the thought of another lecture on caution. Bakugo notices - of course he does, he notices everything about you - and his scowl deepens.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging you up. "Let's get this cleaned up before you bleed all over the damn place."

“Recovery Girl's probably busy with the other extras. I've got a first aid kit in my room."

You nod, letting him lead you back to the dorms. His grip on your good hand is firm, grounding. This is Bakugo's way of comfort - not soft words, but solid presence.

In his room, he sits you on his bed and kneels in front of you. The first aid kit appears from a drawer, and he gets to work.

"Stay still," Bakugo grunts, rummaging through the kit. "And don't bleed on my sheets."

You snort. "Sorry, I'll try to control my involuntary bodily functions."

"Tch. Smartass." But there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile.

He pulls out an antiseptic wipe, tearing the packet open with his teeth. "This'll sting," he warns, his rough voice softening.

"I can handle it," you say bravely. But when the antiseptic touches your wound, you can't help but hiss. "Ow!"

"Crybaby," Bakugo mutters. But his movements slow, his touch becoming feather-light. "Thought you could handle it?"

"Shut up," you grumble, but there's no heat in it. You're too busy marveling at how gentle he's being.

His hands, so destructive in battle, are surprisingly deft as he cleans every inch of the cut. You watch him work, mesmerized by the contrast. These hands that can level buildings are now treating you like you're made of glass.

"What?" he asks, noticing your stare.

"Nothing," you murmur. "Just... you're good at this."

He shrugs, but you catch the pleased glint in his eyes. "Can't have my boyfriend bleeding out because they can't dress a damn wound."

"Your boyfriend, huh?" you tease. It's still new, this thing between you, and every time he acknowledges it, your heart skips.

Bakugo's cheeks dust pink. "Don't," he growls, but there's no bite. He's too focused on wrapping your arm in a clean bandage.

"Not too tight?" he asks, voice gruff but eyes soft.

You flex your fingers. "It's perfect. Thanks, Katsuki."

He nods, sitting back on his heels. His thumb brushes over the bandage, a touch so light you almost think you imagined it. But then he looks up at you, and the raw emotion in his crimson eyes steals your breath.

"Don't do that again," he says quietly. "Getting hurt. It's... it pisses me off."

You understand what he's not saying. In Bakugo-speak, 'it pisses me off' means 'it scares me'. You reach out with your good hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into it, just a fraction.

"I'll be more careful," you promise. "Can't have the great Katsuki Bakugo worrying about little old me, right?"

"Damn right," he mutters, but he's leaning in now, forehead resting against your knee. It's as close to vulnerable as Bakugo gets.

You card your fingers through his spiky hair, marveling at how soft it is. For a moment, the world shrinks to just this: you and Bakugo, his hands now resting gently on your thighs.

"Hey, Katsuki?" you whisper.

He grunts in response, not moving.

You hold out your newly bandaged arm. "Kiss it better?"

Bakugo freezes. He looks up at you, one ash-blond eyebrow arching high. "That's not my fucking quirk," he says, voice dry as the desert.

But you see it - the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks, the way his eyes soften just a fraction. You've got him on the ropes, and you both know it.

"Please?" you whine, pouting for extra effect. "It really hurts, Kacchan."

He glares at you, but there's no real heat in it. "You're such a damn baby," he mutters. But he's already lifting your arm, his calloused fingers achingly gentle.

Bakugo brings your arm to his lips. He presses a kiss to the bandage, feather-light. Then another, and another, trailing up your arm. His lips are warm, a bit chapped from his quirk. Each kiss feels like a tiny spark, but the good kind, the kind that lights you up inside.

"There," he grunts, cheeks now definitely red. "Happy now?"

You hum contentedly, but you're not done yet. Leaning in, you whisper, "You know... I think I've got a scar on my lips too."

Bakugo's eyes widen, then narrow. "You little shit," he breathes, "You planned this, didn't you?"

"No," you admit, grinning. "But I want it."

He knows you're playing him, but oh, does he want to be played. "You're pushing it," he growls, but he's already leaning in.

"You love it," you whisper against his lips.

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he kisses you, and it's nothing like the gentle pecks on your arm. This is pure Bakugo - fierce, passionate, a little bit explosive. His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing your cheek, while the other pulls you against him.

When you part, you're both breathless. Bakugo rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. "You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, but there's no heat in it. Just a grudging acceptance that yes, he'd let you lead him anywhere.

You grin, nuzzling into his neck. "I love you too.”

He snorts, but his arms tighten around you. 

[yoursinisforgiven]

LINGER  ──

pairing: issac x reader (pickle) 

cw: allergic reaction(?), rough translation of japanese words, or none at all.

next part !

you are responsible for your own media consumption

Who knew the manor could feel so ghostly with only you inside? You thought of Isaac—how truly isolating it must’ve been for him all those years alone. Your heart began to ache at the thought.

Isaac had left exactly two hours ago for business in Stockton—how ironic, considering it was there that he had first found you. He would be gone for a week, no more than two, he promised—his words sealed with a deep kiss, the kind that made your stomach flutter.

In the two hours since he’d left, you’d been surprisingly productive. You cleaned the kitchen after making Isaac a goodbye breakfast, though you hated calling it that. Goodbye always felt final. 

You moved toward his study, the only room in the house you hadn’t had the chance to tidy up. The bookshelves behind his desk, in particular, had always been off-limits. Isaac always occupied his study—reading, writing, or working on some project—and you’d never feel comfortable disturbing him in this space, this private world of his. But now, with him gone, it felt strangely permissible.

You stepped closer to the bookshelf, bringing a cloth to cover your mouth and nose as you dusted. The air in the study was stale, the musty scent of old leather and paper filling your senses. Surely some of these books had belonged to Isaac’s grandfather, a man you’d always found fascinating.You wondered, as your fingers brushed across the spines, what kind of man his grandfather had been. Would the books he chose to read reflect his character? Were there any clues hidden in the choices of literature, like a map to the man himself?

As you continued to dust, your eyes caught the faintest glimmer of something odd on one of the leather-bound volumes. You squinted and stepped closer, trying to make out the title. The words were hard to decipher, but you could just about make out the first few letters: Crime and—or was it Grime and? The ‘C’ could just as easily have been a ‘G’. You tilted your head, stubborn curiosity igniting within you. You had never been one to shy away from mystery, and this book seemed to promise one.

You hesitated for a moment, then, with a brief glance toward the door, you decided to pull it from the shelf. What harm could there be? Isaac was away, after all. And it wasn’t as though you were reading it, merely inspecting the cover—right? Your fingers brushed the spine, feeling the smoothness of the worn leather beneath your touch, and you gently tugged it free from the row of books.

It was heavier than you expected, and the scent of aged paper seemed to leap out at you as you pulled it into the light. You turn the book cover up, though you have no time to inspect the title as swiftly another book had tumbled out of the bookshelf—causing you to jump letting out a small shriek. 

The silence was loud as you took in the scene, almost immediately you put the book in your hand back on the self—it had fit perfectly, leaving no room for anything else. Shit! You had forgotten about the one that had fallen, you bent down to pick it up—when suddenly realization dawned on you. 

There was no room for this book on the self, it had been purposely hidden.

You hesitate, of course. Should you leave it here for Isaac? Would Isaac be angry? He had always been so private about his study. Would he see this as an intrusion, or would he be indifferent? You weren’t doing anything wrong, not really… But you were stepping into a world of his that you’d never quite understood, and that, in itself, felt like a small betrayal.

Ultimately, you pick up the book. It was blank, no title, no other, nothing. Nothing except a string of words you couldn't understand—they weren't in english. You open the first page, thankfully it has been dated—no year though. You sat down at Issac’s desk as you began to read. 

‘January 12th,

It is rare that I sit with my thoughts long enough to truly understand them. And yet tonight, they come unbidden, as if the fire itself has conjured them from the depths of my heart. Mitsu—the pull—insistent and quiet. It is as though I can hear the rhythm of time itself, as if each thought has been waiting to arrive at this very moment. 

Isaac sleeps in his room, his breathing soft and steady. The house is still—yami—too still. The only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside, pressing against the walls like a reminder of everything beyond. The world outside feels distant, unfathomable, and I am left here alone in this vast manor. I am surrounded by nothing but kage—shadows that twist and stretch in the dim light. There is a certain ki to the stillness, a force that hangs in the air, thick with secrets that have no intention of being spoken.

Doko e ikou? Where am I to go, now? 

The silence often feels like a presence. Sometimes, I wonder if it watches me. Waits for me to face it. The longer I remain in this place, the more I am haunted by the sense that it holds me here, unwilling to let me leave. 

The world outside is moving forward, and yet, inside these walls, I feel as though I am suspended in time. The house, the memories, the mono no aware—the delicate awareness of impermanence that clings to everything here—it all weighs on me.

I have often wondered if the path of business will eventually consume everything I hold dear. Will the endless pursuit of shigoto—work, duty—slowly grind away at the things I love most? There are days I feel as if all that I cherish will crumble like brittle leaves in the autumn wind, only to be carried away and forgotten.

My flowers are withering already, much sooner than I expected. The petals are wilting as though they sense my unease. Perhaps it is my neglect—perhaps I have not tended to them as I should. They are so fragile, so fleeting. It is as though they, too, understand the weight of time’s passing. Soon, even these bright bursts of color will fade, and all that will remain is the memory of what was. Sayonara.

Maybe tomorrow I will take Isaac to the flower shop, as I often do. The florist there, okaasan, adores him. He reminds her of her own children, though her hands are too frail now to chase after him. Isaac is always so full of life, so eager to learn. Perhaps it is time I teach him how to tie his shoes properly. Hissori—quietly, gently. One of these days, I will sit him down and guide his fingers to the knots. 

It seems like such a small thing, such a simple task, but in moments like this, when the weight of the world feels so heavy, I find myself wondering if it is the little things that matter most. Chīsana koto, small things—perhaps they are what we hold onto when everything else slips away. 

I find myself lost in the thought of Isaac, his small hands fumbling with the laces, his eyes so serious as he tries to master something so simple. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is learning something deeper with each knot. He is learning how to tie himself to this world, to the people who love him. One knot at a time.

But I wonder if it will be enough. Will the strings of his life remain tied, or will they fray as mine have? And in the end, what is it that we are really holding onto?

It is getting late now. The fire is dying, and soon, my thoughts will drift into sleep as well. But I cannot shake the feeling that something is waiting. Waiting for Isaac. Waiting for me. 

Shinjiruyo—I believe it’s true, that we are all part of something larger than ourselves. But what if, in the end, it is the threads we cannot see that bind us most tightly? And what if those threads—kizuna—are the only thing that can save us?

I will teach him tomorrow. I will teach him to tie his shoes. But more than that, I will teach him how to hold onto the world when it feels like it is slipping away.

Ichizu ni. With a pure heart, with sincerity. 

Perhaps that is enough.’

It was a journal. Not just anyone’s journal—His mothers. Your hands become sweaty and suddenly it feels as though the air around you thickens, as if the house itself is holding its breath. The words on the page blur in front of you, and you blink rapidly, trying to focus. You cannot—will not—tear your eyes away. This is not a coincidence. 

You flip the page, trying not to hold your breath as you read.

‘January 15th, 

I married a man of great resolve—stubborn, perhaps, to the point of mujo—impermanence. He never understood the quiet joys of the simple things in life. He saw them as meiwaku—a nuisance. The flutter of a butterfly’s wings, the fragrance of fresh rain on the earth, the feeling of sunlight on your face in the morning—it is all lost on him. He would never pause to look at a flower in bloom or hear the wind sing through the bamboo. And yet, he cannot see that it is kofu—true happiness—that he is missing.

I pray, Isaac, my precious son, that you may find meaning beyond your father’s world of work and duties. That you may find a way to balance the weight of purpose with the sweetness of living. You must learn to see what lies beyond the endless list of tasks your father is so consumed by.

Isaac asks me, often, why I seem so distant. Why I withdraw, why I am not as present as I once was. He cannot understand, wakarimasen. How could he? He is still so young, so full of wonder, so untouched by the complexities that I carry. He sees the world in ways I once did—everything is bright, everything is new, and every moment is a promise of something beautiful.

But still, I can feel the pull of it all. Every night, it calls to me, just beyond the edges of my sleep, like a whisper on the wind. It is not a dream. Kokoro—my heart, it knows this voice, this presence. The house itself seems to murmur in the quiet, as if waiting for me to listen, waiting for me to face what I have been avoiding. The creaking floorboards, the drafts that creep through the cracks—they are not just the sounds of an old house. They are a language, one that only the willing can hear. A language that I am afraid to understand.

I hear it every night. The house is speaking to me, calling me to mi no naka—to look within. And yet, I run. I turn away, but I cannot escape it. The silence is too deep, too heavy with meaning.

Today, I made Isaac a pie. It was a small thing, a simple thing. I had meant to make him smile. We were out of apples, so I decided to use blueberries instead. Ame ni mo—it’s good to try new things, to experiment. Life is fleeting, like a cherry blossom in the wind. It is good to savor what is before you, even if it is not exactly what you had planned.

