#like lets all use our critical thinking skills here...do you really think that's gotten BETTER???

[alastors-wife]

am i the only one who's like really irritated by the folks who say shit like "skibidi toilet is stupid!!!!!1111" and blame it on "ipad babies" ... like babe most of us grew up on the same kind of gmod content and fucking mlg memes. even if we get to the REAL old memes they were all stupid!! kids watch stupid shit!! it's really not that deep. you sound like the old people who shamed and bullied us as children for the things we liked lmao

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Healing Touch

Dabi x Fem!Reader fan fiction

Synopsis: You encounter an injured Shigaraki and offer your healing quirk to his aid. Little did you know, healers were hard to come by in the underground and Shigaraki takes a liking to your skills. To further his cause, he kidnaps you and holds you captive under the watch of the LOV. You play the role of the LOV's little healer while you think of a way to escape. Unbeknownst to you, the pyromaniac with a cold heart begins to melt in your presence. Your compassion and wit draw him in, all the while he swears it's only curiosity he feels toward you. But when your touch heals his burns and your personality soothes his anguish, Dabi begins to wonder, what exactly is he feeling for you? And why the hell does he feel so torn up when you slip away?

Warnings/Tags: canon-typical violence, kidnapping, threats, mention of blood, Stockholm syndrome, eventual smut, kidnapping, female/afab reader, healing quirk

Author's Note: This is a reworking of my old fic, "Healing Hands". I've changed some stuff around, gotten rid of unnecessary paragraphs/sentences, and made the pacing faster. I felt like my last one dragged on for too long and I kept getting stuck. It also didn't help that I wrote most of it while high but I'm not gonna make that mistake again lol. I hope you enjoy the new version.

Abbreviation Guide: Y/N (your name), E/C (eye color), F/C (favorite color)

Word Count: 3K

Chapter One: Imprisoned

“Tomura, I do hope you intend to inform us what the emergency is,” Mr.Compress says to Tomura. There’s annoyance in his voice, thinly veiled by his usual aura of elegance and typical polite tone. 

“Yeah, this better be important. What gives? Didya really need to have Kurogiri warp us here without notice?” Dabi agrees and further criticizes Tomura. 

“Don’t question my judgment, this is extremely important,” Tomura defends.  “We have a new member.” The league members’ faces seem deadpanned, bored and unbelieving. There was no one new in sight. 

“You hallucinating or something? I don’t see a newbie,” Dabi contests with sarcasm. Toga giggles at Dabi’s statement of the obvious. “This better not be a chick with an invisible quirk.” A loud, exasperated sigh escapes Tomura’s lips and scratches at his neck in palpable irritation. 

“You idiots, she’s not here yet. It’ll be any minute now so listen up. She’s not a willing addition, but her quirk will be useful to us. We’ll need to keep an eye on her to prevent her from escaping,” Tomura explains, still somewhat agitated. Toga squeals in excitement as some of the other members converse with one another in whispers. 

“I’m so happy! Another girl is joining? This is gonna be so much fun, we could be like sisters!” Toga squeals and gushes with excitement. She blushes at the next thought of the new female addition. “Maybe she’ll even let me drink her blood!”

“Hold up, how’s she supposed to be useful to us if she doesn’t even follow our mission? Couldn’t she just use her quirk against us?” Dabi opposes. 

“Impossible. She has a healing quirk, there’s no way she could overpower us. Besides, we have too much offense, every party needs a support class,” Tomura counters.  “Healers are hard to come by and we need her cooperation,” Tomura adds. He glares at Toga and addresses his following words to her. “So no stabbing and bloodsucking, Toga. I’ll dust you before I warn you again.” 

A warp portal appears in the room, suddenly. Everyone in the room tenses in alert and anticipation. Kurogiri partially steps through, with one of his arms still in the haze. The nomu continues to step through, pulling out a very terrified you from the mist. You attempt to thrash and bolt, but after a few well-placed portals, Kurogiri has you restrained by the wrists with his own hands. 

Your eyes are wide and darting everywhere around you. Your panic is on display for a bunch of strange people, who you can only assume are villains. You had just started your (study abroad program/work transfer) in Japan. You were only in Japan for a couple of weeks, not even familiar with your route to (campus/work). How were you supposed to know what parts of the city were dangerous? How could you have known what the local villains looked like? Your ignorance and vulnerability are what led you to these circumstances. An ill-fated encounter with a wounded Tomura led your good intentions to be taken advantage of. You just wanted to help someone who could have been close to death. Your conscience would have haunted your thoughts if you ignored him, especially when you had the power to help. How could you have known he was a villain looking for a full-time healer? If only your quirk had blessed you with a stronger constitution and strength, for all it took to kidnap you was a hard blow to the head. A phone call to Kurogiri made it easy for you to disappear without a trace. You were stacked up against impossible odds. Luck was never on your side.

“Speak, tell them your name,” Tomura commands you. 

Despite your precarious situation, you can’t help but let your emotions show. You furrow your brows and the corner of your mouth twitches. “I’m not your fucking dog, stop commanding me like one,” you spit with malice. Your e/c eyes narrow in contempt. 

Tomura’s head whips around and he turns to face you. You suppress a shiver when his angry red eyes peer at you through Father’s hand. Time seems to slow as his steps close in on you. He roughly grabs your chin with four fingers, his pinky hovering close to your skin. Your face is pulled closer to his, making it easier to see his glare. “When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed. Do I need to remind you what my hands can do? Now tell them your name.”

Not wanting to piss him off further, you wager your best interest entails complying with his demand. You clench your jaw. You had to swallow your pride, the situation called for it. “Y/n. My name is y/n,” You respond, voice filled with bitterness. Tomura loosens his grip on your jaw, mumbling something about wanting to ‘fix your attitude’. He instructs Kurogiri to unhand you and the two of them give you some space. 

“Y/n is pretty! We’re going to be best friends!” Toga exclaims and jumps off the barstool, approaching you. You give her a confused look at Toga’s giddy and friendly demeanor. Toga throws herself at you to embrace you in a hug, a gesture that borders on insanity given how the two of you barely know one another. Your apprehension and stiffness go unnoticed by the blonde. 

“Um, thanks?” you reply with reluctance. Worryingly, the teen is much stronger than she appears. 

“Since we’re friends and all, can I have some of your blood? I think people look even prettier when they’re covered in blood,” She gushes. Your expression can only be described as that of dawning horror. You’re beginning to realize how a girl like her ended up in such a crowd. 

“Miss Toga, I understand you have an affinity for blood but please keep in mind what Tomura said,” a masked man wearing a trench coat remarks. The man lazily swirls marbles in a gloved hand. His demeanor and speech are quite eloquent and formal, standing out from the rest of the group. You note that perhaps he could be reasoned with. After all, he’s almost defending you against the teen’s apparent blood lust.

“Ugh, that’s so boring!” Toga whines. Tomura shoots her a warning glare from behind his mask, or rather his hand. She releases you from her embrace, sighing loudly. She spins on her heels and grabs your hand. Her tone sounds a bit dejected when she speaks again. “I guess since we can’t do that, I’ll introduce you to everybody.” She parades you around the room, introducing you to everyone. You already knew of Tomura and Kurogiri of course, so no introduction is needed there. The process is awkward at the very least, but the other members don’t seem to care much. There’s not exactly a social script for meeting your captors.  

You learn the esteemed man in the white mask goes by Mr.Compress, or just Compress for short. It seemed like a strange name initially until Toga explained his quirk involves compressing and reducing anything he desires into small marbles. You shudder to think of what it would feel like to be trapped in such a way. The next introduction is for a man in a black and white body suit. His suit covers his face as well. The man’s name is Twice and he makes clones of people. His behavior is quite erratic, as he’ll often say one thing and immediately follow with a statement saying the opposite. You’ve been shuffled around the room and learned the names of almost everybody except for one other person. Toga pushes you in the direction of a man adorned with many piercings and staples. 

“And this is Dabi! He’s got a fire quirk,” Toga introduces. You take in his features quickly, not wanting to stare too much but wanting to pair his face with a name. There’s a lot about him that sticks out to you. There are large swaths of deep scars on his arms, neck, and face. The seams between the scars and healthy skin are joined together with silver staples. Even the scars beneath his eyes are littered with staples. But apart from his scars and piercings, his gaze is piercing. He has eyes that seem to see right through you, scrutinizing you with his cobalt blue irises. 

“Y/n, was it?” He asks. His voice catches you off guard, as this is the first time you’ve heard him speak. It’s deep and smoky. In different circumstances, it’d make you weak in the knees. 

“Y-yeah,” you confirm. Your voice sounds meek when you speak. He merely hums in acknowledgment and doesn’t question you further. Though, with the way his eyes still follow you and the way his brows are slightly pinched together, you wager there’s something he still wants to ask you. 

“Toga, Twice, you two show her to her room. It’s the last room off the hall,” Tomura instructs, shooing the two of them off with a gesture.

“You got it, boss!” Twice agrees, enthusiastically. His tone and voice rapidly shift to a more whiny and annoyed attitude, “No! Why me?” 

Toga agrees without refusal, unlike Twice. Though, despite Twice’s uttered resistance, he complies with Tomura’s request regardless. You think that Twice’s mannerisms will take some getting used to. Maybe eventually his switches won’t be as jarring. As the two of them are about to lead you up the stairs, Kurogiri interjects. 

“Miss y/n, we found your residence. We went ahead and gathered most of your belongings, excluding devices of course,” Kurogiri informs you. 

You blink once, then twice. You can’t help but think, ‘Excuse me, but what the fuck?’

“Wow, you broke into my house, looked through my things, and took my stuff? Thanks, how considerate of you,” you sarcastically remark. 

“It’s no problem, y/n,” Kurogiri accepts. You think he surely cannot be serious, but nothing in his mannerisms or tone of voice makes you believe so. This guy has seemingly no sense of your sarcasm. He’s almost robotic in that sense. Toga, once again, grabs your hand and leads you around. The three of you climb up the stairs and walk down the hallway without further incidents. 

“This is yours!” Toga announces. She swings the door open and invites herself in. You begrudgingly cross the threshold as well with Twice coming in behind you. 

Boxes of your things are stacked, rather neatly, in the corner of the room. They’re all categorized and labeled. Evidently, Kurogiri is efficient and meticulous with details. You walk over and open the box labeled clothes. Sure enough, you see your clothes, neatly folded in the cardboard. Kurogiri was not exaggerating when he said they gathered most of your things. The thought simultaneously scares and humiliates you. For them to figure out your address and take your thing raises three concerns. One, Tomura and Kurogiri could access information that you did not carry on your person. Two, now that your apartment is now empty, it could appear to the authorities that you ran away without notice. Lastly, and arguably a much smaller concern in comparison, is that you can’t remember if you had brought anything embarrassing with you from home. 

“I’ll help you unpack!” Twice offers, before immediately countering himself. “No way, that’s too much work.” 

Before he’s able to open a box, you interrupt quickly. You shout, “No!” Your outburst catches him off guard. He freezes in his tracks. You realize your reaction might seem odd, so you try to salvage the situation to the best of your ability. “Please, let me do it. Organizing stuff calms me down. Today’s been a lot for me.” Truthfully, it’s not exactly why you’d like Twice and Toga to leave you be, but the lie is plausible enough to be believable. 

Toga taps a finger to her cheek, thinking over it. “Well I guess Tomura didn’t order us to move you in, so it should be fine. Unpacking stuff sounds really boring anyways,” She admits. You feel your shoulders relax a bit. The two of them walk to your door before Toga stops in the doorway. There’s a more threatening aura about her when she adds, “I’d hate to have to chase you down and get yelled at by Tomura, so don’t try anything. Twice and I will be down the hall, okay?” She looks at you, either gauging your reaction or waiting for you to confirm. You decide to just nod and mutter out an ‘okay’, to which she gives you her signature manic smile and resumes her usual happy-go-lucky demeanor. 

The two of them finally leave your room. You listen to their footsteps travel down the hall before fading out. The breath you didn’t realize you were holding releases. You’re finally alone. You take a moment for yourself, sitting on the creaky bed frame and mattress. You look around the room, trying to take note of everything. You’ve been provided with a bed, desk, and dresser. The walls are plain. The room is windowless. When you stop to think of it, you can’t remember seeing any windows in the other parts of the building so far either. Not to mention, you noticed that this particular hallway was a dead end. These four walls already feel suffocating to you. It’s a perfect prison, and it’s filled with wardens. 

As hopeless as your situation feels right now, you can’t afford to wallow in it. You decide to busy yourself instead of spiraling into despair. There are stacks of boxes filled with your things, after all. You’ll be kept busy and away from your thoughts for at least a while. Your situation sucks, but you’re thankful you have the comfort of having your things. Surrounding yourself with familiarity might help you. 

You’re in the process of unpacking your third box when you hear the sound of heavy boots coming toward your room. The door is still ajar from when Toga and Twice left, so you’re able to see who it is. You’re a bit surprised to see Dabi, considering he didn’t say much to you initially. He leans leisurely against your door frame. Clearly, he’s in no hurry to do much. You’re not sure why, but his staring makes you squirm.

“You guys should invest in a surveillance system, isn’t hovering around me boring?” you say, breaking the silence. Your attitude must have been amusing to him, as he gives a light chuckle at you. Just like his voice, his laugh is a bit naturally husky. 

“Not when you act so feisty, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone bite back at Tomura like that,” he snickers. “It’d be a shame for him to break that attitude.”

“Is there something you need from me? Besides entertainment?” You quip. 

“Your quirk, how does it work?” He questions. He straightens his posture, no longer leaning on the doorway. His expression is more serious. If you squint, you think there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze.  

You think it’s best to just show him. You activate your quirk, focusing it on one part of your body. Your hands glow a f/c hue and begin feeling cold to the touch. “I create a layer of stem cells on my skin. It’s at the expense of my metabolic energy and makes me freeze, so overuse can be dangerous,” You explain. You shut off your quirk and glance at your hands. Your fingers feel a bit stiff. 

“So what can you heal?”

“It’s easier to explain what I can’t heal.”

