#just so he learns to balance it out. rationality without feeling is missing out half the equation and he should know better than that

[sleepy-aletheas]

Tipsy rambling about Ratio

For someone who tried to catch Nous’ gaze, he really thinks less about the Genius Society. He seems like the person who thinks their smarts are wasted by being so selfish and self-absorbed about their ambitions that cost other people their well-being when they could achieve so much and help so many more people.

It’s interesting that his character stories are told through outsider perspectives. We don’t know what he truly thinks in those moments, in those moments in his life that seem to be so important that we are told about them. Sometimes I think about the story how he created the anti-planetary-weapon-thingy and how it’s told through the perspective of his assistant. He got a letter and let out a weary sigh. I wonder if that is where everyone got the idea that he wants to get into the genius society so badly, even till this day. Cause it could have been a sigh of someone disappointed in another’s disinterest. He is a doctor and someone who tries to help people (in his own ways, but ultimately not to seriously harm), so him building such a weapon could have been him testing the morality of others and be disappointed that even geniuses can be so fucking stupid like any other person. (Disillusionment of grandeur of someone you idolize can leave you questioning yourself for a long time)

I love his delivery of sentiments. It’s so harsh and sarcastic and demeaning, he sounds exactly like me when I try to get on others’ nerves to rise a reaction that they would usually avoid, so I could map them out better, except he does it earnestly. Which is so much funnier to me. Like yes, step over other’s feelings like a tipsy elephant, Veritas. This is a great character flaw to learn to navigate (not necessary fix, because there is a certain charm to it, and also I think, if monitored properly, it can be handled in a delicate manner; maybe I’m just projecting my own lack of societal takt, I don’t really care)

Him being caring with the sandpaper treatment is the funniest thing to me. Like, yes. Insult everyone and yet (im)patiently wait until they use their brains to think about something deeper than the surface. There is something about rough intelligent characters with a genuine hope for the better that make me go feral. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition, or maybe a projection on my part (again, I don’t care which one it is)

His love for rubber duckies is something I feel on a spiritual level. All hardass characters need to have a cute quirk. And a weird eating habit. And a “are you serious” type of sleeping position. And a silly side that makes them do ridiculous poses of statues with their own selves. (But that is once again a purely me thing)

I love how he insults Aventurine and yet it’s a thinly veiled compliment at moments. Best example is when you brute force the nightingale puzzle and along the lines he says Aventurine should join the Intelligentsia Guild. Which can be read as a joke (which probably was meant to be portrayed in-game for Sunday), but it’s not an insult all things considered. Veritas is in the Intelligentsia Guild. They would work for the same part of the IPC. If it was meant as an insult, then it would insult Veritas too, cause the sarcasm on the Genius Society was that if Veritas can’t get into the ranks, Aventurine absolutely couldn’t. And there was no specification on it being sarcasm either like the Genius Society bit.

Also I love him texting the Trailblazer, it’s so fun. Him asking if they want to pursue any schooling and in what major. Recommending them getting to learn more about debate. Wanting to unwind, so asking the Trailblazer to give him anything to think about and then be fascinated in the cutest way. He can be soft, but in the roughest way possible, and I respect that.

Even the whole playing-chess-with-himself bit is so goofy, why is he like this?? And him basically testing everyone to see what they would do, mainly the geniuses. He probably wanted to feel out the Trailblazer and in a sense also Asta (who is more of the keeper of the space station that Herta, imo), but it was a bigger test to see what Screwllum and Herta would do, and his disappointment just made me think maybe he doesn’t wanna even be in the Genius Society anymore, cause if being callous and selfish and self-absorbent is the genius quality that Nous is seeking, then he will rather be in the Intelligentsia Guild and call himself a Mundanite, cause he wants the whole universe to step up and move forward, not just a select few that leave others in the dust to die.

Simply put, he is the most infuriating character I wanna toss into the ocean whenever he opens his mouth, and I love him so dearly, my teeth itch to chew on him. The cute aggression is real with him around, and hoyo knows what they're doing. And I thank them for it.

[heliads]

Sudden Changes (Part Two)

When you, an Erudite, accidentally stumble upon Jeanine Matthew’s plans, she forces you to transfer to Dauntless. Your only hope is to blend in, although Four seems less willing to let that happen.

part one / masterlist / part three

This first encounter sets you on edge. You hate to admit it, that barely a few minutes into your tenure at Dauntless you’re already convincing yourself it’s all a mistake, but that’s the way it is. This is probably how your life will be until the day you die- terrified over the smallest of incidents, sure that any small happening means that Jeanine Matthews will be sending an assassin your way. This is no way to live, but you’re not sure that you have a choice about it. No, you have no choices left at all.

It was either this or die outright, you remind yourself. Even this nerve-strained way of life is better than that initial bullet. At least now you have time to grow and at least pretend that you got the easy way out, right? However, you’re not sure where to go from now. Jeanine included no terms of service in her deal. In fact, the only thing she said was that you would have to choose Dauntless. Then again, you’re fairly sure that if this man, Four, found out what you’d seen, you’d be back in that same scared place where you started.

That’s why you were sent to Dauntless in the first place, isn’t it? Jeanine wanted you to keep your mouth shut. You’d either learn to live as a mindless, brainless soldier, seamlessly fitting into the ranks, or you’d die and be stuck as a washed-out factionless roaming the streets, with nothing to do and no one to listen to you. However, you’re fairly sure that she hadn’t counted on one of her own Dauntless leaders questioning your presence here. Apparently Jeanine’s agenda only extends so far as herself, although that’s no surprise to anyone who’s ever known her.

This man, Four, however, you don’t know him as well. You may know Jeanine, or at least you thought you had, but he is a complete blank to you. You could swear that he looks familiar, like you’ve seen his face before, but every time you comb your memories, searching for a name to put to the face, you can’t remember a thing. This is unfortunate, especially since remembering who Four is could mean the difference between coming face to face with another one of Jeanine’s guards or accidentally discovering someone who could be an ally to you.

Regardless of who Four is or what his intentions are, you can be sure of one thing: he knows you, or must recognize you from somewhere, and he’s not going to leave you alone anytime soon. Ever since that first meeting, when he’d stared at you like you were someone he had pushed to the farthest corners of his mind, sure that he’d never see you again, it was as if he had sworn to himself that he’d never leave you alone. Wherever you look, he is there: down the table in the mess hall, watching you spar in training, eyes locked onto your knives and targets as you throw. His presence is silent, and he’s about as likely to say anything to you as any of the other initiates, but it’s there nonetheless. You can’t help but feel unnerved. You had hoped to blend into the crowds of trainees, but Four is making that impossible.

So, you throw yourself into your training with additional fervor. If he’s going to keep watching you, you might as well make sure that everyone else is watching you as well. Target practice, both with a knife and a gun, comes surprisingly easy to you. Maybe it’s because they both rely on taking careful aim, having perfect balance between what the eye sees and what the mind knows to be true. It’s about as close as you’ll ever get to Erudite in this dark corner of the city that the madmen call Dauntless.

Hand-to-hand combat, on the other hand, is not your forte. Not at all. You get the drills, sure, and it’s a good workout, but every time you’re put up against another opponent it’s like you’re missing some key part of a melody, repeating the same choppy chords while everyone else is improvising an entire symphony. Your punches are solid and sure, exactly what you’d practiced, but you can’t seem to quite put the pieces together the way the other initiates can.

Maybe it’s because you’re not used to this, the abandonment of all rational thought. As you watch your opponents, you notice one common thread among all those who win: they seem to run on pure adrenaline, and even when they study their opponent’s thought patterns, they don’t get lost in their heads, moving only with the speed of their fists. That’s where you’re lacking, you suppose, you’re still trying to cling to your past. If you let yourself truly fall, you might find something other than just the rocks at the bottom.

It’s after one of these days, when you just managed to eke out a victory over a girl who’s one place away from the bottom of the rankings, that Four finally approaches you. He walks next to you, arms folded across his chest. “You know, I figured that for someone who’s so good at rifles and knives, you’d be a little better in actual fighting.” You scoff. “Thanks for the kind words. I’ll cherish them always.”

Four chuckles. “Oh, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just wondering why someone who’s supposed to be the best of the best back in Erudite would transfer away, and especially to a place that she doesn’t even seem to like.” You freeze slightly, then keep walking, hoping to cover up your slight lapse. Judging by the sharp look in Four’s eyes, though, he hasn’t missed a thing. “Maybe I wanted a challenge.”

Four raises his eyebrows. “I can’t help but doubt that. Why are you really here?” You weren’t expecting him to confront you like this, not here and not now. He isn’t dancing around the issue, not at all. You weren’t anticipating such a direct question, and you don’t have a solid alibi lined up. Instead, you deflect, hoping he’ll leave well enough alone, although you doubt you’ll be that lucky. “Why are you so interested in my motives? Don’t you have an entire other group of initiates to question?”

Four shrugs. “All of them make sense. All of them look like they’re happy to be here. You, though, you keep backing down. You’ll be in the middle of a fight, about to win, and then something comes over you, like you regret being here at all. You’re holding yourself back, and I want to know why.” This takes you by surprise. You knew he was trying to figure you out, but you weren’t expecting such an accurate appraisal. “We all have our bad habits. I still can’t figure out why mine is worth your trouble.”

Four stops walking, forcing you to stop next to him. “You’re interesting, Y/N. I saw you before, back in Erudite. I don’t think you would have left there for a second, and you don’t like you entirely want to be here now. You could have made a last minute switch, but that doesn’t seem like you. Either you’re making a point of trying to never be true to yourself, or there’s something going wrong.”

He walks away now, leaving you stunned and staring after him. You can’t help but flash back to the look in Jeanine’s eyes when she’d watched you walk away, remembering the cold glare of a woman who would be willing to kill anyone who got in her way. If you confess everything to Four now, if you tell him what truly went down, what would happen to you? Would Jeanine find out? Would she let you live?

As it turns out, you’re not sure that you’re going to have much of a choice. You manage to scrape through the first stage of training, especially due to your skill with a gun and a knife. You were able to improve your physical fighting skills after you picked up on Four’s silent hint to be more aggressive and just go for it, and you find yourself comfortably within the upper half of the initiates. Not bad for someone who’s not supposed to be here at all.

The next stage of training, on the other hand, seems even worse than the first one. When Eric and Four explain what your fear landscape is and how you’ll be traversing it, a silent storm of dread rises up inside of you. You know what your worst fear is- being found out, watching one of Jeanine’s guards place the barrel of a guard in front of your skull. You have no doubt that it will show up in your fear landscape, and you have no idea how to explain it away without revealing yourself. You’ve been thinking of potential alibis for days, but none of them make sense.

So, when you walk in the door to your first fear landscape training session and see Four waiting for you, you can’t help but groan inwardly. There’s no getting out of this, is there? Four will know the truth, you’ll be in even worse danger than before. When Four places the needle in your neck, he must sense the tension radiating out from your every movement, because he reaches down and takes your hand. “You’ll be fine, honestly. This entire stage of training will take place in your head. From what I’ve heard, that’s your strongest suit.” Then you’re pulled under the tow of the drug, and you can spare no more thoughts towards the comforting look in his eyes as he looks down at you.

You progress through your first few fears without too much difficulty. The last one, the most difficult one to face, is the one you’d been dreading all along. The scene shifts into a familiar hall at Erudite, the one where the windows progressively disappear, as do the cameras. If only you’d noticed the way that the building practically called out for you to turn around and run. Maybe then you’d have made it out without all of this. Maybe then you’d still be at Erudite, with no idea of the thrills of life at Dauntless.

A new thought flies into your head, one calling for you to run. If you turn around now, you won’t have to see the scene over again. You wouldn’t have to know any of this, you could make it out. However, your footsteps continue down the hall, carrying towards the open door that you know will lead to the large room full of Jeanine’s plans. You’re already here, you might as well see the whole thing through.

So, you keep walking, and when the ceiling opens up before you to reveal the room you’ve seen so many times before, whenever you close your eyes, you don’t run. When the guards come over, pointing guns at your head, you don’t back down for a second. Instead, you let your fists fly out as you’ve been taught, and you take them down without another thought towards the matter. This is what you’ve been learning all along- not to regret what might have been, but to fight. You’ve always been fighting, you realize. Maybe Dauntless provided you with the opportunity to make it all count for something.

You grab one of the guards’ guns, and when you turn back around, Jeanine is in front of you. Her voice is cajoling, as if you’re one of her students again. “Y/N, what is this? Don’t be ridiculous, put the gun down.” You shake your head. “You can’t scare me any longer. You might have forced my path, but I’ve made it my own. You won’t control my thoughts any longer.” You know the simulation, you know what you’re expected to do. All the same, when your finger closes on the trigger, you can’t help but look away, unable to stare your mentor in the face as you point the gun her way.

You wake back up in the Dauntless room, gunshot echoing in your ears. Four is staring at you with unabashed horror. “That’s why you left? You found out something that Jeanine Matthews wanted to cover up?” You nod, wrapping your arms around you as if the meager warmth can stave off everything that you’d seen. “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. She gave me a choice: I could either transfer here or die by the end of the night.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling Four everything, not now. You’ve been so afraid of letting anyone know anything about you, and here you are, spilling your entire heart out to Four like he’ll be willing to watch over it for you. However, he doesn’t look like he’s about to rat you out to the Erudite guards. Instead, he’s shaking his head softly, his face wrought with something almost like guilt. “I just- do you regret leaving? You were meant to have a strong future in Erudite, to do things that no one else had even dreamed about. Now you’re here, a soldier for the rest of your life. If you could set things right, would you?”

Your attention snaps back to him. Those are dangerous words, and he knows that. Even entertaining that thought would mean rising up against Jeanine, against Erudite and the other factions. So, you stand up to face him, unwilling to commit to anything until you know Four’s true motives. “It depends on what setting things right would mean. This is a tricky city, you know. Anything anyone says could be taken the other way.”

Four sighs. “Right. I should clarify. This city, this faction system, is flawed. You know that. There are people with too much power over everyone else, and the factions don’t account for everyone.” You stare at him. “You’re talking about the Divergents.” Four hesitates, confidence wavering as if he’s about to make the worst decision of his life. “I’m one of them.” You shake your head softly. “Even saying that could get you killed. Why are you trusting me with this?”

Four steps forward, taking your hand. “I want you to remember everything you saw in that room. If Jeanine was willing to kill one of her best students, she must be covering up something big. If you can tell me everything you remember about what was in that room, we might be able to have some leverage. Leverage can get you anywhere in this city.” You nod slowly, realizing what he’s saying. “It could make sure you stay alive, even if your secret comes out.”

Four inclines his head. He looks back to you know, eyes seeming to swallow you whole. “Will you do it? Will you work with me?” You give him a half smile. “I’m not sure that I have a choice. I’ve been running ever since I got here.” Four shakes his head. “That’s not an answer. Y/N, we could both be killed for this. If you want out, I won’t judge you for it.” Your smile broadens. You didn’t expect this generosity, not from him. “I’ll do it, Four. Honestly. I won’t back down now.” Four smiles in return, the expression almost foreign on him. It makes his eyes soften, the hard glares of a soldier gone from him. To be honest, it makes your own gaze stray on him for a little longer, unwilling to put away this picture of him in your head. “When do we begin?”

ty luna once again

divergent tag list: someone who is way too cool to be one of my fears @underc0vercryptid​

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part II/VII)

"candy floss"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: grief, feels, brief mention of Fred x Reader ig?

A/N: I decided to name the parts bc why the fuck not so keep an eye on the titles 👀. This story is based off this convo and these headcanons. If you wanna be tagged in the next parts tell me, and enjoy <3

Prologue :the aftermath

Part I : sleepless nights

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The moment the last group of customers decided it was time to call it a day and exited the shop, I left the till counter and grabbed my wand from my pocket, instantly turning the sign in the door so it could be read from outside 'closed'.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned against the multicolored wooden rail.

I was drained.

The shop helped our minds to get distracted and stray from the grief, yes, but it was also exhausting.

We had been subconsciously overworking ourselves to the point where it was borderline self-destructive.

It didn't help that I was throwing myself into comforting George, either. I could not be blamed for doing that, though; he was broken.

A part of me, the rational one, knew he would pick up the pieces and build himself up again, it would just take a lot of time.

There was another part of me, though, that depressed, drained part, that was beginning to think he would never heal by himself —maybe he wouldn't heal at all— but still held onto the hope that, if I tried hard enough, I would be able to mend what had been broken in him.

A terrible idea, really, because I started to dismiss in its entirety my own miserable, damaged state.

And George, ever the caring, sensible one, would have noticed that; he would have made me realize I was not doing nearly as well as I thought, he would have talked some sense into me, but he wouldn't— he couldn't, because George was lost in an ocean of grief, trying so hard not to drown that he wasn't able to notice I was trying to aid him from my very own sinking boat.

It also seemed to be working; he was more animated, slept more soundly, and his smile was a bit brighter even —at least the one he had for me.

"Rough day?" My eyes, which I didn't know I had closed, fluttered open at George's voice.

"Very."

He walked to me with a tinge of guilt in his face. "You know we can switch places, right?" I had been working as the public face of the shop since we had reopened, and George had taken on the task of doing the paperwork and shippings instead, showing up from time to time to help me and to let people know there was still a Weasley running the business.

I had been the one to suggest this, since I knew George had compromised with reopening only because of me, and he was clearly not ready to put up a sociable, positive attitude for dozens of people every day.

"Nah, it's fine like this." I assured him with a reassuring smile.

He measured me with his eyes for a second; I couldn't really tell if he saw through me or not. "So I was preparing the today's shippings," he rocked a tiny purple basket I quickly recognised in front of me. "I found this in the back of the stockroom."

"Are those—?"

"Candy floss cupcakes, yes." A year and a half ago we had bought five baskets of candy floss cupcakes from Honeydukes per George's request in order to unsuccessfully try and implement them.

"Are they even edible anymore?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"I hope so?" He chuckled too, tearing the film covering the sweets. "Thought we might as well finish them."

My eyes travelled from the basket to him and viceversa before stating, "well I'm hungry so..."

"Same here." He was the first one to pull out a pastel colored cupcake, though he handed it to me. "Wanna get food poisoning together?" Laughing, I gave him a nod as he grabbed his own cupcake. "At the count of three?"

"One"

"Two"

"Three." We said in unison right before taking a bite of our respective madeleines.

I frowned at its surprisingly good flavour. "Am I delirious or are they actually edible?"

"Dunno," he shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth with a shrug. "maybe we're just starving."

"Go big or go home, I guess." I finished my cupcake before leaning on the basket to pick another one. My head snapped up with my brow quirked when I heard a soft chuckle. "What?"

"Nothing." George shook his head, motioning at the stairs. "Shall we sit down?" I followed his lead, sitting on the stairs and waiting for him, who had stepped towards the drinks aisle to grab a couple of juice bottles, to do the same.

We stayed there, eating and drinking in a comfortable silence until the basket was empty and our eyelids threatened to shut.

"I think we should head back to the flat." He spoke, leaving the half empty juice aside so he could stretch.

"I'm gonna learn how to cook." I stated, getting up. "We can't get by based on most likely expired sweets and whatever is in the Leaky Cauldron menu."

"Aight." He mimicked my actions, picking up the stuff we left on the stairs. "We will learn the basics tomorrow." He got behind me and began to gently push in the flat's direction. "But now we're gonna get some sleep, miss."

I would be lying if I said my heartbeat didn't pick up when his hands landed on my shoulder blades and made their way to rub both my arms reassuringly.

I would be lying if I denied I leaned back when he did that, letting myself get closer to his chest.

And I would definitely be lying if I said I didn't crave going back to my room so I could cuddle him all night.

One Week Later

"—right in the cauldron, love." I pointed at the cauldron besides me, giving a sweet smile to the kid in front of me, visibly going to be sick thanks to the free sample of Skiving Snackboxes.

"Y/n!" I spun around at the loud calling of my name above the shop's racket. I was able to discern a long, red mane flowing fast towards my position right on time for the owner to wrap her arms around me.

"Glad to see you too, Ginny." I laughed, trying not to lose balance due to her enthusiasm. "How come you're here?" I questioned, pulling away.

"We heard you were open." Harry walked up to me, appearing from behind the girl, "And thought we'd pay a visit to our friends, right?" Ginny nodded, looking around while Harry gave me a quick, yet comforting hug. "Where's George?"

I motioned up to the small office, redirecting the couple's eyes to the second floor. "Doing paperwork—AH!" I jolted when a pair of hands tickled my sides, my head snapping to see the towering ginger standing behind me. "Speaking of the devil."

"I thought I saw Gin through the window," George explained, his hands lingering on my waist for long enough to his sister to stare, before pulling Ginny into a tight hug. "And came down to check if she was distracting my employee."

"You got her all bored here, mate." Harry pointed out, a light joking tone in his voice.

"And you're the one supposed to help with that?" George rolled his eyes dramatically. "Pfft... What a world we live in." With the said, he gave the boy a side hug. I heard Harry murmur an 'We missed you' before they pulled away with a pat on the shoulder.