But little did I know, Isaac is allergic to blueberries.

When he took a bite, I saw it immediately. His face flushed a bright red, his cheeks puffing up like a fugu—a pufferfish. I couldn’t help but laugh, despite the worry I felt tightening in my chest. His skin stretched, itchy and swollen, and for a moment, he looked so ridiculous, so helpless. He reminded me of the delicate beauty of nature—how even the smallest change, the smallest thing, can alter everything.

And yet, his innocence—his vulnerability—was still beautiful. There was a strange kind of poetry in it. To see his face stretch with discomfort was to witness the fragility of life. I wanted to shield him from this, to protect him from anything that could harm him, even something as small as a blueberry. And yet, it was nothing. This little moment, this small misstep—it was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Shinjirarenai—and yet, it was everything.

He looked at me with those wide eyes, confused, uncomfortable. I rushed to him, of course, comforting him the best I could. He will never understand why I am always so cautious, so quick to protect him. He will never understand why I am fuan—uneasy—about the small, simple things that make life what it is.

I wonder if one day he will. If one day, he will face what I have faced. Will he understand then? Will he too hear the whispers of the house, the pull of things he cannot see?

But for now, I will teach him. I will teach him to tie his shoes, to hold the world gently in his hands. I will teach him the quiet wisdom of the simple things. Because ichizu ni—with sincerity—perhaps that is enough. It must be enough, for now.

For one day, the shadows will come. The house will speak again. And I can only hope that Isaac will be ready.

I must be ready.’

You sit in Isaac’s chair, the journal still open in your hands, You stare as the recipe she had written. the words blurred by the sudden flood of emotions overwhelming you. Your fingers tremble as you turn the page back to the last entry, your eyes scanning the delicate prose, trying to absorb each word, each phrase, as though doing so could somehow unlock a deeper understanding of Isaac’s mother, of the woman who once stood where you now stand.

The air feels heavier, as though the house itself has shifted in the wake of her presence—her words—still echoing in the corners of your mind. The silence around you is suffocating, and yet, at the same time, it feels almost comforting, as if you’ve crossed some invisible threshold, stepping into a world that was never truly meant for you.

You picture Isaac as she must have, those wide, innocent eyes, his hands fumbling as he tried to tie his shoes, his small laugh ringing in the air. The image of him, so pure and untainted, makes your heart ache even more.

It’s then that you realize just how much you’ve come to care for him. How much you’ve seen of his mother in him, even though you never knew her face. The way his laughter fills the manor, brightening the silence, making the walls feel less oppressive. The way he seeks you out, his unspoken need for your presence, your comfort, in the same way she must have sought comfort in this very house. You wonder, for the first time, what it would’ve been like to have known her—to have been able to share this strange, unspoken bond with her.

—-

As the days passed, it felt as though you were falling in love with someone else entirely—someone who existed only in the pages of a journal. Through her words, you had laughed, cried, even felt anger—all emotions born from a life you had never lived, yet somehow felt intimately connected to. It was as though she were here with you, speaking to you across time, through the ink of her memories.

You can’t help but feel the weight of it all—the shared burden, the deep longing, the silent conversations between the lines of the journal. It’s as if you’ve been chosen to carry this weight, to understand the world she left behind. But now, in this quiet moment, it doesn’t feel like something heavy. Instead, it feels like a connection. Like you are linked to her in a way you cannot fully explain.

And then the realization hits you: You are a reflection of her.

All these years, Isaac has been a mirror of his father, a reflection of his quiet strength, his determination, his focus on duty. But you? You see now how much of Isaac’s mother is in you. Her gentleness, her quiet contemplation, the way she seemed to live in the moments between moments—this is the life you’ve carved out for yourself here. You didn’t realize it, not until now, but you’ve become a part of her, woven into the very fabric of this house, just as she once was.

A wave of guilt washes over you. How had you not seen it before? How had you never understood the depth of the woman you had only ever heard of in passing? You’ve stood in her shoes, taken her place in this manor, and perhaps, in some ways, even become her. Her longing for a connection with Isaac, her hope that he might live a life beyond the demands of work—these are your own longings now. These are your own hopes for him. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if she might have felt the same about you, if she could have seen you as more than just Isaac’s partner, but as a person who, like her, carried the weight of unspoken burdens, of quiet love.

—-

Isaac returned home exactly on the seventh day, just as promised. You smiled the moment you saw him, standing there in the doorway, a familiar silhouette after a week of absence. Dusting the flour from your hands, you placed the fork you had been using to cut the pie down onto the counter. You had baked a feast—of sweets, of course, an offering of warmth and comfort for his return. The house had been too quiet without him, and now it was alive again with his presence.

Isaac returned your smile, his eyes lighting up as he set his briefcase on the small entry table and hung his coat. The brief, casual movements of his return, the small sounds of him settling into the home—it was a symphony you had missed.

He stepped toward you, and without a word, wrapped you in his embrace. The familiar weight of his arms around you made you feel both safe and cherished. You melted against him, feeling the warmth of his body sink into yours.

"I missed you," you whispered, the words soft and almost hesitant, as if you didn’t want even the gods to overhear. In that moment, you wanted everything between you two to feel sacred, a world all your own, untouched by anything outside these walls.

Isaac’s arms tightened slightly around you, and you felt his breath stir against the back of your neck as he placed a gentle kiss there. "I missed you more," he murmured, his voice rich with affection. His breath was warm against your skin, a comforting presence you had craved all week.

You felt his hand slip from your waist to the counter, reaching for the fork you had left beside the pie. His fingers brushed the handle, and just as he was about to lift the fork to his lips, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He paused, looking at you, surprised. "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It’s blueberry," you said quickly, a tinge of concern in your voice. "You’re allergic."

Everything went still in that moment. The kitchen, the house, even time itself seemed to hold its breath. Isaac’s gaze flickered from the fork in his hand to your face, his expression unreadable.

"How do you know that?" His voice was softer now, laced with a note of curiosity and maybe a slither of suspicion.

You hesitated for a moment, then simply said, "Your mother told me."

—

author’s note: the original book reader had found was ‘Crime and Punishment’ by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

[politepiastri]

"i was there, i remember it all too well" OP81 x reader

masterlist

sumbit a request!

authors note: he's so boyfriend i just want to smother him. anyways this has just took me so long as tumblr decided to delete the ending twice. many threats later and i truly wish i had the energy to make this better but i had so much fun writing it so hope you enjoy reading it!! might have got slightly lazy at the end but i think it can be forgiven due to the circumstances. my apologies anyway.

also not proofread this i get embarrassed reading my own stuff

taylor swift references as this is heavily inspired by all too well (10mv) but you don't need to know it to understand :)

✰ warnings - swearing, just pure fluff

for 2 hours you had attempted to fall asleep. tossing and turning in your bed, sighing in frustration every couple of minutes. you had tried music, the sound of rain, counting. nothing was working and you were surprised you hadn't woken Oscar up yet. you kicked the duvet under your feet in a desperate attempt of comfort, waited 10 minutes, and still nothing. well, you weren't gonna do this all night. you cautiously peeled the duvet off your body, desperately attempting to make sure Oscar stayed asleep, grabbed your phone and airpods from the table beside your bed, and tiptoed to the door, opening and closing it as quietly as you could.

you had the whole apartment memorized from the multiple times you had walked around it with your eyes closed. you'd learnt the hard way where things you needed to avoid were but just for safety, you tapped your phone and held it out infront of you. a picture of a strip of pictures you had taken in a photobooth of you and oscar in different poses. one of the two of you kissing in the middle, sandwiched by one of you two making a heart with your hands, another of you resting your head on his shoulder while he kissed the top of your head.

you had to tap the screen a few times before you got to the kitchen and could finally use an actual light source. you opened the fridge and used the light from there to see around you, also grabbing a drink. you leant against the counter, trying to connect your airpods to your phone while sticking one in your ear, scrolling through your music library to find your favourite playlist.

"y/n's playlist🎶🤍"

very original of course

you pressed shuffle and heard the first few notes of all too well 10 minute version. you placed your phone face down on the counter and just listened to the song. focusing deeply on the lyrics. you were around a minute into the song when you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

you jumped surprisedly at the touch

"oscar you just scared the shit out of me"

he sunk his head into the crook of your neck, muffling his words

"what are you doing up, its like 2am"

"couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake you up" you almost whispered

you grabbed your phone and turned bluetooth off, disconnecting your airpods and making the song hearable to both sets of ears. it was on low volume, but you made sure it was loud enough to hear, something about the darkness made you feel the urge to be quiet. you placed your phone down on the counter once again, as he swayed your hips slowly.

"your abuse of the poor duvet woke up me like an hour ago"

"it deserved it i suppose"

you both chuckled as he moved one of his hands away from your waist, searching the air around it for your hand. when he found it, he intertwined his fingers with yours and began to stroke your cold hand with his thumb

he took you by surprise when he raised your arm and spun you under his arm to face him. you could only just make out that he was smirking, probably proud of the move he just pulled.

"shall we?" he said, still holding your hand, one of his on your waist as you shifted your weight between your feet, stepping side to side slowly

"god you are honestly such a dork it melts my heart" you replied, laughing at his words 

you hid your blushing face by burying it into his neck as he guided your steps from side to side. neither of the two of you had a clue what you were doing but as far as you were concerned you were dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light and you would remember this all too well

after the song had finally ended and another began playing, his hand trailed off your hip and up to your face to gently tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear before following your jawline round and cupping your face with his soft hands. His eyes looked intently into yours.

“im so in love with you y/n” he muttered, the warmth of his breath getting closer to your face.

and you truly believed it as he said it. the look of admiration in his eyes was everything. this was all you ever wanted. true, genuine love and it was all you had in return for him.

he hesitated for a moment before leaning in and letting his lips connect to yours. you knew he must have felt the heat of your cheeks on his and the foolish grin plastered across your face.

“i love you the most.” the words hardly audible from your lips still being almost touching. 

as your lips disconnected from the passionate kiss, you attached your forehead to his. for a moment, he let you stand there with just your thoughts, wondering how you got this lucky, how someone like you deserved him. 

“are we staying up then?” 

“we are absolutely not. you have meetings all day tomorrow osc, you can’t. as for me, i have nothing planned, so i reckon i might be.”

“y/n don’t be ridiculous, if you’re staying up i’ll keep you company. we can watch a film if you want to?”

he watched as your face lit up at the idea. an unspoken question lingered in the air.

“yes you can choose it” he rolled his eyes playfully

“only because you insisted osc” you replied, a sarcastic tone in your voice

you took oscar’s hand and led him to the sofa, the warm toned lights made the room feel romantic. you snuggled up to him as he handed you the remote. your bodies as close together as they could be, the heat from his overpowering the cold from yours. 

one of his hands drew circles on the soft skin of your stomach, the other one playing with strands of your hair.

the time you had spent looking for a film to watch was hardly worth it as you felt yourself falling asleep just minutes in. oscar’s face was pressed against your hair and you felt him smile as your eyes fought to stay open.

this was all you had ever wanted. this was all you ever dreamed of as a little girl, you had found your prince and you knew every moment, every memory with him would haunt you all too well, forever and always.

[elliezlils11utt]

Could you do some ellie fluff where the reader has autism?

a/n: hey love! 𐙚 I gotcu ! I did this in a headcannon format bc i couldn’t think of a plot. I hope you don’t mind bb !! ☆

‧₊˚🖇️ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

 ♡₊˚ i think it takes a while for ellie to get used to and understand your type of autism and will work to figure out how to care and love for you. she wants to make sure your comfortable all the time. 

♡₊˚ when your overstimulated, ellie will do everything in her power to calm you down. if you do non verbal she is most definitely silently figuring out the problem !! she will turn down the volume on the tv or music, dim the lights, change the temperature in the room if needed !! she js wants you to be comfortable!! and if you guys are in a public setting she will ask if you need to leave to cool down.

“hey my love, wanna get out of here?”

♡₊˚ speaking of going non verbal, ellie is the best at communicating with you when you go nonverbal. she’ll talk to you even if you don’t reply, ellie is a professional yapperrr !! she will continue to talk and make you feel comfortable. or sometimes she can read you, and figure out if you even want to be spoken to at that moment. if not she’ll js sit with u, on her phone, reading a book, watching a show. you guys will sit in comfortable silence if you don’t want to talk. 

♡₊˚ she’s js a sweetheart !! ^^she’s so precious and gentle with you !! she knows sometimes it’s hard to have conversations or maintain eye contact but she really don’t give two shits. she will yap away and smother you in love in a way she’s adapted to you. 💕

♡₊˚ when you want to talk about your special interests she will sit there and listen. watching your face light up as you explain small details about your hyperfixations. she loves listening to you. she loves watching you get excited over the small things. 

“oh yeah baby? tell me more”

“then what happened?”

“keep going im listening” 

(RAHH SHES SO PRECIOUS!!) 