“Go on,” he says and motions. He seems to be intrigued. 

“Anything that’s already been healed by the body, like scars or old injuries, won’t react to my quirk. Neither will infections or autoimmune diseases. I can’t regrow lost limbs either, unless the original arm is still mostly intact and… um… ‘fresh’. As a whole, I work best with more surface-level injuries than deep, internal ones.” 

“You seem to know a lot about this. You some sort of doctor or nurse?”

“Tried to be at one point. I know people with healing quirks are expected to be surgeons, doctors, or nurses, but I don’t want to be defined by just my quirk.”

“Would your quirk work on me?”

“It should. I could try and see,” you offer. He nods, permitting you to touch him. You’re about to ask him where you should heal him, but he offers his hands, palms facing you. You stand up from your place on the floor and walk over to him. His appearance starts to make sense to you when you inspect his hands. Dabi’s wrists and parts of his palms are slightly burned. The scarring must be a mixture of burn scars and grafts. Does his own fire hurt him?

Not wanting to scrutinize him any further with your staring, you clasp your hands around one of his. His hands are much larger than yours. The familiar f/c glow emanates from your hands, along with your quirk’s characteristic cooling effect. Meanwhile, Dabi’s hands are incredibly warm to the touch, a stark juxtaposition from yours. Even his metal staples, which you’d expect to feel cold, are warmed to a comfortable temperature. 

“You weren’t kidding, your hands are like ice,” he comments. Aside from the coldness, he feels the rawness from the burns slowly subsiding. The seam between his healthy and grafted skin even seems to close over. 

“Small price for you to pay for good results,” you muse. You release his hands from your grasp and inspect your work. His skin appears to have healed over, taking on the same pale shade as his other healthy skin. He retracts his hand from you and sees for himself. There’s just a hint of relief and awe in his eyes as he flexes his fingers, noticing the difference. 

“Heh, not bad,” he admits. “Sorry to disappoint, but your ice hands don’t bother me. In case you haven’t noticed, I run hot.” He glances at his hand one more time before nonchalantly shoving both hands in his pockets. He turns on his heels but doesn’t leave yet.

 “See ya around,” he adds. He strolls away, leaving you to recollect yourself and unpack everything. 

Masterlist

Link to AO3

[hello-everyfandom]

"For a moment, listen silently, what does your heart say?”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Words: 4k

Summary: Suffering lovers and hearts to be mended and stitched back together

Part One “I love you more than the sky and the ground but I can’t do this anymore.”

Part Two “No, it’s over. She ended it.”

(This one is quite long! How hopes and dreams turn into the most painful writing one could ever print. Please, I wish for my own heart to mend as Sirius’ will.)

The next few weeks were nothing but tragic. Lily could barely get you out of your bed nevertheless to class. It seemed that the fight, the breakup, the hurting wore down your stamina until you were not able to stand. It was worse after the party. Before, you could numb the pain of losing Sirius by distracting yourself with rewriting notes and organizing your room. But after the party, after seeing the love of your life lip-locked with another girl, kissing her the way he should kiss you, something in you broke.

Lily sat gently on your bed, placing the cup of warm tea on your table. She whispered kindly, “We have class in an hour, you missed breakfast but I brought you a cuppa.” She moved the duvet that covered your face to see your innocent watering eyes looking up at her. She sighed and smoothed out your hair, feeling the shutters of cries leave your lips. “You need to go to class, Y/N. I can’t keep telling McGonagall you’re sick without her sending you to St. Mungos.” 

“I don’t want to go.”

“Think about it this way,” Lily continued to run her fingers through your hair. She was thankful she had been able to get you to take a warm shower yesterday and change your pajamas, “If you go, you get it done and over with. Then you can come back and we can lay in your bed all afternoon.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s why I brought you tea. Come on, love, it’s really time to get up.” Lily said gently, pushing the duvet so it was only covering your torso. Instead of sitting up, you blinked back tears before sputtering out.

“I made a mistake, didn’t I?” you covered your mouth, clutching your eyes shut to let out a cry. “I made a mistake breaking up with him. I’m an idiot. I’m a fool.”

“No, no,” Lily cooed, moving your hand from your mouth and petting your cheek, “No, you didn’t. You did what you thought was right at the time.”

“Then why does it hurt so bad?”

Lily didn’t have the answer, she could only reply with the utmost sympathy, “because you still love him.”

“Get up, you sad sack of shit. We’ve got charms in twenty minutes.” James flung the covers off of Sirius. His nose wrinkled at the sight of crumpled tissues that littered his bed. “That’s disgusting. Those tissues better not be from what I think it’s from.”

“You’re a right prick,” Sirius tried to smile, his lips cracked and chapped. 

“You’re not staying in bed anymore, and frankly you smell like shit.”

“It’s true,” Remus chimed in, straightening his tie and his hair. 

“So what? Leave me here. I don’t want to go anyways.”

“Right. Listen, Pads, we’ve been kind to you for a while now, but now, and I say this as sweetly and as loving as I can, we’re getting quite sick of your sulking.” James rolled his eyes.

“Oh wow, thanks,” Sirius said sarcastically, buttoning his shirt up. “You really know how to rip the plaster off, yeah?”

“Maybe if we obliviate you, you’ll become yourself once more,” Remus said wittily.

“I’ll permit it if it allows my memory to forget kissing that girl at the party.” Sirius nearly threw up at the memory of that girl’s lips on his.

James shrugged, throwing a tie at Sirius, “Well, we mean it with love and we know the break up has been hard but-”

“But?”

“But we miss our friend.” Peter finished. Remus nodded in agreement.

“It’s not easy, is all,” Sirius mumbled after brushing his teeth. 

James slapped his hand on his shoulder and said confidently, “No, it’s not. But that’s why we’ll all go through it together, as brothers.” and swiftly lead him out of the dorm room.

As Lily locked her arms in yours and the two of you walked from the Great Hall to class, you were distracted by the open windows of the corridors. The courtyard, which had just been littered with brown, orange, and red leaves, set a moment of comfort in your bones. You always enjoyed autumn, mostly because it was in fall when Sirius had first told you he loved you. You shook that memory out of your mind and looked at the hallway instead. Coincidentally, much to both Sirius and your demise, the marauders and Lily had accidentally crossed paths with each other on the way to class. Eyes like magnets were drawn close together as Sirius looked at you with storming emotions. He looked as if he hadn’t slept, and if he did manage to close his eyes, nightmares in the forms of memories followed him. To be fair, you didn’t look all that right either. Though you didn’t have as prominent bags under your eyes, underneath your loose clothing was skin and bone. Your appetite had lost you and eating became difficult as most of the time you felt sick to even think about food. Sirius looked at you, lost and longing, and you stared with the same intensity, wishing to be in his arms, to sleep for years and kiss until the sun explodes.

“Ms. Y/L/N, will you please stay after class?” McGonagall’s voice rang out in her sharp tone. You froze and looked at Lily worriedly who shrugged.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Meet me in the common room after,” Lily whispered, squeezing your arm before leaving the classroom. It was loud and full of chatter from the students who excitedly were headed to dinner. You waited, pushing hair behind your ears nervously as the students collected their things and filed out of the room. Then, it was silent. You approached McGonagall’s office in the back of her classroom slowly, dreading whatever scolding she would give you. As you pushed open the door, you thought in your head quickly, you had handed in the homework, taken notes in class, raised your hand when asked a question, you couldn’t place anything you did particularly wrong and yet your palms began to sweat.

“Yes, Professor?” you asked with a small voice. McGonagall looked up from her desk and peered at you from her glasses. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Do you think you have done something wrong?”  

“I don’t reckon so, but I’m open to hearing any criticism if need be.” you focused on keeping your voice steady.

“Although, I’m sure you know the answer already, do you know what my particular job is here at Hogwarts?”

You bit your lip, “You’re a professor, perhaps one of the best ones here, of my favorites as well.”

“While I enjoy your compliment,” McGonagall sighed, “I am also the head of the Gryffindor house.”

“Yes, of course.” you nodded.

“And, with such a job comes the responsibility of looking after my students as if they were my own.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Professor.” 

“Sit, please, Ms. Y/L/N.” McGonagall motioned to the seat in front of her desk, a nice plush armchair with maroon velvet. “Despite the belief of my students, I do care, and I notice especially when a particular student seems out of place.” 

You sat on the edge of the seat and played with the threads of your sweater. “If it is my work that is not up to standard, I am sure I can revise or revisit whatever it is that has gotten low marks.”

“Your school work is hardly of the matter here,” Professor looked at the small girl in front of her. Once fiery and loud turned into a pebble on the floor. She admired and quite enjoyed having you as a student and took great pride in knowing you wore the Gryffindor sigil on your robes. But, like your friends, she had noticed an extreme change in demeanor in the past few weeks. “Are you doing alright, Y/N?” she asked kindly.

You looked up in surprise, “Yes, Professor. Though I will say, I will be disappointed if any of my homework or essays have been less than acceptable. I seem to be going through a little bit of a rough patch, I suppose.”

“I noticed,” you froze as McGonagall spoke, “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Black?”

“I-” you couldn’t think of an excuse. McGonagall put her hand up to stop your from speaking,

“Please, I may be older and I may be a teacher, but the students here seem to forget the Professors hear everything.”

You began to beg, “Professor, please, I promise whatever had happened will not affect my school nor my studies-”

She cut you off, “Have a biscuit, Y/L/N.” she motioned to the biscuit tin in front of her desk. When you showed signs of being wary, she opened the top of the tin and pushed it closer to you. Your hands shook as you took one and began to nibble on the edges.

“I do not speak of this, and I trust whatever I tell you and whatever you tell me stays in this office,” she started, you nodded furiously and she continued, “when I was younger, much much younger, perhaps about your age, I too fell in love.”

Your mouth fell agape.

“Dougal McGregor. I met him after my years at Hogwarts before I began my position at the ministry. It was, as most would say, a teenage love affair. We were much like you and Mr. Black. We argued senselessly, but we nevertheless loved each other. When he proposed, I was delighted. I accepted immediately.” your eyebrows rose to ask questions, however, McGonagall merely pushed the biscuit tin towards you again. You complied and took another.

“However, at the time, marriage between a muggle and a witch was proven more difficult than current times. Spouses of magical descent were forbidden to tell anyone of their skills in the wizarding world, and it. Well. The idea of living in a world without magic was unbearable. I had to make a decision.”

“What happened then, Professor?”

“I thought rejecting his proposal would be right for both of us, Dougal and I. I thought it was unfair to be kept in a magic-less marriage whilst Dougal would, in turn, be lied to every day. I made a decision and as a result,” her voice became low, almost sensitive, “I broke his heart and mine as well.”

“Oh Professor, I’m so sorry.”

“While it is in the past, I do think about him often. But, I suppose the feelings you are currently experiencing are what I felt when I left for the last time to London.”

“I see. Forgive me, Professor, why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I want you to know the consequences of decision making. The difference between truly thinking with your head and with your heart.” 

“Did you regret leaving?”

McGonagall pursed her lips in thought, the wrinkles shown prominently near her eyes, “Yes and no. I am overjoyed and proud to stand as the witch I am today. Becoming a professor and working with students, no matter how particularly unenjoyable some are, is a passion. However, it would be ignorant to say I did not frequently think about if I had stayed and married Dougal.”

“What happened to him?”

“I received a letter numerous months later, my mother had told me, Dougal married and was expecting his firstborn.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

“I find it humorous to sit here,” McGonagall gave you a wrinkled small smile.

“How so, Professor?”

“Because when I was heartbroken, the first person I told was my own teacher, you may know him now as Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Really?” you asked in surprise.

“Yes, we sat here at my desk whilst I told him of my heartache. And now, I sit here, with my own favorite student, discussing hers.”

“I’m not sure if I would call it heartache, Professor,” 

“Then what would you call it?”

In class, Professor McGonagall was strict, sharp spoken. Instead, in her small office, she wore a sympathetic smile and her gaze was warm. You felt as though life and its troubles would cease their crimes against your broken heart the second you stepped in the room. But, still, you looked at her with lost sights, emotions swarming in pupils.

“I don’t think there is a word to describe it. All I know is I ache tremendously and nothing seems to fix this pit in my stomach. I. What do I do?” you begged for an answer.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. What I can say is, you’ve been thinking your entire life at Hogwarts with your head. You are a bright witch with a wonderful future ahead of her. You are hardworking and studious, and kind. But, you only seem to listen to your head for answers, you look for the logical position for your chess pieces. Stop your thinking. For a moment, listen silently, what does your heart say?”

Professor McGonagall looked at the time before sighing to herself, “I do suppose I’ve kept you too long, I trust you can find your way back to the common room?”

You nodded and stood, brushing off your skirt. “Of course. Thank you Professor for the biscuits. If it means anything, I’m sure Dougal loved you very much.”

“Y/L/N,” Professor called before you left, “You are welcome any time here, I was not lying when I said you were one of my favorite students.” 

You smiled back, “And I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of my favorite Professors.”

As you walked back to the Gryffindor common room, Professor McGonagall’s story repeated in your head, pounding against your brain and begging to be analyzed. If you thought carefully, letting go of Sirius was equivalent to McGonagall’s separation with Dougal. If you chose your studies and your career, Would you miss out on a life with your soulmate? There was no doubt in your mind that your heart belonged to a certain long-haired beloved. As the Fat Lady looked at you with great pity, you entered the common room, peaking around for Lily. The fire seemed to be the only source of warmth as it lit up the room, leaving shadows cast along the walls. You figured Lily must still be at dinner considering the common room was empty. You rubbed your tired eyes and sat on an armchair facing the fireplace. 

Sirius had decided wallowing was doing nothing but driving him across the wall. He threw a shirt over his shoulders and bounced down the stairs to meet the boys at dinner when he saw you. He could spot you from miles away even if he were blind to the bone. He recognized the old sweater you wore, one that had previously been owned by him. You loved the sweater despite threads coming loose and the smell of Sirius’ cologne fading away. He saw your hands curled up in fists, something you did when you were quite emotional or tired and the low messy bun you had pulled your hair into.