My gaze landed on the youngest Weasley, whose welled up eyes were trained on her older brother's half smile. I only averted my eyes and waited for her to discreetly wipe away the unspilled tears while Harry and George catched up.

By the letters she had sent me, I reckoned the last time she had been near George, he had been lifeless; seeing a glimpse of who was once one of the most cheerful, funny and charismatic people in her life, was probably poignant to Ginny.

I hadn't realized she had moved closer until I didn't hear her soft voice. "Thank you." I offered her a confused smile, though deep down I knew what she meant.

Two Days Later

George was having one of those days.

We both knew it was coming soon; it had to happen sooner rather than later, since he had been in a surprisingly good mood for almost a week. I suspected seeing Harry and Ginny had brought back the events of the Second of May.

I suggested to close the shop for the day, since he was unable to move out of bed; he refused to do so, but I convinced him to stay in the flat and rest —it was Tuesday, anyway; I wouldn't have to handle many customers.

Due to that, when I saw Hermione, Ron, Bill and Fleur entered the shop, it was understandable that I hadn't become the happiest person in the world.

I greeted them, there were hugs, kisses, and even a joke or two, and when Bill asked about George, I excused him without giving much detail.

They understood.

Fleur was the one to restart the conversation, lightening a bit before requesting a tour for the shop, since she had not yet been there.

It was when we reached the love potions that Hermione, using the fact that Fleur was very much interested in the product, held my hand and pulled me aside.

"So... how are you doing?" The frown in her face, the fact that she was whispering, the squeeze her hand gave mine, let me know she had read me the moment her eyes met mines.

I sighed with a shrug.

"You can tell me." Could I? "No one's asking you to put on a happy face, Y/n." The girl assured me, her eyes digging into mines. "It's not just George, we all lost—" she shook her head at her own words before correcting herself. "you lost him too."

I lost him too.

I bit my lower lip to stop it from quivering.

The memory of Fred's broken smile as his corpse laid on the stretcher, that memory that haunted my dreams, appeared vividly before my eyes.

My lips started to burn with the ghost of that kiss he gave me before we split up, him with Percy and me with George; it hadn't been meant to be a goodbye kiss. It was meant to be a good luck kiss.

I covered my mouth to muffle a sob, and Hermione's arms were quick to be wrapped around me, reassuringly rubbing my back.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I saw them entering from Y/n's balcony; I wasn't emotionally ready to face them all at the same time, but when I didn't see them exit, I figured Y/n hadn't been able to dismiss them.

I decided I owed to them all to bite the bullet, so I threw on a shirt and the first trousers I grabbed, cleaned up a bit and left the flat.

With a deep breath, I made it to the second floor and mentally prepared myself to go down to the first one.

As I began to climb down, though, I noticed Hermione and Y/n talking in private, closer than the others to the stairs.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but all my senses were automatically focused on Y/n whenever we were in the same room; she just stole me away from reality.

"You lost him too."

Hermione's words visibly triggered something on Y/n.

'Something', as if I didn't know what they had triggered, as if I didn't know what— who was on her mind.

I guess he was always on her mind, though.

What was left of my heart shattered in a million pieces when she broke down to tears —for several reasons—. "I miss him." She whispered in Hermione's shoulder. "I miss him so much."

If I had any tears left, I would have cried my eyes out right there. Had I been so selfish that I had disregarded how she was feeling? So blinded by the light and love and warmth she was constantly giving me that I had forgotten about her grief? Was I that bad of a person, that I would have rather live in the illusion that she had not lost the boy she was dating?

My mind told me I didn't want any of those questions answered.

"George!" As Ron yelled my name in surprise, Hermione and Y/n pulled away, the latter rubbing her eyes while both of my brothers jogged upstairs to hug me. "Ginny told us you're open—"

"But Y/n said you weren't feeling well." Bill finished, squeezing my shoulder. "We only stayed a little longer for Fleur to see the shop."

"Yeah, we'll come back tomorrow," Ron assured me. "So you can rest and..."

My brother's voice sounded further and further with each word; I felt myself drifting off, getting lost in my own mind and gravitating towards the same thought over and over.

She deserves better.

[andorlorian]

okay so I do have an anakin fix it au floating around in my brain in which revenge of the sith goes as well as it possibly could BUT that's not the important part of this post the IMPORTANT part is what happens to maul in this au. (disclaimer: all I know about maul's backstory is from watching the clone wars and reading his wookiepedia page so some of this might be inaccurate. bear with me)

okay so because order 66 didn't happen, maul is brought before the council. he was sith so the council would want to deal with him personally

I think with palpatine dead (fully and completely 100% dead no take backs) the influence of the dark side everywhere would be lessened. everyone would feel a lot clearer, happier, brighter, like a dark cloud had been lifted from their mind. this would include maul.

however, for maul, diving deep into the dark side has been something of a coping mechanism. amassing as much power as possible and giving yourself over to this dark higher power means you don't have the contemplate the fact that you were stolen from your family and home world and fed incredibly damaging rhetoric from the man who 1) let you die 2) immediately upon finding out you were still alive electrocuted the fuck out of you and killed the last part of your family and (imo) the only person you ever truly loved

so maul upon arriving to the jedi council, while slightly less affected by the dark side, is still full of pure rage, hate, and a clusterfuck of other emotions brought about by thinking about the jedi. he's a whole disaster

okay this is going to get very very long I'm going to put a read more here

I imagine some in the council would like to kill or exile him and be done with it, but after the inherent trauma of the clone wars and seeing how far separated from their ideals the jedi order has become, they'd show him mercy. this part may not necessarily make 100% sense but shut up this is the good things for maul au maul gets good things

therefore, the council would vote in favor of rehabilitation. what I imagine this would look like is maul would be heavily guarded and watched, and whenever possible he would be visited by jedi masters (and masters ONLY. they're not dumb)

maul gets his own quarters, which are big enough not to be stifling or tiny but small enough to still fit in a jedi temple where they value austerity and forsaking possessions. they would want to give maul as much freedom as possible while making sure he couldn't be a threat to anyone around him, which would mean he doesn't have much freedom at all. he's fed and watered and visited by at least one jedi master a day. these visits are usually someone meditating and trying to rehabilitate maul's mind while not being openly invading, rather guiding maul's broken mind into its natural state and removing palpatine's influence. these visits are also good old fashioned therapy (maul desperately needs to talk some shit out)

it would take a very very very long time but with guided meditation and constant consistent kindness and understanding shown to him by the jedi maul would start to heal. one of the major things that palpatine forcibly shoved into his brain is a distrust and particular hatred for the jedi, but after spending so many years in their care and with constant (almost annoying) understanding that belief system would start to break down.

it would start small. like one day maybe instead of feeling rage and anger around savage's death he feels sadness because for the first time he's in an environment where he has the space to breathe and remember his brother

I think once maul has actually started to improve a little bit and moved past his rage and murder phase that's when obi-wan would visit him. which would definitely bring back some rage and murder but also it would bring maul some closure. I'd imagine they'd both need some sort of closure, considering maul killed qui gon and obi-wan essentially killed him. but obi-wan saying something like "I forgive you. I'm not your enemy." that might throw a wrench into maul's thinking

so over time, maul is becoming less and less emotionally tumultuous. he's in a stable environment in which a set group of people visit him daily solely for the purpose of rehabilitating him, both through the force and just regular conversation as equals. eventually, after enough time in this environment, whoever maul is beneath the rage and pain and the dark side would emerge

this is the side of maul that I wrote this for. this is why he's one of my favorites.

maul is deeply intelligent, and rather calculating. while he usually forgoes rational thought to scream "kenOBIIIIIII" into the night he's very good at assessing a situation and how to get the best possible outcome. he feels things very deeply but he's incredibly bad at naming exactly what his feelings are and he's not very good at reading the emotions of others. I think a flaw of his is that he really forgets to take emotions into account, while for the jedi that's kind of their whole thing. (yeah the jedi are stereotyped as unfeeling warriors but that's not true at all, they acknowledge and release their feelings into the force. for them their feelings are the force.)

I think one day when maul is beyond resisting his existence at the jedi temple, when he slowly realizes "hey my life sucks a whole lot less than before" he manages to actually solve a problem for one of the masters who visits him regularly and has become the closest thing he can really have to a friend. said master (maybe kit fisto just because I like kit fisto) rants about a problem or a mission that they're having and maul just goes "well it's obvious, really." and manages to solve the problem like that by nature of his unique perspective.

and after a looong amount of time has passed, maul's role shifts from enemy, victim, and a patient to being a voice of rationality, a problem-solver, and someone to rant to when the whole jedi master thing gets to be A Lot™

seriously though I cannot stress how long it would take for maul to heal and get to this point. MINIMUM five years.

eventually maul and some people he's forged friendships with petition the council to allow him to have some more freedom. while extremely hesitant, without palps clouding their vision they could much more clearly see maul's mental state and what sort of danger he would pose to the jedi, and they would let him move freely about the temple

okay here's my favorite part of this whole thing. maul is a fucking nerd. he discovers the jedi library and goes insane. maul would read so many books about so many different things because he's interested in everything and he'd want to build his knowledge in a myriad of subjects. he would spend hours upon hours in the jedi library just reading every single thing in there. he'd beg one of the masters to let him access the "forbidden knowledge" just because it's knowledge and he wants it. and if that didn't work he'd find a way to break in (the forbidden knowledge did not disappoint).

I also think maul would love to spar with lightsabers and stuff. he'd know techniques the jedi wouldn't, and so in friendly spars with people he'd managed to befriend, he'd actually give them a fight and teach them something, while also learning new techniques from the jedi

I think maul would consider becoming a jedi for a brief second. he's happier here than he's probably ever been, finally free from palpatine's influence and in a healthy environment. but he knows it's not his path.

after spending a long time living at the jedi temple, having carved out something of a life for himself, made friends for the first time in his life, having finally achieved emotional stability, he approaches the order on his own. they expect, after having been long used to his presence, for him to ask to be a jedi. but he comes with an unexpected proposal.

maul asks to leave the jedi temple to go home to dathomir, to see what had become of his family and of the nightbrothers. he's much much more stable than he was, but he still has burning questions that palpatine would never have let him find the answers to. and he genuinely does want to get there, eventually. but he also wants to learn more about the force that the jedi wouldn't teach him, to learn more about the sith.

his departure is surprisingly more emotional than he was expecting. the jedi temple was the first place he'd ever actually felt safe, that he'd been allowed to just exist. he would miss it.

armed with all the knowledge in the jedi temple, he searches for knowledge the jedi wouldn't have access to. he finds the remains of mortis, and researches the mortis gods. he spends a period of time wandering around like batman crushing the people he doesn't particularly like (usually people objectively morally horrible. he spent years with the jedi he has ✨morals✨ now). he even made his way to ilum, and found two crystals to forge a new double-bladed lightsaber. (the blades are yellow.)

maul would also study ancient sith texts, and spend a lot of time investigating old sith temples (like the one on malachor). however, he doesn't have the same burning desire to seize the power for himself anymore. it's an odd feeling.

eventually he does return home to dathomir to find the genocide of the nightsisters (with only one nightsister, merrin, remaining) and the nightbrothers in disarray after the loss of the dictatorial government they'd lived under for generations. maul ends up taking over a la mandalore (but with a lot less murder and awfulness. ✨morals✨)

what I'd love to see is maul founding an opposite sort of order to the jedi. not necessarily the sith, since the sith treated him horribly and destroyed his entire life, but i think maul would believe that for the force to truly be in balance, you couldn't try to eradicate an entire half of it from the galaxy. I would love to see maul found an order of dark side force users that teaches about how to use the dark side, how to avoid total corruption, and the correct channels for the power you control.

maul would be a very effective teacher in the dark side because of how much experience he has with it. he experienced the absolute worst of the dark side, the total corruption and loss of self, but he also used the dark side to save the nightbrothers from destroying themselves after the loss of the nightsisters and used his power to keep them together and safe (not to mention the period of time with Batman Maul where he used the dark side to help people).

also I would love to see the new generation of jedi and the new generation of dark side users not to be in opposition for once. by nature of maul being rehabilitated by the jedi, he would teach about them and their teachings with a modicum of respect, and the two orders would be seen as two sides of the same coin. twins, almost.

maul would not be a child snatcher, he was child snatched. the dark side is different from the light in that its always there. it comes much more naturally to force users, and unlike the jedi, it wouldn't require you to join from a ridiculously young age. his order is always known and always open to any force user who wishes to learn about the force.

maul's life comes to an end peacefully, at his home on dathomir, having built a new society for the nightbrothers and a new order for users of the dark side.

[nicnacsnonsense]

Been thinking about my hypothetical live action remake of Korra (seriously Netflix, call me, I have so many amazing ideas) and how I would tackle season two since it’s definitely the season that needs the most work, specifically and especially the Unalaq & Raava-Vaatu plotline. I kind of got carried away, like I do, but I’m very excited about it; a lot of good strong themes here. I’m going to start by talking about the changes to the first half, pre-Beginnings interlude, then the Beginnings episodes, then the back half. For the most part, all of the major plot beats still stay the same, at least until the climax, but the way those beats are contextualized are going to get pretty different building up to a radically different climax (no spirit being kaiju fight, yay!).

With Unalaq in the front half, the one major change is I want the religious fundamentalism vibes that come on so strong when he’s introduced to ramp up after the Northern Tribe soldiers show up and especially after Korra finally realizes he’s a bad guy, rather than petering out like happens in canon. I want to actually see him impose strict expectations of behavior in accordance with what he feels honors the spirits on the people of Southern Water Tribe. Let’s get some misogyny and restrictive gender roles up in here. That’s going to be great (from a storytelling perspective, obviously) because it’s relatively low-hanging fruit to communicate that the bad guy is bad, it fits in well thematically with where we’re going and the religious fundamentalism, and there is canon precedent in The Last Airbender that restrictive gender roles are a traditional value in the Northern Water Tribe.

A quick sidebar related to themes, in whatever episode where we first have Unalaq really cracking down on those gender roles, I want a B or possibly C plot with the Tenzin family vacation, where Jinora comes out to Tenzin as nonbinary. She is questioning with regards to the exact nature of her gender, but does say its some combination of both masculine and feminine, though other nonbinary identities – including agender, genderfluid, and a gender that is completely divorced from male-female – are floated. Tenzin is supportive and affirming and also suggests Jinora talk with her Aunt Kya, who he identifies as being a transwoman. (Kya is a trans lesbian in my version; you gotta deal with it.) This obviously serves to contrast Unalaq with his strict gender roles, and continues to build our theme.

For Korra in the first half, I do want to drag her emotional volatility down just a tad as compared to where she’s at in canon for these episodes. I still want her getting emotional and acting rash – that’s a huge part of her character – but I want her anger to feel sympathetic to the audience. Though I do also want at least one moment where Korra gets angry for good reason and starts yelling at Unalaq and he chides her for being emotional and irrational and he’s not going to discuss this with her if she can’t behave calmly and logically, blah, blah, blah, misogyny.

The final and biggest change that we’re making in the first half is Korra does not yet have her bending back. Season one does still end with her talking with Aang and learning energybending, which she uses to restore everyone else’s bending and restore her own connection to the other three elements, but in the opening episode of season two, we learn that she still can only airbend. She says that as far as she can tell everything should be alright and she should be able to bend fire, water, and earth, but obviously she can’t. She also mentioned that while it looks like it should, she feels like there is something missing, or maybe something there that she can’t see. Which my clever readers of course realize is a reference to Raava. After her flashback coma, Korra gains the other elements back, explaining that what she was missing was her connection to Raava had been damaged. Not broken, which is why she could still airbend and do all the other Avatar stuff she was doing, but damaged enough that Raava could no longer switch elements for her or give her access to multiple elements at once.

Moving on to Beginnings, right off the bat, I’m getting rid of the notion that all humans have to huddle on the backs of lion turtles out of fear of the spirits. The two worlds are connected, but humans and spirits co-exist peacefully for the most part. The lion turtles instead act as mediators when necessary, and do sometimes give out bending for humans to defend themselves with, but not as a regular thing every time they need to leave their city. We’ll have to switch up the stealing fire and Chin plot a little to accommodate this change, but somehow or other it happens and Wan gets banished with firebending.

Eventually he comes across Raava and Vaatu fighting and these two characters are getting some major shake ups. First off, in canon Raava identifies as being peace to counter Vaatu’s chaos, but peace is not the opposite of chaos; order is. Now, looking into yin & yang, chaos & order are not aspects that traditionally apply to them, but we’re going to let that addition of order to yang and light and chaos to yin and dark stand. Not everything has to be perfectly aligned. That said, one way in which we are going to switch things to make them fit better is yang is the masculine energy with yin as feminine. We’re switching the voices.

So Wan sees them fighting, and Vaatu calls out for help. And Wan is like, oh no, a damsel in distress; I’ll help you, milady! So, he helps, giving Vaatu the advantage. She beats up Raava, then flies off. Raava chastises Wan, explaining that he is the spirit of light and order, and he has been trying since the beginning of time to defeat Vaatu, but their battles have always ended in a draw. But now Wan has given Vaatu the advantage and if they don’t fix this, she’ll be victorious at the upcoming Harmonic Convergence, sending the worlds into ten thousand years of darkness. To which Wan is like, oh no, that sounds horrible. Well, Mr. Masculine Manly Spirit-Man Raava, I like light and order and you seem like a logical rational person; I’ll for sure help you put that emotional crazy spirit lady in her place. (Have I made the irony here clear enough? I don’t think I can get much more blatant. Though obviously in the show version it would be a little more subtle.)

After that we get Raava & Wan’s training and learning the elements montage, with some encounters with “corrupted” spirits along the way. Corrupted being Raava’s word, and he elaborates to say that all spirits fall under either Raava or Vaatu’s domain, all with varying inherent levels of light & order and dark & chaos to them. Vaatu gaining in power is causing the levels of dark& chaos in these spirits to rise, throwing them out of balance. Eventually comes time for Harmonic Convergence, Raava & Wan vs. Vaatu, and Vaatu wins. Ten thousand years of chaos, baby. With the last of the spirit energy as Harmonic Convergence ends, Wan fuses with Raava, then unleashes a crazy, amazing spirit attack, imprisoning Vaatu, banishing all the spirits from the physical world to the spirit world, and sealing the portals, all as an attempt to mitigate the fall out from chaos ascendent. Since then, the Avatar, imbued with the spirit of order, has fought back against the chaos to try to restore balance to the world.

Korra wakes up and panics. They have to stop Unalaq who is trying to free Vaatu, probably because he wants to destroy the world or something. But when she next has a chance to confront Unalaq, he’s like, not you stupid girl. I’m not trying to destroy the world; I’m trying to save it. Wan was right to side with order, but wrong to think he could stop chaos by teaming up with Raava and destroying it from without. No chaos is inside all of us, the evil infesting every human heart (Unalaq’s words, not mine) and it can only be dominated through one’s own strong force of will and conviction. So his plan is to fuse with Vaatu and then dominate her, destroy her chaos and using her power to allow him to bring his order across all of existence, both in the physical and spirit worlds. Korra’s not too keen on that plan either. She’s still going to stop him.

Korra fails to stop him. Harmonic Convergence begins, Vaatu is freed, she goes inside of Unalaq, and she immediately subsumes him. Turns out you can’t eliminate all the chaos in the world just by willpower, you absolute looney toon. Vaatu explains that even as Unalaq was planning to use her, she was using him to get free and now is going to use him as a meat puppet to help her fight Raava & the Avatar.

So, they fight, and for a bit it’s evenly matched, then Vaatu gains the upper hand. Just as Vaatu appears she’s about to deal the finishing blow, Unalaq briefly regains control and interrupts her – to be clear, he manages this because of his desperate need for order and control, not out of any affection for Korra. While he’s in control he says something in defiance of Vaatu that coming from Unalaq we can hear is clearly some fascist bullshit, but also echoes something that Wan/Raava said back in their battle with Vaatu. And Korra’s like, wait, hold up a second.

Lightbulb turns on for Korra at that moment, and by the time Vaatu has resecure control, Korra has dropped her offensive stance. She tells Vaatu she doesn’t want to fight her; she wants her to fuse with her and Raava. Neither Vaatu nor Raava like this idea. Korra has to go on the defensive holding off Vaatu’s attacks, and has to internally fight against Raava wanting to attack Vaatu all while trying to sell them both on this idea. She explains that too much chaos has been bad for the world, but too much order would be bad too – case in point, Unalaq. Both chaos and order, both Raava and Vaatu are needed for balance. And yeah, they can achieve balance by constantly fighting each other, with every encounter ending as a draw, or they could achieve balance through harmony together. Because even as they are opposites, they are one and the same, a part of a greater whole. A bunch of stuff to that effect, including mentions of the Northern Water Tribe upsetting the balance by trying to dominate the Southern Water Tribe, and also a shout out to Tui and La in there somewhere, the original Yin/Yang Avatar couple. Eventually Korra convinces them, she fuses with Vaatu, and Harmonic Convergence ends in a tie, returning the world to balance once again.