‧₊˚🖇️ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

A/n: sorry this is short anon, I didn’t really know what to do for this! I only know so much about autism. I tried to fit into a lot of different categories of autism bc I know every autistic person is different! I hope this was good enough. I love you all babes !!💗

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Neurodivergent!Hobie Brown Headcanons - Hobie Brown having AuDHD

Hobie Brown has AuDHD (Autism & ADHD) because I have AuDHD and I love him and want him to have AuDHD :) i was reminded of this and this is mostly me projecting so uhhh...here

____________________________________________________

Love the idea of Hobie Brown having ADHD and autism

Like his attention is shit. And he doesn't care.

He's always working or tinkering or planning away at something, writing some song, but he's never doing what 'he's supposed to do'.

He's Hobie - he's going to do whatever he wants to do and whatever strikes his fancy.

It's the ADHD. He procrastinates, and if you tell him to do something - yeah, he's not doing that

but when he needs to get something done he gets it done. ALWAYS. Somehow.

Miguel is asking for mission reports and he's like 'piss off m8'. He gets it done when he needs to don't ask questions

Super truthful. He doesn't see the point in lying. He's never mean about it, but he never hides the truth.

Stims a lot.

Always fidgeting with something. Doesn't carry stim toys cause he always loses them - fiddles with anything his hands come across instead

Chews on pens when he's trying to think or write a song

Fiddles with his piercings and lip ring a lot

Constantly losing his guitar pick, gets pissed off and can't find it even though it's right in front of him

He has ADHD-combined so sometimes he's pacing back and forth and other times he's just zoned the fuck out daydreaming

DOODLES on everything.

STICKERS everywhere.

Doesn't mask AT ALLLL

If he doesn't understand a joke he will ask - especially if he can tell it's meanspirited

Sleep schedule is wrecked. He hates the AM - and gets up at like 4pm. he's up at 2am playing electric guitar on the loudest volume and drinking a coffee at 8am before going to bed

Bounces his leg really really hard then tells people to piss off when they demand he stops

VERBAL STIMS. OH MY GOD

CONSTANTLY repeating song lyrics, even random ones. Repeats them to himself while pacing as a way to relax

Stims on his guitar, plays the same chord over and over and over.

The chords of 'Immigrant Song' - by Led Zeppelin is a popular choice of his

Gwen stims by tapping and drumming on things so they can be sitting there and play-stimming a song without even noticing

Doesn't follow rules he doesn't understand or thinks are unreasonable

Will argue with someone over it when confronted and tell them exactly why their rule makes no sense

He'll 'talk back' to authority and someone will be like 'Hobie you can't say that!!!' and he will genuinely be like 'why???'

Used to get put in 'time out' A LOT. Big 'problem child', always talking in class, wandering off, etc

Light sensitive.

His room dark as fuck boooooyyyy

Black out curtains, no clothes in the drawers, 12,000 unattended water bottles everywhere

NEVER makes the bed but has other cleaning routines he HAS to do

loves planning shit, planned out all of ASTV in detail, keeps really detailed notes of stuff

but his handwriting only makes sense to him

remembers everything about his friends but doesn't know what day it is

Time Blind as FUCKKKKKKK. So hard to get a hold of him or get him to text back.

You see him when you see him - either he's early or he's late as hell.

Says 'five minutes' but gets distracted or severely underestimates the time.

Special interest is his records and they mean a lot to him

Knows everything there is to know about every album he owns, takes really good care of them and his player - the only thing he'll spend money on

Very creative, has many creative projects he starts and stops and never really completes

10,000 half finished patches and prototypes

But he's really talented and handy because of it

Like he knows random ass statements in dozens of languages cause he memorizes the weirdest stuff and sometimes run into situations where he really needs it

Like the first time they go to Mumbattan looking for Pavi Gwen is like "ugh how are we gonna ask people 'have you seen this boy' in Marathi?" and Hobie is like "i got this" and she's like "Bro HOW"

REAL ASS AUDHD EXPERIENCE: Being able to memorize copious amounts of information about things that don't matter at all

Hobie has so many facts inside of him that he just drops so casually

And people are like how are you so smart

and of course he's like 'i was smart this whole time'

People think he's rude or an idiot because he doesn't make eye contact or doesn't face people when spoken to

but he's not at all, and he's very good at picking up little details

Dry but hilarious sense of humor that takes seven layers of irony and 3 years of context to even process

Probably has one completely left-field unrelated hyperfixation that catches people off guard. Is completely unashamed about it

When he's overstimulated he gets very irritated and snappy and fidgety -

Has to leave the room immediately - will stop everything and just get up and head straight to the door

If he can't leave he'll start covering his ears or put his head down against a table

Has loss of speech episodes sometimes, but not only when stressed. Lots of times it happens while relaxed or really deep in thought/daydream. His closest friends can understand him perfectly fine, and can tell when he's just chilling vs when he needs support

Will stand up in a 'quiet' room and say "what's that noise??" cause he can hear electric buzzing and it's pisses him off

He still blasts his music loud as hell in his headphones

Puts something into one of his many pockets then immediately begins to look for where he put said thing

Always pulling stuff out of his pockets, looking slightly impressed but confused as to how it got there, or how long it's been there

Has the weirdest palette. Weird ass food combos. The type of guy to put one sauce on everything

Probably eats beans on toast like twice a day

His comfort food is a Gregg's Sausage Roll from a very specific branch in East London, others taste a bit off to him and he can tell if it's not the right one. He'll still eat it, but he can tell it's not right

Most of these are SUCH a projection but I love him so so so much ok bye bye

[gffa]

I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING but it makes perfect sense and GODDAMN WHAT A DELIVERY ON THE BUILDING TENSION OF IT ALL, because the entire issue was about Tommy pitting himself against Nightwing as a narrative foil, screaming in rage about how Bruce will do anything for him, how he wants to kill Nightwing because Bruce cares about him and how he doesn't really get why Dick understands Bruce in a way he never did. And it's so interesting that I wonder how much Dick is right about Tommy's motivations, because everything Tommy has said up to this point in the issue doesn't really feel like he wants Bruce's life:

"You keep trying to disavow our friendship and eliminate our shared history.  You keep trying to erase my face from your memory so that I have to wear yours!  I'm going to make sure you never forget... by cutting my name into Nightwing's back! You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you, Bruce? But what have you done for me... your first true friend? Besides take everything that should have been mine!" I can see how it seems like that last line might come across as Tommy wanting Bruce's life, that he felt that life should have been his, and wearing Bruce's face is a pretty obvious extension of that. But being enraged by Nightwing's presence, by Bruce's willingness to do anything for that kid, it made it so that I saw it as what Tommy wants here isn't Bruce's life, it's Bruce's friendship. That distinction makes him such a more complicated, interesting presence in this issue, because here he wants what Dick has--the partnership with Bruce, the willingness to throw himself between Dick and any harm that would come his way, the way they can speak volumes with just a shared look. He wants to be the one that changed Bruce's world the way Bruce and the Waynes changed his world. But he didn't, so he has to take what he believes should have been his--and that's why he changed his face again, because what he wants in this issue is Dick Grayson's life. Underneath all of it, what Tommy desperately wanted was to be loved and Thomas and Martha Wayne are dead, they can't love him. But Bruce Wayne lives and he can and does love. Tommy won't find the love he's been hungry for since childhood by taking over Bruce's life, because then the elements of his childhood won't be there to love him.  So he has to become someone that Bruce loves, someone that Bruce will do anything for. And Dick's absolutely right that Tommy wasn't there for any of the hard times or the little moments, he doesn't understand that being loved by Bruce Wayne isn't some idyllic, easy thing. It's hard fucking work because Bruce Wayne is still swimming against the tide of his own trauma and he is never easy about how it affects his relationships. From the outside, it might seem easy--and I think sometimes not even the other Batfam members understand that it's not easy for Dick, either, despite how they too see how desperately Bruce loves him. Yeah, Dick makes it look easy, he drags Bruce to Batburger and teams up with Clark for a god-awful bachelor party and gets Bruce to say he misses him unprompted and thank him for the night. But you don't see all the history that comes with it.  The knock-down-drag-out fights Dick and Bruce have.  The years of hurt and anger after he was fired as Robin.  The hurt of having to fake his death and go undercover as a spy.  The constant push-and-pull of Bruce trying to respect his independence, but also resenting Dick for how much he misses his kid.  Honestly, the entire Ric Grayson arc illustrates so much of how angry Dick still is about all the shit that Bruce pulls. Tommy skips right over that, because Dick makes it look so easy from the outside to be loved by Bruce, but it's not. You can't just cheat-code your way into that role by getting surgery to look like the guy who knocked down Bruce's emotional walls, because every single goddamned day Dick still has to get up and demand that Bruce love him and be the person that drags light into the darkness of Bruce's life. It makes the narrative foils aspect of this issue so engaging because both of them don't really fully get the other, that Dick doesn't understand what Tommy really wants, that Tommy doesn't really understand why Dick has what he has, all of it wrapped up in wanting Bruce Wayne's attention. And it's so interesting because that's kind of the whole point of Bruce as a character, that all these people love him and want his approval, but only a handful ever really get it because you can't love him as this mythic figure that's there to loom over you. You have to love him as the asshole that makes your life miserable but you also admire for the sheer determination he has for justice and that, when he trusts you, he trusts you with everything he has, and because you like his dry sense of humor, you like that he's kind of stupid sometimes.  You have to love him as a man, not an idea.

[makeste]

BnHA Volume 36 - Reaction Journey Part 2

continuing on our journey following yesterday’s volume 35 post! some more out-of-context random bullet point reactions taken from my reaction posts for each chapter. the full reactions for each chapter will go up eventually once I finish my manga catch-up marathon (currently at chapter 367).

spoiler warning: just fyi, this post will obviously feature spoilers for chapters 350-362, BUT it will also include a couple of stray spoilers from chapter 403 as well, so just a heads up for that if you aren’t fully caught up!

Chapter 351

friends, we are about to embark upon the most dramatic, theatrical, Shakespearean disaster of a fight this series has ever witnessed. brace yourselves

yes Shouto, that’s just cuz he literally doesn’t feel pain and doesn’t care if he lives or dies :’)

IS THIS PART OF THE PLAN??? IS SHOUTO NOT FIGHTING BACK BECAUSE HE’S TOO BUSY CONCENTRATING ON WHATEVER THING HE’S DOING?? BECAUSE IF NOT HOLY SHIT. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO FIGHT BACK SHOUTO

actually come to think of it, he hasn’t attacked once so far. not even the usual giant ice wall opener move. he’s definitely got something up his sleeve. but my god man in the meantime this is hard to watch

sorry Touya, but as justified as your grudge against Enji might be, your grudge against Shouto? not so much. I get it, life handed Shouto the keys to your dream life and he had the audacity to say he didn’t want to drive. but Shouto is allowed to make his own choices, and want his own things. for that matter, so are you. but you’re just stuck. gah. it’s so frustrating and yet the psychology of it is so incredibly compelling

“I might not have the clearest sense of my own identity, but at least I didn’t kill 30 people” fjdsjd gottem

“phosphor” is such a next-level attack name. pretty sure it has more to do with light than fire/heat, but with as white-hot as this attack looks to be, I get it and it definitely works

Chapter 352

love that Kaminari’s instinct when seeing this giant flaming X on Shouto’s chest is to immediately poke it. repeatedly. while Shouto just stands there and vibrates uncomfortably

finally!! a proper half-cold-half-hot ultimate supermove!! though I still don’t quite understand how “making fire that doesn’t actually burn things” is going to help in a battle in any kind of way. BUT I CAN’T WAIT TO BE PROPERLY EDUCATED

he’s thanking Deku. for helping him start to discover his true self all those eons ago. what a sweet sweet boy

omg here it comes ULTIMATE MOVE YESSSS

SLAM DUNK NAME AND VISUAL!!! 10/10!!! HELL FUCKING YEAH WAY TO LIVE UP TO THE HYPE HOLY SHIT

fuck. okay, yeah. if you give me a shounen character reminiscing over his hard-earned personal growth, and feeling profound gratitude toward his friends who helped him get this far, and then you suddenly hit me with the crying little kid panels to remind us of who these two characters really are, at the end of the day, once you strip away all the rest of it. you show me little baby Touya who’s just desperate to be loved and validated and acknowledged. and you show me little baby Shouto who understands his brother’s feelings completely, and doesn’t want to actually be here doing this, but knows that he has to because there’s no one else who can. if you go ahead and show me all of that!! well then!! I mean, good fucking job!! you knew exactly what you were doing!! well done!! you got the tears again so well done to you!! lmao

Chapter 353

okay is every single person here trying to jinx themselves now?? you guys do realize how absurdly lucky you are that Shouto finished his epic battle in the span of only 2 chapters? are you trying to draw more misfortune to yourselves??