“I thought you were at dinner, Lils,” you spoke quietly, making him freeze. It had been so long, so many minutes and hours since he’d last heard your voice. “If you are here to drag me to the Great Hall, I have to decline as I’m morbidly exhausted from that emotional conversation with McGonagall.” 

Sirius attempted to find his voice, begging his vocal cords to say anything to you but all he could do was stand there, dumbfounded and aching to hear your voice once more. 

“Lily?” you expected to see your red-headed friend but instead made eye contact with him. “Oh.”

“Just Sirius,” he said awkwardly. You stood so you could face him, holding your hands in front of you.

You swallowed harshly and wished you had at least looked somewhat more manageable. “Sirius.”

“Y/N.” he answered. It was hushed, noiseless, painful. “Say something,” he begged.

“What do you want me to say, Siri?” he flinched when you used his nickname. You hadn’t even meant to use it, it just slipped off your tongue before you could realize it.

“Just. Say anything, yell at me, anything. Be angry at me!”

“Why would I be angry?” You weren’t angry. You were hurt.

“For...”

“For what?” you creased your eyebrows. 

“For kissing that girl at the party.”

You pursed your lips and Sirius only held sadness in his eyes. “Sirius...”

“I kissed another girl that wasn’t you, and it is absolutely tearing me apart. I want you to be angry with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Be mad! Yell at me!”

“Sirius,” you stopped him, putting a gentle, small hand on his arm, “We broke up.”

Sirius threw his arms in the air and ran a finger through his hair frustratedly, “that doesn’t make it okay.”

“Doesn’t it? We broke up,”

“No! It doesn’t because I told you, I promised you, I swore I would never kiss another person. I promised I was yours and yours only. And I am. I mean... I was.”

“Sirius, please,” you choked, “It’s hard enough to be around each other already.”

“Don’t you miss me? Miss us?” Sirius had to stop himself from gathering you in his arms and rubbing the small of your back. Biting your lip and eyes beginning to water, you said as quietly as you could,

“Of course I do. I miss you more and more every day. And yes, it... it hurt to see you with that Ravenclaw girl, but it doesn’t matter. We aren’t dating anymore.”

“I don’t know. I think.” He laughed humourlessly, as if the air escaping his lungs were nearly painful to feel, “I think I would’ve gone mental if I had seen you kissing someone.”

“I...” you stopped and sighed. You sat down on the couch, moving slightly to the left. Sirius looked cautiously before sitting next to you, facing you as you looked towards the fire. 

“We can still talk, can’t we? We used to talk all night until Moony would shush us like an old librarian.”

“I don’t know, Sirius. It’s hard. Isn’t it? It’s hard.”

“I know. But, I miss talking. Won’t you just tell me how you’re doing?”

You debated on lying, telling him you were fantastic, but something in you begged you to tell the truth even if it felt like magma on your tongue. “I’m not doing well.”

“Are you stressed about school? I’ve told you many times, you’re the smartest witch in our year, I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

“That’s not it.” you bit your lip, turning from the fire to look at those eyes you so deeply longed for.

“Then what?”

“It’s difficult.”

“Try me.”

“It’s difficult... with us, or without us, I should say.”

Sirius slightly flinched hearing those words and swallowed harshly, “I get the feeling.”

“How have you been?” you asked curiously, studying the way his eyebrows creased and his fingers threading through his hair.

“Same as you, I suppose.”

“Really?”

“Prongs and the boys, they’ve been on my back lately. Say I’ve been moping too much, I’m a downer it seems.”

You giggled under your breath and wrapped your arms around yourself, “Lily says the same. Though, I guess she’s just worried.”

“Worried?”

“I haven’t been sleeping as well, I’m sure you’ve noticed the bags under my eyes,”

“No,” Sirius said truthfully, “I think you still look as beautiful as ever.”

Your lungs stopped breathing, every airway and vein in your body closed as you began to shut down. You stood abruptly and began racing towards the dorm staircase.

“Stop!” Sirius shouted making you freeze, your hand still on the banister. “Stay. Talk to me.”

You wiped angry tears from your face that you didn’t even notice dripped down your cheeks, “And say what? It. it’s torturous, it’s beyond excruciating to be around you.” You thought about your chat with McGonagall, begging your heart to speak, scream anything to make to stop your head from making decisions.

Sirius’ lips frowned, hurt at your tone and your words. “Baby...”

“No! I. It’s too difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because when I look at you, when I see you, when I feel you around me, everything tells me I’ve made a mistake. Is that what you wanted to hear? I made a mistake. I fucked up. I fucked up because I was terrified of us. I was scared of driving you away, scared of you deciding you didn’t love me anymore. And I can’t. I can’t do it! I can’t. I made a mistake.” you spat out breathlessly. Sirius watched in horror as you began to hyperventilate and dove to put his arms around you. He had seen your panic attacks and held you through every one, but this time it felt different. Your breathing began to rapidly increase as you couldn’t hold back broken sobs. 

“Breathe, breathe, love. It’s okay. It’s all okay.” he held your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks like he used to. Your eyes searched his desperately for any buoy that could save you from the drowning you felt. As he blinked, you found your life vest, holding on for dear life as you breathed fresh air into scattered lungs.

“Breathe, okay? ‘M right here, not going anywhere.” he whispered low, kissing your forehead and wiping your tears.

“I’m sorry.” you sobbed, “I made a mistake. I love you. I do. I’m so sorry. What have I done? I love you. I love you more than anything, and I’ve ruined it all.” you threw yourself at him, arms gripping tightly as he caught you. Sirius’ arms snaked around yours, pulling you back to life, back to the earth. He was yours. He knew it. He’s never been anyone elses and he never plans to. How stupid he had been to let you go, to kiss another girl, to pretend he was okay when he was truly devastated. 

“We’re okay, yeah? Take care of each other, now, yeah?” Sirius rocked you slowly, feeling your cries die down in the comfort of his arms. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, darling.” Sirius guided you slowly to the couch, setting you comfortably on the cushions, “sit for a while,”

You nodded loosely as you leaned on his chest, hiccuping with cries. “I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving you. Had I known how wrong it was, I would’ve thrown myself off the Astronomy tower before ever breaking up with you.” 

“Don’t say that,” Sirius hushed, “I know, you thought it was the right thing. You were trying to protect yourself and me.”

“I’m a fool. A stupid, foolish girl.” you muttered, still catching your breath.

“Don’t say that either. I made mistakes too, perhaps one I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, Sirius.” you began to cry again, “I don’t care if you kissed another girl. I don’t. I just care that I’m the girl you want next to your side.”

He turned your limp body so he could cup your cheeks again, rubbing with the pads of his thumbs. “You will always be the girl. Always. Nothing will change that.”

“Sirius,” you whispered, looking at his lips.

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.”

That was all Sirius needed to hear. For days, weeks, endless hours, the two of you, broken hearted souls walked the earth wondering when the pain would end. Sirius tried drinking, you tried swallowing textbooks whole. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing seemed to mend the hurt you felt panging your insides, sending waves of heat down your spines. Nothing could distract you from the absolute shattering sadness that your bodies felt. Two broken hearted souls. Two souls joining for a kiss. A kiss that would last centuries as Sirius vowed to marry you the minute your lips connected. Togetherness, the touch of a soulmate. He moved his lips against yours slowly, tasting, memorizing and wishing this moment would never end. Salty tears and content smiles, at last, the two broken souls found what truly mended, what stitched your hearts back together. Each other. Forever in eternity, never drifting apart for long as fate, the universe and every good hearted soul brought you two together. 

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 09 first part

(Masterpost) (More Canary Funsies)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

This episode features so many eternal minutes of zombie shambling that I thought I could fit everything into a single post. HA HA HA HA nope. 

Zombie Temple

The trio do their best to fend off the not-zombies in the temple. Lan Wangji tells Wei Wuxian that he can’t go carving them up because they’re not actually dead, and drops a callback to their very first meeting at the gate of Cloud Recesses, when Wei Wuxian caught his attention with his pillowy lips comment on the not-dead cultivator. 

Lan Wangji: You said it in that golden moment that will be seared into my memory for eternity, where I heard your voice and laid eyes on your angelic face and lost my heart forever, remember? Come on, babe, it was our very first zombie! How baked were you?

Wei Wuxian: I jerk off to the sword-fighting memory, not the zombie memory, you weirdo.

Nie Huaisang’s fear of the definitely not undead has apparently gotten him the rest of the way over his fear of Lan Wangji, because he’s now yelling “Lan-Xiong!” right along with “Wei-Xiong!” as he struggles. Note that although he later mentions that his fan is made of some fancy metal, we don’t see any evidence that he wants to fight with a fan any more than he does with a blade. I don’t hate anyone’s fan-fighting NHS headcanon, but my take is that he just isn’t a physical fighter, and that’s ok. 

This is a good time to remember that our entire experience of the Nie clan so far in this story is 1. Clever but hopelessly combat-unready tiny artiste Nie Huaisang 2. Quietly helpful, absurdly pretty sidekick Meng Yao. 

We don’t know yet that Nie Huasang’s gege and Meng Yao’s sugar daddy is literally the toughest motherfucker in the entire cultivation world. But his friends do! Which makes me love these dynamics even more, because not one of them criticizes Nie Huaisang for being the person he is. 

(more after the cut!)

Never Let Me Go

This scene is where Wei Wuxian gives his tacit consent to being used as the eventual agent of Nie Huaisang’s vengeance....ok not really.

But he does make it clear what Nie Huaisang should do when he’s in a pickle. And NHS doesn’t forget things.

Priorities 

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji isn’t nearly as patient as Wei Wuxian, and he drops a silence spell on Nie Huaisang basically out of annoyance. It’s not like they’re trying to be sneaky. 

Lan Wangji: How about you have an exquisitely crafted ceramic cup of shut the fuck up?

Flute Girl

Wen Qing comes to the rescue by summoning all of the not-zombies, who happen to be her extended family, to come toast some marshmallows. 

She’s another person who unwisely demonstrates, where Wei Wuxian can hear her, the power of flutes over zombies. 

This move doesn’t seem to do anything important but it looks cool. 

Brother Dynamic: Bad. Really Bad. 

Jiang Cheng shows up in the temple and trolls everyone, because this is a great time for childish antics. Wei Wuxian is super happy to see him and runs over to hug him, which earns him a shoulder slam. 

This is a regular part of their body language with each other. Wei Wuxian covers his hurt reaction very, very quickly, with a smile that doesn’t involve very much of his face. 

Ow

Wei Wuxian is so good at pretending his feelings aren’t hurt, he probably convinces himself. 

Then he gives a too-honest answer when Jiang Cheng accuses him of...daring to enjoy himself, basically.

That’s more truth than Jiang Cheng was looking for, and he raises a hand to Wei Wuxian, who hides behind Nie Huaisang. This move is interesting because on one level it’s just clowning; obviously Nie Huaisang can’t protect WWX from anything, and WWX doesn’t need protection from Jiang Cheng. 

WWX can easily beat JC in a fight, as he’s let us know before. On another level, this retreat signals WWX’s harmlessness, his childlike-ness, in a semiotic dance that has been playing out for over a decade between the brothers.  NHS is taking on Jiang Yanli’s role in the choreography, this time.   

All of this troubling hostility doesn’t make Jiang Cheng a bad person. He’s young and he’s still under his parents’ control and subject to their abuse at home. It takes time to develop mindfulness about this stuff and learn to treat people beneath you differently than the way you are treated. 

Jiang Cheng isn’t ready for that yet, any more than he is ready to say out loud that he cares about his brother. 

Leave My Boyfriend Out of It

This interaction is noteworthy for Wei Wuxian defending Lan Wangji to his brother, before Jiang Cheng even has a chance to blame Lan Wangji. 

Wei Wuxian says that following Lan Wangji was his own idea, and then gives LWJ the sweetest, warmest smile.

Lan Wangji also gets a pair of totally unearned, delighted smiles of thanks from his two besties when he lifts the silence spell on Nie Huaisang. 

Being mildly dickish all the time works out fine, I guess, if you only make friends with people whose brothers are legendary grouches.

Grilling Wen Qing

Wei Wuxian finally decides he’s had enough of Wen Qing’s crap, and gets slightly aggressive in questioning her.

He’s not actually roughing her up but he is approaching her as a near-enemy for the first time, rather than as someone who wants to be her friend. Once Wen Qing tells him what’s up and agrees to a sort of temporary alliance, he goes back to being his normal slightly awkward self with her. 

I don’t romance-ship WQ and WWX, except maybe as corpse-mountain era FWB, but I do like their chemistry. And their friendship is really refreshing and interesting, based on sharing goals and working together, not on emotional intimacy. It’s nice to see people with a lot of barriers around their hearts, building a strong, trusting bond without having to actually open up very much.

The idea of perfect sharing between people is a nice one, but it’s pretty alien to many of us who are recovering from trauma, or people who just aren’t wired that way, and it’s good to see other models of friendship and love. 

Wei Wuxian, at Lan Wangji’s direction, parts the Red Sea drops a cage on the other 3 cultivators before going to hunt the dire birdy.  

Jiang Chang is, predictably, pissed off about it, in spite of Wei Wuxian’s “you’re good at this” parting words, and says, according to the subtitles, “you bastard!”

“Bastard” is a pretty specific epithet, in English. In the current century, it’s generally used to mean “asshole,” more or less. But it still does carry the meaning “of illegitimate birth,” and since The Untamed is often concerned with legitimacy it seems pretty strong for JC to use with someone who is rumored to be his own Dad’s by-blow. 

Let’s have a look and see what he really is calling him... 你混蛋 =  Nǐ húndàn = “you bastard” per Google translate. Wow, Jiang Cheng, you really went there, huh. 

Wen Granny

Wen Qing and the others in the golden cage watch as the not-zombies try half-heartedly to get to them. Wen Qing is super sad about it, as opposed to the two guys who are just annoyed (Jiang Cheng) or scared (Nie Huaisang).

The first time I saw this, it was just - oh, Wen Qing sympathizes with this poor random woman, she feels bad about what's happening, this is to show us she has a heart.