And of course, now that balance has been achieved, Korra leaves the spirit portals open. Remember in this version spirits and humans got along fine, and the separation was only necessary because the world had fallen out of balance. And yes, the rejoining of the physical and spirit worlds was probably something Unalaq wanted too, but we’re not giving him credit for it, because for every good idea a fascist ever had, there’s someone else who isn’t a fascist who had the same idea, but better, because it wasn’t coming from a fascist.

[fandomsilhouette]

the heartbeat in her wrist (we’ll learn to exist)

Stories are marked up and worn on the tongue of the people who tell them, on the throat of the people who gather around and drink them down, on the arms of the people who bring them close and hold them tight. 

Felix sinks into the pages of a book that’s passed through the hands of a stranger and makes his home there. 

Happy @felixmonth​, y’all! 

Marinette doesn’t like bookstores. Oh, she says she does, and she’ll visit happily whenever Felix insists, but she doesn’t love it the same way that Felix does. 

“I do, I like them!” she insists, but she slinks away after school to the arts room, or the courtyard when the weather is nice, or to the infinite libraries she frequents instead. All Felix can do is follow her helplessly to her haunts. After everything he’s done around her, to her, he’s in no position to be making demands. 

The libraries she likes best are the ones with yellowing pages and dog-eared corners and marks scrawled on every other page. Donated books, gone around and around in circles. A futile thermodynamic exercise, really (Felix has learned the words since he’d first heard them). He misses the crisp freshness of a new book at a bookstore, and slumps down into an armchair that’s too worn out to support his weight. His knees hit his chest, and he sighs. He can see Marinette’s head bouncing in and out of view from over the shelves, and that makes him laugh at least. 

A child shrieks either in joy or indignance from a few feet away and Felix remembers the worst part of libraries: the children. 

The types of kids who went into bookstores were the types of kids who stayed quiet with a book in their hand and ideas in their heads and didn’t scream or shout or cause chaos. Bookstores might be loud, with kids playing outside them, but libraries invite that inside. Parents drag their reluctant children in to see if they can make them read, by promise or by punishment, artists put on events and fairs run amok in the grass behind the building. Children lay starfished  on colorful floors and leave books in the wrong places and cause smudged fingerprints on the fish tank glass, and it drives Felix crazy. 

But Marinette still likes it here, so here they shall stay. 

Her bun has managed to disappear from the tops of the shelves and Felix wonders if she managed to get lost, then decides against it. Marinette knows this place better than he does. Chances are she got distracted, which might be worse. 

Felix kicks his feet out and fights his way out of the deathgrip of the armchair-quicksand. Time to go get her. There’s homework to start, after all. 

He makes his way through the shelves, lingering whenever a cover catches his eye. He’s old enough to read whatever he wants now, and does his best to balance fiction with something intellectually stimulating (his father’s words for a textbook), but he still finds his attention caught at the bright covers of the children’s books he’s forced himself to let go of. 

Geronimo Stilton has released so many new books. Felix wonders what adventures the poor mouse has gotten dragged into, brushes his fingers over the spines, and then stiffens when he realizes what he’s doing and walks away briskly.

He feels dumb when he hears Marinette’s voice drifting behind him and has to make an awkward about-face, though. 

Felix winces as he does it, shame and awkwardness washing over him, and makes himself do it anyways. He’s seen Marinette trip over herself and laugh about it, make mistakes and fix them happily, and the things that eat her up inside are-- 

Real things. Things that matter, things that she can’t change and people she cares about getting hurt and Atlas’s weight on her shoulders for no good reason except that someone cruel and careless put it there. 

Felix worries about a three year old judging him for turning around in a library without prompting. 

The three year old stares at him, then tilts their head and drools. Felix isn’t sure they know how to judge, or even think. Why are they here again? It’s not like they can read. Either way, it’s reassuring to know no one’s seen him. 

“Why are you turning circles in the children’s section, Felix?” Marinette comes up behinds him and he startles, spinning and hissing at her in shock before collecting himself again. The shame  is back, trickling down his awareness like ice. Marinette is a full head shorter than him but reaches up on her toes to mess up his hair anyways, and all Felix manages to do is bend down to make it easier for her. 

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh! Actually, I was just about to come get you. There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

Felix’s heart rate immediately spikes, pulsing hard enough for him to feel it in his wrists. His head spins with the force of it. 

It’s not that he’s anxious, exactly. It’s more like… he didn’t-- he thought-- this was supposed to be time for him and Marinette. No one’s ever joined them before and Felix has never wanted them to, with the way he always feels left out when her friends flock to her. She’s never left him out, she gets-- Felix stumbles over his own thoughts, trying to be kind without lying about the way that he feels. 

She gets… caught up with them. She takes care of everybody, she loves everybody, and he feels-- it’s easy to feel special when it’s just the two of them. It’s a lot harder when he has to watch her juggle ten peoples’ priorities and watch his needs sink to the bottom of her list. 

He’s never thought she made the wrong decision when she does it. 

It’s just that it… stings, no matter how rational she is. 

Felix wanted, expected, this time to be their time, where he gets to be her friend and the most important thing in her life for the next three hours until the library closes and he has to walk her home. He just… doesn’t want that taken away from him. 

Not that it can be. Adding someone else to the mix isn’t taking away something he’s owed, and it’s not healthy to think that way, and she doesn’t owe him anything anyways. It’s not like she promised, or anything. A tiny part of Felix’s brain reminds him that he could always ask her to make this time his, but he balks at the suggestion and shove that voice under a pile of metaphorical pillows until it suffocates, or at least shuts up. 

His stomach churns and he’s watching his hand shiver, distantly, dazedly. Maybe he is anxious. Felix exists for a moment in this floaty space, savoring it, curious at the way it makes his body feel tense and relaxed at the same time. He kind of likes it except that he can’t feel his body at all, really. 

Marinette looks over her shoulder at him and he registers her eyes widening, face paling. He knows that means something important. He can’t seem to remember what it is. 

She’s reaching out, taking his hand. Felix is desperate to feel it, her skin on his, the softness of her grip and the warmth of her touch. That’s enough to bring him back to his body, still anxious, still shaking, and now he wishes he could leave again. 

Marinette squeezes, and he squeezes back. 

The person she wanted him to meet turns out not to be anyone Felix knew of. Marinette led him to a child sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by books. Surrounded by Felix’s favorite books, actually, piled up like the start of a fort where every brick was a memory held together by the mortar of sheer imagination and hope. Felix is baffled and concerned, because between the two of them Marinette is by far the better reader of intention and need, and Felix has never suggested he might want to interact with some child.

All that said, this child in particular might be the best one she possibly could have picked. It’s not appealing by any means, but… well. It’s Marinette. 

Felix settles down on his knees and waits. He’s sure there’s an ulterior motive and if he waits long enough, eventually…

“Felix, I wanted you to meet Ina. She’s five and a half, she’s already started reading a lot, and is great at climbing shelves for what she needs,” Marinette interrupts herself to stick her tongue out at the little girl, who does it right back and then clambers out of her fortress to squirm her way into Marinette’s lap. Ina keeps on climbing up Marinette even as Marinette finishes what she was saying, “which is where I found her about to fall and caught her. We started talking after that and she was telling me how much she likes being read to,” Ina corroborates this by nodding, having made it to Marinette’s shoulders where she can poke her head over, “and I thought you would like to read to her! These are some of the books I remember you telling me about.” 

Felix cannot even begin to imagine why Marinette thought he might like to do that. 

He does it anyway. 

Felix reaches out for whatever book he finds closest to himself and manages to drop it spine-side down on his knee in surprise when his fingers register the embossing on the cover faster than his eyes manage to. It’s the same book he gave to Marinette in the bookstore, this copy worn down and torn in places and pressed flat by years of usage but still the same familiar weight in his hands. He looks up at Marinette, who is managing to look smug regardless of the fact that the little girl perched on her head is now attempting to shimmy back down Marinette’s body. 

Alright, fine. Felix lets the book fall open to where the spine is most worn through and finds himself at his favorite part, sticky notes and ink stains dotting the pages. 

Ina has settled into his side, a steady weight to ground him, and Felix starts reading, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He feels suddenly, inexplicably connected to the world around him, eyes jumping from note to highlight to dog eared corner. Marinette settles onto the floor too, leaning into Felix’s other side, and he keeps reading. 

They stay until the library closes, and find Ina again the next day.

[justaghostingon]

A Chance Encounter

Cyrus encounters a stranger wandering in the woods of the dark kingdom, and finds himself sharing a meal. But this strange, fae like girl might have more to do with Hugo and his friends than he could possibly imagine.

Not that he’d notice.

Takes place directly after Cogs in a Steel Heart

Give thanks to @quoththecomic! For letting me use her character Emily.

Read on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154016

or below the cut

Cyrus hissed as his toe collided with yet another overgrown tree root. This was getting ridiculous. How many unseen tree roots did this dark and twisted forest have? He was almost beginning to miss the eerie black rocks.

No, Cyrus shook his head. He wasn’t that desperate. He’d leave those rocks to Hugo and his friends. He was going home to Mona, and he could brave any amount of horrible tree roots if it meant he’d see her again.

Feeling lighter, he took another step forward, and promptly felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. Cyrus had just enough time to think, Oh no, before a sharp force yanked him upward into the air. Vertigo clashed with blood flow as the world gradually spun back into focus, and Cyrus furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out why the world had turned upside down.

“Gotcha!” A high pitched voice cried, and Cyrus saw a cloaked figure hurrying across the ceiling of the world like a particularly energetic bat. “Wait,” the figure slowed, a frown in their voice. “What are you doing?”

Cyrus blinked. “I’m upside down,” he said. He’d thought it was obvious.

“You’re in my trap!” The figure pulled off their hood to reveal a very angry girl. “I spent all morning on that!”

Cyrus frowned. That was hardly his fault. How was he supposed to see the trap among all the leaves? The girl scowled right back, arms crossed arms crossed in a stance that looked vaguely familiar. Cyrus resisted the urge to ask if she had any relations in the iron kingdom.

A sharp growl came from her stomach, and she slapped a hand over it, a sharp blush flooding the skin not hidden beneath her long hair. The action was so childish it made Cyrus’ stomach twist, feeling like a jerk for making this kid’s life harder. He sighed.

“If you can get me down kid, I’ll give you some of my rations to make up for it,” he offered. The girl hesitated, so Cyrus took a leaf out of Hugo’s book and tried to sweeten the deal. “And I’ll cook.”

The girl waited a moment longer, long enough for Cyrus to feel a little offended. Did she think he couldn’t cook? Sure, Mona did most of the cooking, but he was perfectly capable of feeding himself before she arrived in his life! He opened his mouth, fully prepared to defend his skill, when the girl stepped forward.

In one swift motion she cut the rope and sent him tumbling to the ground. He caught himself with his arms and pushed backwards, flipping to his feet. There were certain advantages to working with alchemists, Cyrus thought as he straightened his shoulders, they had forced him to learn some fairly impressive stunts.

“Join the circus?” the girl asked dryly, one hand on her hip. But Cyrus, who had spent years with Hugo, ignored her quip in favor of rifling through his pockets for his food ration. It was, thankfully, not damaged from when he’d been attached to an exploding firework earlier today.

“I’ll get to cooking,” he grunted as he pulled it out. The girl swiped it out of his hands.

“Not so fast,” she said. “I’m not trusting my food to some stranger who doesn’t know how to tell leaves from a trap. I’ll make this meal.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. Last time he checked, cooking had nothing to do with outdoor survival skills. Otherwise people in the cities would have starved long ago. Sure, they were starving anyways, but that was because of corruption, and not from a lack of cooking skills. At least he was pretty sure it wasn’t.

The girl set up the fire, oblivious to Cyrus’ dilemma, and placed a small pan on top that she produced from underneath her cloak. She then pulled out a few vegetables and threw them in the pan with Cyrus’s rations. As she pulled out green herbs too, Cyrus began to wonder how exactly she was able to keep all of it underneath her cloak. Maybe it was magic.

Handling three different things at once didn’t appear to be easy though, and Cyrus saw one of the herb bottles slip precariously to her elbow. He leaned forward and caught it just as the girl did the same. Her hair slipped slightly away from her face, and Cyrus got a glimpse beneath it.

Course grey stone took the place of warm skin, creeping downward like a slow moving poison. Her left eye was an empty white, as unseeing as the marble statues he’d glimpsed in the noble’s district.

The girl reeled back, food falling forgotten between them as her hand automatically went to her hair, holding it back in place to hide the stone. Her body was tense, whether to run or to attack Cyrus wasn’t certain, but he knew he’d have to tread carefully.

He chose his next words with care, knowing they could mean the difference between life and death. What had his grandpa said? Be straightforward? “Are you a fae?” he asked, trying to sound polite.

“Wha…” the girl’s eye widened with surprise. “No!” She shook her head. “Wait, are you?” her single eye narrowed.

Huh. Cyrus had never thought about that before. Was he? He’d always been unusually strong, and keeping up with alchemists certainly wasn’t something ordinary people had much luck with. Still, he’s pretty sure his grandpa would have mentioned if he was a fae. Right?

“I don’t believe so.” He said, “I’ve never checked.” How did someone check these things anyways? Was there some kind of manual of symptoms? How would he explain this to Mona?

The girl let out a sharp laugh, and Cyrus looked up in just enough time to see her press a hand over her mouth. Good. He was glad at least someone was enjoying his dilemma.

“Don’t laugh,” Cyrus grunted with a false frown. “This is an important question! There could be allergies…” What was it that fae were allergic to? Why hadn’t he paid more attention? “...I’d never be able to eat garlic again.” Or was it Ginger?

“I’m pretty sure garlic wards away vampires,” the girl leaned forward, merth in her voice. Cyrus noted some of the tension in her shoulders had lessened.

“Does it?” Cyrus shrugged. “I should probably write that down. Can’t afford to offend my boss.” A cheap shot, but one he knew would have Hugo in stitches, and any other teen with a problem for authority.

Sure enough, the girl gave a snort, Cyrus straightened, pleased with himself as he saw her shoulders finally relax. It was nice to know he still had what it took when it came to dealing with kids.

“I’m Emily,” the girl extended a hand.

“Cyrus,” he said as he took it and gave a firm shake. The food in the pan hissed, and the girl jumped, attention snapping to it as she threw in a few more spices in and pulled it off the fire.

“Food’s ready!” She said as she stirred the pan. Cyrus held out his travel plate obligingly as she dished out half to him. He took a bite and held back a gag. The food tasted disgusting, spices clashing and overpowering each other over raw meat and charred edges. It took all of his self control to eat it without flinching. How had she messed this up so badly? She’d seemed so confident! He wished Mona were here, she’d know how to save it.

Emily devoured the food in front of her with the hunger of the young. Cyrus watched with some amusement as she seemed unable to taste her own cooking, finishing long before he was half way through. She sat back then, balancing her plate on her knee in a lazy fashion.

“You know,” she said, as the breeze ruffled the hair covering her stone eye, “I think you’re the first person to respond to my eye like that. Most people are so horrified they chase me off.”

Cyrus looked up sharply, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s awful,” he said, and felt a flash of anger at any adults this kid had met before.

“It’s not that bad!” Emily amends, waving a hand in front of her in an effort to seem casual. “I’m good on my own. I can handle anything the forest throws at me.” She nodded her head, as if proud, like this wasn’t the saddest thing he’d heard today.

An image flashed before his eyes, of Hugo waving his hand in disgust as he watched some boys his age running about in the street, a ball between them. “I’m too smart for those imbeciles,” he’d sniffed. “So why would I bother to get to know them?”

“Sound’s lonely,” Cyrus murmured, as he remembered how Hugo’s eyes had followed the ball as it had bounced around. Emily drew back as if he’d slapped her, and Cyrus’ attention snapped to the present.

“Sorry,” he grunted, Emily still looked hurt, and he wished for Mona to know what to say to explain. Yes. Explain. He could do that. “I just got lost in thought,” he said.

Emily raised an eyebrow and Cyrus knew he’d failed at human communication once again. “I used to look after this kid about your age,” he tried again, and Emily’s eyebrow rose higher. “We split company recently, so I guess I was just thinking about him.”

“Oh,” Some of the tension in Emily’s shoulders dissipated and Cyrus could have cried with relief. “What was he like?” Emily asked, glancing to the side as if feigning indifference. “Your traveling companion.”

How to sum Hugo up in a single sentence? Cyrus bit his lip. That wouldn’t be easy. “Proud,” he finally settled on. “And defensive.” Emily cocked her head to one side, hair moving to tickle her nose, and Cyrus knew she wanted him to elaborate.

“He was kinda the worst, to everyone.” He started, because really, there wasn’t any other way to put it. “Like really mean,” Emily blinked, and Cyrus realized he was doing a really bad job of this. He tried again. “He didn’t get along with kids his own age, but always acted like he couldn’t care less, I guess,” Cyrus sighed, “I never realized how miserable he was, until he actually got friends and decided to stay with them.”

“Yeah well,” Emily scowled as she pulled her knees closer to herself. “Sometimes the so-called friends are actually worse.”

“What do you mean?” Cyrus’ brow furrowed. Had he missed something? Was Hugo still in danger?

Emily stiffened at his tone, and Cyrus felt his heart clench. He probably shouldn’t have sounded so concerned. He didn’t want to alarm her.

“Look,” Emily glanced away, not meeting his eyes. “Sometimes people take lonely kids and they try to radicalize them by separating them from their families.” From the bitterness in her voice, Cyrus knew she was talking from experience. He wondered who it was she’d lost.

She glanced up, and apparently read his interest in his face because she continued. “You ever heard of the Saporians?”

Cyrus had to admit he had not. “I’m not the best with countries,” he offered. Which was true enough, as all of Donella’s maps only really focused on ones important to the quest.

Emily gave him a false smile. “That’s fine. Most haven’t. It was conquered by Corona years ago, culture oppressed, the whole deal.” Cyrus nodded, sounded like basic government behavior to him.

Emily twisted a bit of the fabric of her pant leg. “My brother,” she started then hesitated. “He got...radicalized, by a group of friends, way back when we were kids. He thought he was serving his country but people like that? They don’t really care, they just use people's passions to make them into useful tools.”

“You’re lucky you’re such a useful tool,” Donella scowled at Hugo as he glared back after one of their rare fights. “Or I’d have tossed you out years ago.”

Cyrus winced at the memory, remembering how Hugo’s eyes had briefly turned to glass before hiding under their usuall wall of stone. “You got it backwards.” He shook his head. “Anything would have been better for him than staying with us.”

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short like that,” Emily scolded. “You seem like a great dad.” Cyrus bit back a slight chuckle at how completely she’d misunderstood.

“I said I looked after him,” he grunted. “But I wasn’t his father or anything. His mother…” Donella probably cared, deep down. You don’t put up with Hugo that long without caring a little, no matter how useful he might be. He was too much to handle. And there were other moments...but still, he shook his head. “He’s better off with them.” Better off with people who could tell him they loved him, not hide it behind lies and a cold facade. “Besides,” he added as he saw Emily was still apprehensive, “I already made sure the friends were good people.”

“You did?” Emily frowned. “How?”

“I posed as a bounty hunter and tried to kill him,” Cyrus stated bluntly and Emily’s eyebrow disappeared into her hair.

“You did what?” she said.

“I posed as a bounty hunter and tried to kill him,” Cyrus repeated as patiently as possible, mindful that the true brilliance of his plan wasn’t inherently obvious to those outside the thug profession. “And promised not to harm them if they stepped aside.”

“That-,” Emily shook her head, no doubt impressed by Cyrus’ brilliance, “-is the absolute stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Or not. “What if they gave him up?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cyrus shrugged, feeling that explaining his back up plan, run like hell, would likely only get him laughed at. “What matters is they stuck me to a firework and sent me flying into the sky.”

Emily choked. “They what?”

“They stuck me to a firework,” Cyrus repeated. At her incredulous expression he added, “It was a big firework.”

Emily’s brow furrowed. “And they just happened to have a big firework lying around?”

“Yes,” Cyrus nodded sagely, “the little one seems quite fond of them.” Emily’s shoulders stiffened, and she scrutinized Cyrus like she expected him to tell a bad joke. Cyrus briefly wondered if she knew who he was talking about. But no. That would be too much of a coincidence.

“So you trust them then,” she asked, voice causal. “Even after they blasted you into the sky? That doesn’t seem like the best recommendation.”

Cyrus sighed, looks like he wasn’t getting it across at all. “They know he’s the worst,” he stated. Had he left that part out? “And they still blasted me with a firework to defend him.” There. That got the point across right?

Emily’s brow furrowed as she stared morosely into the dying fire between them. Cyrus didn’t have to see inside her head to know she was deep in thought. It was the kind of expression Hugo would use when he was contemplating a particularly difficult heist he’d have to pull off. Finally she shook her head and pulled herself to her feet.

“It’s been nice to talk to you Cyrus,” she said as she began to kick soil on the fire. “But if I need to start moving if I want to make good use of the remaining daylight.”

A sudden image of Emily sitting all alone and eating her horrible cooking flashed across Cyrus’s mind. His heart gave a strange pang, and he heard himself say, “you could come with me if you’d like.” Emily stopped moving. “My wife would be happy to have you,” Cyrus continued, because he knew Mona would love her. Bad cooking and all. “And you wouldn’t have to wander around in the woods.”