“hey guys! great news, Todoroki already finished his fight” fdfklskf Kacchan’s gonna fucking lose it lmao. to say nothing of poor Deku who’s still busy hurtling across the Pacific

WHO IS THIS??!

lol what. he’s wearing a shirt collar and suit jacket as pants. and he’s got weird carpet hair and a disquietingly sexy face. AND FLOWER POWER?? who, is this, and why has it taken us 353 chapters to meet him. OR HER??? GENDER-AMBIGUOUS ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE. YOUR FIGHT BETTER BE COOL AS HELL YOU WEIRDO

how is Spinner actually TWENTY FEET TALL NOW??? like, that earlier panel wasn’t actually a fluke or something, that was actually happening?? you smashed a bridge to pieces?!? somehow you’re a Kaijuu now???

this seriously cannot be it though, especially since Iida didn’t even get to do anything. and I really, really, really fucking hate how nervous it’s making me noooo whyyyy

Chapter 354

there is no possible way anything Endeavor tries here will actually work. he’s giving off so many dead man walking vibes right now and I am not okay

DOES FIRE EVEN WORK ON AFO?? LORD KNOWS IT DOESN’T WORK ON ANYBODY ELSE

Hawks is shouting at him lol. “remember what happened to All Might in Kamino!” for real though! how do they keep falling for it??

oh my god what a sickening realization. to learn that the reason you never found your child was that he was taken. not killed, but taken. that it was never even an accident at all, but deliberate. he was targeted and hurt and taken because of you. and the man responsible for it is standing right here in front of you

YOU HAD SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLDS??? YOU HAD MORE SUPERPOWERED OP SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLDS IN RESERVE THIS ENTIRE TIME???? AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO USE THEM????

what’s AFO even going to do to them lol. I would love to see AFO stumble around and try to come up with some big intimidating weak-point-attacking speech for Tokoyami “The Darkness Is Where I Make My Home” Fumikage. he would probably love it. just sit there hungrily lapping it all up. “no but please keep telling me more about how tormented my soul is, this is great”

Chapter 355

I can’t believe Jirou and Tokoyami are about to fight god

I love Tokoyami and Hawks’s relationship so, so much. there’s just so much trust between the two of them. like on the surface it might seem like Hawks keeps underestimating Tokoyami every step of the way. but in reality it’s more that Hawks, being a former child soldier himself, is extremely reluctant to subject someone else to that, regardless of whether the circumstances are the same, and regardless of how capable Tokoyami keeps proving himself to be. yet another example of Hawks being continuously forced to walk a razor-thin line between decisions that he can live with, and decisions that will actually keep him alive. Tokoyami is a phenomenally powerful fighter, and his presence here absolutely helps tip the scales in their favor. but it’s also an insanely dangerous place for him to be, and so of course Hawks doesn’t want him here

meanwhile on Tokoyami’s end, he started out simply wanting to prove himself to Hawks, but once Hawks opened up to him, his exasperation almost immediately gave way to admiration and respect. and then he almost lost him at Jakku, and I think that really did a number on him, and so he’s so attached to and protective of him now. and I think that in turn has caused Hawks to try and keep his distance a little more, both because he has no idea how to deal with that emotionally, and because he doesn’t want Toko getting hurt. it’s such a delightfully complex relationship and I want to hold it and protect it with everything I have

AFO IS A BAD BITCH YES, BUT YOU ARE EVEN BADDER JIROU GET HIS ASS

lol he is REALLY cheesed about her showing him up in the previous chapter. definitely took it personally

I’m getting so many Bakugou vibes from this. legit getting chills over here. “shut your stupid mouth already.” she recognized the small dick energy a mile away

DIDN’T EVEN NEED ENDEAVOR AFTER ALL LMAO. THAT’S THE COOL, REFRESHING POWER OF JIROU

Chapter 356

AFO LITERALLY CAN’T EVEN PROCESS WHAT’S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW AND IT’S AMAZING

it’s okay to admit you just suck and are getting your ass whooped by Hawks and the sixteen-year-olds

what are you, a Zelda boss?? so he’s got a fucking phase 2 now?? WHY ARE YOU THE MOST ANNOYING MAN

DON’T DIE ENJI YOU FUCKING LOSER YOUR BOYS NEED CLOSURE AND SO DO I GODDAMMIT

ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS WITH JUST THE ONE ARM YOU ABSOLUTE LUNATIC

anyways, wow. after getting COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY shown up by newly minted main character Jirou Kyouka, Endeavor got his moment after all. whatever else he may be, he’s a damn good fucking hero. and if anyone deserves to get punched so hard they burst into flames, it’s AFO, so yeah

Chapter 357

what a sassy little birb. like how he now has the sexy soon-to-be scar as well! you are now officially a Todoroki

YOU CAN SHOOT FIRE OUT OF YOUR EYEBALLS NOW?? YOU SHOOT LASERS?? THAT’S JUST A THING THAT YOU DO NOW???

fff Endeavor please don’t die :|!!!!

please zap AFO’s other hand!!! I am getting so freaking anxious right now. he’s either gonna win it all here or else something terrible is about to happen

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

DID HORIKOSHI KNOW??? WHEN HE WAS DRAWING THIS??? THAT IT WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO BE THE SINGLE WORST THING ANYONE HAS EVER DRAWN!??!?!!

OH MY GOD I SCROLLED DOWN AND IT WASN'T ACTUALLY THE END OF THE CHAPTER AHHHHHH. FOR SOME REASON I JUST ASSUMED IT WAS. POSSIBLY BECAUSE ALL I WANT RIGHT NOW IS TO FLING THIS MANGA AWAY FROM ME AND INCINERATE IT WITH A BLOWTORCH

Chapter 358

did TomurAFO really just slap a huge chunk of the iconic U.A. school building to pieces with his disgusting infinityhands all unceremoniously just like that. is nothing sacred anymore. what are you gonna do next?? kill off the most popular character??

“so anyway here’s 1000 words on why me becoming a despot is actually a good thing” dude just shut up and get back to slapping shit already

KACCHAN WENT TO THE SUPPORT COURSE FOR AN UPGRADE?? AND WE WERE DEPRIVED OF THAT ENTIRE INTERACTION?! YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT KACCHAN HAS MET HATSUME MEI AND IT WAS OFFSCREENED?? I am suing this manga for wasting my life

magnificent. inspired. I can’t believe this child is going to be fucking dead like three chapters from now (˘̩̩̩ε˘̩ƪ)

THE PALPABLE FUCKING CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!

FUCK YEAH KACCHAN MAKE THE BAD MAN GO BOOM

Chapter 359

is this dude actually livestreaming the battle

bitch he’s going toe to toe with the final villain while you’re down in the basement making a Tiktok. you are not the same

HIS FUCKING ARM, FUCK ME. FUCK. FUCK!!

his arm is literal splinters right now and all he cares about is that TomurAFO wasn’t impressed with his new cluster move :’’’’) it’s okay. it’s okay this is fine

this is literally Aizawa’s worst nightmare. greatest fear come to life. one of his students is hurt and in danger and he can’t do anything. Shirakumo all over again. Bakugou is about to die right in front of him and he’s so fucking desperate but he can’t do anything

omg. what a goated fucking chapter. Bakugou angst! Aizawa angst!! Aizawa Being Terrified Over An Imminent Threat to Bakugou’s Safety angst!! and to top it all off, “YOU’RE CLOSER TO MIDORIYA IZUKU THAN ANYONE AND THAT’S WHY I’M ABOUT TO MAKE YOU SUFFER” angst. hoooooooooooly shit

Chapter 360

so he’s literally just. torturing him. just fucking around. wow

WHY IS TOMURAFO JUST CONTINUING TO HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD TO KEEP ON DOING THIS. WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL THE REST OF THE HEROES?? FFS, DEKU’S NOT HERE TO THROW A BACKPACK THIS TIME, WHY DOES EVERYONE ELSE FUCKING SUCK SO HARD AT SAVING HIM?!

Studio Bones is gonna have to utilize some sort of AI program to autogenerate these hand things for all their fight scenes. I feel really sorry for that AI and I just hope that it doesn’t somehow develop sentience and take revenge on us all. it would be within its rights to do so

MIRIOOOOOOOO. ACTUAL BEST CHARACTER IN THE SERIES!!! YOU CAN LAUGH AT KACCHAN’S HERO NAME ALL YOU WANT YOU FUCKING STUD. YOU EARNED IT

why was this man not our vanguard. why, when we lost our trump card in the first ten seconds of the fight, did it not occur to a single person that, WELL HEY, SINCE IT LOOKS LIKE THE DEKU THING MIGHT NOT END UP WORKING OUT. WHAT IF WE JUST, YOU KNOW, MIRIO

welp. if anyone needs me. I’ll be in my room crying over fictional characters

Chapter 361

QUICKLY NOW! WHILE HE’S DISTRACTED REMEMBERING HOW HE USED TO BE CUTE AND NOT-EVIL!!

why do I feel like Mirio also got the strange, fleeting impression that he was talking to someone else other than TomurAFO for a moment there? he looks like he’s WEIRDED OUT AS ALL FUCK, but also genuinely sorry for offending him lol

JEANIST IS STANDING UP AND TRYING TO DISTRACT TOMURAFO TO PROTECT KACCHAN, I AM YET AGAIN AWASH IN FEELINGS

I know I sound like a broken record here but Tamaki, not allowed to die, etc. etc. just so we’re clear Horikoshi. I don’t trust you to remember!!

WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY FEED THIS KID BEFORE THEY WENT INTO BATTLE OMFG!!!!!!!

WHAT A TERRIFYING THING TO BEHOLD. I DON’T SEE HOW THIS IS GOING TO DO FUCKALL AGAINST TOMURAFO NO MATTER HOW EXCITED THEY ARE ABOUT IT, BUT EVEN SO, GODDAMN

Chapter 362

oh my GOD WHY DOES MY HEART ALREADY HURT SO MUCH aaaaugh I’m not going to survive this am I. Kacchan we’ll die together

did he already know?! NOBODY FUCKING TOLD ME HE ALREADY KNEW?? HE KNEW HOW IT WOULD END, AND HE WENT WILLINGLY. THE SACRIFICE PLAY, oh my god, my heart is pieces

Jeanist’s eyes are so wide and he’s using his quirk and telling Katsuki to stop. he knows. what tipped you off. was it the “take care of everyone” while standing up with sudden terrifying purpose even though he’s already half-dead. was it that. it was that wasn’t it

I AM SO NOT FINE RIGHT NOW IT’S UNBELIEVABLE

that’s it. it’s over. Horikoshi’s won. it’s all fucking over we never stood a fucking chance in hell

Kacchan’s face, when he’s not scrunching it up in a glare, or a frown, or grinning like a homicidal maniac, never ceases to just effortlessly slip past every last one of my defenses. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he just looks so freaking young. like the schoolboy he in fact is. far, far too young to be caught up in a war and facing his own imminent death

seeing him like this now, in his own mental landscape, where he’s free to be himself, and seeing how much of a difference it makes in his demeanor almost immediately, just hits me real fucking hard. he was just way too hard on himself. and he never let himself ask for the autograph because he never felt like he fully earned it, and now it’s too late (or so he thinks), and just. guh

Kacchan dying with that much regret in his heart is not fucking okay and I wanna fight a man about it even though it didn’t even actually wind up happening sob

I love, and hate, that every single other hero there actually did try to stop it. they just weren’t fast enough. god

PUTTING HIS PARENTS THERE WAS A DICK MOVE ON HORIKOSHI’S PART. OH HELLO BAKUFAM HOW ARE YOU, AND BY THE WAY, YOUR CHILD JUST DIED. WHAT A TERRIBLE DAY FOR RAIN

[razorblade180]

Actor Au 5

Actor au 4 <-

Ruby:🎶Guess who’s back? Back again. *flips camera*

Adam:Not me! *thumbs up* Let’s get to filming! Wooo!

Crew:Wooooooo!

xxxxx

Ruby:Well look who it is, back at the food table.

Yang:*bites doughnut* It’s 5am on a beach. The sun is down and so is my body temperature.

Ruby:At least you don’t have to be near the water. Happy to be back?

Yang:Hell yeah. Let’s get this shit.

xxxx

Interviewer:How’s it feel to be back on screen after so long.

Ozpin:Pretty shocked if I’m being honest, but in a good way. I got so used to cozy pjs and being a voice. Roman walks over and goes “We’ll shoot your scene tomorrow.” I look around and go “pardon?” and he nods. Just goes “yeah you and your son shoot tomorrow.

Oscar:He’s downplaying his excitement.

Interview:Were you excited?

Oscar:I read what my scene was and had to double check if my contract had expired.

Ruby:Thought it was your last episode?

Oscar:Yes! You literally came up to me and said “ready for me to kill you?” Keep in mind, we don’t film everything in order. Luckily I finally got briefed.

Ruby:It felt appropriate because Ozpin looked at me with pure joy and and said “Finally I get to fight you.”

xxxxx

Director:Alright Neo, you’re just getting from the crash and you are seething. And… Action.

Neo:*stands up*….FUCK!

Director:Cut! Neo!!

Neo:I know! I know! *snickers* Could you imagine though?

xxxxxx

Weiss:*throws fake rock*

Another prop rock comes in off screen and misses her completely, hitting Blake.

Blake:Oh shi-

Weiss:…*turns around* Nora, how?

Nora:*covering face* I don’t know how I missed.

Blake:You curved ball a rubber rock. I’m not even hurt; only impressed.

xxxxx

Blake:I can’t believe it! The Rusted Knight, in person!

Jaune:You did well JNPR. *slowly lefts helm-

Helmet gets stuck.