Now though --  that's HER granny. Maybe not her bio-grandma but clearly a granny of her clan, who she knows well, who later cares for A-Yuan when he's a child, so may very well have cared for A-Qing and A-Ning when they were small, too. Owie.

Dire Bird Hunting

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian run off to hunt the smoke bird together. They are quickly trapped in cool-looking fog. Kudos to the Director of Photography.

They spend some time being confused and also being peak Wangxian 1.0 as they help each other out. 

Lost in the fog and unable to summon talismans, Wei Wuxian is mainly about checking on Lan Wangji, making sure he’s ok, making sure he’s near.  He doesn’t spare any worry for himself.

(We get a rare instance of seeing an actually glowing sword here, instead of just having a character say “I saw the beams of swords!” to save money on VFX.)

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, understands the mental attack they are under, explains it to Wei Wuxian with only a little snark about Wei Wuxian’s overly busy mind, and teaches him how to handle it.

Lan Wangji is super disciplined in mind, body, and sword - his fight moves don’t change, really, throughout his life, but he gets better and better at execution. Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly undisciplined, but he’s super creative and busts out a new skill in nearly every encounter. Lan Wangji sees this and is learning to make use of it.

After Lan Wangji helps Wei Wuxian overcome the confusion that is blocking his talisman use, he tells him which talisman to use. 

This isn’t a talisman that LWJ uses himself, it’s just that he’s paying very close attention to WWX’s battle moves, and has a great memory, so he knows which ones will work. In a pretty short timespan he’s moved from thinking like a solo swordsman to thinking as part of a team with a broad range of battle skills. Very soon, he’ll be starting to use Wei Wuxian’s talismans himself. 

WWX takes a hit from the flying death chain, but uses it to his advantage, as in so many encounters. He’s not just self-sacrificing--he is definitely that--but he’s also a chess player, knowing how to use a sacrifice or an injury to his advantage. Cue Lan Wangji being worried for the entire rest of his life.

Part Two is here!

[lovelyirony]

Hi! “If I fail, I’ll fall apart/Maybe it is all a test/because I feel like I’m the worst / so I always act like I’m the best” -Oh No! This is one of my favorite lyrics ever, and I'd really like to see what you bring out of it :) You're amazing, ily! 💞

what if maria had more of an effect on tony’s upbringing than most? howard’s still a dick but make it funny

Tony has known he was probably not the best human on earth ever since he was five and his dad made a bigger deal out of a dead man’s birthday than his own. 

At age five, you don’t really know a lot about the world yet. There were about two things that Tony didn’t know that he wishes he did know: 

1.) The word “fuck.” It would have helped with a lot of his situations. 

2.) The concept of jealousy. He probably could have gone to a child therapist or some shit, he’s not sure if those even existed back then, or if his parents would have even let him go. 

(After all, he’s supposed to be their perfect little boy, just the right amount of precocious and the other amount being something like genius or respectability.) 

It is actually his mother who takes the reins on his life. Howard has effect, he has huge effects. 

Maria is a socialite who absolutely refuses to let her son succumb to Howard’s devil-may-care attitude that he’s so infamous for. Her son is going to be well-mannered, respectable, and know exactly how to treat a lady of high social standing. 

This involves training at a young age. Six would be a fine age. 

It’s not Howard who sends him to boarding schools, it’s Maria. She ensures that he goes to the finest schools available, most abroad in Europe. She trains him out of the American accent, into something a bit more refined. 

He spends summers learning different languages and different skills. He learns how to fence by the time he’s ten, and becomes quite proficient at it. 

She quizzes him on established families, up-and-coming families, and never keeps him far from her sight. 

Anthony Stark is not going to be a wild-child, she decides. 

-

Anthony isn’t, for the most part. Sure, he usually stays up past what is acceptable for the night to work on some mechanic stuff and uses the word “damn” a bit too much for his mother’s liking, but that’s the reason make-up and apologies were invented. 

He follows rules and is known to smile like his mother and enjoy listening to quartets play out in the open air during the summer months. He travels to Europe and participates in various activities and is the talk of many socialites who eagerly await his arrival. 

He’s a portrait, holding still for all’s approval, and he’s not quite sure how to move. 

That’s troublesome, he thinks. 

The problem is this: Anthony Stark doesn’t have any interests outside what is required. He loves working on inventions, and they are necessary for the company to survive, but his father hates any robotic invention he pushes for, and mother thinks that if he tells people he’s rather fond of AC/DC then he’s a plague to society and will be shunned. 

(He doesn’t say it to her face but they haven’t shunned Sunset yet, and she’s a whole world of problems, so rock music is the least of their problems.) 

There is one thing that he pushes for: university in the United States. He’s been traveling to Europe since he was a child, and he honestly needs to do something for himself. 

Maria is not pleased. 

“So after I sacrifice so much for you, this is how you repay me?” she asks him over dinner. 

He places his fork to the correct side. 

“Yes. This is how I am repaying you. By getting a perfectly respectable college degree from a critically-acclaimed university that anyone would be lucky to attend. Not to mention it might reflect badly on Stark Industries if I don’t go to an American college. Do I not trust American institutions to run an American business?” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

Anthony laughs. 

“Mother, they cannot teach me anything that Europe can’t. Let me go to college in the United States. Please.” 

“No.” 

- 

It takes Howard to convince her, and a.) Howard doesn’t even like Anthony that much, and b.) he also doesn’t like his wife that much. 

“He’s going to a damned college here, Maria. We don’t need him to go to any more of that fancy bullshit you call school over there.” 

“Fancy bullshit, Howard?! Bullshit?! You mean what has gotten him this far in life and will make him a better man of social standing than you?” 

“My god, is social standing all that matters to you? What are your little friends going to do, choke on their silver spoons when they find out that your son is going to an American college?” 

- 

Jarvis also convinces her. 

“It will be easier to monitor his progress from a shorter distance,” he advises. “And you can visit frequently.” 

Anthony gives him a very dirty look. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to mention that. 

Oops. 

-

But, Anthony gets his way. He’s going to MIT, and he has a roommate. 

(Okay, so mother doesn’t know that. But he supposes she will if she ever visits. Or maybe not considering if Tony can successfully convince his roommate to “disappear” for at least a day.) 

-

Rhodey does not give a singular shit about high society anything or anyone. Anthony Stark is a name he registers, but doesn’t recognize. 

“Anthony’s a mouthful,” he says a week into their cohabitation. “You have a nickname or something?” 

“Ah...no? I mean, not yet,” Anthony says. 

“How do you feel about Tony?” 

“I...I suppose that that is alright.” 

“Are you from Europe?” 

“No, from New York.” 

“Well holy shit, you sure as fuck don’t sound like it.” 

- 

Anthony--well, Tony now--learns quite a bit about American schooling and what he’s actually supposed to be doing to pass off as normal. 

Rhodey (yeah he got a nickname that ended in ‘y’ too, Tony said he wouldn’t be the only one) takes him to the thrift store and tells him to pick out some clothes. 

“...there’s a shirt that’s advertising a restaurant from Montana.” 

“And? Does it look hilarious?” 

“Is that the point of this?” 

“Fashion is supposed to make you like what you’re wearing or like yourself. I swear if you say that those boring black suits make you feel better about yourself, I will be dragging you to any therapist that will take us for at least five dollars.” 

“Five dollars?” 

“Maybe less if I can negotiate.” 

“Hey!” 

- 

Tony learns how to have fun. He loves it. 

Rhodey makes him go to record stores and find the bargain bin, and they play the warped records and laugh as voices go up and down in pitch. Tony blasts Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden until the RA begs him to go to bed and Rhodey throws all of his pillows off of his bed. 

In return, Tony teaches Rhodey how to read other’s facial expressions, dress for any occasion and be the best-looking there, as well as avoiding any sort of conflict by bringing up past embarrassments. 

“Are you serious about the color of my shoe affecting my social standing?” Rhodey asks, trying to shove his foot into a shoe that was a brown color that Tony had described as a “golden mahogany.” 

“Yes, I’m dead serious.” 

“No fucking wonder everyone says eat the rich all of you are so fucking pretentious. It’s brown, Tony.” 

“Tell that to any high society woman over fifty.” 

“I will.” 

- 

As it turns out, he ends up doing it much sooner than anticipated. 

Tony’s parents come to visit. 

They call him Anthony. Which is gross. Rhodey hasn’t used the name “Anthony” in about six months. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were his roommate,” his mother says. 

“Well, here I am,” Rhodey says. “Name’s also on the information they sent out to the parents about the living situations.” 

Tony tenses as his parents brush off the obvious comment on how little they actually know about his situation and move right into the room. 

Maria stops at the huge poster of a rock band. 

“I assume that this is...James’?” 

“No,” he says timidly. “It’s...it’s mine. Their use of movement on the guitar strings-” 

“Take it down,” Maria demands. “It’s unsightly.” 

“Oh give the kid a break,” Howard says tiredly. “For once he’s not listening to you talk about the merits of paisley prints.” 

“I’m training our son for a more successful life than yours,” Maria hisses. “Of course, you’d have to stay away from your friend Jack to understand that.” 

“Rhodey, leave,” Tony says. “Trust me, it gets messier from here.” 

He does think about it. How easy it would be to walk out and check in with a couple of his other friends and talk about how crazy Tony’s parents are. How he could check back in near dinner time and then Tony could tell him all about how terribly it went. 

But Tony already looks terrible, and he’s doing that weird thing with his hands where he wrings them and then remembers he’s not supposed to wring them and makes it worse. 

“No,” Rhodey says. “I am staying until the bitter end. Who knows? Maybe I can give your mom a heart attack when I ask her the difference between kelly and forest green.” 

Tony grins. 

“You can leave any time, it’s about to get...interesting.” 

- 

Tony’s family is quite dysfunctional. They can put on a good front in public, for what it’s worth. 

Howard is impressed that Rhodey’s planning on going into the Air Force and then talks about Captain America for a lot of the dinner. Rhodey is very uncomfortable and then asks about business and Maria rolls her eyes and orders another glass of wine. 

After Howard finishes up talking about some contract and making vague threats against businesses that Rhodey thinks might actually be in trouble, it’s Maria’s turn. 

“So, Rhodey, where is your family from?” 

“We live in the Boston area,” Rhodey answers. 

“And what do your parents do?” 

“Dad works as a consultant for a local construction company, and my mom works as a high school history teacher. They both like their jobs.” 

“Hm,” Maria remarks, and it’s so light and casual and yet so cutting. Tony can see how Rhodey squirms, and he can’t just let it stand. 

It’s one thing for Maria to cut her own son down until he’s nothing. Still fucked up, but Tony can handle it. He’s been handling it for years. 

“Rhodey, how did your mom come to want to know she liked teaching?” Tony asks. “That sounds like it could be really hard to figure out.” 

“Oh, well it all started when she was in high school and wanted to change how one of her teachers treated students. It was a really inspiring moment for her.” 

“That sounds really cool,” Tony says. “What does she like most about her job?” 

“Probably the kids,” Rhodey says. 

The conversation carries on about Rhodey’s family until their dinner arrives and his mother manages to cut in with more questions. 

“So, what else does your mother do?” 

“She volunteers at the local food kitchen and helps some of the younger kids at the after-school program,” Rhodey answers. “She also makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey.” 

“Would you look at that,” Tony says. “Mrs. Rhodes sounds like a fine cook, I wish I could say the same for you, mother.” 

“Oh?” 

Howard actually laughs at that as he signs for the bill. 

“The kid is right, Maria. At some points I think your kitchen is only used for decoration.” 

“Oh, and you know how to cook, Mr. Stark?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to see you make anything other than coffee.” 

“I’ll make toast.” 

Rhodey laughs, and so does Tony. 

“Ready to go?” Tony asks, and part of it is a way to get away from an isolated conversation, and part of it is to make his parents leave for their hotel room sooner. 

“Tony, I want to have a talk with you before we retire for the night,” Maria says, and Tony tenses up. 

Rhodey can’t protect him from that, and he squeezes Tony’s hand as they walk behind his parents. 

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers. 

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe.” 

- 

Rhodey goes into their building, and Howard waits in the car. He nods to Tony on his way out. 

“You’ve...changed,” mother says. 

“Well, that’s how humanity goes,” Tony says dryly, looking anywhere but her eyes. 

“Rock music? These snappish remarks towards your own mother? I don’t know if this college was such a good idea.” 

“It is,” Tony says. “I just...learned new things and incorporated it into my life. Nothing the matter with that.” 

“Nothing wrong with that?” Maria reiterates, surprised look on her face. “Rock music is for other people, you know things that others don’t know! You can perform violin and piano, you don’t have to listen to the personal manifestation of a headache!” 

“And if I like that headache?!” Tony asks. “If I like something that’s outside of what you approve, why so angry about it? Is it because you finally can’t control every single aspect about my identity? Is it because I’m not like your perfect little toy that you can make walk and talk how you like?” 

“You know it’s not that.” 

“Isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Because you want me to change every single interest that I’ve found I like by myself. I bet you want me to listen to Bach for fun.” 

“I do not want you to change from who you are,” Maria says. “You have eaten at the finest restaurants in the world and now you brag about making something called ramen in a microwave. A microwave?!” 

“A surprising amount of families in America have them,” Tony says. “And I’m a college student! I’m supposed to eat crappy food and then laugh about it in twenty years!” 

Maria turns red, and her lips screw up into a tight line. 

“I don’t think you should be here,” Maria says. “You’re forgetting your place. Your roommate is...” 

“My roommate is what,” Tony starts, glaring at her. “My roommate is what, mother? You want to honestly finish that sentence?” 

“He’s not good enough!” she yells at him. “You are a Stark!” 

Tony stares at her for a moment. And then another moment. 

“Leave,” he says. “Get the hell out of here.” 

“You don’t tell me-” 

“I do,” Tony says, using his full height to his advantage. “You can tell me how many times I’ve fucked up as many times as you want, but you never talk about James that way ever again.” 

He twists on his heel, forcefully opening the door to the dormitory and not once looking back. 