Emily shot him a hollow smile. “Thank you,” she said. “But I can’t. I’ve got a mission to complete. Besides,” She rapped the stone on the side of her face. “I’ve no intention of staying like this forever.”

Cyrus wondered what it was about young folk that had them all running off on quests these days.

“Very well,” he sighed. “But if you ever come to the Iron Kingdom, go to the west district and ask for Mona or Cyrus, someone should point you in the right direction.” If by some strange twist of fate she got there before he did, Mona would make sure she wasn’t chased out of the city for the stone on her face.

“Sure,”  Emily nodded, then shot him a mischievous grin. “And if I see your kid, I’ll be sure to give him your best.”

“Thank you,” Cyrus grunted, but inside he felt his blood run cold. If Emily and Hugo met, he had a feeling whatever kingdom they met in wouldn’t survive the encounter. He hoped Hugo’s friends stayed far away from Emily.

Emily turned, and something slipped from the pouches beneath her cloak. She dove down to catch it, but not before Cyrus saw the smooth wooden carving land on the ground. If Gyrus didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was a talisman. But that was impossible. Hugo would have told him if one had gone missing. Wouldn’t he?

Emily stuffed it back in her cloak with a look that was almost guilty. “You didn’t see that,” she said.

“Of course not,” Cyrus agreed, sure it wasn’t that important. Emily smiled.

[where-s-all-blue]

Hopeless Heroes AU

Hero Pack

Sanji/Stealth Black/King

Stealth Black has been out if commission fro the past two years (presumed dead by the public) as he was training with a former hero known as Crimson Leg.

He returns under the name "Prince", wearing a prototype of his new suit as Usopp isn't yet done calibrating the finished version to fit his needs.

People start to talk about how similar Stealth Black and this new hero are, causing Sanji to panic and claim that the members of Germa 66 are obviously older as they are taller (they wear heeled shoes to make people believe that they're taller).

Prior to Stealth Black's early retirement, he and Hunter had a fight regarding who deserves to be saved as the previous had been raised to think like perfect Germa soldier while the latter holds all life equally valuable.

Sanji must return to his previous role as Stealth Black momentarily as Germa 66 is threatening to reveal the secret identities of the heroes.

He accidentally reveals that Prince and Stealth Black are the same person to Hunter in the process.

Due to his new suit having a crown at its chest, the public starts to refer to him as King instead of Prince much to his embarrassment.

His entering code is 0302, which just so happens to be his birthday, March 2nd.

As Vinsmoke's questionable treatment on its servants and family members is revealed, Sanji is placed onto a safehouse known as Sunny, Hunter is tasked with guarding him.

Zoro/Hunter

Upon his friend Kuya dying from falling down the stairs, Zoro realised just how fragile humans are and thus he swore to become a hero who'd be able to help everyone.

His mentor is hero known as Hawkeye, who found him practicing sword fighting on his backyard. To this day the sword hero has no idea how Zoro got past his security system nor where his parents are, thus becoming his guardian.

He transferred into a university in France, which just so happens to be the same one Sanji attends to, accidentally becoming Mr Popular due to his exotic background, athletic nature and street smarts.

As he meets Prince, he can't help but to think of Stealth Black and wish him to return. He even talks about how he misses the guy to Prince, who's literally trying to keep the fact that he's Stealth Black a secret.

He's angry at himself for not being able to accompany Stealth Black on his mission because of his cover nearly being blown. He has to make up a good diversion while another hero makes an appearance as Hunter at the same time (it's Bartolomeo, who has learned most of his signature moves).

When Sanji is moved into the safe house, Hunter accompanies him the whole time, learning that not all Vinsmokes are entitled bastards.

Hunter's ability is to cut anything and nothing if he so desires, he also can create several wind styled attacks with them along with something that is called an Asura. The latter is still an incomplete technique.

Perona has accidentally called Hunter her older brother in presence of Nami, which led to both him and her quickly make up a lie about him being Zoro's older half brother of whose existence the greenette has no idea of existing.

Zoro keeps a journal about these lies to ensure that he doesn't accidentally contradict himself.

Ace/Fire Fist

Son of a former (now deceased) heroes, Roger and Rogue, the previous having been a powerful fire ability carrying hero.

He became active as a young teen upon loosing his cool.

He was used as a test subject of project REVIVE which was supposed to be used to research the abilities of the heroes who'd died in hopes of producing one day a new generation of heroes with matching abilities along with a series of pills that were supposed to be used to suppress hard to control abilities, help with mastering them and to switch into another one if the holder' s body wasn't capable of withstanding the original one.

This project was over seen by Steel Fist Garp, who was mortified to learn about the science ward of the time (provided by the United Countries and the Royal family of Vinsmokes) using children as test subjects. He broke all of the test subjects out, providing them with happy families. The test subjects who survived were Ace, Sabo and Chopper.

Sabo/Chief

The wide assumption is that he is Ace's twin brother who just so happens to take after Rouge.

He found out about his ability to control fire during a mission where both Ace and Luffy were hurt very badly.

As Sabo was used in the project REVIVE, his hair changed colour from its previous golden yellow into the same strawberry blonde as Rogue's had been.

Although he was released from the facility by Garp, he wasn't done with being a test subject as his power hungry family continued tests in secret until Dragon (a hero during that time) broke him out at the request of Doctor Kureha.

Luffy/Rubber Man

Originally a water-air powered individual, but as he ate one of the prototype pillers, his DNA was warped turning him into a rubber man.

Though Garp was offered the ability to turn him back into what he'd originally been, the retired hero claimed that it was a good thing to have his ability change as now he couldn't be connected to Dragon nor his wife.

Luffy's mother was a former villain with water based ability. Dragon broke off of the hero union in favour of becoming a vigilante.

Shanks/Red

One of the rare heroes without super powers.

Lost his arm while trying to keep Luffy safe while visiting one of the factories that produced the hero suits and gadgets; he quite literally stick his arm between two gears to keep the kid from getting hurt and had to have it amputated as a result.

To the public, he's an intriguing mystery.

Those who don't work with him, see him as laid back and carefree guy, but when you see him step on the field, you'll immediately know that shit just got real.

He's one of Roger's former pupils.

Red works behind the scene, pulling the strings and covering for the younger heroes.

His family is so well hidden that even if you'd know who he really was, you could only trace him back to the heroes. The closest you'd get to a family would be Luffy, but do you really want to risk having Steel Fist, Dragon, Portgas Twins AND the Surgeon of Death attack you on sight?

As the head of the intelligence, nothing gets past him, if something feels amiss, he'll have it checked.

While his identity isn't a secret, somehow people still fail to believe that he's one of the strongest current generation heroes.

Mihawk/Hawkeye

One of the strongest heroes current generation has to offer, the guardian and mentor of Hunter.

Sword hero, whose abilities have been honed to the level where no matter what he yields, he can cut with it.

He has once used an actual banana in place of a blade during an emergency with rather fruitful results.

Prefers to work solo, but has made an exception for his ward.

Came to adopt both Zoro and Perona upon finding them from his backyard with no explanation for how they got there and who are their parents.

Celebrates the duo's birthdays on the days he found them.

Seems to live only with protein shakes, smoothies and fruities due to being literally too busy with being the only hero with common sense around here.

This has led to an ongoing joke about him being a fruit bat styled vampire.

His habit of sleeping in a coffin (it came with the house and he sure as hell won't be spending anymore time with people than the bare minimum) isn't helping with the vampire image.

He used to work in a team with Buggy and Shanks, there was even slight rivalry between them where they kept score on saved civilians and beaten villains. This came to an end upon Shanks' loss of an arm.

Buggy/Clown

Came from a poor family which led him to retorting to crime as a means of survival.

Was taken in by Roger, who helped him to break out of the villain circle and inspired him to become a hero.

His former ability was so destructive that he asked to be given the still work in progress medicine, but it made him sick and mentally unstable for a long time.

He used to be in the same hero team as Hawkeye and Red before starting to work solo and eventually taking an apprentice himself.

He grew up in a circus where his parental figures were thieving clowns (literal clowns), as a sign of respect and to not forget this past, he incorporated certain elements from that into his hero suit.

He's seen as the grumpy uncle by the young heroes.

His literal vibe is: *high beeper goes off signalling that there's a fight nearby* Buggy: *loud tired groan*

Jinbe

Water powered hero, who's also partially a shark.

Specialises in ocean missions.

He's in charge of public relations thanks to his calm personality and rationality.

Feels responsible for the fact that he didn't recognise Arlong's villainous tendencies fast enough.

The martial arts instructor for the new heroes who usually haven't yet found their own style or have no idea how to protect themselves.

Jinbe is literally his hero name, not a single person knows what his actual name is.

Coby

A new hero, whose mentor is Steel Fist Garp.

He's highly durable and happens to have similar affiliates as Garp, hence he was the perfect protégé for him.

He's supposed to become the fourth member of the ASL and balance their often dangerous antics. He's already proceeded to befriend the youngest member of the team, Luffy, while Sabo and Ace are still uncertain of what to make of him.

Currently, he has no hero name of his own as he is following the tradition of allowing the public name him. However, if Shanks' prediction is accurate, he'll end up with a name similar to both Garp and Ace.

Germa 66

Six member group which prides itself in high level technology and super powers.

Is made up from the Royal family of Vinsmokes.

Judge, the leader, is a hyper intelligent man with naturally high durability and strength.

Reiju was genetically altered to be capable of manipulating toxins.

Ichiji was altered to be able to control fire.

Niji's genetic manipulation led to his ability to cut electricity.

Sanji is the only one without any alterations thanks to his mother's ability to destroy unnatural elements, though it was only for one child. He's naturally durable and has high intelligence, which sadly isn't seen as a super power by his father.

Yonji's strength was amplified to ridiculous levels.

All of the Vinsmokes are naturally blonde, but their raidsuits create a coating that protects their heads, which happens to make them appear to have different hair colours.

Sora, former hero before passing away, was a support styled hero, who could nullify toxic combinations and technology.

To protect the team from being affected too much by the "lower level heroes", they have been banned from being paired with heroes who do not "match their level". Sanji, who was seen as the unnecessary part of the team was the only one who was allowed to meddle with other heroes and even then he had to write extra reports about his team mates and the mission.

Germa 66 is known to be very picky about those who are saved, preferring to keep only "important people" such as politicians safe.

Their methods are often questionable and the rest of the heroes judge both their views and the said methods.

[chelsfic]

Inherited Chapter 2 - Dracula/OFC - Dracula (2020) fanfic

A/N: What are Count Dracula’s intentions toward his innocent little housekeeper?

Read Part One first

If you’d like to be tagged in the next part, just let me know!

Before she came to live at Carfax Abbey, Emilie lived in the little family cottage with her sickly mother and younger sister. Her mother used to call her *little mouse* for her uncanny ability to sneak up behind people without making a sound. It wasn’t that she was a particularly mischievous child. There was little room for naughty antics in a childhood marked by a mother’s poor health and the certainty of a future in servitude. No, it was simply that she had a natural ability to move quietly. 

But no matter how she crept, snuck, or tip-toed, Emilie could never surprise the Count. 

She was raising her fist to rap softly on his chamber door when said door swung suddenly open, startling her and causing her to jump back slightly, a hand to her chest. 

“Oh!” she cried, and then blushed furiously at her own discomposure. She so wished for her grandmother’s cool self-possession. She supposed it would come with time. 

Count Dracula stood leaning out into the corridor with an arm balanced on the doorway and an amused smirk on his lips. He was half-dressed in a pair of perfectly tailored black trousers and a crisp white shirt only partially buttoned. Her eyes fell on his dark chest hair above the collar of his undershirt and then quickly darted away, focusing on a point over his shoulder. She refused to meet his gaze but she could feel his smugness in the air between them.

“Milord,” she curtsied while clutching a stack of freshly cleaned sheets to her chest like a shield, “I’ve brought some clean linen, shall I come back after you’re dressed?”

The Count stepped back and held the door open for her, “Not at all, Emilie. Come in. I could use your opinion on a tie for the evening.”

The master was to entertain tonight. She’d been instructed to order a large dinner from Cook and to set the table for two--although she knew that one place setting would certainly go unused. The guest was the younger sister of an heiress, visiting family in the country. Dracula had made a point of mentioning her great beauty and making sure that Emilie set out the finest china for their guest. She couldn’t help the flare of jealousy in her breast at his casual words. And she knew from the light in his eyes and the smirk on his mouth that he guessed her feelings. He seemed to delight in toying with her and she hadn’t yet learned the rules of his games.

Emilie entered her master’s chamber and set the linens down on the chest by the foot of his bed. The room was entirely windowless and dominated by the massive sleigh bed heaped with luxurious quilted blankets and pillows. It was beyond any luxury Emilie had experienced in her short life and she slyly ran a hand over the velvet coverlet, marveling at its softness. She stopped short when she felt the Count’s eyes on her and shoved her hands behind her back with an embarrassed frown.

“You said you needed assistance, milord?”

“Yes, darling girl,” he threw out the endearment so casually, he couldn’t know how it thrilled her to hear him say the words. He turned to his wardrobe and extracted several bow ties from a shallow drawer, “Which do you think would be best for this evening? Remember, Miss Lucy has blue eyes…”

Emilie pushed aside the sting of jealousy at his comment. She had to think rationally. She was a servant. He was her master. And a dangerous man, beyond that. It was a very good thing that he was not interested in her as anything other than his housekeeper. She took a deep breath and stepped closer, observing the ties draped over his forearm, reaching out a hand to feel the soft fabrics and then decidedly pointing to the one in the middle. It was a black and sapphire brocade fabric which would surely complement the young lady’s pretty eyes.

The Count smiled at her choice. “Just the one I was favoring,” he tossed the other ties in a careless heap inside the wardrobe, surely realizing she would tidy up for him later. He then turned back to her, holding out the tie in his hands, “Now, you’ll help me get ready.”

Emilie took the tie from him without thinking, but then looked up at him apologetically, “I...I don’t know how to tie it, I’m afraid...milord.”

The Count finished buttoning his shirt and stepped further into her personal space, gently taking her hands in his, “I’ll just have to teach you.”

She was obliged to step even closer to him until she stood nose to chest and had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. He guided her hands through the motions, draping the tie around his neck and folding the fabric into an elaborate knot, his fingers brushing against hers all the while. When it was secured to his liking he took her hands again and held them to his chest, slowly stroking her soft skin with his calloused palms and looking down at her with brown eyes that had gone molten with intensity. Emilie felt the swoop of butterflies in her belly and goosebumps rising along her arms. As it always was with the Count she was equal parts frightened and thrilled by his close familiarity. She was like a moth drawn to a flame--it didn’t matter that the thing she wanted would certainly hurt her in the end. She swayed forward, inviting him with her body language and her imploring eyes. 

The Count accepted the invitation, cupping her upturned face in his clawed hands and bending forward to claim her lips with his own. It was an impossibly soft kiss, his lips brushing over hers with infinite care. Emilie felt herself swoon at the obvious care he took with her, knowing that he possessed the strength and cruelty she’d heard of in her grandmother’s stories. He sank his fingers into her glossy curls, upsetting the carefully pinned hairdo and completely discarding the white lacey servant’s cap. Emilie snaked her hands upward, daring to run her palms over the rich fabric of his shirt and reveling at the feel of his muscled chest underneath. 

Too soon he pulled away, looking down at her with his wolf’s grin and inscrutable eyes. Emilie’s breathing was ragged and shaky with the aftereffects of the kiss, but Dracula seemed hardly affected. He held her shoulders in a tight grip and she watched as his gaze fell to linger on her neck, her pulse point. His grin widened and his incisors looked almost like fangs. She shook her head to clear her lust clouded vision, certainly she had only imagined his teeth growing longer and sharper as he loomed over her.

“Run along, now, sweet Emilie,” Dracula’s voice was low and seductive, but his expression was already smoothing over into the impenetrable mask he wore for company. “Our guest will be arriving shortly...for dinner.”

Tags:

@charlesdances​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​

[taekemeaway]

info: kim seokjin/reader, teen, college au genre: fluff, romance, soft angst | word ct: 5k warnings: mentions of past self harm and suicidal thoughts summary: she was a force of nature, one determined to teach seokjin a thing or two about living. whether he liked it or not.

note: the song that i reference at the end of the fic is spanish sahara by foals

There was nothing unusual about Kim Seokjin, he was perfectly normal. He woke up every morning at the same time. He always read the paper while he ate a well-balanced breakfast. He was never late to class. Everything was routine, everything had its place. That’s how he liked it, that’s how he wanted it to stay. He had plans to marry someone his parents approved of, buy a house with a yard, have two kids, maybe a dog, and be perfectly happy. And that’s what made him perhaps the most ordinary person anyone had ever met and would ever meet.

So why, of all people, did she change everything?

He met her at the very beginning of the semester when she took the seat next to him, and he slowly learned that she was his exact opposite in every way thinkable. While he prided himself in his perfect attendance, she would often barrel into class 15 to 20 minutes late, usually hungover. During a lecture nothing could tear his steely eyed focus away from the professor, and she would most likely be asleep next to him. He studied endlessly to ace every exam, she counted herself lucky if she got a C-. They didn’t speak much, or ever, but Seokjin slowly developed feelings for her regardless.

There was everything unusual about her, and that’s probably why he found himself so attracted to the enigma sitting next to him. They never spoke, so Seokjin was always curious what caused the bags under her eyes. Wondered to himself why she needed to sleep through class. What did she do with her life? Where did she go? Why is it that whenever she walked by, he was suddenly reminded of car rides and warm summers? Why did her smile radiate with a warmth he didn’t just see, he could feel tingling on his skin? These were thoughts that often tumbled through his overactive mind, more often than he cared to admit.

Despite his obvious and crippling attraction, he never pursued her. For the duration of the spring semester, Seokjin admired her from afar, but that was the extent of their relationship. If one could call it that. He had to think about his grades, his internship, the blood drive he was volunteering for, he didn’t have time for a relationship. Platonic or otherwise. She was just a thought, nothing more, a wistful dream for someone less ambitious than he was.

How unfortunate it was for him that he was completely ordinary, and she was extraordinary. You don’t will a tornado away, the tornado will do whatever it pleases. And so would she, as Seokjin would soon find out.

“Hey.”

No response.

“Hey.”

Still no response.

“Hey, Earth to Kim Seokjin.”

Finally, Seokjin tore himself away from his notes long enough to acknowledge whoever was talking to him. He was almost stunned to learn that it wasn’t one of his classmates asking for help with their homework, or a student he tutored on the weekend, but it was her. Her, of all people. She was standing right in front of him, her arms crossed over her middle and playful smirk teasing her lips. He opened his mouth to respond and found that he couldn’t. He was absolutely tongue-tied and all she said was hello.

“It is Jin, right?” She asked, quirking a brow at him. “We sit next to each other in Advanced Chem?”

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Y-yes. That’s me, can I—can I help you with something?”

She pursed her lips briefly before cracking a smile. “No, not quite. But I can help you.”

“Wait—what?” Seokjin hesitated in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

The grin that twitched at her lips was both frightening and exciting. “I’m talking about teaching you some real life lessons. Learning about what’s important in life.”

“I already know what’s important.” He rebutted, trying to ignore how beautiful she was by rambling. “Good grades, great job, happy life.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “It’s sad because you honestly think that’s true. You need more help than I realized.”

Seokjin still had a hard time comprehending anything coming out of her mouth. “Can you rewind for half a second? Maybe slow down a little, add some detail, at least to start.”

She put her hands on her hips and laughed. “We’re going on an adventure, Kim Seokjin. Whether you like it or not.”

“Wait—we’re what?” Seokjin exasperated in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? We don’t even know each other, not to mention that I have class later!”

“I’m going to teach you that there’s more to life than grades and hoity toity professors.” She grinned. “C’mon, Jin, it’ll be fun. What’s a little bit of fun gonna hurt?”

He honestly couldn’t believe what she was saying. “What would it hurt? My perfect attendance record, for one. There’s an extra bonus in my Abnormal Psych class, less than three absences and you get an extra five points on the final exam!”

“And how many classes have you missed so far?” She challenged.

Feeling a light blush dust across his cheeks, he cast his glance elsewhere. “N-none. But that doesn’t mean I can just skip whenever I feel like! I might miss something important!”

Without warning, she grabbed his textbook and started backing away from the table, a mischievous smirk on her face. “That’s it, you need this more than I thought. So if you ever want to see your precious book ever again, you’ll follow me.”

“Wha—” Seokjin stammered, gathering up all his things as quickly as he could. “What do you think you’re doing!”

She was already halfway to the doors. “I already told you, I’m going to show you that there’s more to life than studying and exams, a whole lot more. And, you might not believe it, but you’re going to have a ton of fun doing it!”

Chewing on his lower lip, Seokjin weighed his options. He could simply ignore her, go back to studying for his English exam, pretend like she didn’t exist and get another textbook later. That way he’d make it to class without much of a fuss. The rational part of him liked that idea, he didn’t need to skip class to indulge some classmate he barely knew.