Jaune:…*keeps helmet on, nods, walks away*

Ruby and Yang: *wheezing*

Blake:W-Wait! We..pfft..*drops to knees* tell us who you are hahaha.

Weiss:Did it snag the beard?

Jaune:A hundred percent!!

*Bloop!*

Jaune:*removes helmet*…..I just yanked out some beard hair I’m sorry. *eyes watering*

Coco: *off screen* Let me trim it down just a little!!!

xxxxx

Ruby:When they told this volume would have a focus on Ruby’s crumbling emotional state I was excited. I barely get to play with negative emotions often so I was ready! However, I was not prepared for Jaune to have to grow out his hair.

Jaune:Hahaha!

Ruby:Do you understand how hard it is to maintain sad vibes when in rehearsal this guy is walking around in a man bun!?

Interviewer:So the hair was all real?

Jaune:Yeah I originally got a call from Adam who asked if I knew anyone who could pull off an older version of myself. Instantly I went to my dad, however, I did not know at the time my character would be old for the majority of the volume. Love my dad, but he can’t fake act through a volume. Second best option was growing out my hair and hitting the gym.

Adam:We basically shot all of his scenes when he was young at once so long ago at this point. Then during vacation and all that in between volumes this man was obligated to not cut his hair as much as possible. My sister, Coco, did practical makeup to add age as well.

Jaune:Never again.

Interviewer:Fans like the look!

Jaune:Oh I get it. It’s the mainly the beard I wouldn’t want again. All the lights are fire scenes were soooo hot! I was dying!

xxxx

Blake:You named them after your team?

Jaune:No. I named them after everyone.

Everyone looks at where the paper pleaser would be.

Paper Pleaser:Hello. I am the one they call Jessica.

Ruby:Jessi- You met her once! Ya gotta let go!

Jaune:I can’t! 😢

xxxxx

Nora:Get a load of this. *turns camera*

Penny and Oscar:* sharing food*

Nora:They’re like magnets to each other I swear.

xxxxx

Blake:*sips coffee* Get this, today is the big day. The amazing crew has built a simple rope bridge only a couple feet off the ground. Yang is currently finding the courage to stand on it.

Yang:LISTEN! Rope bridges are scary!

Weiss:You aren’t actually high in the sky!

Yang:Rickety bridges strew me out.

Ruby:Should’ve confessed sooner.

Weiss:Imagine getting confessed to because that person is avoiding a fear? The instant they get on the bridge Yang folds.

Ruby:The true love was the solid ground we had along the way.

xxxxx

Interviewer: Let’s talk about the kiss! How’d that go?

Blake:*deflates* I have a complicated relationship with that scene for two reasons! One is you, Yang.

Yang:I may have tripped or had to fix my hair because the wind was aggressive! Your beef isn’t with me, it’s the weather!

Blake:She’s right. It came out perfectly, the shot. However, that’s a real sunset. It took so many days for the weather to be good enough! The two of us are trying to stay warm while look at each other lovingly.

Yang:Meanwhile she’s shooting daggers into my soul going “I’m begging you to get this right. I am cold.” Sometimes you sneezed.

Blake:I wanted to cry. Bright side, I got to kiss this lovely lady finally.

Yang:D’aaaww

Interviewer:Speaking of that, Yang, your character onset and yourself offset would probably have some interesting words to each other given…

A picture is pulled up on a screen that makes Blake laugh while Yang blush, giving an embarrassing smile. It’s a picture from her social media where she’s on Adam’s shoulders at the beach.

Yang:W-What can I say? I’m winning at life.

xxxxx

Pyrrha:*getting dressed* Hmm Hmm Hmm 🎶

Weiss:Someone is happy to be back.

Pyrrha:It’s pretty funny how every three volumes I come back to serve trauma and leave. Honestly make me the villain at this point.

Penny:Today is beat Ruby day. *thumbs up*

James: A glorious day indeed.

Ruby:Sometimes I feel like my friends and coworkers aren’t telling me something about themselves. Everyone is a little too enthusiastic.

Neo:*stretching*

Weiss:For those who don’t know, Neo over here does most of Ruby’s stunts, but now she’s pulling double duty again.

Neo:I love how there’s a narrative that my character is this brilliant fighter. In truth, most times I’m told to fight Ruby I let them know ahead of time one of us better be losing badly.

Ruby:I’ve gotten better at complex choreography!

Neo:And I’m very proud of you. *pats head* prepare to be tossed around like a rag doll.

xxxxx

Jaune:Ever wonder who’s doing the creepy motion capture for the Jabberwalker? *points left*

Tyrian:*in mo-cap suit* Greetings…

Jaune:Easily scarier than his normal clothes.

xxxxx

Jaune:*doing pull ups*

Weiss:*watching*

Yang:Hehe, what’s going on over here?

Weiss:I’m getting into character. I take my job very seriously.

xxxxx

[punderstorm scene]

Ruby:*walking*

Weiss:*sees Atlas*

Jaune: *looks into water*

Jessica slowly fades in.

Weiss:What the- *face palms*

Ruby:*laughing* When did you guys find the time!? Is she sneaking on set?

Jaune: *In character* I wonder how she’s doing these days?

xxxxx

Jessica:Nora snuck me in early to watch the setup process for résumé. Learned a lot about audio and video. More than I should.

[lydia-too-late]

TW: sexual assault menace, drug use

Prologue: 4:20am

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The locks have been changed. Key was mid-air and halfway home before Tula noticed shining stainless installed where once was only time-worn brass. Slumping against the door, forehead pressed next to the peephole, she bangs her head there, once, twice, three times. Twists the knob with accelerating panic. No answer. Nothing. Muffled television sounds seep through the neighbors’ walls.

A scream gathers in her throat, but her jaw stays hard. The frustration comes in motion, a single uninterrupted series: rocking onto her back foot for momentum, she kicks, slamming a boot sole next to the offending lock. The force rebounding backward. The door shudders, but the lock holds. 

Again. Nothing. It’s a deadbolt, stronger than the old one. Tula’s arms and legs go heavy, dragging under the burden of this furious animation. Dead weight. The hunger, the locked door: they taunt her. 

Again the scream surges up in frustration, more furious now, but never finds volume. A warm hand suddenly clamps over her mouth, a larger body on her back, arm encircling her chest. No thought — she’s just feral in the snare, all teeth. She bites — or tries to. Gets the side of a palm before it rips away, opening the wound more. “Fuck!” She’s shoved hard against the door. The scent of blood in the air, on her lips, which she licks as her hands are roughly lashed together behind her.

“Bitch bit me!” Hissed.

“I got a .38 on you.” The muzzle pokes her at the base of her skull. “We’re gonna walk out of here and you’re not going to make a noise, not one, you understand? Nod.” 

Two second pause. A hand grips her hair, knocks her forehead hard against the door. The pain is dull compared to the gnawing urgency in her belly. “Nod!”

Blood and cigarettes and grease. Truck-smell. She knows it. The voice. What’s a girl like you doing out here? She twists her wrists against their bindings. Nods.

They put her in the floorboard, down with the empty wrappers and plastic bottles and year-old cigarette butts. Facing the driver’s side window, with the younger one’s workboots tucked on the opposite side of her curled-up knees, legs half-over her. He doesn’t like this, having to be that close.

“She already bit me once, man.” 

“Just keep the gun on ‘er, Carl, she won’t do nothing stupid. Will ya?” 

The older one — the one from before, grabs her hair and shakes her head, chuckling. He seems to like doing that. She scowls, staring forward, gratifying neither with acknowledgment. The truck bounces over a pothole, jamming her arms — still tied behind her back — into her shoulder sockets. The gun on her wavers, then steadies. 

(The driver patted her down before shoving her in the truck. All he found on her was a the credit card, which he tucked in his own back pocket. “Emily.” Smirked. “Knew you were lying.”)

“She talk?”

“Yeah she can talk. How else would she give me a fake fucking name?”

“I dunno, man. She like an addict or something? She don’t look… right.”

“Why? What’s she doing?”

“Nothin’. She’s just… like, cold. You think she could be ODing or something?”

“Naw. If she is, it ain’t really our problem. We’ll just dump her.”

Tula looks up, past the dark barrel of the gun to the face of the younger one. Carl. He’s blinking down at her, worried: not for her, for himself. Scared. Surprisingly pretty eyes, long lashes. Hard mouth. Light-colored hair sorely in need of a trim, dirty fingernails. Laborer build. His cagey gaze flicks nervously out the window, but he knows better. His eyes have to be on her. He presses the muzzle of the gun to her temple, nudging her head to turn away. She obliges. Flash of perfect white teeth in the darkness.

The driver’s restless: fidgeting, squirming, a fount of geared-up chatter. “I went out of my way to help a lady, and she don’t even thank me. Drove all the way to Midtown, and you know how much gas is these days? Shit.”  A rough finger pokes her on the back of the neck. “Say something, bitch.”

Sour beer and smoke blood, no sleep blood, Sudafed and meth blood. Her tongue rubs the top of her mouth, anticipating, saliva pooling beneath. Carl’s hand is wrapped in a dirty handkerchief. 

“You know what’s happening, right?” Another poke.

“We’re driving out to the desert.”

“Not you, Carl, Jesus.”

The hunger throbs like a pulse. 

“Hey!” The driver knocks the side of her head into the dash with a thump. “Talkin’ to you. Yeah. You can’t just make a deal and not follow through. I provided a service to you, and you’re gonna provide a service to me. And my friend. ‘Cause of accrued interest, you know?”

“I don’t know man,” Carl cuts in,  “I don’t really want to —”

“Fine, whatever.” A monumental sigh. The truck swings to the left, rocks crunching beneath the tires. They’ve left the main road. “More pussy for me.”

The shocks on the truck are long gone. They bounce over the uneven terrain, rocks crunching beneath time-worn tires. She can’t see anything out the window except black sky. 

They stop. The driver shifts it into park, then cuts the ignition. Carl reaches for the door handle.

“Wait. Something I wanna do first.”

It’s quiet. Tula covertly glances up at Carl, scanning his face. Annoyance shifts to a mild grin as he watches his partner and nods. Behind her, crumpling. A lighter flicking. (She flinches.) The window reflects the illumination of the flame. He’s smoking something. Burning chemicals. The smell of neglect. Trailer park fires and rotting teeth and aluminum cans crushed into dirt. Deep breaths. It doesn’t take long.

“Let’s get her out.” The driver opens his door. “You can smoke while I —” The driver’s door shuts as Carl opens his. Beyond, the desert landscape is moonlit indigo and Dali-surreal, too perfect a backdrop for these misdeeds. The driver, having rounded the truckbed, covers the open door, his gun trained as he nods for Carl to scamper out of the vehicle, which he does, all alacrity and relief and stomach-twisting bugged-out jitters.

They each take a foot. Ankle in one hand, gun in the other. No fighting, just unfolding. They let her fall the distance from the floorboard to the ground amid a flutter of trash, pebbles biting into her upper back, her arms, her bound hands. There’s a moon tonight, big and bright, and she’s staring up at it. 

“Hi there,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“What the fuck you say?” Odell doesn’t wait. “Carl, help me get her up.”

None too gently, she’s on her feet. Flyaway curls, limp with neglect, frame her bloodless face. Driver grunts, gathering his nerve, and grabs her upper arm, guiding her to the back of the truck and knocks the tailgate down. Carl ducks back into the cab.

“You gotta understand honey, no one takes advantage of me.” He presses himself against her back, his trailer-fire breath on her ear as his voice drops. “You drug me or something?” He shoves her down, bent over the lowered tailgate, pressing her cheek against the rusting metal. An impatient hand moves to tug the waistband of her shorts, fingers worming between it and her skin.

“Hope it was worth it. Fuck — you are cold. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Grimy fingers fumble to the front for the clasp of her shorts, and he growls a motherfucker. Sets the gun down, needing both hands.

A howl goes up: loud, close. He startles. Coyotes. Another howl. Another. Long cries shatter into raucous yapping. Nothing unusual for those who know the desert, but never normal-sounding either. Cries to set your nerves on edge. Tula lets her senses sink into the sound like a well-known chorus, untethering the hunger she’s neglected for too many hours. Good. Good. Odell pauses to scan the desert.

In that moment, she turns herself over, wrapping her legs around his hips, leveraging herself up into a sitting position and tearing into his neck with her long teeth. He squeals, his hand reaching halfway to the gun before analgesic warmth envelopes him and they both slump to the ground. Blood’s coming fast, and she’s gulping, barely tasting, just taking and taking. Bites again when it hints at slowing. And again. Carotid hit: she feels it tear on the tip of her left fang. It sprays, weaker than it should, but plentiful regardless. Rapturous gulping, licking, gnawing. The warm beats in her cheeks, her fingertips, her belly and ankles. She tears her wrists free, pawing at her prey.

“What the fuck??”

She looks up, the lower half of her face covered in horror-red, gore dripping from her chin. Odell’s neck is blood-bubbling and mangled meat, his body convulsing. Carl’s eyes are wide, his mouth open for the scream that follows, pitched and toned to match the desert cries. He runs.

[navigatebetweenthelines]

RANPO IS MORE JEALOUS THAN POE.