- 

Rhodey finds Tony back in his room when he gets back from getting ready for the night, and Tony is clutching a pillow and laying face down on the bed. 

“You know, you’ll have to turn over eventually to get some fresh air.” 

“Leave me to die, Rhodey. Oh my god.” 

“That bad?” 

“That bad. She’s probably going to try and put me in a prestigious college or some shit.” 

“Oof. Wanna fake your death and run away?” 

“Please.” 

“Well, too bad. I have a test next week, and you need to do your poetry notes.” 

“But poetry sucks.” 

“It only sucks because you don’t like modern poetry, suck it up and pull it out of your ass or something.” 

“Ugh, fine.” 

- 

Maria is trying very hard to get her son away from MIT and towards a fancy school in Europe. She doesn’t even care where, just away from his roommate and his classic rock posters and the dormitory. Anthony needs an environment where he can focus on networking, meeting more people. 

Howard says no. 

He can’t even bother to remember her son’s birthday, and he says “no.” 

“We need Anthony to go to an American school, and nothing is better besides maybe Cal Tech, and he’ll have to finish another year of college and Hammer Industries can use that as a sign of an unsteady heir.” 

“Well then get rid of his roommate.” 

“I’m not doing that, you’re asking for a PR death sentence.” 

“He’s a bad influence.” 

“No he’s not,” Howard says tiredly. “The kid is finally standing up for himself, and you hate that.” 

“I don’t hate that he can be his own person.” 

“You just wish he were his own person under your specifications,” Howard drawls. “He’s staying at MIT, that’s final.” 

“Hmph.” 

Howard rolls his eyes. 

“Go back to planning whatever charity gala you’re hosting this week, honey. I’m sure things will be fine.” 

Maria doesn’t speak against her husband, just fumes and decides she’s going to try to get Jarvis’ opinion. 

-

Edwin is also a flat no. 

“He will not forgive you if you do this,” he says, pouring her tea and adding in one sugar cube. “He loves his school, he talks about it all the time.” 

“And what, he calls you?” 

Edwin Jarvis realizes he shouldn’t have mentioned this. 

“At times, madam. At times. Will that be all?” 

“...that will be all.” 

Jarvis does bring up a good point. Besides her, of course, he knows Anthony best, even if he does keep calling him Tony. Anthony will grow out of that nickname soon enough. 

She has hope for her boy. He will most likely grow out of this silly little phase in life and finally appreciate her lessons. 

- 

Tony Stark doesn’t. 

Well, he learns her lessons. Can appreciate some of them and how much he hates that he uses them. 

But he learns a far more important lesson from Rhodey, and it shapes everything: 

“You’re your own person, and you’re far better as your own person,” Rhodey says. “I wanted to kick the shit out of you when we first lived together.” 

“You did?” 

“Of course I did!” Rhodey explains, gesturing with his coffee mug and getting yet another stain on the pillow. (Laundry again. Ugh.) “You talked like you were from a movie from the forties, it sucked.” 

“Oh, you mean the transatlantic accent?” 

“It’s pretentious, just ditch it. You’re interesting enough to listen to on your own. I listen to you talk about how much you hate Picasso sculpture, don’t I?” 

“You do,” Tony admits. 

“So then be yourself. Use what your mom taught you sometimes, but otherwise don’t.” 

“You sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, I’m a fucking genius.” 

Tony snorts. 

“Okay, Mr. ‘I Forgot to Run the Dishes Again.’”

“I already said I was sorry!” 

-

Tony takes Rhodey’s advice into account when he walks into any board room. He wears the worst possible shoes with every single suit, usually uses all sorts of cultural references that fly over the old board members’ heads. 

He does things his way. It’s unconventional, it’s unpredictable, and it earns him a reputation. 

He’s in an interview in a suit and patterned tie (patterned with tiny robots), and the woman is smiling in a plastic way on the other side. 

“Now, a lot of people are saying you’re taking the business world by storm with your unconventional methods and personality. What helped you formulate this, your father?” 

“Oh god no,” Tony says, laughing. “He’d probably curse me to hell and back for even wearing this tie. My mother would drag me back down to hell again for this.” 

“Then who helped you with this?” 

“Rhodey, who else?” Tony asks. “He always gives the best advice, even if I’ll deny that about fifteen minutes later. He really is the reason that I’m who I am today.” 

“Seems like a great guy.” 

“He is. He always is,” Tony says with a grin. “Except, of course, when he doesn’t fold his laundry, that bastard.” 

The interviewer laughs and moves on, but Tony smiles to himself. 

He doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to be Rhodey’s. That’s all that matters. 

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Decagon: The Supportive Hero Chapter 2

Summary: When Izuku finally accepts that Bakugou is not his friend anymore, he ends up collapsing at home. He discovers that he has had a Quirk all along- the ability to bond with others and increase their Quirks. Izuku fully intends to become a hero still, now with a new Quirk by his side. A new school leads him to new friends and new bonds both Quirked and not, plus his mom finding a new husband has his family increasing and the support he needs keeps coming in.  

Look out world, here comes Decagon!

On AO3

Pairings: Aizawa Shouta/Midoriya Inko so far. Others TBA

Warnings: Bakugou Faces Consequences. Bakugou critical. But also he ends up getting redeemed like WAY later so… yeah.

Other Tags: Shinsou is Aizawa’s cousin/nephew, Queer Platonic relationships ahead, Izuku has a Quirk.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  The Quirk specialist called in wasn’t the one Dr. Aizawa wanted, but apparently that one was in America for a conference. Instead a tall blue haired woman had been called in.

  “Ah, hello. I am Doctor Yamanato Yuki.” she had introduced herself. Apparently her specialization in Quirks were sex based but she also had faimilarity with bonding Quirks.

  “Sex Quirks and Bonding Quirks actually are incredibly similar when you break it down,” she had explained to Izuku when the boy had asked in curisotsity. The woman had gone red when he had asked but she had managed to stutter it out. “Sex Quriks often affect other people, much like Bonding Quirks. They affect the same areas of the brain to stimulate the Quirk’s effects on the person. So I learned a lot about them both.”

  The testing was a bit boring. He and his mom sat in machines with weird stuff attached to them, and Eraserhead, which he had gotten more excited about after his brain fog cleared up, would activate his Quirk randomly so Dr. Yamanato would observe Izuku’s Quirk in use. He then sat in more machines to scan his head and body.

  When they were all done that, Dr. Yamanato also took some blood to test it.

 Meanwhile though, Izuku had to stay in the hospital. His body temperature registered still as below average, but rising up. Dr. Yamanato had more theories about that, but she wanted to check first.

  Izuku didn’t mind the hospital too much, it meant that he didn’t have to go back to Aldera which he knew would be filled with kids gossiping about him now. His mom told him he didn’t have to go back at all.

  “Your Quirk is very special honey, special enough that people would want it. Due to this, we can apply for a fund to move you to a better school where you will be safe.” Inko did not tell her son the risks of kidnapping him were incredibly high, and that he would be sent to the school Dr. Aizawa’s girlfriend’s son went to. Dr. Aizawa had told her a few quiet stories of how his girlfriend’s son had nearly been kidnapped multiple times for his mind control Quirk. She didn’t want to worry her son with that news.

  Izuku did know that Bakugou attempted to get to him a few times. He had heard Inko talking about it with the doctor and even a security guard. Apparently Bakugou had come back and tried to force his way into the pediatric ward. The nurses hadn’t let him and he had tried to make them only for them to not only call his parents but the cops.

  That had nurses gossiping all day, and Izuku had listened to a few talk about how awful he was and how they didn’t understand how a child could act like that.

  Izuku felt a little pleased at that. He shouldn’t be, he knew and felt guilty. However, little boys who were bullied and tormented for years do tend to get glee their abuser faced consequences for their actions or ended up mocked for their attitude.

  Or well, anyone would be.

  Izuku waited a week for more info, during which he got to know Eraserhead more and more. He apparently also taught at UA, Izuku felt so happy learning that he ended up asking way too many questions. Eraserhead didn’t mind though and answered what he could.

  “But what about your classes?” Izuku asked him a day after he being told, suddenly realizing it. “Shouldn’t you be teaching?”

  “Nah. I’m the home room teacher for the third year this year and I expelled most of them. I have about five kids in the class and they’re currently doing work studies. I barely see them.” Eraserhead had told him, which sparked a debate on why he expelled most of his students that even Inko weighed in on.

  “But if they were skilled enough-”

  “It doesn’t matter, I won’t let kids who have no potential go out to either get themselves killed or others killed.”

  “But couldn’t they learn?”

  “They go to Gen Ed when expelled from my class and I watch them. If they actually show ANY potential and want to do better I will let them back in but otherwise-”

  Izuku watched the back and forth of his mother and Eraserhead for a bit, head turning between them. Dr. Aizawa, who had walked in a few minutes before with Dr. Yamanato, also watched. His face looked amused though, confusing Izuku. More so when he told the little boy,

  “I think I will be seeing more of you even when you’re gone. I have never seen Shouta look so engaged before.”

  That was weird, Izuku thought as Dr. Yamanato caught his mom’s attention.

  “Oh! Doctor! Do we have more information?” Inko asked the female doctor who smiled kindly.

  “We do.” She got the other two to leave, leaving Izuku, Inko and Dr. Yamanato alone in the room. The doctor sat down in a chair with a clipboard on her lap that she read some notes off of as she spoke.

  “Your son’s Quirk from what we found is the ability to form bonds, we know this. He is able to increase a person’s Quirk. Most likely they can either use their Quirk for longer, can aake it stronger somehow or possibly even mutate it depending on what sort of Quirk he has.” the doctor explained. “The bond however, goes both ways. We got permission from the Bakugou family to do some tests on their son. From what we can tell, the bond between Izuku and Katsuki was only half of a bond. It was parasitic in nature. Katsuki would draw upon Izuku but Izuku received nothing back from him.”

  “Is that why he was so sickly for so long?” Inko asked.

  “Yes. Izuku’s Quirk worked overtime to support the bond with Katsuki and yourself.” Dr. Yamanato explained. “The bond between the two of you is incredibly healthy, but from the bit of the former bond we can find between Katsuki and Izuku it was entirely one sided and drew too much from Izuku. If it had been both ways, Katsuki most likely would have been even stronger and Izuku would have experienced minor side effects of the bond.”

  “Side effects,” Inko interrupted the doctor while Izuku reeled from all this information.

  He had a Quirk. He had a QUIRK. A really cool one! He could bond with people, make them stronger… suddenly his thoughts went to why he expressed happiness before, when he didn’t have to go to school. His stomach dropped like a stone.

  People would only want to be his friend because of it.

  “What sort of side effects?” Inko asked the doctor, unaware of her son’s slowly worsening mood.

  “Well from what we can tell from some of our physical tests, the bond with Katsuki did cause him to be sickly but the bond with you is altering his body a bit.” The doctor explained. That drew their attention, Izuku even pulled from his thoughts.

  “How so?” Inko asked, voice as calm as possible so she didn’t freak Izuku out.

  “He’s more…” the doctor looked thoughtful, trying to find the right word before huffing. “He’s much lighter than most boys his age. I believe it relates to your Quirk. Pulling small objects towards yourself- Izuku has made himself lighter. It may also play into why he does have a hard time keeping to a healthy weight.”

 “Is there anything I can do?” Inko worried, a hand going to rest on her son’s shoulder. Izuku himself felt nervous.

  “I’m no dietician. I would suggest swapping to a heavier diet for him and focus on muscle building rather than fat building, but that’s not my specialty.” Dr. Yamanato told Inko. “The broken bond between Izuku and Katsuki as well is what is causing him to be so cold as well.”

  “Bakugou has explosions as his Quirk, was he making me warm?” Izuku asked the doctor who shrugged in answer.

  “Possibly. Or it could simply be the shock from suddenly breaking a bond. It isn’t life threatening as you know but you will need warmer clothes from now on.” Dr. Yamanato told them. “Now, we did get a brain scan done and we think we see… the term I guess would be ports…” the doctor frowned and then shrugged, seemingly satisfied with her word choice. “Ports where more bonds could form. We counted ten. This number though is not a hundred percent accurate though, so be warned you might not be able to bond with ten or might be able to bond with more than ten.”

  “... Is there anything else? How do I bond with people? What sort of bonds? Are they all like family bonds?” Izuku asked. Dr. Yamanto blinked owlishly before she smiled at him.

  “Well, you’re eager to learn. From what we think happened with your mother and Katsuki, we think the bond had to be mutual with both of you wishing to be bonded.” Dr. Yamanato said. She used the clipboard she had on her lap to sketch out two stick figures with two arrows between them, going from one figure to another. “The bond requires mutual affection. Now, this affection can be good affection or… bad affection.”

  “Bad affection?” Izuku asked, his mind whirling.

  “Sometimes people like to pick on and be mean to others.” Dr. Yamanato explained. “This is cruel behaviour and bad affection. They do feel something for their victim but it isn’t affection such as your mother feels for you as her son.” She drew two more stick figures with two arrows between them, one broken. “However, once the bond is formed, then even if the person who is bonded to you breaks the bond, the bond continues until you break it yourself. At least, that is our theory.” Dr. Yamanato shrugged. “Quirk Science is half the time us screaming at one another and the other half threatening each other, I won’t lie.”

  “I read an article saying Quirk Science is twenty percent guessing, forty percent chance, thirty percent sheer luck and ten percent drinking.” Izuku said with a grin.

  Dr. Yamanato cackled.

  “You got it in one kid.” She handed Izuku the notes she had taken, and then handed Inko a card. “That is my number. Now, I would like to step outside with your mother to discuss adult things if that’s okay?”

  Izuku figured that meant it would be stuff his mom felt to scary for him but would tell him later if she felt it was needed. He agreed and the two women stepped out.

  Outside the room, Eraserhead waited for them.

  “Doctor, Mrs. Midoriya.” He greeted both of them.

  “Ah good Eraser, are you the assigned hero?” Dr. Yamanato asked him. He nodded as Inko blinked in confusion. “Perfect. Now, Mrs. Midoriya,” Dr. Yamanato turned to her. “You understand that due to the nature of your son’s Quirk you are being offered the help moving him to a new school?”