The other option, the one that he didn’t want to think about, was that he could follow her. He could hear her out, let her teach him these so called “lessons” and have his first absence in Abnormal Psych. Why did he even consider that option? Why was the mere thought of finally getting a glimpse into her mysterious world so enticing? The rational part of him screamed in defiance, he couldn’t skip class, that was absurd. But he’d already made up his mind whether he liked it or not.

“Hey, wait up!” He called after her, slinging his bag over his shoulder and jogging towards the exit.

She was still there, a smug grin toying at her lips. “See? Now was that so hard?”

“Just a little.” He muttered. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

“That’s part of the adventure.” She snickered playfully. “But—I would go change, if I were you. We might be getting a little messy.”

Seokjin looked down at his blazer and his slacks. “So—what should I wear?”

“Jeans?” She offered. “T-shirt? You do know what those are, right?”

A deep blush creeped across his cheeks. “Of course I do… doesn’t mean that I own any, though.”

Looking at him in disbelief, a honest laugh bubbled past her lips. “Alright, let’s head to my car then. Two birds, one stone. My ex left a duffel full of clothes in my trunk. They’ll probably fit you.”

“Are they clean?” He asked, only slightly disgusted.

Still laughing, she beckoned him to follow. “That’s part of the adventure, the allure of the unknown.”

“I don’t think I like the sound of this adventure of yours.” He muttered underneath his breath.

“It’s our big adventure, Jin.” She grinned back at him. “And you’re going to love it.”

As she stepped out into the hallway, Seokjin did his best to ignore how much he loved those words coming out of her mouth. He quietly followed after her, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing like crazy. She was honestly a whirlwind, one he’d been watching from afar for who knows how long. The second she decided it was time to intervene in his life, he knew that nothing would be the same.

“So, Kim Seokjin.” She started with a smile. “Is this really the first time you’ve ever skipped class?”

He nodded proudly. “Of course! I’m at the top of my class and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You do realize that skipping one class isn’t going to tank your GPA, right? It won’t even put a dent in it.” She teased. “What do you do when you’re sick?”

“I come to class anyway.” He explained hesitantly, he had never realized how ridiculous he sounded. “I mean—what if I miss something? I don’t want to get behind.”

“I’m going to bet,” She began as they exited the building, “that you’ve read every single textbook you own at least five times. You’ve probably got each syllabus tattooed right on your ass. There’s no way that you’d ever miss out on anything.”

Seokjin’s mouth fluttered open and shut in embarrassment. “I—I resent that!”

“So it’s true! I knew it!” She laughed. “Damn, Jin, you need to get out more often!”

“I’m planning to graduate with honors.” He tried to defend himself. “I need to do well so I can get into a good graduate school.”

Pulling out her cars keys, she stifled a chuckle. “You’ve already hit the doing well aspect right on the head. You’re just basically beating your poor 4.0 GPA like a dead horse at this point.”

“4.2…” He grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “See? What’d I tell you? You’ve more than earned a day off, you got to live a little!”

“I mean—” He hesitated. “I guess—I guess one day won’t kill me.”

“That’s the spirit, Jin.” She patted him on the back, coming to a stop at the bed of a rusted old pickup truck. “And, who knows, maybe you’ll even like living a little dangerously.”

“D-dangerous?” Seokjin stammered. “What exactly are you dragging me into!”

She cast a devious wink in his direction before pulling the duffel from the back of the pickup. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr Perfect Attendance 4.2 GPA Kim Seokjin. Now hurry up and put something on to make you look a little bit less like a librarian.”

Seokjin never imagined that he would be intimidated by a bag of clothes, but as it was dropped at his feet he swallowed nervously. Carefully, he kneeled down and unzipped it, raising his nose at the aroma wafting from its contents. As she chuckled at his expense, he very gently pilfered through the bag. Eventually he settled for whatever looked cleanest, a pair of jeans and a standard black t-shirt. Disappearing behind her truck, he pulled on the new clothes and honestly felt— surprisingly comfy.

“Here’s some shoes too.” She instructed, handing him a battered old pair of converse once he was done. “Don’t want to get your rich kid kicks dirty.”

Eyeing his loafers, he pointed to the sneakers with a disgusted grimace. “That’s not sanitary.”

“Sanitary is overrated.” She rolled her eyes. “Just put them on, you’ll be fine I promise. My ex didn’t have anything contagious anyway.”

Just when this couldn’t get any worse.

With trepidation he toed off his shoes and pulled on the second-hand converse, doing his best not to think about whoever had worn them before. After tying them tight he stood up and dusted off his new clothes, fully expecting her to laugh at his odd appearance. Never, in all his life, did he imagine himself wearing something so—casual.

“You’re a whole new man today, Jin.” She whistled. “Gotta say, relaxed looks good on you.”

Blushing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, whatever you say. Are we going to get going, or what?”

“What’s your rush?” She asked honestly, throwing Jin’s clothes and their bags into the cab. “You do realize half of the fun of an adventure is the journey, not the destination?”

“You got that from a fortune cookie.” Seokjin smirked.

Her jaw dropped at his sassy remark. “Damn, Jin. New threads, new man! I’m kind of digging this!”

“Shut up.” He muttered, opening the passenger side door and slipping inside. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Snickering, she got behind the wheel and put the keys in the ignition. “I’ve never met someone who was this desperate to get away from me. Besides my exes, of course.”

Trying to ignore the fact that the truck wasn’t starting, Seokjin eyed her suspiciously. “Do you take a lot of people on adventures?”

“Usually I only take friends, but being friends with me is an adventure of its own right.” She smiled easily. “You’re sort of the exception this time around, Jin. You’re a special case.”

“Well don’t I feel special.” He muttered, drowned out by the revving of the engine.

“So, Kim Seokjin.” She started with her arm resting out the window. “Where’s the one place in the whole world you’ve always wanted to go?”

Seokjin sort of eyed her in confusion. “I thought I didn’t have a say in this little endeavor of yours?”

Chuckling, she hooked up her phone to the aux cord and searched for a song. “If that was really the case, wouldn’t this just be a repeat of some college class? Wouldn’t that make me some dictator professor? Where you have no say in the what you learn, in what you do, just blindly following along. Doing as you’re told, when you’re told to do it, always at the mercy of someone else? I’m not that cruel. The adventure isn’t optional, but it’s up to you where we go.”

He was honestly caught off guard, not just by his sudden power over the situation, but also by how real her words were. Never, in all his days, did he think of school like that. He knew that he had a set of rules to follow, be on time, do your work, study long and hard, do well on the test. That was the formula he had followed for years. Never once did he question it. Never once did he bother to ask himself what he wanted to do. He had become accustomed to being a mindless sheep, and he didn’t like that realization one bit.

“The beach.” He stated plainly. “I want to go to the beach.”

Smirking, she threw the truck in gear. “Not a bad choice. The beach it is!”

The smile that creased his face as he watched the wind toss her hair in every direction was nothing short of blissful. For the first time in his life, there wasn’t a crushing weight on his shoulders. Due dates, study sessions, all of those things were put aside, forgotten, because they didn’t matter. Not for the moment at least. He was sure that the feeling would pass, that the pressure of excelling well past what was expected of him would come back with a vengeance. In light of that thought, he would enjoy it. He would enjoy this small freedom.

As they drove out of the city, Seokjin gazed out the window in amazement. he never left campus much, opting to stay in and cram rather than go out with friends. In all honesty, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone invited him out. He assumed, or at least he hoped, that everyone was just giving him the space he needed. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that his few friends had forgotten about him entirely.

“What’s your story anyway?” She asked suddenly. “Why are you such a busybody?”

He glanced at her, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” She began to elaborate, “why do you put this stupid amount of pressure on yourself to be absolutely perfect? It can’t be because you get off on only getting three hours of sleep a night.”

Seokjin chuckled quietly. “No, not quite. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. That requires a certain degree of dedication.”

“Dedication I can understand.” She levelled with him, looking over her shoulder and signalling to turn. “But what you’ve got going on, it’s borderline obsession. You’ve got to realize that your behavior isn’t what one would call “healthy”, y’know?”

“I mean—” He started to explain himself. “I don’t really see anything wrong with it? I get good grades, what’s the big deal?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “There’s your problem right there. You don’t know anything else besides your own little academic world. Even the most dedicated students I know, they still have something else going for them besides their grades. Maybe it’s just some cooking vlogs that they like to keep up with, but at least it’s something. What else do you do, Jin? Besides study and tutor and make flashcards all day?”

“I volunteer in my spare time.” He responded immediately. “It looks good for—for graduate school.”

“What else?” She instantly persisted. “What do you do that’s for you?”

“I—” He stammered, unable to think of anything. “I—I’m not sure…”

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. “Are you starting to see what I’m getting at? You don’t do a single thing for yourself. Everything you do is for your precious future. After a while that starts to eat away at you, you need some sort of outlet before you lose your mind.”

“I—” He continued, slightly appalled. “I’ve never thought of it like that. I—I always thought that—that my grades were enough.”

“There’s more to life than tests and grades.” She reminded him. “I swear I’m not just talking out my ass.”

Swallowing nervously, Seokjin looked out the window. “So you’re saying to give up on all of that?”

“No way.” She responded with a shake of her head. “One, because I know that would be fucking impossible for you to completely reroute your brain. Two, I’ve got no business in telling you how to live your life. I’m just trying to open up your eyes a little, to show you what else is out there. What you choose to do with this information is completely up to you.”

He nodded in agreement, finally finding sense to her madness. It felt good to finally have some insight into this endeavor he found himself thrown into. The one thing he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, was why she cared so much? She was a force of nature, someone who lived by her own rules and did as she pleased. What was it about him that made her reach out? As nice as she seemed, it couldn’t have just been out of the kindness of her heart. It was a question he was determined to answer.

“What about you?” He suddenly asked as the sun began to set. “What’s your deal?”

She snickered into her hand. “Geez, took you long enough, I’ve been waiting for the last hour for you to ask. You don’t hide your thoughts very well, Jinnie.”

Blushing, he pressed his lips together. “Well—can you blame me? I have no idea what to think about you. You’re just some girl in my class who’s always late, always exhausted, and you’re always smiling like you’ve got a secret—”

“You’ve really been paying attention to me, huh?” She asked, clearly amused. “I didn’t realize I was so interesting.”

“Of course you did.” He rolled his eyes in embarrassment. “You enjoy stringing people along like this.”

“That’s what we’re calling it?” She quirked her brow at him. “I thought we were calling it our little adventure.”

Doing his best to ignore his rapidly increased heartrate, he cleared his throat. “Well—besides that. Seems like this is a regular occurrence for you.”

“Actually—” She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Would you be surprised to hear that it’s not?”

Jin’s jaw almost dropped. “Yeah, I would.”

She smirked at him. “Like I said, Jin, you’re a special case. Usually I’m on my own, driving to who knows where, trying to see as much as I’m able before I’m stuck working a job I can’t stand. Sometimes I bring a friend along, but those adventures are closer to road trips than anything else. This time I just thought that maybe you needed one of these adventures almost as much as I do.”

Wait—what? He thought, caught off guard by her painfully honest statement. What did she mean by that? “As much as I do”?

“Holy shit!” She suddenly exclaimed, reaching for the volume dial. “I absolutely love this song!”

Momentarily stunned, he simply watched as she turned up the music and leaned back in her seat. A carefree smile creased her face, and he could’ve sworn that she closed her eyes. Not wanting to think about it, he opted to do as she did, to just sit back and listen. It seemed like the best option, it would at least help distract him from his overactive mind.

So I walked into the haze And a million dirty ways Now I see you lying there Like a lie low losing air

Black rocks and shoreline sand Still dead summer I cannot bear And I wipe the sand off my arms The Spanish Sahara, the place that you’d wanna Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It’s future rust and it’s future dust

Seokjin had never heard that song before in his life, and yet—somehow he knew that it captured who she was exactly. What little he knew about her was clearly etched deeply in those lyrics. She absorbed the music as she drove, lightly drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, humming quietly to herself. There was a sense of relaxation exuding off of her, but also of pure melancholy. Like hearing about her life hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

Now the waves, they drag you down Carry you to broken ground Now I find you in the sand Wipe you clean with dirty hands

So goddamn this boiling space The Spanish Sahara, the place that you’d wanna Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It’s future rust and then it’s future dust

I’m the fury in your head I’m the fury in your bed I’m the ghost in the back of your head Cause I am—

Sneaking sparing glances at her, he watched as a stray tear streaked her face. Still smiling, she kept driving into the sunset, she kept driving away from whatever was still causing her such pain. And as much as he wanted to ask, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. She needed something beyond words, something that Seokjin couldn’t give her. No matter how much he wanted to ease her suffering.

Choir of furies in your head

“Have you ever heard a song that just—”

Choir of furies in your bed

“Made you wonder—”

Choir of furies in your head

“What you were doing?”

Choir of furies in your bed

“And not only that, it—”

Choir of furies in your head

“Answered all of the questions—”

Choir of furies in your bed

“You couldn’t think to ask?”

I’m the ghost in the back of your head

While he tried not to, he couldn’t help but look at her in awe. She had just—opened up a part of herself to him and he couldn’t think of a solid reason why she would? Not only were they not really friends, they barely knew each other at all. And yet—he felt closer to her than anyone he could think of. Just some girl from his Advanced Chem class. Some strange girl who dragged him on an adventure that was already turning into the journey of a lifetime.

“Cat got your tongue?” She suddenly asked, tossing him a playful smirk. “You’ve been pretty quiet for a while now.”

“I just—” He stammered as he tried to drudge up an excuse. “I really liked the song.”

She flashed a brilliants grin. “It’s a good one, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” He hesitated, offering a shaky smile. “It was really—”

“And here we are!” She interrupted, pointing out the windshield. “You wanted the beach, Kim Seokjin, and so you shall have it.”

Following her gesture, he saw the crashing waves illuminated by the dim light of the rapidly disappearing sun in the distance. Slowly, she pulled off on a bumpy side road, completely missing the WELCOME sign half a mile ahead. He had a brief moment where he thought to question her, but thought better of it. She seemed to know where she was going, and at this point Seokjin didn’t care where they were. He just wanted to be with her.

“This is my little secret path.” She informed him. “I come down here all the time.”

Nodding, he took hold of the grip handle. “Am I shocked that you have some dangerous way to get to the beach when there was a perfectly safe turn off just a few more feet down the road?”

An honest laugh bubbled past her lips. “By your tone I’m gonna guess no!”

Seokjin laughed alongside her, feeling surprisingly at ease despite their situation. Eventually the road evened out as it turned to sand and she eased off the gas. When they finally came to a stop and she put the truck in park, Seokjin quickly hopped out of the cab and landed softly in the sand. Then, he tugged off his shoes and tossed them into the back, wanting to enjoy the feeling of the sand sifting through his toes.

“Home sweet home.” She offered with a sigh. “There’s no place like it.”

As she pulled a blanket from the back and tossed it over her shoulder, they both started towards the water. Even with nightfall quickly approaching, Seokjin could still make out a handful of gulls resting atop the waves. As he ventured closer, he caught a faint scent of burning wood and roasted marshmallows. It reminded him of the times he used to visit the beach with his family, before math camp and summer internships took over his life.

“Let’s get a fire started, yeah?” She suggested. “It’s going to get real cold real quick if we’re not careful.”

“Good idea.” He smiled affectionately.

Tossing the blanket onto the ground, she looked at him with disbelief. “You seem different, Mr Kim Seokjin. Could it be my sporadic adventure is more therapeutic than you previously thought?”

“I plead the fifth.” He winked, turning and scouring the beach for driftwood.

Behind him, she laughed. “Holy crap! Who are you and what did you do with the stuck up nerd I kidnapped?”

“Stuck up?” He questioned in a hurt tone. “I think that’s a little harsh!”

“You were wearing a blazer with elbow pads!” She countered. “You are the most uppity nerd I have ever met in my entire life!”

As they continued to joke around, they gathered armfuls of wood for a fire. While she kneeled down beside the pile and began to arrange the pit, Seokjin went to find some kindling. Picking up stray twigs and old paper cups, he watched her from a distance. He couldn’t find the words to describe this woman who decided to intrude on his life and change everything forever. She was almost otherworldly, people like her just didn’t exist.

Even so, he still had reservations. He still wondered why? Why, of all people, did she pick him? There were other people just as absorbed in their studies as he was, what made him so special? Was it just proximity? Because he was closest? Or because she felt he needed it most? Whatever her reasons were, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to fathom them on his own. He’d have to ask her.

Returning with the kindling, he kneeled down beside her. “I assume you have a lighter?”

“Of course I do.” She smirked. “What did you think I was? An upstanding citizen or something?”

Rolling his eyes, he helped arrange the logs. “Now that is a thought that never once crossed my mind.”

Reaching for some more wood, his fingers grazed against her open palm. And just as he felt his heart skip a beat, he noticed something odd. A couple of pale pink lines were peeking out from the cuff of her shirt. Before he could fully register what they could possibly be from, she pulled her hand from his and tugged her sleeve down over her hand with a laugh.

“What’re you trying to do, Jin?” She teased him. “Hold my hand?”

“Would that be so bad?” He answered immediately without pausing to think.

For the first time, she was at the disadvantage. “S-Seokjin! What the holy hell happened to you!”

“I don’t really know.” He shrugged, a light pink blush dusting across his cheeks. “Maybe you have more power than you originally though.”

Laughing, she flicked her lighter and started the fire. “That must be it. It’s the only logical explanation.”

He glanced at her, a warmth emanating from him that he didn’t understand. She just—she made him feel so many different things all at once. And each time she smiled his way he could feel his brain slowly turning to mush. He had heard his friends talk about feeling something similar, but nothing Seokjin had previously seen came anywhere close to how he felt when he was with her.

“I—” He started, gathering the blanket and sitting on the edge of it. “I really—I want to thank you for dragging me out here tonight.”

Chuckling, she sat down beside him. “Remind me to give you back your textbook before I forget.”

Seokjin shrugged. “Honestly—you can keep it. I don’t really want it anymore.”

Her amusement slowly dissipated until a calm smile stood in its place. “You’ve really come a long way, Jin. And to think it only took you skipping class just once. You should’ve tried this a long time ago.”

“I wouldn’t have even dared if you hadn’t stolen my textbook.” He smirked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you?”

“Why did I steal your textbook?” She asked in confusion. “We’ve been over this, I had to get you into my truck somehow.”

He shook his head. “No, I know why you took my textbook, but why did you? Why did you seek me out? I’m no one special, just some guy you’ve been sitting next to all semester, nothing about that changed. So why pick me?”

“Well—” She chewed on her lip hesitantly. “Why not? You were obviously an easy mark.”

He lowered her a knowing look. “You’re going to have to try harder than that. I’ve kept quiet for most of the afternoon, but I’ve been paying attention. I know that you don’t do anything without a reason. I’m just having a hard time figuring out what that reason is.”

As she pulled her knees into her chest, she gazed into the flames. “Was I that obvious?”

“No, not really.” He returned. “I’m just observant is all. Every time you tried to convince me that my life could be so much more, it felt—it felt personal.”

A pained look briefly crossed her face. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Kim Seokjin, you really are a special case.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask what she meant, she slowly rolled up her sleeves. Those pale pink lines he had noticed before, she had at least a dozen of them crawling halfway up her arm. Each one she etched into her skin in desperation, defeat, and despair. The sight alone was enough to break his heart.

“You might find this hard to believe,” She started in a whisper, “but I used to be just like you. Obsessed with grades, exams, studying, the whole nine yards. I used to stay up until all hours making flashcards, I would blow off my friends to call my professors. During my first year at university, I took enough college credits for me to have gotten an associate’s degree. One time I got a B+ on a Sociology paper and I didn’t leave my room for a week. What I did wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t figure that out until it was too late.”

Seokjin watched her as she gently thumbed the scars over her wrist, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her. Learning the truth, the truth he had been so desperate to hear, it devastated him. He had never imagined that her story would be a direct reflection on his own. He didn’t realize that by looking at her, he could’ve easily been looking at his future. And that terrified him.

“Do you understand now why I’ve been so invested in this?” She chuckled weakly. “I just—I see you, and I see myself. I see myself back when I still thought that school was the most important thing in the whole world. When I truly believed that my future was going to be determined by a handful of numbers and letters, not by my own actions.

“Back then I—I didn’t have dreams. I had goals, I had milestones, maybe even aspirations, but not dreams. I realize now how much that was eating me up inside. There’s a huge difference between doing something because you want to, and doing something because you feel you have to. I couldn’t tell the two apart, not until it was almost too late.”

She paused a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close to him. For a moment, they didn’t move, they didn’t even speak, he just gazed into the flames as she sobbed freely into his chest. He thought about everything that she said, everything that she wanted to teach him, and everything that she shared with him. It was so impossible to think, but in just the few short hours that they knew each other, she had changed his life in ways he had never thought imaginable.

She set him free from chains he didn’t even know existed.

“I’m seriously hoping that I managed to teach you something today.” She laughed quietly, wiping away her tears.

Smiling, he naturally took her hands in his. “Don’t worry, you taught me plenty.”