There, I said it! Sure Poe is jealous but only of how many friends Ranpo had. Poe isn't nearly as possessive as any of you make him out to be. Look at Poe not giving two shits that Ranpo is hugging and tickling another man directly in front of him.

You know who is possessive? Ranpo. He threatens to "destroy the crux of the existence" of the first man Poe is interested in that isnt him. Mushitarou embarrasses Ranpo in front of his boyfriend and he takes it so hard he starts giving ✨️Fyodor Realness ™️✨️ (sjjdjdkdkd why is this canon). Arguably the most vicious he's been the whole series. It isn't just that the agency took a loss, they take losses all the damn time. If I had a dollar for every time someone in this series was a hair away from death I COULD BUY EVERY VOLUME OF THIS MANGA (and a few light novels).

And when another man is living for days in Poe's mansion (the horror)

Ranpo gives Poe MEANINGFUL gifts and PRAISE IN FRONT OF MUSHITAROU.

No! You don't understand, Ranpo answered in an interview he would never give anyone gifts because he doesn't need to or want to.

He gave Poe gifts he KNEW would mean a lot to him and absolutely nothing to Mushi literally just to prove a point. the point that they are wayyy closer and Mushi could never compare. Poe has done so much more for much less, candy was unnecessary for ANYYYY other reason. It's giving jealous wife, it is sounding a lot like, "You may be currently living in his house but I am his everything."

Personally I like the idea that Ranpo and Poe are both privately snarling at Mushitarou in a jealous rage and he's like, "I don't want him! YOU CAN KEEP HIM! YOU CAN KEEP EACH OTHER!"

[simplyxsinned]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

┊summary- oh no! they forgot about white day + the gifts they prepared for you :D

┊characters- Kaveh, Thoma, Kaeya x gn reader

┊a/n- part of white day event for @venexus HWJKWJ HOPE YOU LIKED IT

˚✧ The first thought 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇 had was "shit." The dramatic reaction this man had was honestly comedic, his hands immediately flew into his hair, gripping them so hard that he almost went bald, please help him, please spare some mercy

As a self proclaimed romantic person, he’s the type of friend you'd seek relationship advice from when encountering troubles....but when it comes to his own love life? Oh archons he's a lovesick wreck, heavy footsteps pacing front and back in his room at 12am while unconsciously biting his inner lips, praying to archons for a brilliant idea to pop up his bright mind

Well that obviously did not end up well, the renowned light of Kshahrewar somehow waddled his way to his lover’s embrace, shedding tears and his babbling sob stories about how busy he was to forget such an important day, all the while ugly crying plus sniffing snots, his tears leaving a wet stamp on your shirt. It's not like you'd mind though, you still love him after seeing his multiple sides, even the bad ones

As your gentle fingers combed through his tangled up hair, he reaches into his little pouch and fumble a bit before pulling out his sketchbook. Little do you know, that was his not-so secret book filled with detailed sketches and doodles of you. "I'm not sure if you'll like this but happy white day my sunshine"

˚✧ Despite 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀’s cool and collected demanour, he was actually trying his best to conceal his nervousness, the beads of sweat tricking down his forehead along with the slight shake of his volume when he speaks, he could only hope that you wouldn’t notice

Even after years of knowing each other and working side by side as colleagues, he still couldn’t grasp the art of remaining calm around his little crush, at least now he has a mutual understanding with Timaeus about how he feels around Ying’er, the thought sends him to ease knowing that he isn’t the only one

You on the other hand was very much the same, watching kaeya try his best to start a conversation all the while dropping a few jokes here and there, the laughs he pulled out of you sounded angelic. You didn't even notice when he placed his hand on top on yours. One glass followed by another, the both of you guys ended walking home light headed, it was mostly your blue haired companion though

What a lightweight for such a heavy guy like him, holding his right hand while supporting his body with your other arm, you somehow carried him all the way back to his house. "Wait.. I h-have something for you" he strayed away from your grasp, fumbling his pocket pulling out a shiny object. He made his way behind you and clasped on a silver necklace with an expensive looking gem in the middle, "For you my dear" turning around, you pulled him into a passionate kiss

˚✧ Poor 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀 was panicking right before your doorstep, he feels as if he was a teenager again, fetching his partner right before prom. The bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands felt heavy with each step he took, finally gaining courage to finally knock on your door

It feels as if you were blinded by his close eyed smile as soon as you opened your front door, "U-uhm these are for you.." handing the flowers to you as he shyly looks to the side, thanking him you leaned forward to give him a sweet old kiss on the cheek, earning a blush along with an awkward chuckle. "Are you ready love?" he held out his hand waiting for yours to entangle

The day was spent by each others side, hand in hand wandering around Inazuma City, hopping from stalls to stalls, even stopping by the teahouse to say hi to Taroumaru, laughing when he responds to your questions and affectionate head pats with a cute woof. Both of you settled down for some tea before he accompanied you back home

"Today was fun, thank you Thoma" wrapping your arms around his neck as he holds you close, the hug lasted a bit longer than it should but neither of you wanted to pull away. That day left both of you a warm fuzzy feeling in your chests, most importantly a sweet memory you both shared

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Twenty-one

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

Cold air swirled through the tunnels, moaning now and then, making the stone sing with an invisible shiver, although it lacked the charm of a candle-lit room where the flames danced and shadows swayed with every whisper. Tom missed working by candlelight. The phone rang, filling the little office with its trill. He picked it up quickly, knowing it could only be one person.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Malfoy is on the way,” she whispered. “Together with that pretty boy.”

Tom looked from the corner of his eye toward the other side of the office where Ambrogio was working. He’d grown more haggard since the Baron expected him to work during the daylight hours. Tom grinned and put the phone down with a whisper of thanks.

His own work was progressing slowly too but steadily and his bin was full of rejected papers torn and thrown out by Ambrogio. Their influx of new books had wavered due to market forces that Tom didn’t bother understanding. More muggle nonsense, as usual. It suited him just fine, gave him time to think of his next steps — an unwelcome necessity now that he found himself, technically, alone. She’d forgiven the roughness of his lovemaking, sure, but she still wasn’t on board with his plan.

“Sir,” he said in his most obsequious voice as he walked slowly toward the vampire. “Could I go on my lunch break now?”

Ambrogio checked his pocket watch — an item which, with its craftsmanship and beauty, betrayed both its age and his — and curled his nose.

“Lazier than a stoat taking a shit you are, Riddle. It isn’t even half past eleven.”

“Yes, sir, exactly. That’s when the restaurants still have tables free and all the food is fresh.”

“Fine. Begone.”

Tom bowed lightly from the hips even though Ambrogio’s back was turned and with a cheerful flourish off he went. The corridor of the undershop was as quiet as usual but as he got closer to the entrance he began to hear the echoing of footsteps. Soon enough, in the dim interspersed light, he caught sight of them.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

“Tom.”

“A pleasure to see you,” he said as he came to a stop. “Again.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Malfoy with what for him passed as a smile. “And in a circumstance in which we can speak… more or less freely.”

Tom’s lips curled and his eyes slid to the man’s companion. So he wasn’t a wizard…

“Ah, yes. This is Tom Riddle. He attended the same school as my son. Tom, this is Donatien Durand. My secretary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Riddle,” said Donatien with a lilt that pressed down hard on the last letters of each word. He extended a soft hand adorned with a signet on his pinky finger that seemed a size too large. Of course Malfoy would stick to his own social class, even amongst muggles.

“How do you do, Monsieur Durand,” smiled Tom, shaking his hand firmly. “Have you been in Mr. Malfoy’s employ long?”

“Oh, not at all,” said the boy with a brilliant grin. “He employed me in France only last summer. For my knowledge of Italian.”

“And what of your former master, Tom? Through with Burke, are you?”

“Oh, I’m just here to expand my expertise among… foreign markets,” said Tom with a smile. Donatient’s presence made open conversation difficult, but he could have that work in his favour.

“Here?” Septimus asked with a prickly tone.

“Well, they do have some interesting volumes, sir. As I’m sure you’ll agree,” said Tom pointedly.

“Yes… I come for their auction, of course. The few things worth taking should be taken, and by someone who knows what they’re worth.”

Tom nodded and tried not to smile. His gaze went back to Donatien, looking a little more attentively now. And it didn’t take him long to find what he was seeking.

“Are you hurt?” asked Tom, his eyes fixed on the two puncture marks above his collar.

“What? Oh,” the boy said, bashfully covering the bite.

Mr. Malfoy observed their interaction carefully, a head above them both.

“It’s the hotel we’re staying at,” said Donatien. “It was recommended by a friend, but for certain it is infested with insects. Spiders, perhaps. They bit me.”

“Really?” said Tom with a curl of his lips.

“Well, you know,” said Mr. Malfoy, “these Italians…”

“I can’t say I’ve experienced the same thing. Although sometimes I suspect this place is infested too,” he grinned.

Mr. Malfoy laughed, the deep sound echoing around them. Donatien nodded and smiled a little awkwardly, pretending to understand the inside joke between the other men. He put the strangeness of it down to English humour…

“Well, I shall leave you as I’m sure you’re here on business.”

“Yes,” said Septimus, his eyes still shining. “Here to make a down payment.”

“I see… Well, I wish you a good day, then,” said Tom, and then he turned to Donatien. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same,” he smiled. “Good day.”

“I hope to see you again, Tom.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will, Mr. Malfoy,” he grinned, then passed them, walking backwards a few steps before turning and leaving them both in the dark.

II

He found her fretting at the desk. From the way her face lit up, she wasn’t expecting him.

“Tom!”

“I hope you’re hungry because we’re off to lunch.”

She got up and took her jacket from the back of the chair. “When you never said anything…”

“Oso was there,” he said, going to the entrance to pick up her coat and hold it up for her. “Couldn’t let him know you warned me. Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re very welcome,” she smiled, turning to tuck her arms into the coat. “You must have met them on the way out.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Let’s find somewhere nice to eat and then I’ll tell you all about it,” he smiled. “My treat.”

A frosty air had fallen on the two of them since that conversation in the morning after the doomed opera, and although they’d reconciled almost as quickly as they’d quarrelled they kept their distance from each other afterwards as if afraid of what they’d do, or what they’d say to one another. Where the passion faded a novel friendship took its place, closer and more intimate than what they’d had before. They touched each other more easily now as if no expectation came attached, and talked like an old couple that no longer bothered to impress. Neither of them did anything in particular to return to the sort of love they had before. They simply allowed themselves to fall back into it naturally.

They went to their usual restaurant and in true Italian fashion ordered two glasses of wine to go with lunch. She was quieter than usual but many questions and ideas burned in her eyes as she sat in front of Tom. He smiled to let her know he noticed but refused to speak until after they were served. They had a good view of the fountain from their table by the window, something they rarely got to enjoy when they lunched together at one or two o’clock like most everyone else. Tom considered they should go out early more often.

“So?” she pressed, nearly jumping in her seat once the servers were gone and they were finally alone. “Did he recognise you?”

“Of course,” said Tom as he cut into his cordon bleu. “He recognised me the first time, really.”

She listened carefully and waited for him to continue. It bothered him somewhat that he could not share with her all his thoughts, his ideas, his suspicions… For instance, that Mr. Malfoy was bringing Donatien to Oso on several occasions for the vampire to feed and then Obliviating the poor boy.

“Well, they certainly have some sort of arrangement. But he finds it suspicious that I’m here as well although he’s too polite to make a fuss about it.”

“And what’s Donatien’s role in all this?” she asked, stabbing a small tentacle with her fork in her plate of seafood pasta.

“He’s — wait, I never told you his name.”

“He introduced himself when he came in today,” she smiled. “Seemed like a nice boy…”

Tom hummed, transparently displeased with her gushing over Donatien. Sure, he was good-looking in a common sort of way, but he wasn’t that special, Tom thought. Just an ordinary young man who was bound to wrinkle and grey just like the rest of them in a few years. His suit might fit him nicely now, but after a few more years of French cuisine, he’ll be soft around the edges with flesh sagging all around. That is if he lived for long enough.

“So? What is he?”

“His secretary,” said Tom, and took a bite. “Officially.”

“And unofficially?”

He smiled. “It would be unfair to tell you. Even he doesn’t know what he really is.”

She looked at Tom with large, frightened eyes, the most horrifying scenarios running through her mind.

“Specifically, he’s too attractive for his own good,” said Tom to speed those horrors along. He bit into a piece of chicken breast and chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure Oso finds him absolutely… delicious.”

She just about choked on a tentacle.

III

It was so nice to be on his own. He minded the company of muggles less than he thought he would — or at least of certain muggles — but there were not that many opportunities for Tom to really be himself. To light his room in floating candle flame and cover the windows with ivy, to brew for himself a cup of black tea that hovered just at shoulder level perpetually hot and out of range of being knocked over by his elbows. The rarity of such things made them all the more magical and in his more unguarded moments he felt the same sort of wonder as he did when he first learned he was a wizard. He took a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea before placing it back in the air, just at the periphery of his vision, and continued to scan the sketches before him.