  “Ah, yes. Dr. Aizawa said that his girlfriend’s son goes there? His Quirk is something people might want?” Inko did not want to think about her son being kidnapped but it was a very really fear with his Quirk. If a villain got a hold of him and managed to bond with him… it could be disastrous.

  “Correct. Now- I’m going to be completely honest. As soon as we place this information into the system anyone with even the slightest ability to check out the database will see it.” Dr. Yamanato said bluntly. “Any Quirk that benefits anyone will be of interest. This means you will be harassed by pro heroes, government agents or researchers who want to use your son for their own gain.”

  “... what?” Inko asked shakily.

  “It’s common,” Eraserhead said honestly. “Any Quirk deemed useful gets looks and greed. The fact it’s a bonding Quirk that increases other Quirks…”

  “Frankly I would bet on Endeavour visiting at least. The man is a power hungry asshole,” Dr. Yamanato said, shrugging at their looks. “My wife has the ability to create children using any genetics from either parents.” The doctor glanced around and lowered her voice. “No one knows but she’s able to pick Quirks to.” That got startled looks from the other two. “She keeps it undocumented for her own safety. That gets out, she will be in dire risk. She managed to word her Quirk profile just right that she’s not lying either. However, Endeavour found out. I don’t know how and he forced her to give him a son with his and his wife’s Quirks.”

  “Oh god,” Inko said. Dr. Yamanato nodded.

  “Exactly. So be warned. I have some drafts of vague ways to word his Quirk description.” She handed said drafts to Inko and then bowed. “I must be off but take care of yourselves.” She lefts, leaving Inko and Aizawa.

  “This… this is going to be hard.” Inko said to herself, clutching the note tightly. She had been aware the reason the government would pay for her son to go a new school with better security was because his Quirk could be dangerous in the wrong hands. She had heard of some of the kids who went there during her research of the school. Kids with healing Quirks that could heal almost any wound, kids who could copy other Quirks, kids with Quirks that released deadly gasses… and now her son would need to go to it because of the risk of a villain bonding with him…

  “You’ll be fine.” Eraserhead said. He reached out to awkwardly pat her arm. “I’ll be here to help out for a bit if needed and I’ll make random visits until they decide the risk is over. I’ll help protect him.”

  Inko smiled at the man, relief flooding through her. She would not be alone. She didn’t have to do this by herself. Not anymore. Even if it only lasted a little while, she had someone with her.

  She could do it.

 -0-

  “The power of the blasts lowered by 200% after the bond broke,” casually remarked Dr. Yamanato as she looked over the results of the youngest Bakugou.

  “What?!?” Katsuki screeched and Dr. Yamanato ignored him, facing his parents.

  “It looks like the bonding Quirk was very effective in boosting his Quirk. Thank you for letting me use his Quirk as a way to calculate how much Midoriya’s Quirk could boost another.”

  “Of course,” Mitsuki said woodenly as she stared at her furious son. Masaru remained silent, staring at him as well. Dr. Yamanato, sensing that they needed to talk, quietly left.

  “This isn’t fucking fair! It’s bullshit-“ Katsuki ranted right before his father spoke, cutting him off.

  “Katsuki it is fair. From the sounds of it your actions were deplorable.” Masaru wondered where they had gone wrong. How their prideful son had become so arrogant.

  “I am disgusted with you,” Mitsuki said bluntly. Katsuki flinched. Usually his mother would scream that, rage it. But instead she just said it softly, calmly. “I never thought I’d raise a thug like my own father. I’d hoped for better then that.”

  “I’m no thug! I’m going to be a hero!” Katsuki roared.

  “Not with your current attitude, and it looks like you’re back to square one.” His father said, motioning to how his son’s hands were slightly sparking but only creating small crackles and not the usually soft booms when he lost his temper. “Your actions have consequences Katsuki. We thought the school here would give you them but from our conversation with them, they aren’t.” The two adults traded looks.

  They had spoken to the school and found that the entire system was rotten. They praised Katsuki and promised to ‘convince Izu-kun to get over himself and bond again’ stating their son’s skill and power meant he would be a hero. They were horrified at the way the school talked about Izuku like a thing their son could use, not even a person.

  “You won’t be going back there.” Mitsuki said.

  “What?!?” Katsuki yelled. “But it’s perfect for my-“

  “Your hero origin story?!?” Mitsuki snapped. “That utter fucking bullshit you seem to adore sprouting? Here’s the thing Katsuki, you DO NOT have that sort of origin story. You’re talking about an underdog story. Newsflash, you’re not!”

  “Your mother and I make good money, you have good health, you only go to that school because we thought you wanted to be with who we thought was your friend,” Masaru began listing. “We paid for the best Quirk Counselors we could, we always made sure you were healthy and happy, and again, we have money.”

  “You’re no underdog. You’re the bully in a hero story, the privileged asshole the underdog takes down.” Mitsuki said cruelly. She would feel terrible later, but right then she didn’t care. “I’d say Izuku went through his origin story while at that school, not you.”

  “You will not be going back there, and…” Masaru hesitated. Katsuki already was being punished. He would lose his hero origin story fantasy, he had lost a lot of the power of his Quirk. He would have to make friends in a new school, a school Mitsuki picked out dust to them being very stern on bullying.

  What else could they punish him with? Taking away his Quirk gym privileges seemed to cruel after he would need to build his Quirk up again. Taking away his video games didn’t seem enough.

  “You won’t be going to Hero Con for the next two years.” Mitsuki said. Every year they would take him to see all the merch, year all about heroes and just have fun. Izuku always went with them to. They would still offer the tickets as always to Izuku on his birthday but wouldn’t go or go with Katsuki.

  A fitting punishment in her eyes. Katsuki loved Hero Con but the event occurred once a year and wouldn’t affect him to greatly on top of everything else he went through.

  “WHAT?!? AREN’T I BEING PUNISHED ENOUGH?!” Katsuki screamed.

  “For years of bullying and tormenting? No.” Mitsuki told him. “My father is in jail for his actions. I don’t want to see my son follow his footsteps.”

  That quieted Katsuki and the adults took their son home hoping he was thinking and reflecting on his actions. They find that’s much hope though.

  For Katsuki he was plotting. Okay, fine he wouldn’t go to Aldera anymore. But the nerd still lived around him and went to the park. Fingers and Wings also would still go to Aldera. He’d have access to Deku again, he would force  him to rebond with him.

  He would be a hero, and nothing would change that. He refused to let his origin story die like that. He wouldn’t!

  Hearing his parents talk about visiting the Midoriyas to make him apologize he changed his plan. Apologize and then rebond with the nerd. Deku could never stay away from him, the fact he had gotten so upset would easily be brushed off as Katsuki going to far only once. It would all end up fine!

   He would apologize and things would go back to normal. Deku would tell them to let him stay at Aldera. He would get his hero origin back, be the next great hero. With Deku along he guessed but the freak could be a sidekick in his agency he supposed. Providing him with strength on top of his own greatness to beat All Might and be the next number one!

  Heading to the stupid nerd’s house, he plotted how it would go. An apology, then Deku forgiving him. Deku would offer to rebond, after apologizing himself for being an asshole and breaking the bond, risking his future.

  They walked up to the apartment, and Katsuki sneered as his mother grabbed his shoulder.

  “We’re going to say sorry and then leave.” she told him bluntly. “Nothing else.”

  “Or your punishment will be worse,” Masaru promised his son, causing Katsuki to stare at him in shock for the dark tone. He had never heard his father use that before.

  Mitsuki rang the bell and waited. Inko opened the door, face blank.

  Katsuki felt some regret seeing Inko. He once called her Auntie Inko and she would bake cookies and give him and Deku treats. He used to like her a lot more then his own mom until his parents sat him down and explained why they didn’t speak to their parents, why he didn’t have grandparents like other kids did.

  Learning how fucked up his parents’ childhoods were had him appreciating them way more as a nine-year-old. And made him think they were the most badass parents ever. His dad taking down his villain dad by walking right into a freaking police station? His mom stealing all the valuables in the house and running? Epic.

  Stand there, looking at Auntie Inko and feeling those feelings again though made him feel small. Bad. Dirty.

  He ignored it. Deku was a fucking weakling who wouldn’t get far in the future, no matter his Quirk. It was just a bonding Quirk after all. Katsuki would be the future number one hero. Deku was lucky to be part of his story.

  “Yes?” Inko asked the Bakugou family.

  “We would like to apologize to Izuku.” Mitsuki said, bluntly. Inko simply watched them a bit longer.

  “We were just released today, we asked that the results from the tests Dr. Yamanato had done would be give to you after we left.” Inko said after a moment.

  Katsuki didn’t move. He’d figured that the fucking hospital had been working against him, after he had gotten the police called on him for trying to see Deku earlier. He had been so angry then, he wanted Deku to take back his lies, or what he had thought were lies.

  It took him using his Quirk over and over again to figure out the truth. Deku had increased his Quirk strength. By a lot.

  He was still awesome, he wasn’t back to square one like his dad said. However he couldn’t do the same amount of damage as he could before. It infuriated him and he needed Deku to rebond with him.

  “We’re aware but we want to apologize to him.” Masaru explained. Inko looked them over for a bit longer before she sighed.

  “Wait here-” she began but a dark haired man appeared, looking tired.

  “I’ll ask him. If he doesn’t want to meet you, would you be okay sending an apology letter?” the man asked.

  “Of course,” Masaru said, bowing his head.

  Katsuki knew Deku would come to the door. He never could stay away from Bakugou.

  The man came back, and shook his head.

  “He said an apology letter would work best for now,” the man began but Katsuki stopped paying attention.

  What? The nerd refused to see him?!

  “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Katsuki screamed. “I’m fucking apologizig and the little shit won’t fucking-” his hands crackled with energy and he yanked himself from his mother’s grasp to step forward when his hands went cold and a scarf wrapped around him, holding him there.

  “Do not take another step.” said the man coldly. His eyes had turned from dark brown to red, and his hair floated above his head, the scarf he had been wearing wrapped around Katsuki. “I’m the pro-hero Eraserhead, assigned to watch over the Midoriya family. Your actions of trying to force yourself into situations is not welcome here.”

  Mitsuki grabbed her son, yanking him back.

  “We’re sorry for his actions,” she bowed, forcing Katsuki to do so as well before she pulled him away from the apartment as Masaru spoke to Inko for longer. Mitsuki dragged her son to the stairwell, the boy in shock from losing his Quirk so suddenly still. “I cannot fucking beleive you!” she snapped. “That was the most disrespectful fucking thing I have seen yet from you, and apparently I haven’t seen everything.” she glared at her son, anger burning deep in her eyes.

  “Deku-” Katsuki tried but Mitsuki glared at him, silencing him.

  “Not another damn word.”

  Mitsuki dragged her son down the stairs and to the car, unaware that part of his world view was shattering.

  Deku… Deku didn’t want to see him. Deku refused to. Deku wanted a damn letter and not him in person.

  Katsuki bared his teeth. Fuck that. Deku would understand where he belonged- under his feet, providing him with power for his future career.

  He would make Deku rebond with him, and he would not take no for an answer!!

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You know, it occurred to me as I wrote this that Bakugou might claim that Izuku did not help him at all and the bond was completely fake. I tossed the idea around a bit but decided to leave it as Bakugou wanting Izuku to rebond with him. I felt that while Bakugou is a narcissistic egotistical brat, he also most likely would want the bond with Izuku to be more powerful. The punishment from his parents is something I feel makes sense. 1- the school was a large part in why Bakugou is the way he is. I mean, he was always a little shit as we can tell from flashbacks where BEFORE Izuku was declared Quirkless. The Deku name came before, Izuku was picked on by Bakugou before and more. However, the school did not help by praising him and saying he was going to be great. As well, excusing his actions against Izuku was bad. 2- Removing Bakugou from the school also robbed him of his ‘hero origin’ which you know was FAKE AS FUCK because Bakugou is not an underdog. Rising from a bad school only works if you’re also from a lower income and Bakugou really isn’t. 3- I don’t believe in punishments that are like: we take away everything you love and enjoy. It does nothing and is actually damaging. As well, as Mitsuki and Masaru come from bad families they also worry about being to harsh. So, change his school and also restrict him from Hero Con for a few years. A good punishment-more so since he will be sent to a strict school where his bullying behaviour is not allowed. Other notes: -I have six bonds including Inko for Izuku planned. Suggestions welcome but might not be listened to. -Dr. Yamanato is a character from another fic- my Omega Quirk one. I didn’t want to make another Quirk specialist character so I just reused her. Honestly I’ll probably keep reusing her because hey- ready made Quirk specialist here. -The Endeavour thing is more of a warning to Inko then a real plot point. If Aizawa follows it up I doubt I’ll focus to much on it. -Izuku’s low body temperature and light weight will be brought up often. This is solely to combat the trope where a medical condition is only brought up for plot. It won’t here. -This actually isn’t the full of Izuku’s Quirk. That will take way more time, effort and experimentation to figure out. -The reason Bakugou got such a big part of this chapter was for future plotting reasons. I don’t like… actually plot ahead much. I usually know the gist of what I want, and one thing I do know is Bakugou is a minor antagonist for a portion of this fic. Then he gets his redemption. As well, this chapter is more: Here is Izuku’s Quirk mixed with some plot so it’s not to info dumpy? -Inko is able to pull bigger objects now, she just has never tried because she doesn’t need to pull larger objects. -Japanese culture puts a lot of stock in apologizing and harmony. (Makes me wonder why Bakugou would be allowed to run around like that so much…) Hence why the Bakugou parents insisted on apologizing. (Oddly enough this makes me realize even more the ‘our son’s fault for being kidnapped’ thing is really a mistranslation/cultural thing where it isn’t meant like that at all based on my research) -I was told I use a lot of passive verbs so I tried not to here.

[jann-the-bean]

Mocha

Let me introduce my oc! Say hello to my precious little Mocha! Below you will see her design (reference??) I created! She was inspired by a role play @help-im-a-gay-fish and I did.