[power-house-fan12]

Updated version

Names don't own these characters but Danseuse

Hero name Danseuse the ghosted hero

Don't own video

Student name Shōzō Naminè

Class 2-A

Age 16

Birthday October 4

Height 5ft3

Weight 135 pounds

Hair color white long braided knot do ponytail in a bow

Eye Midnight blue

blood type A

Hero number 1900

Voice actor

English: Mallorie Rodak

Japanese: Masumi Asano

Metal mechanical arm on right side

Power 3/5

Speed 4/5

Technique 5/5

Intelligence 5/5

Cooperativeness 6/5

Hero type student

Fighting style capoeira, fencing, kendo, muay tai

Outfit white turtleneck sleeves leotard with a blue rose symbol on the chest, black stockings, hard light pink ballet slippers, white cuff glove, blue sword holster, black mask, light pink bow, small leg pockets

Winter outfit one arm sleeve leotard with a clear ballet shirt, white leg warmers

New costume Dark blue leotard sleeveless leotard with black fading leggings, dark blue metallic ballerina shoes.

Quirk appear

Like telaportation it's faster as long she knows where's she going, she makes a poof sounds every time she uses her quirk, if she doesn't know she would end up in a random place. Too much of her quirk can make her exhausted and possibly form a rash.

Second quirk will appear soon.  https://my.w.tt/CKCb35NENab

At a young age namine had become independent with her 4 older brothers who are pro heroes, her mom always seem to neglected her in favor of the brothers for some unknown reasons, this give her low self esteem from thinking she wasn't enough and due to her dad not in the picture that much she didn't receive enough love her brothers made up for that.

Naminè had been taken to Italy before to her quirk came in she didn't remember anything but what she didn't know is that her mom order a operation to put a quirk stabilizer to stop her her but Naminè gotten her quirk a teleportation like her oldest brother hisao due to her mother dismay she begin to treat her like a doll not caring about her feelings what so ever. This begin the resentment towards her mother. Soon she place in a modeling which almost made her Bulimic.

With the help of her oldest brother Hisao who is a pro her called Excalibur who has the same quirk as her, taught her everything he knows about sword fighting  .  Her other brothers decide to help as well making her more attributes to her, the second oldest Daichi help teach her about technician on Strategy, third one Takeo taught her about different types of weapons in hero world, and finally Aki will teach her how to fight ballet form of a balance. But as time went on they would move on without her.

One day in her 1st year of middle school after a ballet class she was on her way home when an explosion appear in front of her a villain came out and hold her hostage till her oldest brother came scared of her life she was afraid to use her quirk she was in a tight situation, her brother tried to think rationally about this he did want to hurt his sister but then saw police trying to shoot he try to stop but then the villain created an explosion but in that he cut off Naminè arm off. Screaming in pain and loosing blood hisao takes Naminè to the nearest hospital doesn't care about the villain.

When namine woke up in the hospital she saw that her right arm was missing and she didn't know how to process this and became numb and close off from the world she then saw her mom came but not for her but for her brother who was injured during the battle, something inside of her snap she then yell at her mother for negligence and making her think this was her fault and with that Naminè never spoke to her mom from then on her older brother was able to get her a prosthetic arm with able to fight with it by Gizmo, she did learn how to fix her arm And tune it.

Namine later went to Seiai academy . She was a bit of a outcast due to her arm  and her ideals of corroboration but she did try her best when it came to fighting, some of the girls called her the ice queen she didn't get her heroes license until the first group went she was more of using her wit at the time and her swordsmanship was making her more noticeable among the girls almost like the see her as a knight in white skirt, she was being nice to other girls but still didn't feel right in this school.

On her way home she was kidnap and place in the asylum with a bunch of other kids with that she was being drug and torture through mental breakdowns  knowing how widow works on others, with wearing quirk resistance cuffs on her she couldn't teleport her way out, Namine need to be strong for these teenagers and soon meets Miki who is just like her a loner she tries to be her friend but miki still has trust problems she does talk to her every now and then soon days to turn into months, with that all hope is losing until Three kids from UA appear she was skeptic at first but a least give them a fighting chance on what is happening. Especially hearing about the war

The first person she meet was bakugou she was somehow interested in him when she saw him fight one of the villains she help from getting himself killed and help him recover a bit he didn't like her at first but one day she gets all hot temper on Smokey he was impress by her fighting and saw something else hearing about what happen to him in the war. Soon when word got out that the heroes are coming Namine was going to help get the cuffs off first and with that, the battle begin but after the cuffs were taken off and chaos was in order most of them were separated by tempest.

Namine tried to escape but was stop by Smokey with her quirk, almost suffocating her with smoke bakugou ran to her but use her arm reveling to everyone of her shocking bakugou snaps out of it help namine they decide to combine their quirks to create a firework type move and with that they were to defeat smokey but with that Danseuse had past out from using too much of her quirk.

When she had woken up later she learn that the fight was over and she and the others were free from widows reign of terror she and the others were taken to the hospital to be treated and learns that the kids that were in there the longest couldn't go back to the school so half can go back but the other half can't. Naminè then ask principal nezu if she can transfer along with a handful of kids so a few weeks later.

After everything she went to UA and Join class 2-A and surprising she join the bakusquad along with hotaru ,She and bakugou have a unusual relationship but they make a great team. She also has a bond with karminari

[beccarooni]

Missing You

(A.N: rough sequel to Armour! This just was in my head and I wanted to get it out. Enjoy some thorhulk angst idk)

Thor awoke, and the bed was cold. 

That alone was enough to put him on edge. Because nothing was cold, not since Nivadellir. No, after the forge, everything burned until it was numb - but it was never cold. His lightning burned, the fake eye that the rabbit gave him seemed to be short-circuiting whenever it got the chance, and some kind of unnatural fever had pushed him into dreaming even when he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. 

But no cold. 

His hand crept out across the covers, feeling the empty expanse of pillows and blankets where Bruce should have been. 

Of course, he might have left. Might have had things to do, after helping Thor off to sleep. But, as much as he wouldn’t blame Bruce for leaving him, the scientist didn’t share his sense of loathing. Thor might’ve been content to abandon himself to an evening of suffering, but Bruce was once again stubbornly insistent that they should spend the night together.

And he was grateful. He’d been grateful for Bruce’s arms running through his hair, coaxing pieces of armour from his torn body. Grateful for the whispered words of comfort and the faint smell of coffee that somehow always seemed to cling to Bruce’s clothes. 

So, him leaving was somewhat alarming. 

The bed creaked as Thor swung his feet to the floor, biting back a wince as his aching muscles protested his movement. 

He’d long since learned to stop listening to the rational voice inside his head. The one telling him to go back to sleep, to rest, and to look for Bruce in the morning.

That voice could frankly mind it’s own business. Thor was going looking for Bruce and no voice in his head or concern for his own wellbeing was going to stop him. 

Not even the looming corridor, the usual bright colours darkened to shadow, or the late-night moon making monsters out of coat rails. 

He couldn’t deny that he felt just a tad uncomfortable, though. It reminded him too strongly of home, of tiny feet pattering down corridors and tinier hands knocking on his mother’s door after a nightmare. Or of his teenage years, when the sleepless nights seemed to stretch out forever, and all he had to do was walk down a few corridors to find Heimdall who would show him the stars. 

Looking down the corridor now was like looking at a eulogy. A timeline of events, of things passed. Things and memories that weren’t coming back, no matter how much he wanted them to. 

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning softly.

If he was getting this sentimental over a corridor then maybe he should go back to bed. 

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he was about to turn away to the comfort of his room, when something brushed against his neck.

A puff of hot air, too hot to be a draft from the window, and a low grumbling sound.

He span with a yelp, lightning flashing through his fingertips, illuminating the corridor in front of him - and, apparently, his ‘attacker’. 

Hulk stood in front of him, eyes cast down to the ground, feet shuffling awkwardly against the carpet. 

“Oh my g- Hulk! You can’t just sneak up on people like that in the middle of the night!” 

Thor shook his hand in an effort to rid himself of the few lingering sparks that still darted around his fingertips, trying to force the newly found adrenaline out of his system with a rough sigh. 

“Sorry.” Hulk mumbled, twisting his head to stare firmly out of the window, eyes carefully tracking a stray raindrop as it made its way down the glass.

Thor frowned, whatever anger he’d been feeling being quick to melt away. 

“It’s fine, honestly. You just gave me a fright.” He paused, taking a few careful steps forward to tap Hulk gently on the arm.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Bruce said you’d gone quiet - wouldn’t even come out for the battle, apparently. Is everything ok?”

Hulk shrugged in response, turning slowly back to face Thor, his face unreadable in the dark. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, that’s understandable. Half the universe did just die. I’d want to take a sick day too.” Thor tried for a smile, but ended up with something more similar to a pained grimace. 

“Thought you were dead.” 

Thor froze. 

“You...You what?”

“On spaceship. Got sent to earth, without you.”

The floor shook slightly as Hulk made his way towards Thor, voice getting louder and louder with every word until he was almost at his usual self. A fact that would’ve been comforting, had it not been for the shaking in Hulk’s shoulders, or the tremor in his words. 

“Got here, and Thor not there. Thor not anywhere, and Asgardians gone, spaceship gone. Didn’t show up until big fight and…”

Hulk trailed off, words evidently catching in his throat and…

Oh no.

Hulk was crying. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t make all that much noise while he was doing it. It was more of a silent shaking than anything - Thor didn’t even see the tears until a stray flash of lightning illuminated his face. 

His body was moving forward before he even registered what he was doing. His steps were stumbled, somewhat, like a puppet being dragged on some invisible string. His hands flew up to grab at what they could, which at that moment happened to be Hulk’s arm - pressing large fingertips over his own to try and prove to his friend that he was here, he was fine. He wasn’t dead, left to drift among the stars. He was here.

“I’m okay now, Hulk. I promise. Please.”

Thor tried to trace patterns onto Hulk’s skin, but he doubted the green giant could even feel it. 

Instead of a reply, Hulk promptly bent at the waist, shoving his face deep into the crook of Thor’s shoulder, and almost knocking him to the floor in the process. But, he kept his feet. Stayed stable, as much as he wanted to collapse into the night.

Thor bent his own head, ignoring the shooting pains of his neck, and tried to mutter his own words of reassurance. He wasn’t even sure what to say, aside from telling him again and again that he was alright. That he was alive.

He couldn’t say he was fine. That would be a lie, and lying to Hulk was something he was trying never to do again. 

But he could offer his life. He could offer his pulse, the faint thrum of lightning in his veins, proof that he was here and solid and wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Didn’t get to say stuff. Before…” Hulk shook his head, burrowing deeper. 

“I’m here now, Hulk. You can tell me things now, if you like.” 

Hulk looked up at that, straightening so abruptly that Thor almost lost his balance. Green eyes swept up and down the corridor, as if checking for intruders, and Hulk’s posture was so unsure and so unlike him that Thor was really starting to worry over what was going to be said - until Hulk said it.

And then, he couldn’t quite register it. He’d heard the words, sure, but hearing and listening were another matter entirely. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor cleared his throat, his fingers lightly pinching the skin of his wrist even just to prove that this was real.

“Could you repeat that?”

“Love Thor. Both do.” Hulk glanced away again, but was quick to refocus, eyes intently studying Thor’s expression for a reaction.

“Hulk and Banner.” 

“What…”

Thor laughed nervously, although with none of his usual mirth. His hands wound into the fabric of his shirt, clutched at his hair, did anything to keep them from being still and focusing on the matter at hand. 

“What do you expect me to say to that, Hulk? We’re not exactly...That is to say I’m not...I just don’t think -”

“Thor not like Hulk?” 

“No, no, Norns no. Of course I like you, Hulk - both of you, for that matter. It’s just…” 

Thor turned away, ears burning and lungs tightening as the weight of it all began to build back up. As the roaring of the dying star once again rang in his ears, strong and true, as if he was still standing in front of the forge. Still staring out at the rings of metal, trying to find the stars in between. 

Forcing words through his throat seemed so much harder than holding the gates open. Because that, well, that was a task he was well acquainted with. Bearing the unbearable was somehow not so unbearable anymore, not after all he’d lost. 

But voicing this fear, (because that’s what it was ; there was no sense in lying to himself further, no sense in plastering on another layer of armour when the first had been so painful to remove) it took so much more precision than clumsy hands against cold metal. 

It took so much more from him to admit that he was afraid his friend was going to die. 

“Thor-”

Hulk began, but Thor cut him off with another sharp turn.

He lay his hands against either side of Hulk’s face, bruised and bandaged tan against deep forest green. His own heart hammered in his head, and Hulk looked concerned and so unbearably confused that…

Thor couldn’t hold this back any longer. Bruce had pushed through his first layer of illusions, had coaxed him into allowing feeling to trickle back into his nerves. But the trickle had become a flood, a tidal wave of sadness and anger and despair and it was useless trying to build dams against that sort of thing.  

So why even try? 

“You don’t see. Of course you don’t see - you’re much too kind for that.” 

He spoke softly, pressing his still-burning forehead against the cool expanse of Hulk’s. 

“You don’t see what happens to the people I love? They die, Hulk. They die and I can’t even say it’s peaceful. It’s horrible and brutal and just so pointless. I can’t…I can’t see that happen to you. You cannot ask that of me.” 

His eyes burned with tears he didn’t even realise had started falling, at least, not until one careful green finger had risen to his cheek, brushing feather-light against the skin with a reverence that felt sacrilegious. 

Thor wasn’t worthy of this. Not of Hulk’s gentleness - the side of him so many didn’t get to see. A sight that was hidden from the universe, privy to only a select few. He didn’t deserve that. Hadn’t earned it. Not in the slightest. 

He hadn’t earnt the feeling of warmth that enveloped him as Hulk pulled him inwards, cradling him against his chest. 

His shoulders shook, and his throat ached, and Thor finally gave himself up to the wave that he’d tried to outrun. 

Fragile fingers clutched at Hulk’s shoulders, and he sobbed. Clinging to the gigantic frame like an animal seeking shelter under the tallest tree. And what a shelter Hulk was - green eyes casting their faint glow down onto him, brows that wrinkled into a frown of quiet concern, deep tones rumbling like the thunder he held in his heart close to his ear. 

Hulk even had the audacity to sway, rocking him gently back and forth until they both ended up back on the floor, crouched in the middle of the room. 

The howling rain outside, the slamming of shutters, the faint sound of someone watching the news - it all started to grow quiet. Even the ringing in his ears that hadn’t faded since Nivadellir - in face had only gotten that much worse when he’d landed in Wakanda - that seemed to ebb under Hulk’s watchful gaze and cautious words. 

“Hulk not leave. Just...needed you to know. In case.” 

“M’sorry. I think I’ve made rather a mess of what could’ve been a lovely confession.” 

Thor sniffled, wiping harshly at the tears still streaming down his face. 

“I think I’m just a little tired of it all.”

Hulk nodded, his cheek moving against the top of Thor’s head. 

“Could go to bed.”

“Only if you join me.” 

“Thor soft.”

“Well.” 

He paused, feeling his face lift in the ghost of a smile.

“Only for you.”

[bnhascribbles]

Partner

Bakugo x Reader

Angst, Humor, Dialogue Prompts (22, 47, 62)

I took artistic liberties lol.  EDIT: Also may have forgotten one of the quotes...

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Mentions of death

Hair, once light, is dark, matted with blood and sweat. Bakugo’s costume is in similar condition, still caked in a thick layer of grime from his last rescue. But he can’t stop, not yet. His practiced gaze scans over the rest of the debris, searching. Shattered windows, overturned cars, crumbling buildings–it was all the same stuff he’d expected to see in the aftermath of such a large attack. His heart races, nonetheless. Shit, shit, shit. Curses pour from his lips like prayers, uttered between bouts of panting. He focuses on getting his breathing under control before he moves on, planting a steadying palm against the wall of the alleyway. When he drags it down along the red brick, his gauntlet leaves a smokey trail in its wake. Memories flood in, even as he does his best to shove them back.

The scorch marks marring the dorm wall are obvious, to say the least. Faded grey rings branch out along the white plaster, all stemming from a single, intense patch of soot. One that, suspiciously enough, resembles a handprint,

“You’ve really done it this time, matchstick.” You lean in close, using your fingernail to scratch at the stain. Some of it flakes off, but there’s an obvious film of residue left in the blast zone. “Aizawa is gonna straight-up murder you when he finds out.”

To his credit, Bakugo at least has the sense to look a little nervous, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other tucked firmly beneath his armpit. Trying to avoid having another “misfire.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He grumbles. “Just tell me if you can fix it.”

You scratch at your chin, seeming all pensive. But it was bullshit. Really, it was an easy fix–he already knew that, considering the fact that he’d come straight to you after his squabble with Midoriya escalated into a full-fledged explosion. But he also knew that you were going to try and draw this out; You had this thing about “leaving a lesson,” and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make sure he learned a thing or two about dialing down his bloodlust.

“It’s gonna cost you.”

Bakugo’s mouth pulls off to one side of his face. “How much?”

“A month of cleaning my room–sweeping, dusting, polishing, and mopping. Plus an apology to Midoriya.”

He wants to argue, to barter. But he doesn’t–he doesn’t have the time or the patience to spend trying to convince anyone else to help him. So Bakugo just stands there, chewing on his lip and shifting his weight between his legs.

“Fine.” He sighs, bouncing on his heels. “Just fix it before anyone else sees.”

“What’s the magic word?” You ask, grinning wide and having way too much fun with the whole situation.

“Fix the damn wall before I–” A loud click from the double doors leading into the common area makes Bakugo flinch, twisting wildly, like some prey animal that’s about to be snatched up. When the knob twists, his eyes dart back to you, looking positively wild. You’re still grinning, thrumming your fingers against the stain. Waiting.

Your fingers tap, tap, tap against the plaster.  Repetitive and rhythmic.  And irritating–like Iida’s pencil sharpener whirring every evening at the same time.  Or shitty-hair hitting his fucking punching bag at 3 am when the blonde trying to sleep.

As much as he wants to burn your hand to a crisp–to stop that grating sound–now wasn’t the time to go ape-shit.  Bakugo couldn’t risk the consequences of pissing off Aizawa (again).

“Please!” He swallows his pride and hisses the word, even though it feels like it’s burning on his tongue.

Without another moment of hesitation, you tap the wall. It’s like hitting an imaginary rewind button–Bakugo can see the progression of the damage being played out in reverse. Rings sink back into the palm print until even that begins to fade. Within a second, all signs of his outburst have been erased. Dusting off your hands, you turn just in time to wave at Kirishima as he pushes open the common room door, strolling towards you. His lips twist upward when he sees a very relieved-looking Bakugo clutching at his chest.

“Was he being an idiot again?”

Bakugo barks out an irritated curse at his friend and stomps off into the hallway, never once peering back over his shoulder. Even so, your boisterous laughter bounces off the walls, reaching his ears as he turns the corner into the stairwell.

“Yeah, he was. But don’t worry about it; I’ve got him covered.”

The throbbing in his chest doesn’t subside, even after a minute of that “deep breathing” crap, so Bakugo decides to move on anyway. He scales the fire escape up to the roof, anxious to get a better idea of his surroundings. He already knew the area well–he spent more time patrolling the streets than he spent in his own damn home–but knowing where the corner store was wouldn’t help him find what he was looking for. People never stuck around in one place for too long during disasters like this. Not unless they were–

No, Bakugo shakes off the thought as he climbs the final step. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and an alert banner drifts across his screen, screaming at him with bold, obnoxious text.

...mass civilian casualties reported. Additionally, over two dozen individuals are unaccounted for in the Dagobah district alone. Counted among the missing is pro-hero, Retrograde, who was last spotted leading rescue efforts in...

Bakugo locks the screen before he has to read any more, running a shaky hand over the bottom half of his face. Reporters didn’t know shit anyway.

You step into the agency training room, following close behind Bakugo. Once the door shuts, you twist the lock to the right. Your partner scowls, folding his arms across his chest in a frustrated gesture.

“What the hell is this about?” He growls, looking down his nose at you.

You inhale deeply, staring into blazing red eyes, unfazed. There’s not an ounce of your usual, goofy self left to be found. He’s grateful.

“This is gonna hurt.”

He blinks, gritting his teeth. “What–”

Before Bakugo can even get a word in, your fist is slamming into his jaw. He stumbles backward, thrown off balance by the force of the impact. Once he regains his footing, it’s less than a second before he’s pouncing towards you. His teeth are bared, his lips pulled back in a tight, animalistic snarl. You hop left, avoiding a full-on hit by a centimeter. Still, Bakugo’s reflexes get the better of you; He throws out an arm at the last second and catches your ankle as he passes, dragging you down with him. You hit the floor hard, landing on your back. Groaning, you fling out your other leg, shoving it into his ribs (too conveniently, in the same side he’d bruised just last week). Bakugo winces, releasing his hold, and after a complicated moment, you’ve got him pinned–held down by his chest and wrists.

“You know why you’ll never be number one?” You pant, pressing more of your weight into him when he struggles.

He growls, feral. “Get the fuck off of me.”

You don’t.

“It’s not ‘cause you’re a terrible hero. Hell, you’re brilliant–everyone agrees on that much.” You lean in close, speaking slowly. “It’s because your image is shit, Katsuki. And it’s shit because every time you do something good, you manage to screw it up by losing your cool and doing something stupid.”