He’d drawn a careful outline of the undershop with all of its corridors and rooms, its dimensions, and matched it against a map of the city. He had to resize his sketch quite a few times to match and he rendered it somewhat transparent. After an hour of playing around this way, he was confident he had what he needed. The next auction was at the end of the upcoming month, and before that, he needed to have everything ready. A chart with timetables from last year’s almanac came in handy, listing the time of sunrises and sunsets for that time of year. In the background, he let the radio play as he waited for the weather forecast.

His plan for the following days was coming together nicely. The only part that was missing was her. He once hoped foolishly in retrospect that she would play a part, abscond with the book for him and eagerly hand it over right before he made his escape — without her, of course. He could always Obliviate her afterwards, a parting gift, and leave her to take the blame in front of the Baron who, due to his muggle and mangled understanding of the metaphysical nature of women, was already predisposed to viewing them as the eternal deceivers of men. Tom could always cover his exit as an urgent recall back to England by Burke.

Unfortunately for Tom, while she enjoyed his… company, his attention, his clumsy attempts at replicating love, and even enjoyed the slightly rougher side of him, she was no pushover when she didn’t want to be. It surprised him, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He’d read her as a lost and lonely girl, a stranger in a strange land. Neglected by her mother and likely her father too, berated and criticised throughout her childhood and apparently her adulthood now, she envied him for not having a family at all, and even for Tom that was shocking.

And still she resisted him, even when he painted her a picture of the most beautiful escape…

Well, he was determined to not let it get to him. It was not that his charms were insufficient — the thought of which wounded his pride — nor that she did not care about him as much as he had thought, which wounded something else. Instead, Tom chose to view it as —

“And tomorrow, cloudy skies in the morning, followed by a sunny afternoon which should carry on well into the evening,” said the weatherman on the radio.

Tom tilted his head back and sighed, letting a calm smile curl on his lips.

[bluedolup]

Overstepped: Iwaizumi x Reader

You and Hajime had been secretly dating for a few months despite the fact that everyone thinks that you two hate each other.

When you first met him you thought he was a stone-cold guy that only had his head in sports and preferred to not interact with so many people. You, on the other hand, were more social and had a passion for the arts. It would never work, they’re complete opposites, it would be a one in a million chance if they actually got together. 

Life is luckier than people think.

You two didn’t understand why people would assume you guys hated each other but you found it really funny, so why not play around with it. You and Hajime purposely choose the same classes in hopes of having similar schedules. Mainly because they wanted to see each other but it made them look unlucky to be in the same classes. The seats were assigned and the two were seated beside each other in nearly every class. The whispers when one of you entered the classroom and the other was already there were priceless, Hajime would arrive first most of the time and he would purposely sit on your desk in the morning instead of his own.

You approached him and the crowd gathered to hear your daily verbal arguments. 

“Are you blind volleyball, that’s my seat” you said crossing your arms “I’m aware, I’m not assuming that you would want to sit knowing you stand 24/7 with that violin you play, which by the way, tune it once in a while” he said. You scoffed, “my instrument’s fine, you should worry about not spiking out of your court's limits. Maybe then you could’ve actually scored” you said. The volume of the chatter of students rose, no one talked shit about Iwaiuzmis sport. One guy said something about his blocking and he got a fist to the face in less then a second. 

Iwaizumi glared at you, jumping off your desk and getting in your face. “Funny,I didn’t think you knew the rules of any sport. Have you seen my games?” he asked. You looked him in the eye, “I was curious, it was a waste of my time though” you said “you too slow to follow a simple game?” he asked “it was hard to watch when you were so far behind on those points” you said. 

Iwa pursed his lips, your heart dropped. The look on his face turned serious, it was very subtle but you could see it. You went too far. 

You were about to speak again when the bell rang and the sensei entered the class. Everyone rushed to their seats, including Iwaizumi, to start class. You sat at your desk and glanced at Iwa every now and then in class as the students whispered about what just happened. Things about him, the team, and doubts. You slugged in your chair the entire time, feeling like a horrible person. You two did this all the time and it’s usually just stupid topics that you guys never took seriously but bringing up the team and their playing abilities was a bad idea. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your violin lessons were all over the place as your mind was still on the incident. Iwa hadn’t texted you like he usually did afterschool, you would always set up a time to walk home after you both are done practicing. It’s not surprising though, you know you crossed the line and you were gonna fix it. 

You left your practice early and went to the gym. You peaked in and saw the court empty, the guys were done. You snuck back out and headed towards the dressing rooms, the lights were still on and as you peaked inside you saw him…he was there by himself on his phone. You took a breath and knocked, the door swung open and you looked eyes with him. 

“I thought you were Oikawa…shouldn’t you be at rehearsal?” he asked, crossing his arms leaning against the doorway “I should, but I couldn’t really focus after what I did” you said “what did you do?” he asked “I took it too far, during homeroom…I shouldn’t have brought that last game up” you said. He sighed, “oh that” he glanced down at you and pulled you into a hug “don’t cry over spilled milk, I don’t care about that stuff. We knew what we were getting involved in when we agreed to that and I said you have free range” he said. You groaned, “no! I know that look on your face you hated the fact that you were reminded of that. I’m sorry Haji, I know how hard you work on this and I know that the last game really got to you because couch got on you for your spikes” you said “yup, thanks for the reminder” he said “...sorry, you should get even with me” you said. 

“What?” he asked “get even! Say something to me that will have you cross the line” you said “I am not doing that, let it go babe. I’m alright, you said nothing but the truth” he said “no, I won't be satisfied until you do this” you said. He looked at you for a good minute, the look at your face was set in stone so he had no choice. He groaned, “I hate your cooking,” he said. 

You gasped, “liar, you eat everything I give you” you said “that’s true. Um…I don’t like it when you take me to the nail salon” he said “liar, you enjoy getting foot massages after the games” you said “couldn’t really lie about that” he said “I don’t want to do this babe, lets just leave it alone please” he said “try and think” you said “fine! You’re overreacting” he said. You twitch a bit, he knew you hated when he said that; “am I, is that how you really feel?” you asked “yup, now be a good girl and wait for me at the gym doors” he said closing the doors, leaving you an annoyed and blushing mess.

[queerlilchinchin]

With a Dash of Jealousy, part IV

Part I || Part II || Part III

--

I woke with a stiff body the next morning. It was still early enough it was dark out. Luc was resting in my arms, her light snores making me smile ever so slightly. I'd noticed since we came to the Mortal Realm that she's been sleeping heavily and so soundly. The fact that she didn't rest in hell was more than evident in the way she slept here.

I didn't want to pull away, but out of respect for her, I gingerly pulled her off of me and carried her up to the bedroom where she slept. I pulled off her shoes and socks and tucked her into bed, stroking her hair, then left the bedroom once more, silently closing the door behind me.

Tiptoeing back downstairs, I returned to her laptop and typed out a response to the article that it was still open to before shutting the damned thing down and putting it on a shelf.

Then came the baking. I always had to make sure the kitchen was supplied with fresh baked and cooked goods for her.

Eventually, covered in flour and sugar that had spilled in the middle of my baking venture, I was finished and set the cake and cookies on the cookie rack to cool.

I slumped on the couch, heaving an exhausted sigh. After everything we'd been through together, I still had these feelings that welled up in my chest every time I even thought of her name. It was so hard for me to focus on other things when it was necessary to, as my thoughts always came back to her. The fact that she became so important and special in my life...

... I sighed, switching the television back on and turned the volume down and the closed captions on. More than likely, I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep that morning. Sometimes Luci will come down sleepily and fall asleep on the couch next to me. Some of the time, she would remain slumbering up in her bed. That morning was different, though.

She sleepily found her way back down to the couch and slumped against the back of it, looking like she was about to fall asleep.

"Sleepy?" I asked, glancing at her face with amusement. She only groaned sleepily and scooted in to press against me and rest her cheek on my shoulder.

I tensed slightly at the contact but said nothing.

She nuzzled her face into my shoulder, mumbling something incoherently to me. There was a pause then her eyes snapped open to look at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked with a frown.

"I asked you a question," she said matter-of-factly with the sleep more than evident in her tone.

"Sorry, I didn't understand what you'd said. What did you ask me?" Her cheeks flushed a little but she only closed her eyes and pressed her face harder into my shoulder.

"When you were alive, did you ever fall in love?" The question felt so out of the blue. She'd never asked me anything like this before and it make me hesitate.

"Wow, Luc. That's really random. Why do you ask?" I asked awkwardly, wanting to gauge the reason for her interest so I could adjust my response accordingly.

"Just curious," she mumbled, completely relaxed against me. I could feel her body slowly relaxing more and more every second we sat together. I never knew her to be this way with anyone else, but she was so out of touch with emotions that even if it was that she liked me... would she know that's how she felt?

I blushed a little.

"I mean..." I began, still unsure how I should answer her question. "... I was never really focused on romance when I was alive. I was more focused on... well, food."

She let out a small thoughtful hum at my response and nuzzled into my shoulder again, making my muscles tighten nervously.

"How about now?" She asked, continuing with her line of questioning. I hesitated further. Shit, I couldn't actually tell her how I felt, but this was the perfect in to tell her at least that I liked someone.

I couldn't help but to let out a small snort at the thought of how childish I sounded. Oh no I liked a girl and she was expressing interest in my feelings... it all felt so juvenile.

After a moment, she peered up at me with concern. "Should I not have asked?" She asked, sitting up now and looking more awake and worried. I gave a little awkward chuckle.

"No, I like that you show such interest in me. I've never seen you express interest in others as much as you do in me," I said before I could stop myself. I immediately regretted it but her smile she gave in return was priceless.

"You're pretty precious to me, Chef. And not just because your cooking is incredible. You're like... my favorite mortal that ever lived." She gave a beaming smile. I couldn't help but to feel a different sort of pang as my heartbeat picked up speed.

"What about... immortal beings?" I asked slowly. She snorted at the question, looking relaxed once more as she rested her head on my shoulder.

"That goes without saying, I would think. Never really got along with many of them." Now I stroked her hair and smiled to myself. Now would be the perfect time to...

... but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to tell her.

"Well... since you asked," I said after a beat of silence. "... there was-is-someone." She gave a sleepy but contented smile.

"She's very lucky, whoever she is," she mumbled as she drifted back into slumber. I could feel my heart racing as I listened to her steady and soft breathing.

"Damn it, so close," I whispered, disappointed. Sighing, I rested my cheek on her head and watched the television.

Maybe one day, I could be brave enough to tell her...

Tags!: @lordkingsmith @smol-feralgremlin

[amostimprobabledream]

Ignite Me (Homelander x Reader) - Part Six

Hi all. Sorry this chapter took me so long, I couldn’t get my original idea to work so I had to go back to the drawing board. Plus I haven’t really watched The Boys since I finished Season 3 so I haven’t been as into it as I was when I first started. Hopefully this doesn’t come as a let-down after waiting a few months.

Also small TW: Someone (not Homelander) attempts to kiss Reader against her will. Just as a heads-up. The bar was a blur of colour and light. Music thudded so loud through the room that you could feel it in your ribcage. You smacked your lips, still sticky with sugar that dusted the rim of your last cocktail, swaying to a song you didn't know the words to. In other words, you were drunk as fuck. "Heyyy!" a similarly-drunk Casey came prancing back up to you and the others you're with, bearing a tray of drinks that wobbled dangerously at her drunken gait. Her cleavage also wobbled in her tight red dress, which was probably why it had taken her such a short time to get served. "Shots!" "Shots, shots, shots!" you cheered, grabbing one with clumsy fingers. Across from you, a hand appeared in your field of vision, instantly irritating you, because it belongs to a man - a man who didn't clean his fingernails. Steve took a shot, and you knew he's trying to make eye contact with you again, so you purposefully looked towards Casey and clinked tiny plastic glasses against hers in a cheers. To be honest, you don't know why Steve was here. Casey only seemed to be vaguely acquainted with him, a friend of hers called Danesha or Danika or something (it’s hard to hear much over the music) brought him along and you wondered why neither the woman who brought him or Steve seemed to notice or care how out of place he was with a group of women he barely knows. His low-effort outfit of a polo-neck t-shirt and baggy jeans looks weird against all your clubbing outfits and he bobbed around on the fringes of the group, head jerking awkwardly to whatever song was on. Foam from the beer he was drinking clung to the scraggly beard he had. The thing was, you knew what Steve wanted. He's been staring at both Casey, you and some other girls for most of the night (you knew you guys looked good, but come on) and he kept trying to get you to dance with him despite the fact he had A) No rhythm and B) a shit taste in songs. He even offered to buy you a drink, his hot, gross breath wafting over your ear, but you pretended not to understand him under the volume of the music. His staring, his presence, his ultimate passivity in how he's tossing out a few cliche gestures and now they haven't worked he's just standing there in a group of dancing, chatting girls like a useless appendage, pissed you off. You don't want him here because tonight was meant to be all about the girls, not tolerating some random guy just because he got dumped and he's sooo sad because it still hurts. You wanna know what hurts? you thought savagely, one of the most lucid thoughts you've had since you left Casey's apartment. Getting fucking shot. Fucking Steve.