About Mocha: She is a mix between a dog and rabbit monster. Mocha was born and raised in the outskirts but attended school that was in the heart of the city. As a result she was often bullied and was outcasted because she wasn’t a “true” city girl. Initially the bullying did affect her so as a result she mostly kept to herself. Eventually she gained confidence as the years went by thanks to her parents and friends she made along the way. Gradually she stopped caring what others thought of her.

Under the cut is more information about her such as her backstory, likes, dislikes, and just random facts!

She is strong-spirited and very few things truly get under her skin. Similar to Ccino, she had to learn self defense techniques to protect herself from muggers (and creeps). She’s well-liked by most and is easy to get along with. She isn’t afraid to voice her opinions and will stick up for what she believes in. She’s loyal to her friends and family. Mocha isn’t afraid to get into a physical altercation if needed to prove a point. However, she does have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Can be quick to judge which often times causes problems, where she then later has to go back and resolve. That’s if she’s not too prideful to admit she was wrong.

She is strong-spirited and very few things truly get under her skin. Similar to Ccino, she had to learn self defense techniques to protect herself from muggers (and creeps). She’s well-liked by most and is easy to get along with. She isn’t afraid to voice her opinions and will stick up for what she believes in. She’s loyal to her friends and family. Mocha isn’t afraid to get into a physical altercation if needed to prove a point. However, she does have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Can be quick to judge which often times causes problems, where she then later has to go back and resolve. That’s if she’s not too prideful to admit she was wrong.

Personality: Hardworking, honest, cheerful, reliable, resourceful, dedicated, impulsive, know-it-all, critical

Pet peeves: People who don’t clean up after themselves. Anyone that walks slower than her. Killer.

Hobbies: She likes to sing in her spare time, but she will never admit to it. Often times if you hear someone humming or quietly singing at the coffee shop 9/10 It’s most likely Mocha. She doesn’t realize she’s doing this until someone points it out.

She loves to go visit waterfalls, lakes, beaches, anything with touristic water locations. She finds these areas to be relaxing (when not bustling with annoying tourists) and just likes to be surrounded by nature.

Likes: She enjoys making coffee just as much as she likes drinking it. She’s wouldn’t classify herself as a coffee addict. She does like to drink 2-3 cups of coffee in a day if not more, but she would never really admit it. Sweets, mocha has a major sweet tooth and will hardly refuse any gift in the form of pastries, candy, or that is just sweet in general.

She does have a crush on Ccino, which initially was just a simple liking to him because she thought he was cute and overall nice guy. Mocha was rather surprised when she found out that Ccino was dating two celebrities, and was further surprised to find out that it was Killer and Nightmare. She wasn’t bothered that it was a poly relationship. No, she disliked the fact that someone as innocent, sweet, charming, and a caring skeleton like Ccino could end up with a cold, unaffectionate, distant celebrity (Nightmare) and a vulgar, perverted, shameless celebrity (Killer). The more she thought about it the more she realized (thought) that she was a better match for Ccino.

There have been times that her crush has caused problems between the trio, but not because she does this intentionally. Half of the time she doesn’t realize that she’d caused any problems until later which she does regret. Even if she doesn’t like Nightmare or Killer she would never try to purposely separate them. Because she can see how happy he is around them and how lovingly he talks about them. She’d prefer him to be happy and she prefers to keep her feelings hidden from Ccino.

Eventually she does warm up to the two (Nightmare and Killer) and eventually does end up as an ally, helping them in anyway she can. She defends them out in public, and would help keep an eye on Ccino when they’re away for an extended period of time.

Dislikes: “Fake people” such as those who pretend to be your friend just because it benefits them. “Karens” She does not take any crap from them or rude customers in general and she will argue with them. For example if they try to scam their way for a free refill Mocha will call them out. Of course, she has gotten in trouble for arguing with the customers but the owner/ managers are rather thankful for her bluntness. Mocha has threatened to fight customer several times outside of work. Yes, Ccino has had to hold her back a few times. She hates creeps and absolutely despises it when someone continuously hits on her after she’s clearly rejected them.

Hates: Celebrities/ Businessmen or businesswomen. This hate stems from a negative experience she had when she was in a, what she thought, was a serious relationship. She dated someone who was a simple supervisor, of a well known business in the city, who ensured his employees were being productive. Later her (ex) boyfriend managed to become CEO of the company. Her ex prioritized the business over their relationship and became increasingly distant as the months passed. He was hardly at his apartment flat, and she would hardly ever be able contact him. Unfortunately the relationship ended with him essentially ghosting her. She believes that anyone in a similar position is/ will eventually end up like her, suffering in a loveless relationship.

She hates being called floppy/ floppy ears. People would often make fun of her ears because they droop. She has no control over that and it’s a condition she was born with. She also hates being called “patches” she thinks it’s a derogatory term because of her multicolored ‘fur.’

Fun fact: Ccino and Mocha will spar on occasions to help each other with their self defense skills. Most of the time they will go to Mocha’s flat because it’s difficult to train with Ccino’s kittens. Killer tags along to support his boyfriend, but killer gets carried away and ends up having a little too much fun with Ccino when mocha becomes distracted/ busy.

She does have a spray bottle she uses on Killer if he gets a little too excited (this only started after she got more comfortable around Killer).

•

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Mocha’s design was created by me!

I will also credit @help-im-a-gay-fish because Mocha was created during our RP and gayfish came up with several headcanons that I loved

Studioverse was created by @zu-is-here

Since Mocha kinda exists in studioverse

Ccino belongs to @black-nyanko

Killer (mentioned) belongs to @rahofy-sketch

Nightmare (mentioned) belongs to @jokublog

Feel free to ask questions about her! I will try to answer to the best of my ability!

[redbeardace]

Get Out Of It

[This is a submission for the August 2020 Carnival of Aces, and has been cross-posted from Pillowfort.]

When I first saw the topic of what I hope to get out of the ace community, I sort of brushed it off.  I, personally, don't want to get anything out of the community.  I've already gotten what I came for.  There isn't really anything else left for me to get out of it.

But then I re-read the prompt and realized that the think I want most from the ace community is to get out of it.

I don't mean that I'm leaving.

I don't mean that I'm trapped and looking for an escape.

What I mean is that I'd like to see things progress to a point where I can say "Looks like you all have this covered", and feel like I can step away and not leave a hole.

I recognize how self-important and arrogant that sounds, but that's not how I mean it.  I mean that right now, there are so few ace activists that every last one of us is of critical importance, and when any of us leave, it's an immeasurable loss.

I think about all the voices who've disappeared or faded over my time here.  I think about how much more we could have accomplished had they still been around, had our ranks been building and growing, instead of facing slow, inevitable attrition.

One of the subprompts for this Carnival is "What are new activists doing that you think is working or not working?"  To that, I ask, "What new activists?"  Wherever I look, the people I see doing things, the prominent voices  --  they've all been doing the same thing for years now.   Where are the new people putting their stamp on the community?

I see energy and innovation and new people taking the helm to explore the uncharted waters of the aro world, but virtual stagnation on the ace side.

But at the same time, the asexual community is thriving as it never has before.  Meetup groups are on the rise, almost every social media platform has an ace presence, people know our flag.  It doesn't feel like we're invisible anymore.  The main reason I got into ace activism is because I didn't want anyone else to have to wait until they were 31 to discover that they're asexual.  It sort of feels like that's been accomplished.  It seems like pretty much everyone's going to hear about it by the end of high school now.

In a way, that makes ace activism obsolete.  For years, the primary drive has been visibility.  Shouting "WE EXIST!" as loud as we can until someone hears us.

Okay.  They've heard us. What now?

Um...  How about fighting singlism, pushing for better mental and physical healthcare, tearing down compulsory sexuality, inclusion in anti-discrimination policies, more and better media representation, sociological research that's not mind-numbingly out of touch and doesn't involve strapping electrodes to genitals, normalizing different models of relationships, building community locally and regionally and nationally, getting rid of the scare quotes in the DSM (getting rid of HSDD and the "I" in SI/AD from the DSM...?  getting rid of the DSM...?), more and stronger advocacy groups and closer ties/direct involvement with general queer groups, reaching all the people who are long past high school and feel lost and broken and confused because they haven't heard of asexuality yet, and that's just the beginning.

Ace activism isn't obsolete, it's just at an inflection point.  We're far from done.

We need to promote these sorts of things as the entrypoint to ace activism, not what you do when you get jaded and burned out after you've made your twenty-seventh Ace 101 infographic.  We need to refocus the collective concept of what ace activism means to start driving these things forward.

We need more organized teams doing things and more communication between these teams.   And by that, I don't just mean that we have projects with more than one person involved, I mean that the team is intentional and roles are filled by people who can do the work.  Pull in a graphic designer to do the graphic design, get someone who works in the healthcare field to help navigate that world, get a PR person to be the face of the project.

We need to identify what's standing in the way of success and work on tackling those problems.  Can you change the world, but need $500 to get you started?  Great, let's get that money for you.  Do you have a great idea but absolutely no social skills to inspire people to make it happen?  Great, here's a project manager who'll handle the people for you.

We need to encourage people to get involved, because nothing will happen without them.  We need to encourage people to try, because nothing will happen if we don't give it a shot.

Some of you are already doing this work and have been for years.  But we need more people doing it.  We need new people doing it.  Bottom line, we need more people doing more things.  And I have no idea how to make that happen.

And until then, I'm stuck here.

[hanamakkiss]

One Dumb Deed Deserves Another

Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

Summary: Five times Iwaizumi and you meet.

Word count: 4k+

A/n: this took so long... but I quite like it! Pretty much just fluff and shenanigans. As u can tell I’m in love with him.

Your first meeting was nothing short of disastrous, Iwaizumi fondly recalls.

His peaceful morning walk through the park to campus was shattered by one very loud, very directed at him shouting.

“HEY! HEY YOU!!! THE GUY IN THE DENIM JACKET!!!! HOLD ON A SEC!” a high-pitched yet commanding voice echoes through the practically empty park, clueing him in that it was probably him you were referring to.

He pauses to look skyward, making a silent prayer for the strength to make it through the day, before turning around. He’s met with a red-faced young woman who was currently struggling to catch up to him.

You stopped a few feet in front of him, hands on your knees, panting, and he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Hi,” you look up, unabashedly grinning, and he finds you have a surprisingly sweet voice when not shouting. He quirks a brow, inquiring.

“Yea so, uh, I'm a photographer," you hold up the camera around your neck, "student, actually, and uh, I just took a photo of you? I mean, I did, cause your back looked really nice with the surrounding trees and sky, especially when you were staring at something, a bird maybe? And with a little colour editing the image would really pop, so the photo turned out really nice," you smiled shyly, looking at the photo in question (presumably).

“O...kay?” he’s not sure how to respond.

“Do you want to see it?” your smile is infectious.

His lips quirk up as he steps closer to you, peering over your arm (it really was a cool photo), “But you’re telling me all this why...?”

“Oh! Right. So, uh, I wanted to know if you would be okay with me using your photo in an assignment? I understand if you want to say no, but that would be such a pity, cause you look so cool here, and if no one else got to see it it would be a tragedy. But it’s up to you really! I could just keep it in my files maybe? If you would allow me!” your face has steadily gotten redder with every word that tumbled out of your mouth, and at the end of your spiel you were looking absolutely mortified, using your camera to hide your face.

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine, you can use it,” he latches on to your shoulders hoping to keep you grounded as you looked on the verge of hyperventilating, “Are you alright?”

“Yea! Yea, I’m fine, I just didn’t expect you to be so,” he tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing, “hot,” you squeaked out.

At your response Iwaizumi's face burns up. He knew people generally found him attractive, but to have it so bluntly said to his face, was not exactly something he was used to. Especially when said with such sincerity.

His hands immediately retract.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess? Uh, I’ll be seeing you then, good luck with your assignment.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes!” you gave him a low bow, nearly slamming into his chest in the process. Standing back up equally as suddenly, you rushed to introduce yourself, face still the shade of ruby.

He can’t help but chuckle, “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he offers.

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off by an alarm that blares from your bag. As you scramble to shut it off, your eyes bulge. “Shit! I’m gonna be late! Sorry! I need to go now!” You shoot him an apologetic smile before sprinting.

“Thank you again! I’ll treat you someday!” he sees you wave from afar.

Iwaizumi is just left in your dust, amused and wondering how would you, considering he never even gave you his number.

Your second meeting was pure coincidence.

He was in line at the campus cafe, when the short person in front sneezed so hard they fell backwards into him.

Oof. His hands reached out instinctively to catch them.

“Hey, you alright?” he peers down into their face-

“I’m so sorry!” they tilt up-

and the two heads collide.

He grunts, rubbing his chin where it hurt. The hood falls off their head.

“It’s you.” he could almost laugh at the comedic timing, of course it’s you.

You look up, hands still covering your forehead, and exclaim excitedly, “Iwaizumi! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, ruffling your (already mussed up) hair, “I’m good, how did your assignment go?”

“It went great! My tutor only had constructive criticism for it. Speaking about that, let me buy you a drink,” you attempt to tame the mess he created, “as thanks,” you grin.

Any refusal on his part was washed away by your insistence, leaving the two of you on the side waiting for your morning brews.

“By the way, is it okay if I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“Ever since that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, shyly, (he tenses, vaguely aware of where this might go) “and I was wondering if you would maybe, you know, if you’re free, would you be willing to” you took a deep breath, “be my model?” your eyes were practically sparkling.

Iwaizumi feels light-headed. It's amazing how every other sentence from you gives me whiplash, he thinks, it must be a skill. He mentally heaves a relieved sigh, happy that he didn’t need to reject another date offer.

His silence causes you to fidget, looking away, “Uh, it’s really okay if you don’t want to, I just thought you would be a good fit for my next project, and you seemed like a nice guy, so I thought it would be worth a shot, and I could always-”

"No, no, I’d be glad to help you out," he finds he prefers you when your eyes have a shine to them, and it’s not like he had too much on his plate at the moment.

The smile you show him is infectious, and he really can’t stop his features from mirroring your own.