You continue, paying no heed to Bakugo’s eyes as they narrow, murderous. “Silverfish is a hero. He worked his ass off helping us clear out that warehouse, but the second he makes one comment about your way of doing things, you go apeshit. You get in his face and scream and throw a hissy fit right in from of the reporters.” Shaking your head, you stand. “Like they need any other reason to rip into you.”

It takes every ounce of restraint in him, but Bakugo doesn’t lunge at you the instant you give him the opportunity (even though he really wants to). He settles for watching you rub your knuckles as you stare down at him. He hopes they hurt–he hopes you’d shattered every damn bone in them when you’d punched him. People needed to stop telling him how to do his job–how to act, how to be “nice” and pretend that he was some happy-go-lucky do-gooder. He wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be.

Bakugo sits up, scowling. “Reporters don’t know shit. I don’t care what any of those dumbasses say about me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Yeah? Then you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.” When Bakugo jolts up, you move in close to him. Too close. “The press can make or break you. Give ‘em an opening and they’ll take it–they won’t hesitate to make you into their seven o’clock special. ‘Breaking news: Hero Ground Zero threatens violence against critics.’ Does that sound like the sort of headline that helps you move up the rankings?”

“It’s a fucking lie.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie or not! It’s what they’ll say!” You’re shouting now. Red seeps up to your face, coloring your cheeks and ears. “And what they say is what the public will believe.”

You stop and breathe, shallow and ragged, through your nose. Tracing small circles over your temples, you shut your eyes and hum to yourself. Your shoulders slow, their quick rise and fall, melting into something more controlled. Bakugo half thinks you’ve finally snapped–that the pressure of dealing with hero work and him and the media has finally made you lose it. He’s about to shove past you when you finally open your eyes. The intensity is still there, but your breathing has calmed down substantially.

“That’s why,” you begin, holding up your hands in a placating gesture, “If you’ve got a problem with someone, you find me. If I’m not around, you breathe and wait it out.” The words are soft. But they’re also firm. Rational.

Bakugo wonders if you’re still angry. He is. Then again, he can’t think of the last time that he wasn’t pissed off at something. He stares at you, grinding his teeth. He’s surprised to find that the urge to pay you back for the cheap shot you landed on him has faded. Just a little, though.  

You click your fingers against your wrist guard, thinking.  After what feels like a century of the nothing but tapping, you finally speak.

“We’re partners, Katsuki. If we don’t watch each other’s backs, then nobody will.” You hold out your hand. “Think we can agree on that much?”

He glances down at your outstretched fingers, then up at your face. If he’d really wanted to, he could’ve knocked you flat on your ass.

But there would be opportunities for that later.

Barely even realizing it, he takes your hand in his own.

Bakugo meets up with one of his sidekicks on what used to be a commercial street–the sort of place that vendors sold overpriced knick-knacks to tourists that didn’t know any better. Now, it looked like a fucking mess, with stalls overturned in the panic to evacuate and banners burned in the blaze that everyone had been running away from. Bakugo lifts the remains of a larger display, peeking under it. To anyone that didn’t know him, it might’ve looked like he was searching for civilians that’d been left behind.

His sidekick knows better. Bakugo doesn’t even have to ask the question burning in his mind before the young woman shakes her head.

“No sign of ‘em. We ripped apart the whole street and found nothing.”

Bakugo clenches his jaw, chokes down the acidic taste in his throat. No news was good news; He tries to convince himself that those words you liked to repeat over and over again have some truth to them. It’s hard to do that when he knows the actual numbers–when he has facts to refute the hopeful little figure of speech. The truth was that with every moment he waited around, the chances of finding you alive decreased. Drastically.

“Clear out these buildings the second you’re sure they’re not going to collapse.” Bakugo commands. “There could be survivors hiding out in there. And don’t move on until you check everywhere.”

He fiddles with his gauntlet, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady–like you’d showed him. In and out. In and out. No need to lose his cool. Yet.

“Rip out the ceiling tiles if you have to. People get creative when they’re desperate.”

“Where the fuck were you?!” Bakugo nearly loses it when he sees you hobbling towards the ambulances, coated in dust and nursing more than a few nasty cuts.

“Sipping piña coladas down at the beach.” You shout with a shit-eating grin that doesn’t seem to fit the situation. “Where do you think I was? I was hiding, Katsuki. That’s what you do when you’re hurt and there’s a baddie trying to murder you.”

Seeing you standing there, hearing the playful tone of your voice–it isn’t enough to convince him. Bakugo pushes past the paramedics, the news crews, his sidekicks. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, grabbing your shoulders and looking over you from head to toe.

Real. Ironically enough, the word doesn’t seem... well, real.

“How?” Bakugo demands as he runs his hands down your arms.

Feeling for broken bones, he convinces himself, even though that wasn’t something he usually did. Usually, he let paramedics handle checking for injuries. But right here, right now, he feels this compulsive need to check you out for himself–to make sure you’re as alive as you seem.

“Everyone was sure you were dead. How the hell did you get out of that tower?”

“Did you know,” you muse, still smiling, “That those old buildings have this space right above the–” You hiss, obviously in pain when Bakugo pokes at a spot between your side and your stomach.

“I climbed into the ceiling and waited around until things got quiet. Then I just scurried out the service entrance.” You admit shakily. “I didn’t think I’d be of much help like this, so I decided to play it safe.”

Bakugo stops his fussing for long enough to peer up and meet your eyes. You looked coherent enough. Tired, but sane–well, as sane as you could be. He remains quiet for a moment, then sighs.

“Good. That’s probably the smartest thing you could’ve done.”

You quirk up an eyebrow. “Wow, ‘smart.’ Don’t make a habit of complimenting me, now, or I’ll start to think I’m actually having a positive influence on you.”

Bakugo groans. “I didn’t say it was a smart decision, I said it was the smart-est given the situation.” Despite his protests, he kneels down to examine your ankles, spending extra time checking the side you’d avoided putting weight on. Not that he’d been paying attention.

“Same, difference. The point is, you were a decent human for about five seconds. That’s progress.”

He doesn’t respond, pretending to be too be too engrossed in his search for injuries. What was he supposed to say? “Thank you?” Was he supposed to hurl an insult back at you?

What if he didn’t feel like doing that right now?

“Does this hurt?” Bakugo asks, pressing on a spot that looks a little questionable.

“No.” You answer without hesitation. But your expression looks odd, strained.

“Are you lying?” He makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. He was trying to help, dammit. “Why are you making that face?”

“Not lying. It’s just,” your voice is thin–from what, he can’t decide, “You’re being so careful, and I couldn’t help but imagine ‘what if he was a nurse instead of a hero?’ Then I imagined you in one of those old, stereotypical nurse uniforms and I–” Whatever self-control you had disappears and you erupt into a fit of laughter. “I’m sorry, I just–”

You flinch, face contorted in pain and hand clutching at your side.

“Ow, ow, ow. Okay, it hurts to laugh.”

Bakugo stands, rolling his eyes. “That’s because you probably cracked a rib, weirdo.”

“And he’s back to being a jerk.” You groan, but a hint of a smirk lingers on your lips. “Then again, ‘weirdo’ sounds much nicer than ‘dumbass.’ So maybe you’re learning a thing or two, after all.”

Gingerly, without saying anything, he loops your arm over his shoulder. Bakugo could’ve used the opportunity to make some snarky remark about you being “dead weight” or “useless,” but he doesn’t.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Bakugo mutters under his breath. He doesn’t mean to say it–it just sort of slips out as the two of you trudge along your way.

You don’t reply; You don’t give any sort of indication that this was anything out of the ordinary. Still, Bakugo wonders–if he glanced over at you, would you roll your eyes? Would you think he was being insincere? Or would you look surprised? Happy, even?

“Even though you’re a dumbass.” He tacks it on before he can overthink things too much.

Bakugo kicks over a trashcan, pissed and exhausted and anxious. Nothing even vaguely human-shaped rolls out–just candy wrappers and soda cans. A deep sound bubbles in his throat, growing until it evolves into a full-scale shout. Your name.

Nobody shouts back. Bakugo hears ambulance sirens echoing in the distance, the low groan and clunk of machinery as crews come in to clear out heavy debris, maybe even the creaking of some buildings that had yet to crumble beneath their own weight. Whenever he stops focusing on them for just a moment, they become less industrial sounding–more human. His hyper-focused mind makes it into something it’s not. He hears sobbing, distant and choked, but so familiar it almost kills him to ignore. Throwing his hands over his ears, he shuts his eyes tight and tries to block the sounds out–tries focus and force down the memories they bring.

“Please, don’t cry.” Bakugo pleads even though he knows it won’t do any good.

He’s terrible at comforting people–that wasn’t a surprise–but even that isn’t the reason why your sobs continue to rip through the eerie silence of the alleyway.

Every hero had to go through this at some point–had to grapple with the fact that they couldn’t save everyone.

His had come early on, during his third-year internship nonetheless. An old man, trapped beneath rubble from a roof cave-in. It hadn’t even been a villain attack that did him in, just a sorry excuse for a supermarket and an ill-timed tremor. Bakugo remembers the rush to carry him out to the ambulances, the head-pounding, gut-wrenching feeling of being fucking useless as the paramedics looked over the man. Then, the sinking doubt that crept in, long after the techs shook their heads and made their pronouncements. It was a silent beast that told him he hadn’t been fast enough. Smart enough. Good enough.

Now, it was your turn to deal with the same thing. Months–almost a year–into your career, and you still weren’t any more prepared for it than he’d been. Hearing about casualties was one thing. Looking people in the face, promising them you’d save them, then watching as the light faded from their eyes was something entirely different–something you couldn’t ever be ready for. He knew that as well as anyone else.

“It’s my fault.” You whimper into his shoulder. “My god, Katsuki. It’s all my fault.”

Bakugo tightens his grip on you. His dry cheek presses against your wet one, your hair ticking the edge of his nose as he grumbles into your ear.

“No it isn’t. You did what you could.”

You inhale once, then twice, then a third time, your entire body trembling. “And it wasn’t–”.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Bakugo warns, leaving no room for argument.

And you don’t. You stand there, clinging to him, sniffling into his costume. When the brunt of it passes, neither of you move for a long time. He keeps his arms around your middle while you cling desperately to his neck.

Bakugo isn’t sure why he pulls his head back, but when he does, you do the same, staring up at him with puffy eyes. He breathes, long and drawn-out. His mind races.

Then, his lips are pressed to your forehead. He doesn’t know why the hell he does it–why he leans forward and kisses your skin like that. You were just standing there, looking upset and it felt like the right thing to do.

That’s what he tells himself.

But it was wrong. Bakugo knows that the moment he takes another look at your face. Your eyes have gone wide. Still wet with unshed tears, they watch him without blinking. Your lips trace imaginary words–probably questions. What was he doing? Why was he being so sweet? Where was the matchstick with the temper that tried your patience nearly every day?

He tries to look away, but your fingers tap at his neck, three times, demanding that he turn his attention back to you.  You’re staring, insistent.  Demanding answers.

This wasn’t right–now wasn’t the time. Not when you were a mess like this. The thought isn’t enough to keep him from hunching over again, stilling the frantic movement of your lips with his own. You gasp against his mouth, but don’t push him away. In fact, your arms constrict around him, pulling him in closer.

He’s not entirely sure how that makes him feel.

Phone call after phone call buzzes at his side, but Bakugo ignores all of them. Maybe it was one of his sidekicks checking in on him. Maybe it was the agency trying to convince him to do a press briefing. Maybe it was Kirishima, just making sure he wasn’t dead. Either way, answering would be a waste of what precious little time he had left.

Three hours–that’s how long it’d been since your phone started dropping calls. It’d been at least four hours since he’d heard from you last and six since he’d seen you with his own two eyes. If you’d been a civilian, he would’ve told anyone searching for you to go home–let the heroes handle it. Which was code for “they’re probably gone for good.” But you weren’t a civilian, and you couldn’t be gone. That wasn’t how this whole shit-show was supposed to go down. The two of you were partners, dammit. You were supposed to stick together–watch each other's backs. One of you couldn’t just go off and get killed without the other.

Right?

The thought makes Bakugo’s anxiety spike again, his hyperventilation returning. He braces himself against the first wall he finds. It belongs to some sort of warehouse, but he barely even notices. His main concern is calming the fuck down–trying to inhale and exhale without focusing on the fact that he might already be too late. He’s terrible at it.

Everything aches. His arms, his legs, his back, even his fucking mind. It’s a dull feeling, lingering. Agonizing and persistent. Not like a punch to the jaw, where you focus on it for a second then move on. With the added pressure of breathing, it’s almost too much.

Bakugo rams his fist into the wall, harder than he should. He can feel his knuckles crack on impact with the cement or concrete or whatever it was they used in buildings nowadays, but the sting that shoots through his fingers is welcome, a distraction from the rest of the pain and, more importantly, from his own morbid thoughts. It fades soon though.

He’s about to do it again–sacrifice more of his fingers to his own, temporary relief–then there’s a sound. It’s soft, like a pin dropping in a loud room. But something about it is familiar–too familiar.

Bakugo freezes, suddenly capable of holding his breath. He catches the back half of something–he can’t decide what–as it fades off into the ambient noise of the street. When he waits for a while and it doesn’t start back up, he smacks the wall again, sparing his fingers by using his palm this time.

Then, he presses his ear to the wall and listens. It begins again and his breath hitches involuntarily.  He was right–he knows this sound.

Tap, tap, tap.  Groups of three.  Faint and weaker than ever before, but unmistakable all the same.

The wall crumbles away with a couple hard hits.  Buildings weren’t supposed to do that–to splinter and crack like chalk.  No doubt your quirk had some part to play there.

Knowing that doesn’t stop heat from pulsing in his skull when he finds your heaving, broken body nestled into a spot that should’ve been filled with concrete.  Your limbs twisted at the wrong angles, eyes glazed over–open, but staring at nothing.  Even as he lifts you out of your hiding place, you barely react.  Quiet.  No wincing, no witty remarks.  Just shallow wheezing that grows weaker by the second.

“Breathe, dammit.”  Bakugo commands, grabbing you and sprinting towards the triage area.  “Come on, you need to breathe. In and out, remember?”

Each time your body stills–every moment your breathing falters for just a second–he finds himself holding his breath with you.  Counting the seconds, making sure you’re actually listening when he tells you to inhale. He wishes that were enough, wishes that staying alive was something you could just decide to do–like rewinding damage on an old wall or fixing a bad attitude with a well-timed right hook.

It wasn’t that easy; Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was.  Still, even if it means babying you, monitoring each breath like he’s some sort of fucking life-support machine, he refuses to let you die.  Not now, not ever.  

You weren’t getting out of this gig that easily.  You were stuck–his partner for life, whether you wanted to be or not.

Sweat pours down his face as he ups his pace.

“I’ve got you–same as always.  Just keep breathing with me, okay?”

[artificialqueens]

no, love don't come easy (branjie) - holtzmanns

Summary: “Move over.” Jose repeats it, insistent. As if the edge in his voice is a knife that can chip away at Brock’s heart into agreeing with him.

“Go back to sleep.” Brock wants to follow his own words. Wishes he could. He doesn’t want to deal with the way that Jose immediately makes his brain forget how to function, make rational decisions.

Based from a prompt from writ to write about bedsharing on the DXP tour bus.

AN: In which holtzmanns sees real life tour occurrences, happily ignores them, and writes fic instead. Thank you writ, sharer of my single braincell, for the prompt and for betaing.

“The hell?”

It’s still dark when Brock blinks the sleep from his eyes, squints to see who the fuck has roused him from his rest which had been so hard to come by in the first place. Despite his aching muscles and tendons from throwing himself into the splits and handstands on stage every night, he hasn’t been sleeping. Not well, at least.

It’s been especially difficult tonight, too. Twisting and turning in his bunk on the tour bus that feels just a little too small, too uncomfortable for his lanky frame. Like it was never meant to fit someone like him in the first place. Tonight he’s had to bring his knees in closer, duck his head to fit, to try to earn some semblance of sleep before yet another day of travel and a show. 

Not that it’s even mattered, considering that he’s awake. Again. 

“Move over.” The voice, gravelly and sleep laden as it is, isn’t hard to recognize. Neither are the hints of cologne that haven’t faded from the day, a scent that makes Brock think of soft smiles and late nights and stolen moments and…jealousy. And arguments, and hurtful words that neither of them have really attempted to take back since. 

It’s complicated.  

“What?” He’s feeling a bit slow on the uptake, his brain lagging in a way that he can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or the proximity of the man in front of him. The two factors are intertwined most of the time.

“Move over.” Jose repeats it, insistent. As if the edge in his voice is a knife that can chip away at Brock’s heart into agreeing with him. 

“Go back to sleep.” Brock wants to follow his own words. Wishes he could. He doesn’t want to deal with the way that Jose immediately makes his brain forget how to function, make rational decisions.

“Wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t what?” 

“Sleeping.” Jose sounds as tired as Brock feels, like the exhaustion has seeped into his soul, staining it with a weariness that no time off will be able to strip away.

“Me neither now, thanks to you.” As if Brock hasn’t been tossing and turning all night, anyway. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to after this either. 

“Please?” Jose’s voice is pleading, softer. A voice that is so rare to Brock’s ears, one that he hasn’t heard in a long time. One which is better saved for usage between the sheets or when Jose is feeling so soft and loving that he can’t help but turn all delicate. 

Was feeling soft. Not is. Not anymore.

Doesn’t change the effect that Jose’s voice has on him, though. Something that Jose probably knows will undoubtedly work in his favour.

Hell. Even if he sends Jose away back to his bunk, he’s just going to be thinking of him. Ruminating. Hating it. 

He’s halfway to fucking up already. May as well complete the equation with the one variable that he can never solve for on his own. 

“Fine.” Brock shifts over then and nearly loses his balance when the bus hits a pothole. He pushes himself up close to the wall, pats the space he’s just made on the mattress. “Can you even fit?”

“Why you always underestimating me?” Jose’s climbing in before he’s even finished his retort, shuffling until he’s pressed his back against Brock’s chest. He grabs Brock’s hand, pulls it around his waist, boxes himself in.

Awful presumptuous. Not that Brock makes any effort to pull away. 

Because it feels fucking nice. Feels right, feels familiar, feels reminiscent in a way that Brock hasn’t felt in ages. Because they never stick around after sex anymore, most of the time one of them awkwardly pulling clothes on and leaving as soon as possible before they have to talk about what the fuck they’re doing, God forbid. 

He hasn’t held Jose like this in a long time. He fits in his arms like a missing gear, enough to pull the pieces of his heart back together to start functioning properly again. He smells like anger and pain but also smells like home. Like softness. Like comfort. 

Brock can’t help but bury his face in Jose’s shoulder and his neck, feeling the warmth that radiates from his skin and wondering how the fuck he hasn’t been burnt already. His eyes scrunch tighter in tandem with the arms around Jose’s waist, making him shift in his arms, nuzzle in closer. 

He’s so fucked. They’re so fucked.

It makes him mad, almost, how easily he finds himself drifting off. He wants to fight it out of spite and try to stay up, because he does not need anyone else to complete him. To make him function like a person. He can do that by himself - always has. 

Except this feels so much better. He’s not clutching empty space, folding in on himself and attempting to be whole when all he feels is empty. No, now he feels present, feels the way that his breathing is syncing up with Jose’s and getting deeper and deeper and it’s just not fair.

It’s a lot harder to avoid thoughts about Jose’s smile and the way that his hands always fit so perfectly with Brock’s during times like this, when Brock’s enveloped his small frame in a grasp, one that is tighter than it should be. As if Brock is afraid to lose him. Because he’s not. 

The kiss that he places against Jose’s shoulder blade before succumbing to sleep is just an old habit that hasn’t died. One that feels too natural, too right. Not wrong enough to twist his gut in the way that it should. 

Jose’s gone from the bunk when Brock wakes up and opens his eyes. Brock can hear his voice reverberating from the back of the bus, loud and bickering with Morgan over what they should have for breakfast. 

Brock’s pillow still smells like him. 

They don’t talk about it. Jose continues to hit him with light barbs, ones that he laughs off but that leave scratches on his arms that come close to breaking the skin. Brock volleys them right back, because making Jose speechless with light teasing is his second favourite way of getting him to shut up.

During the show that night Jose is more touchy, more daring. Going for his hand. Wrapping an arm around his waist. Brock wants to ignore how perfectly Jose fits within the crook of his arm, because it’s not relevant to anything. 

Brock doesn’t flirt back with any guys at the club they go to after the show that night, nursing his cider at the bar. He’s too tired to try, must be it. He needs nights off sometimes. 

Jose does. Keeps shooting him glances every so often, as if daring him to do something. Try something. 

Brock doesn’t give in to his urge to pull Jose out of the club, yank his shorts low on his thighs in the side alleyway no matter how much Jose wants him to. It never feels right when it’s like this, not like how it used to feel between them. It’s not going to solve any problems, something he’s learned the hard way with them. 

He orders another drink instead.

But then when they get back to the bus Brock can’t help but grab at Jose’s waist before he walks past him to his own bunk, stopping him in his tracks before he can take another step. 