Maybe you wouldn't be feeling so hostile towards this wet dishrag of a man if it wasn't for anything else. The whispers and staring that had followed you around for weeks, maybe even over a month by now. How you still felt exhausted so quickly and suddenly these days, the scar from the gunshot wound on your stomach, that fucking interview you'd essentially been tricked into giving...you just had no patience  left, and definitely not when you were trying so hard to forget all of it. Forget about him. You wouldn't speak the name - didn't even want to think it - so you swallowed down the shot in your hand without stopping to ask what it was first. You learn the minute it hit you tongue, the sharp, acrid bitterness filling your mouth. You gagged. Fucking tequila! You scrambled to grab a lime, realising belatedly you forgot to do salt, and sucked on it frantically, the tart sourness of the fruit a cleansing balm of the shot. Casey cackled as everyone else chokes - she actually likes tequila and drinks it for fun. You'd forgotten that about her. She grabbed your hand. "Let's dance!" she bellowed at you, her lipgloss all smudged, and dragged you into a sea of bodies twisting beneath candy-coloured lights. Eager to get away from Steve, you followed her lead, even though you're not exactly some amazing dancer yourself, when you're this fucked up it hardly matters. Your eyes lazily scanned the faces around you, looking to see if you can find any guys you thought were cute. It's been a while since you've had sex and even if picking up randoms from a bar wasn't usually your style, maybe that's exactly what you needed right now. But try as you might, you can't see anybody that makes you feel anything. Your heart beats on steadily, unmoved by the people on display, and you sighed, wondering if you're getting too old for this or if you're being picky or something. You can't even remember the last time somebody genuinely made your heart skip a beat- Yes you can. “I love this song!!” Casey screamed at you over the music, her hair falling out of the updo she’d put it in earlier but in a way that looked artfully messy, and your face lights up when you recognise the tune, an old favourite from your college days. “Me too!” you yelled back. Funny how some booze robbed you of your inability to make any sort of meaningful observations, but that wasn’t really what’s required of you right now. It doesn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter as you twisted and turned beneath the strobe lights, a machine sending out plumes of dry ice, hiding the dancefloor that’s soaked in people’s spilled drinks by now. You watched as the people around you flash red, yellow, green, blue…something so normal made mesmerising with just a few tricks of the light (and copious amounts of liquid courage, it had to be said). The other girls pushed their way through the crowd to join you, squealing, the lights twinkling on their jewellery or the glitter on their eyelids. And right on Danesha’s heels was fucking Steve. It's like tasting something slightly off in an otherwise good meal, contaminating every other bite. He’s looking at you again, that vaguely dead eyed expression that sent your teeth on edge, so you turned your back to him. He seemed impervious to reading body language or your annoyed expressions, but not having to look at him was at least something. “Oh my god, Lucy, what are you doing?!” Danesha suddenly shrieked. You all turned to look at Lucy, one of Casey’s friends, who had somehow crossed the dancefloor without any of you noticing and had climbed on one of the tables, dancing around on it like a thing possessed. You’re kind of impressed she somehow hadn’t knocked over all of the glasses and bottles covering the surface. She had her arms thrown above her head, bracelets sliding down her skinny wrists, blonde hair twisting back and forth along with her movements. A security guard rushed over, nearly colliding with you, yelling at her to get down or he’d throw her out, and as the oblivious crowd around you start jumping up and down to an R’n’B song that just started, you realised something- You’re going to puke. You bolted for it, feeling the hot, sickly feeling rising in your throat, the roof of your mouth tingling. You raced towards the ladies, but skidded to a halt – the queue was so long you doubted you’d make it even if they let you pass to get to the sinks, so you did the only over thing you could think of and ran outside where the smokers went. The tequila tasted even worse on the way back up as you bent over a trashcan outside and vomited it back up, throat burning with it and your eyes stinging. You blinked hard several times because you didn’t want it to fuck up your eyeliner. You made a mental note that in future, when Casey gives you a mysterious shot, at least ask what it is first. You still had your drink from before in your hand and took a cautious swig from it to wash the horrible taste out of your mouth, spitting it out into the trashcan too. It’s not water but it’s an improvement, at least. “Hey.” You stiffened. You didn’t need to turn around to know who the voice belonged to. Your fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle as you turned your head to see Steve standing a few feet behind you, hands in his pockets. “What?” you said, flatly, because you weren’t interested in small talk. He looked slightly surprised at your response, blinking and swaying a little. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay or if you wanted him to get Casey or someone, of course. He’s only interested in what he wants. “So like…you’re so hot.” Steve said and if you weren’t already so done with him, you might have laughed at what a pathetic attempt at a pickup line that was. “And I was thinking like…we should-“ “No.” you interrupted. Steve stared at you. “What?” “There is no ‘we’. Whatever you were about to ask, I’m not interested.” You said, and it’s a relief to get it out in the open. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t getting it from you. “I’m going back inside now.” “Hey, you don’t even know what I was gonna say!” Steve protested in a whiny voice, blocking the doorway. “Don’t be like that.” “I don’t even know what you’re doing here.” You blurted out, anger rising in you like someone turned up a thermostat inside you. “It was meant to just be us girls and here you are, expecting us all to feel bad for you because you got dumped or something and ruining it for all of us. It’s so creepy how you’re hovering around acting like if you buy us drinks or whatever it means you’ll get something out of it later. That’s not how it works. Now get out of my fucking way.” God, it felt good to say that, seeing that stunned look on his face like he couldn’t believe his ears. You’re so sick of holding back everything you want to say, every moment of every day, of feeling like you’re constantly walking over a landmine and if you don’t consider everything you do carefully, it’ll all be blown to smithereens. You’ve been swallowing venom for so long it’s great to spit it out. “You’re a bitch!” Steve spluttered in astonishment, clearly aiming to sound scornful but he sounded so affronted that it’s impossible to take him seriously – if he had pearls to clutch, he would. “You got that right.” You said, feeling a vindictive smirk on your face. “Now move.” You’ve wasted quite enough time on this douchebag as it was, and you went to push past him when he suddenly grabbed at your arm. “Wait, just calm down.” Steve said, slurring slightly. “Get the hell off me.” You hissed at him. You wrenched your arm free, stumbling backwards and when you right yourself, Steve’s face was suddenly looming over you like a satellite dish, his lips puckered grotesquely. Ugh! “I said get away!” You swung your hand to hit him, outrage flooding your brain and overriding any shred of common sense, but the hand you instinctively flung up was still clutching the bottle from earlier and there’s a loud, dull thunk as it collided with the side of Steve’s face. The bottle doesn’t break or shatter dramatically, but either way you get your desired outcome – Steve getting the fuck away from you, clutching his face and moaning loudly, a strange, bovine noise that made you think of a cow getting stuck. “My eye! My eye! You bitch, you fucking cunt!” he shouted, staggering on the spot, a spot just below his eyebrow already starting to swell. You know you should be feeling something right now – shocked or guilty or something, but there’s nothing there. Just a cold sense of satisfaction in having your kneejerk dislike of Steve vindicated. “You’re fucking pathetic.” You said, like a queen issuing a royal decree, before tossing your makeshift weapon aside and walking back into the bar. Inside, you only have to walk a few steps before a bouncer passed you, carrying a semi-conscious Lucy over one gigantic shoulder, Danesha and the other girls following him like a row of duckling and loudly talking, though you can’t tell if they’re upset about being kicked out or just trying to rouse Lucy. Casey came rushing up to you. “There you are! Come on, we should go – Lucy’s absolutely out of it, so we’re going to take her back to Christa’s place to sober her up. Do you wanna crash there too? She doesn’t mind.” You considered it as you followed Casey out, ducking and weaving past the people still dancing the night away, but after puking up your last drink and braining Steve in the face, you decided that you know when to fold. “No, I’ll get a taxi back to mine. I’m tired and I don’t want to sleep on the floor.” You said. You debated telling her about Steve, but knowing Casey she’d probably go looking for him and try to fight him and as much as you love her for that, you’d say you’ve taken care if things. Anyway, you don’t want to ruin her night any further. Maybe you’ll tell her about it later when you’ve both sobered up. Outside the club, there are plenty of taxis waiting and after the bouncer deposits Lucy in one of them (which was pretty nice of him – you’ve known bouncers who would probably leave someone that drunk lying on the floor so long as they weren’t in the bar), Casey turned to you and gave you a hug. “Sure you don’t want to come with us?” “I’m sure.” You replied – you wanted to go home and sleep. “Okay. Talk tomorrow, text me when you get home!” she ordered you. “Don’t forget!” “You’re the one who never remembers to text.” You snorted as you climbed into the back of the taxi. “See you later.” The taxi pulls away from the curb and after giving your address, you slump back against the seat, your eyes sliding shut despite yourself. He’ll wake you up when you get to your destination, for sure. Outside the taxi, the city parties on. ~ Elsewhere… "Stupid bitch..." Steve, forgotten by the group of people he'd arrived at the bar with, even Danisha, who'd brought him, stumbles home through the brightly lit night of the city. The night is beginning to wind down now, most of the partiers tiring of their alcohol-induced fun and retreating home or joining a stranger to spend the rest of the night with. Steve doesn't want to return home, but to say his night has been ruined was an understatement - his throbbing face was testament enough to that. Just who the fuck did you think you were, anyway? He’s a nice guy and he's just been dumped! Was it so much to ask he get to hang out with a group of hotties for a night? But you’d looked at him like he was shit on your boots, like you were so fucking special. And Danika had made it seem he'd for sure get laid, she insisted he was a great guy and his ex was crazy for breaking up with him, yet all he got was fucking smashed in the face! This petulant internal monologue continues on and on. He may have even been inclined to continue going to bars in hopes of guilting some woman into letting him go home with her, throwing himself on her sense of pity as if impaling himself on a sword. But he doesn't have the cash, and besides which, his face is sore and throbbing, a bruise already forming beneath his eyebrow. By the morning it will be there, the only souvenir of tonight and not one he was hoping to walk away with. He turns into the mouth of an alleyway that’s a handy shortcut home - Steve grimaces as a waft of garbage reached his nose, no doubt collection day’s tomorrow morning, so it's not a pleasant trip, but it takes him further away from the noise and bright lights that seem to be mocking him, everybody else having fun while all he got was attacked. Can he sue for assault or whatever it was? GBA or something? When Steve rounds the next corner, where some lurid graffiti art that always catches his eye and made him stare at it as he passed, he's unprepared to be intercepted. He stops, squinting. A figure stands in the middle of the alley. Thanks to the bright lighting of a billboard across the street, light floods the street and the man's features are in shadow. Steve squints, confused - the posture wasn't one of any mugger he's ever seen before. He can already tell this guy’s strong, he’s taller and bulkier than Steve is, even in silhouette. The man stands there, legs apart, shoulders thrown back and hands behind his back. But Steve spots something - an American flag, dangling behind the man, lit up by the fluorescent glow. “…No way…” Steve mutters under his breath, drunk as he is – even someone blackout drunk would recognise the person standing in front of him. But why’s he here? Homelander says nothing to explain himself, why Vought’s golden boy would be standing in a filthy alleyway like he’s staring down enemy gunfire. He steps closer silently, the flag swaying hypnotically behind him. Steve finds himself staggering backwards until his jacket brushes brick wall, which is crazy. He’s an innocent citizen, why is he instinctively drawing away from Homelander? Unless…maybe it’s not him at all? Maybe it’s just some guy on a bachelor party in a Homelander outfit or something? His uniform is a popular choice, they’re easy to get into and instantly recognisable, no need to have multiple conversations explaining your outfit at a costume party with such an iconic Supe’s wardrobe readily available. It’s a useful disguise in case you wanna rob somebody, too. Convinced of his theory, Steve yells: “Hey, man! What do you want?!” And then his stomach turns to ice, as in the gloom of the alleyway, two pinpricks of red flare in the darkness, like the eyes of a crocodile. It's him. A hand shoots out, grasping Steve by the throat and lifting him off the ground as easily as most people might pick up a bag of washing. Steve chokes, flounders, Homelander’s thumb digging into the vulnerable flesh beneath his jaw. His movements feel so slow and sluggish and Homelander tilts his head in consideration, his jaw clenched. Steve splutters for air, the grip on his throat like a vice. His fingers claw pointlessly at Homelander’s glove, legs weakly kicking. He tries to speak but all that comes out is an incoherent gurgle. “Please…” Homelander’s lips draw back in a snarl. In that moment he looks less a man and more like a beast. Steve’s panic-stricken eyes meet glowing scarlet ones, tears leaking from them instinctively. Homelander finally speaks; “She’s right. You are fucking pathetic.” And the fist clenches and the bones in Steve’s neck pop like twigs, the flesh giving way beneath his superhuman grip like it’s nothing more than paper. Steve's body jerks and a final, rattling gurgle leaves his mouth. Then he falls still, head slumping. Homelander drops the body, where it collapses before the graffiti in a crumpled heap, piss staining the front of his ill-fitting jeans, glassy eyes staring at nothing. Homelander wipes his hand on the thigh of his suit, like he just touched something filthy. He sniffs once, rolls his shoulders. A blink later, a casual lift into the sky, and he’s gone.