“What, bitch?” Jose looks annoyed. Unsatisfied. Brock, Captain Obvious, can’t help but think it has something to do with him.

“Come on.” He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, really. It’s stupid. Could turn into a habit, a dangerous habit that could send them down a rabbit hole that neither of them will be able to return from.

But last night was the best sleep that he’s had in weeks. Fucking weeks.

Jose rolls his eyes in faux bravado and coolness, but doesn’t argue. Lets Brooke pull him in close, pliant in his arms. Puts his hand on Brock’s forearm like it belongs there.

It becomes a pattern. One that the other girls begin to notice, when Jose doesn’t roll out of his usual bottom bunk closest to the kitchen but instead from Brock’s middle bunk near the front of the bus. Nina just sighs when Brock shrugs at her. She’s given up, Brock can’t blame her for it. He’s tired of himself and his decisions, too. 

But the days feel lighter, more manageable. He’s able to stay asleep for most of the night without tossing and turning now, with only a slight chance that it’s because of the person wrapped in his arms who feels like his own personal space heater, grounding him back to reality like a deep pressure. 

The bags under Jose’s eyes lessen, too. He’s still smiling away like he always does but the smiles reach his eyes now. He becomes bolder with Brock, grabbing his hand on stage and playing it up for the crowd but it doesn’t matter because Brock likes putting his arm around Jose, too. As much as he shouldn’t. 

Though Brock reasons that it’s okay sometimes to tell his subconscious to fuck off, when the tour is so short and ending in a week and a half and it’s not like this is forever, anyway. They’ll be heading to separate flights soon enough, taking them to different cities where the thorns in his heart will tug whenever Jose pops up on his Instagram. But that’s a problem for future Brock. Not him right now. 

Brock doesn’t need anyone else. But, perhaps, having Jose in his arms right now, in this moment, breathing in his cologne and pressing kisses to his back is okay. 

More than okay. 

For now. 

[for-ests]

Come Undone- Colin Ritman

"I don't have one night stands..."

"Yet," A smirk appeared on his lips. "you were destined to have one with me."

• Word count: 2, 545 • Pairing: Colin Ritman x Reader  • plot does not follow directly with the movie, please don't point out mistakes I know they are there!

You had met that man before.

That was the first thought that came to mind when you spotted him through the vinyl store window. You watched him take one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the trash.

Something about him was strikingly familiar, maybe it was in the way he moved. The pure confidence in his step. Was he a celebrity? That could explain it... He sure had the stride of one.

Whatever your memory was trying to piece together, was strange. You did not like it. 

You grimaced, glancing down at the box you were stifling through. Your friend Stefan had recommended the albums in hopes to give you some inspiration for the soundtrack you were working on for his game.

He had requested your collaboration since you were friends from high school. If anyone could create the perfect music to enhance the meaning behind his game, it was you.

You smiled at the thought, overjoyed to be working on the project with him—even if you were not doing much, not even near the amount of programming Stefan had to endure. Stefan knew the opportunity could boost your indie music career, and that was all the convincing he needed.

You slid the album Phaedra from the nook, holding it up and flipping it to the backside. You wondered if this was what Stefan had in mind. It was not the music he usually listened to, but perhaps it was for the sake of the premise he was trying to create.

You ran your fingers along the cover, the motion so simple, yet one that caused your hands to shake. You blinked as you saw something in the form of a flash.

You were sitting on a leather couch, one that you had never seen before. Stefan was on your right, his forehead beating with sweat. You knew it wasn't his house by how clean cluttered it was. The painting on the wall was not his father's style, and neither were the modern decorations.

You turned slowly to Stefan. He had his eyes closed, seeming to be listening to the music that admitted from the record player. You couldn't hear it. Yet somehow, you knew it was the music from the album you had purchased earlier that day.

"Doesn't Colin have a great taste in music?" Stefan grinned. His hands were held up in front of him as he air drummed to the silent beat.

What? You wanted to ask. Yet nothing sufficed. You could tell your body was numb, under something that resembled a spell.

"Colin...yeah?" Stefan stopped his movements at your confusion. His words were painfully slow, drawled out as if he had just learned how to speak. He slurred his words together in ways that made you feel suspicious. But at the same time— you were too excited to care. "This is his house, Y/N. Do you remember who he is?"

At the mention of the unfamiliar name, your vision focused. But instead of gazing at Stefan, You were gazing at yourself.

You were wearing the same outfit that you were wearing now. The same turtle neck, styled with the same pair of loose-fitted jeans. Everything in your attire was identical, down to the crew cut socks that were no longer covered with your sneakers.

"Yeah." You giggled, a dreamy smile spreading across your face. "He's something else isn't he?"

You gasped, swallowing hard at the sudden recollection. One that made no sense. How could you not remember that moment? Stefan looked so happy, a complete contrast of the current state he was in. Stressed out of his mind.

What is going on with me? You furrowed her eyebrows. When you thought hard about it, you could barely remember what your morning was like. All you knew was that you had to come here. To this record store, one that wasn't even close to your apartment.

That memory... seemed like a glimpse of the future.

You glanced around the store, wondering if anyone had witnessed your shortness of breath. It felt like the memories you were glimpsing were not yours. It was as if you were watching them through someone else's eyes.

You had a sudden urge to leave. Deja vu was something to not mess around with at this scale.  If touching that album caused that, you were not going to buy it.

Your motions and thoughts felt oddly familiar, yet your reasoning behind it was incredibly fuzzy. Had you claimed this was Deju vu before? Even if you could not understand, you knew deep within your gut that it was important.

"I'm going fucking crazy." You huffed.

Shaking the feeling, you tried to focus on what you were reading. Stefan deserved to have the best soundtrack to his game. You knew he had spent days upon weeks on it, and you would try your best to create something that he loved.

If Stefan really wanted you to be inspired by the music.... you would buy it. Even if it gave you a disturbing tactility. When you gazed at the album, it felt like you were sinking deep into a hole.

You looked back up, noticing something move towards you in your peripheral vision.

The blonde man you had recognized entered the store. He walked past you without a second glance, his ignorance caused you to flicker your gaze away. Why was he making you so nervous? You must be having a really bad day.

The day. Your morning...What did you do?

Your eyebrows narrowed. When you tried to think about it, you couldn't. Why were you having memory problems? Did you happen to get blackout drunk last night? That was all you could rationalize, yet that still was not sitting right with you.  

Your complete and utter confusion consumed your already paranoid state. You were smart, you never had problems like this. You always had a reason behind your actions. And now, you were just staring straight in front of you, vinyls gripped so tightly between your fists that you could have snapped them.

In your peril, you blocked out all functional senses. There was too much commotion in the store, too many people you did not recognize. People had filed past you in the aisle, but the sense of one presence caused you to stiffen.

Without looking, you knew the blonde man had moved next to you in the aisle. His browsing should not have caused you to spiral, but it did.

I need to get out of here. But first, I need the last album Stefan requested.

Frantically, and on the verge of a panic attack, you reached towards the next row of vinyls, knowing the title was Bermuda Triangle. Where was this preconceived knowledge coming from?

Just as you grasped the plastic cover, about to leave, the stranger next to you took a step back. He stumbled into your smaller frame, smacking you against the shelf before you could balance yourself. 

You almost dropped the albums from the impact. "Jeez!" You hissed, holding the items you had collected tighter to your chest. Yet, you couldn't help but be grateful. For a brief moment, the panic that rose in your chest disappeared.

"Oh, my bad." The blonde stranger turned to gaze at you, apologizing calmly.

You swallowed roughly, having to tilt your head up slightly to study his face. He was taller than you had anticipated from a distance. You knew if it was you who had done so, you would have been frantic at the collision. Exactly how you had been a second before. You loathed public confrontation.

Despite that, you tried to smile. "It's okay." Your heart began to pick up pace as his eyes flickered across your body. You had definitely talked to this man before. His voice even resonated familiarity.

The darkest blue eyes you had ever seen, darted to the the albums you had pulled free. His expression turned blank, as if he had realized something you were missing.

"That's funny. I just recommended someone that band."  

The way he uttered the sentence came in the form of an accusation.

Your lips parted, half in shock and half in realization. You had been told this question before. In fact, many times. You had the same friend, information that had been scarce until just then.

"Do you know Stefan Butler?" You asked before you fully processed your thought.

"Yeah." He blinked, glasses reflecting the blue light of the store when he turned his head. The look on his face conveyed that he was thinking the same thing as you. "I work with him."

"Have we... met before?" Your voice was quiet, laced with uncertainty. "I feel like I know you."

You seemed to physically watch the gears in his head turn. His revelation clear on his face. "I think so."

"From where? I-I can't seem to remember."

"I can't either." He admitted, the corners of his lips upturning slightly. You hesitated to ask another question, growing embarrassed as to why you were so attracted to him.

In the silence, the stranger's eyes flashed to the floor. You followed his gaze, noticing you had dropped your notepad out of your pocket. It contained the list of music that Stefan had given you.

The blonde man picked it up, taking longer than he needed to hand it back to you. "Thanks..." You whispered, brushing your fingers against his when you took it back.

At the contact, you were overtaken by another memory.

His body against yours, overtaking your frame in a passionate embrace. You moaned out his name, pleasure infesting your entire being. It felt so right to be underneath him, like you had done it before.

Your surroundings were blurry, but you made out his glossy red lips, hovering above you as your bodies rocked back and fourth.

You felt his hands gripping your sides, the veins in his neck defined from the hedonism he was indulging himself in. You.

You gasped, almost pained to remember something so sinful. You took a step back, suddenly frightened as you were forced to look his way.

"Hey... are you alright?" The stranger's once calm demeanor crumbling at your outburst.

"I...I-" You couldn't gather the words to explain what you had witnessed.

The blonde man set his hand on your shoulder, in a seemingly comforting gesture, but as soon as he did— his eyes widened in recollection.

Yours did in suit.

You were in the same apartment. But this time, Stefan was nowhere to be found. Instead, the man you were gazing at was next to you.

He was so close... and he was shirtless.

You felt your heart pounding, in the exact same way it had when you spotted him outside the store. Your head was spinning, cheeks pulsating with heat.

They were feelings of love. You recognized them as such.

"What are you going to do now?" The blonde man asked, voice as gentle as it could be. He lit a cigarette, one that had been rolled by hand.

Your nose crinkled in annoyance. "I don't know, what should I do, Colin?"

"Something different than what you've the 5 other times, Y/N."

Your mouth hung open as your mind reconstructed the reality you were in. You had met the man that was currently touching you before. And he knew that. You breathed slowly, eyes closing shut to process everything. You had done so much more than meet.

You swallowed hard under his gaze. Was he remembering the same exact thing?

"Y/N?" He whispered.

Your lips straightened into a thin line as you sorted through the new memories. Or experiences, you decided to call them. They couldn't be classified as memories if they never really happened.

Whatever they were... You had to understand.

"Colin?" You asked hesitantly. That was the only name that made sense, the name you had uttered in the flashback. 

His large hand left your shoulder and fell to his side. "So it wasn't just a feeling. I remember now."

"Everything?" You turned your head away. So his name was Colin, and he didn't seem as shocked as you to be in this position.

"Yeah." He seemed annoyed. When Colin's gaze moved downward over you, you felt a flush of warmth. "We had sex."

The words were incredulously blunt. You felt like you had been punched in the face.

Your pulse jumped, and with it, your mistrust. "What? No— I don't do that. I don't know you."

Colin chuckled, yet his grimace did not fade. "You know me very well. You make Stefan's music don't you?"

"Yeah... but that's not it. I would remember if we were dating. I'm... I'm so confused. I feel like we've had this conversation before."

"Because we have." Colin sighed, glancing down to the albums in your hand. "I told Stefan to listen to that music, and I guess he told you. This is how we've met before. We are living the same day over again. I'm stuck in your timeline."

"Why?" You felt tears pricking at your eyelids. What he conveyed should not have made sense, but it did. Everything around you spoke volumes as to why you could not remember. And it frustrated you that you couldn't pinpoint what was making you feel this way.

"Only you can figure it out."

You gritted your teeth at his vagueness. "How many times have we had this conversation?"

"I think this is the fourth time. You're doing something wrong."

"Can I just ignore you then? Maybe that will fix it."

Colin smirked. "You can't resist me. And I can't resist you. That won't happen. You've already tried that."

"How do you know that?" You tried to say quietly, but the crude accusation in your tone made the other customers turn their heads.

The man ignored them. "I know certain things. I remember your body for one."

Your cheeks flared with embarrassment. "I don't have one night stands."

"I wasn't really a one night stand. We've done it a couple dozen times actually."

"What?"

"I think after that night, you keep messing up your timeline. That's why I assume we're here again." An expression of irritation flashed across his face. "I hope you finally make the right decision this time."

You stayed silent for a moment. Overwhelmed with the information. How could you possibly make sense of this?  "Well, I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Stefan will invite you to my apartment tonight. And you'll go with him even if you don't want to."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing love, my eyes are just open."

Colin licked his lips, adjusting his glasses. His confidence was unnerving to you. Whatever you were going though did not seem like a big deal to him.

"The only reason I came in here was because I saw you. I think that was how we met in the first place. You were in here because of the music I recommended to Stefan. We are linked somehow. Maybe we will figure it out."

Your eyes darted away. What Colin said did not complexly register. There was no way you would have a one night stand. There was no way. You refused to believe it.

"Anyways, looking forward to fucking you tonight." Colin quipped, nodding at you before walking away.

And with that, he was gone. And so was your breath. Your head felt like it was going to explode.

You wanted to call out to him again, but you knew the confusing conversation was over. This wasn't the place to talk about whatever you were going through. 

You watched him leave, crossing the street until he blended in with the rest of the by-passers. You left the aisle, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. What in the absolute hell was going on?

(Let me know if you would like a part 2! I tried something new with the flashbacks... I hope it makes sense!)

[shinidamachu]

Haunted

Summary: today's prompt of @inukag-week is "Haunted" so I named this... da da da... Haunted. Got it? Oh my God I'm so original and good at titles.

Word Count: 1544  Genre: Inukangst  Fandom: InuYasha  Pairing: Inukag Format: oneshot  AO3 Link: 🌹  Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

When it first happened, InuYasha thought he had finally gone insane.

That day had started, like so many others lately, with bashful hope turning into heartbreak as autumn’s wind made the walk back from the Honekui no Ido even harder.

Since Miroku and Sango were busy with the twins and Shippo was leaving in a few hours to take his Fox Demon Promotion Exam, it seemed inevitable that the solitude he always worked so hard to keep at bay would crept in.

Deciding the cold was the only issue he could do something about, InuYasha had concentrated on picking up the logs he had cutted to keep the fire alive. Halfway through it he heard it, the voice he would give anything to and do anything for.

“You forgot that one.” The girl pointed to the wood next to his left foot with the hand that wasn’t holding what InuYasha immediately recognized as chips. Blinking slowly at his astonished expression, she jammed a portion of it on her mouth.

“K-Kagome?” Incredulous that his senses had failed to perceive her presence on the spot, InuYasha felt the weight of the logs left his arms as they dropped to the ground.

“InuYasha!” Kagome greated, waiting for a reply that got lost on his dry throat. “So that’s it? First time you see me in ages and all we are gonna do is call each other’s names?” After a short pause she contemplatively brought a finger to her lips. “Do you think we do that a lot?”

His instincts had tried to preserve him, screaming that Kagome wasn’t there, she couldn’t be. Nevertheless, he ran to her — only to have his expectations crushed when he finally reached the girl and watched her vanish at the touch of his fingers.

“Just what the hell is happening?” Hurt and alert, InuYasha pulled Tessaiga out, already pitying the unadvised bastard who dared to mess with his head like that. Jaw locking along with his grip on the sword, he searched around for anything out of ordinary. There was none.

“Would you calm down?” Once again her sudden appearance caught him off-balance. The more he tried to make sense of it all, the less he understood. “There’s no reason to be grouchy, it’s just me.” Kagome — or so it seemed — spoke with the simplicity of someone who ignored how much he had waited to hear precisely that.

“You’re not her.” It was the one thing InuYasha was convinced of by then. Of course he was somewhat aware of this possibility when he jumped head first, but the previous knowledgment didn’t help soft the blow.

“I’m pretty sure I am.”

“But you’re not really here.” The hanyo put Tessaiga back in its sheath, habitual torpor taking over his movements without even giving him a chance to loath himself for being so stupid. He was about to go home when she explained.

“I am. To you, at least. You know, being a creation of your mind and all.” His ears twitched. Creation of his mind? InuYasha had only began to assimilate what she said as he noticed someone approaching. The girl opened the biggest smile. “Is this who I think it is?” She turned away to confirm her guess the moment he arrived.

“InuYasha? Are you alright? Why is your mouth open? You look like a fish.”

The half demon set his lips in a hard line.

“Shippo-Chan! Look at you all grown up!” Pride overflowed every word as she leaned down to admire the few inches he had gained up close. The demon fox, however, stayed oblivious to her presence.

“I’m fine.” That sentence had lost its meaning for a while now. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a few days.” Shippo frowned at the abandoned logs on the ground. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Is it safe for him to go alone?”

“Yeah, now shuddap!” InuYasha didn’t know whose question he was answering but he desperately needed silence to try and put his thoughts in order.

“Now you sound like yourself. I just came to say goodbye.” He popped into his pink, bubbled self and took off. “See you soon!”

“Banzai!” She had hailed, encouraging InuYasha to do the same while he stared at her in astonishment.

Now, a couple of moons had come and passed and InuYasha knew for a fact he was positively mad — because there she was still, lying on the ground beside him with the same intimacy her real version used to.

“You’re not mad, silly. You just miss me. And that’s okay.”

“Quit reading my mind!”

It felt like a miracle at first, to have her back. Even if their interactions were exclusively restricted to his head, he figured half of her was still better than nothing at all.

Over time, though, InuYasha learned that it wasn’t nearly enough. It did not do to see Kagome without touching her. To hear her voice and not her heartbeat. To have her so close yet not be able to inhale her scent. It wasn’t a miracle, after all. Just an ethereal reminder of everything he had lost.

“Geez! I can go if you don’t want me around anymore.”

“Great. Leave.”

“You have to mean it.”

“I did!”

“Then what I’m still doing here?” Her eyebrows raised in defiance.

If Kagome had never came along, he could do it in the blink of an eye. Everything was easier in the days he had nothing to lose and lived like it, before she showed him how lonely it actually was and addicted him to her company.

Then she left. There was no going back to the way it was and InuYasha found himself hostage of all those stupid human feelings that always got under his skin. If he could get rid of them, letting her go wouldn’t seem so impossible.

For the first time a sketch of a plan started to unfold. He could find a way to lock his human side for good, like he had always intended. Even though the jewel was gone, maybe he could track down a witch powerful enough. It was a shot in the dark but the perspective of not caring for anything anymore was very appealing.

“Oh, don’t you dare!” She warned, in the bossy tone InuYasha inexplicably had become fond of years ago. He stood up and walked away, doing his best to ignore her begging him to stay.

When he got to the door, she bursted in front of him.

“Please, don’t. I had always loved this part of you so much.” She tenderly reached for his right cheek and InuYasha absentmindedly leaned on the touch he could not feel.

Fearing his knees would gave in or his mouth would howl the unfairness of it all, he made his way out, ready to search through the night for something — anything — to placate the sinking feeling that involved him.

“InuYasha, osuwari!”

InuYasha froze as the sound of the word he haven’t heard in so long echoed through his mind, waiting out of habit to be dragged by that familiar, invisible force. The Kotodama no Nenju, however, remained oblivious at the command. And how pathetic of him to be disappointed by that.

“I can’t let you do this.” Her lower lip trembled and she swallowed, eyes glowing with odorless tears. Real or not, InuYasha hated that the sight affected him just the same.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me! If you gotta problem with it, then don’t be a whole fucking world away, how ‘bout that?” He roared, expecting she would either shout back or disappear for good. Instead, the illusion held his gaze, her face immutable.

“And what happens when I come back and you’re not here? What happens when I come back and you are not you anymore?” He tried to snort, but it came out sadder than the intended.

“You won’t.” InuYasha felt the weight of the words as soon as they sunk in and an insane fear that he could be right eclipsed what was left of his rationality. A cold night welcomed him on his way out.

“InuYasha.”

He refused to do anything beyond walking, every new step even more obstinate than the later, urging to get somewhere, anywhere.

And before he knew it, he was running.

“InuYasha!”

But not matter how hard he tried to shake her off, InuYasha just couldn’t. Not when her voice was the only thing he could focus on. Not when it was calling his name so hopelessly. It was only a matter of time before he gave in.

“InuYasha!”

“WHAT?” Breath as heavy as the silence that followed, he stopped to face the beautiful phantom he had conjured out of memories and longing, daring her to go on.

“If going on this stupid journey is what you really want to do, I don’t think you heading the right way.” Then, like the green on the autumn leaves, she faded away, leaving him alone to at last realize where his path had ended. Right, he thought, it has been three days, after all. InuYasha stood there, looking at the old well, wondering how long it would remain as empty as he felt.

A/N: and I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for this demon dog and that episode of HIMYM which totally inspired this. You know the one.