You actually remember to exchange numbers this time, promising to text him about the specifics of the photoshoot soon before (once again) rushing off for class.

As he’s walking, iced coffee in hand, he mulls over the fact that he’s entirely comfortable around you, despite barely even knowing you.

Your third meeting was certainly a colourful experience.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

On the mentioned day, Iwaizumi finds himself sighing when Hanamaki ushers a mousy looking you into the gymnasium.

“Found this one outside muttering “Iwaizumi” in a panic,” he gives a good natured laugh, “figured she could use some help.”

“Thank you so much! There’s way too many people here, I thought this was just a practice match…” you trailed off.

Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare, “It is, and it’s all because of a specific bastard,” he jabs a finger in the direction of Oikawa, who was currently surrounded by girls.

You take a quick photo, “And who is he? Seems popular,” you inspect the photo.

“Oh? You’ve never heard of Oikawa Tooru? College superstar?” Hanamaki leans in towards you, smirk in place.

Seeing you shrink back, Iwaizumi instinctively moves closer. Makkis eyebrows lift.

“Oh! I’ve heard that name before! My friends talk about him sometimes! This is my first time seeing him though,” you happily snap another shot, “they’ll like these.”

He watches you review the photos when Matsukawa appears next to Makki, “Who’s this?”

“Oh right, let me introduce you guys,” and he calls over the rest of the team for a round of introductions, ending with Oikawa, who waves at you from across the court before calling everyone to start warm-up.

Throughout the game you stay near the sideline, careful to keep away from the ball’s trajectory (you can’t afford another camera), snapping as many impactful shots as you could. You managed to get a few good shots of everyone, and some satisfactory shots of Iwaizumi.

It comes to a close with him scoring the winning spike and you rush to get every possible second of it. As you watch the team celebrate the point through the lens he suddenly looks straight at you, and flashes you the biggest grin you’ve ever seen him sport.

And it’s like the world goes silent and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The only saving grace you have is your fingers instinctively pressing the trigger, cementing this moment in time.

You’re shocked out of your reverie by the shutter clicking and you hurriedly smile and flash him a thumbs up, hoping the warmth of your cheeks was unnoticeable from the distance.

As soon as he’s done with the after match meeting he rushes over to you, followed by a couple of teammates who were interested in the photos.

“You alright?”

“More than alright! This was my first time watching volleyball and so close to boot! You were amazing! Spectacular! Especially that last point! I got some good shots of it! Wanna see?”

In your excited rambling you failed to notice the faint pinkness of his face, thrusting your camera towards him.

Soon a little group had gathered around you, jostling to get a better view of the shots you took. Scrolling through one by one each shot was met by rambunctious comments as they marvel at how they match looked through a camera. Nearing the end of your roll, Matsukawa makes a comment.

“Why are so many of these photos of Iwaizumi though?” his eyes hold a teasing glint that looks out of place with his mouth still in a fine line. (You choose to ignore the concealed assumption for the sake of your heart.)

Your mouth forms an O, looking straight at the person in question, “Did you not tell them?”

He avoids your gaze, “I didn’t, only said that you were our photographer for this match,” he scratches his neck.

You let out a mirthful laugh at his embarrassment, eyes twinkling, “To answer, the only reason I’m being your photographer is cause Iwaizumi agreed to be my model for school, and I’m doing it as thanks,”

"If you need a model, wouldn't someone like me be better?" Oikawa flashes you a cheeky smile.

You cock your head, appraising Oikawa. He preens under your stare.

"It wouldn't work for this project,” shaking your head slightly, “you know your own attractiveness, and have made it a part of your identity. On the other hand, Iwaizumi has confidence that solely stems from other aspects of his life, this causes him to radiate a kind of rugged charm that just pulls people to him. Like some kind of reliable pillar, it makes you want to depend on him. That kind of energy was exactly what I was looking for!" you beam.

The boys blink, clearly surprised at your answer. Oikawa is the first to break the silence, laughing.

"Wow, Iwa! I didn't know you had such amazing energy! Wonder if you would share any of that with me someday!" he pats him on the back harder than necessary. Iwaizumis’ face burns as he glares at his best friend, daring him to say another word.

At Iwaizumi's less than stellar response, you start to worry you’ve said something wrong, "Oh, uh, I didn't mean to imply you weren't attractive! In fact I think you're probably one of the most attractive people I know, uh and I didn't mean to call you a pillar! It's just a phrase!" you slap a hand across your mouth, eyes going wide. A pillar? Seriously? God, could this get any worse?

“Let me walk you out,” Iwaizumi grits out as his friends laugh.

Newsflash, it can.

You withdrew into yourself, resigned to just let him push you out. The walk to the gym entrance is silent.

Just as you were about to split, he speaks.

“Sorry...about them,”

You look back, surprised. “Uh…?”

Eloquence.

He gives you an embarrassed smile, “They can be a bit much, but they mean no harm.”

Oh. It still takes you a second to realise that his earlier irritation was not directed at you, and you mentally sigh in relief. “It’s cool, they were nice,” you smile.

“You looked really uncomfortable in there,”

“Ah,” you rub your neck. “I’m just... not the best around big groups,”

“Ah.”

The two of you shift awkwardly.

“I’ll be going now,” you make to leave, “Thanks again,”

“No problem.” He laughs, ”Think you gave me too much praise back there,”

“Nah, just cause you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there,”

The huge smile that accompanied your words causes his heart to skip a beat.

“See you around,” you give a little wave.

“Uh-yea, see ya.”

He watches you walk away, heart threatening to jump right out his chest. Before he can even begin to contemplate what just happened, an all too annoying voice interrupts him.

“You’re into her.”

“Am not.” He huffs toward the brunet.

Oikawa just laughs, “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s into you too.”

“Keep talking and I’ll kick your ass.”

The taller boy skirts away, giggling. He doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks pink.

Your fourth meeting was Iwaizumi’s’ prayers answered.

After the match, the two of you don’t cross paths much, opting instead for online communication.

Due to both of you being terrible texters, the text conversation never goes too in-depth. Mostly keeping to studies, interests and random topics. It’s only when one of you calls the other, that the conversation intensifies, lasting several hours.

After one such call, Oikawa groans from the doorway. Iwaizumi instantly springs up from his bed.

“Why don’t the two of you get together already,” he drags out the last word.

“Why are you in my room.”

“It’s 1am, you’re messing up my beauty sleep.”

“You were eavesdropping,” he squints, tone accusing.

“The walls are thin! It’s hard not to,” Oikawa defends himself, “besides, you laugh like a goddamn horse.”

At Iwaizumi’s glare, he backtracks, hands raised defensively, “I’m kidding! Kidding! Goodnight Iwa,”

“Close the damn door!”

He sighs, finally alone and wonders how is he going to ask you out for a meal. (Just to hang out, definitely not a date)

When you text him again.

Damn, this is as close as he’ll come to believing in higher power.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next week, he rushes down to the gallery after his evening class. He makes it with half an hour to spare.

Looking around, he quickly spots some familiar portraits and makes his way over. He sees you engaged in conversation, and he likes to think that the way your face lit up upon eye contact has something to do with him.

You cut the conversation and step towards him.

“You made it!”

He lets out a chuckle, “Course I would, sorry I’m late, class got dragged,”

“No, no, glad you’re even here,” you wave your hand flippantly, drawing his eyes to the rest of your body, where you had worn a simple cocktail dress that fit you well.

He takes in a sharp breath, “You look great,” slips out.

“Oh, um, thank you, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” your smile takes on a bashful shade and he looks around at the other patrons, grimacing.

“Bullshit, I didn’t know it was such a formal event, otherwise I would have dressed better,”

Your eyes quickly scanned his outfit, dark wash jeans paired with a white tee and bomber jacket, “You look fine,” leaning in, you stage-whisper, “If you ask me, you look a lot more put together than most of the people I’ve seen today.”

“Earlier on someone even came in piss-drunk,” you laugh.

“No way, midday?”

“Yes! Security had to escort them out, total mess. It was entertaining though,” you gently guide him towards your portion of the exhibition.

5 portraits titled Magnetism hung neatly on a wall. Two of them of him, he notes.

“It’s just a student exhibition, so it’s not much,” you explain, chuckling.

He frowns, “Don’t downplay your skills, you worked hard and got selected right? That counts for something,”

Your face goes slack for a moment before morphing into a soft smile, “Thank you, I do have a bad habit of that.”

He feels a warmth creep up his neck, shitshitshit, that’s not good for my heart, quick-

“So what’s the inspiration behind your portraits?” He shifts his attention towards the exhibition (ie. away from your warm eyes)

This easily distracts you and you go into an excited monologue about your motivations and what you were trying to convey through the atmosphere, lighting and editing. He only manages to keep up with half of it (it has nothing to do with how cute you looked animatedly waving your hands around).

You move on to explain each photo and how they embodied a different aspect of Magnetism that you wanted to convey to the viewer, ending with the photo you took of him the day you met.

“Fun fact: this is my second favourite photo of you,” you grin cheekily.

He plays along, “Why so?”

“Caaaaause it led to us meeting!” Your playful demeanour shoots an arrow straight to his heart.

Now grinning, he continues the banter, “And is the other photo your favourite?”

“Nope! That’s the third, because it shows everyone’s trust in you,”

He’s a little intrigued now, “Then which is the first?”

“Thaaaat’s a secret!” You wink, cheeks flushed.

Andddddd there goes his heart.

He’s forced to come to terms with the fact that his infatuation with you has turned into a full blown, rock to the face, crush. And all in the span of a second.

He flushes, “Well, maybe another day then,” and turns back to the photos.

“None of these people are facing the camera. Why is that,”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all day!” And you go into another spiel. He realises just how much he enjoys listening to you speak about your passions.

Soon the curator announces the closing of the gallery and the two of you make your way out. You make an offhand remark about still needing to cook. He immediately suggests grabbing a bite together and you are just as quick to agree.

After enjoying a wonderful dinner at a local restaurant, you stop him just as he tries to get away with paying the bill.

“Hey! I’ll pay half, let me see the receipt,” you reach for the check, only to have it pulled out of your grasp.

“Nah, my treat,” he continues to wave the check out of your reach. This goes on for a little while before you cry out in annoyance.

“Oh come on, you don’t have to, this isn’t a date or anything,” and he freezes at your words.

He’s caught off guard by how much he wishes it was, if only the little words would dislodge themselves from his throat and let him ask you out.

With him distracted you lunge for the check and succeed, happily scanning through and making calculations. Once done you hand it back to him and promptly transfer the money.

You leave the restaurant in high spirits while Iwaizumi feels kind of feels defeated. He still offers to walk you back to your dorm, which you agree to after minimal convincing.

The walk back is filled with conversation that flows naturally between the two of you, making up for your horrendous texting game. It’s something he finds he doesn’t mind, as long as he knows you actually like talking to him, he’s fine with waiting hours for a reply.

“So, this is me,” you come to a stop in front of an old building. It’s not far from his apartment, he makes a mental note.

“This is you,” he cringes inwardly.

Thankfully, you just laugh, “Thanks for coming to the exhibition and spending time with me, I really enjoyed that…uh...”

His lips turn up, teasing, “Not-date?”

You flush, “Yea, that not-date,”

Both of you stand in comfortable silence, unwilling to part. He knows how stupid this is, two idiots just skirting around a relationship, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Sometimes he wishes he was a teensy bit more like Oikawa, but the thought is vanquished before it could even begin to take root.

“So,” you break the silence, “see you around?”

He lets out a breath and nods, “Yea, definitely,” and you wave.

He waits until you’re safely in the building before making his way back, sighing way too much for someone in college.

He spends the walk thinking about how much he enjoyed that “not-date”, and hopes soon he could enjoy an actual date with you.

Your fifth meeting was the end of Iwaizumi’s patience.

It’s been weeks since he’d realised his feelings for you. And he knows you feel the same way towards him too. You’re not subtle.

You are, however, extremely oblivious and respectful. Ever since he had mentioned early on in the friendship that he wasn’t looking for anything relationship-wise, you had dutifully dodged every single one of his advances. At this rate, your non-existent relationship was on the road to nowhere.

He’s sick of it, and at his wits end.

He finds Makki and Mattsun lounging in the living room.

“Hey, uh,” both heads turn his way. “I need some advice.”

“Well, my friend,” Makki moves, patting the newly vacated seat next to him, “you’ve come to the right place,”

As the couch dips under him, he takes a moment to register that Yes, he is really doing this, before he launches into detail about his feelings, frustration with the state of things and asks for help.

"Simply put,” Makki interjects, “you want to do the do, want to pound that duck, want to woohoo her-"

"What the fuck is a woohoo," Iwaizumi cuts him off sharply.

Mattsun's jaw drops. Makki gasps in delight, clapping his hands together, "A woohoo is when two sims who love each other very much-"

"Oh my god," he sinks his head into his hands, "you're referencing the sims, to talk about sex."

Oikawa sticks his head through the door, "Who's trying to woohoo who?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Iwaizumi screams.

Oikawa dramatically places a hand on his heart and almost looks hurt before realisation dawns. “This is about little miss photographer, isn’t it?” He smirks when Mattsun wiggles his brows suggestively as a response.

Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh, resigned, "Yes, it's about her. Also, no," he looks to the strawberry blond, "I don't just want to have sex with her."

"So you do want to bang her," he could feel the smugness emanating from all three of them. The vein on his forehead threatens to pop. He passes a hand over his face, wondering if an aspirin could save him now.

"Just... just help me think of a way to ask her out,"

"Why don't you just ask her straight out? Always works," Oikawa supplied.

Iwa groans, “If I ask her out normally she’ll think its just as friends,”

A pause.

"Also I want it to be special, like a cute story for the future, you know?" he admits. Makki coos.

Silence falls as they brainstorm.

After some time Matsukawa pipes up, "I... might have an idea,"

All heads swivel towards him.

"She's a photographer, right?"

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"Iwaizumi! Over here!" you excitedly wave him over.

"Thanks for willingly being my model again," you grinned, "somehow that physique of yours seems to get me better critiques. ...Wait a minute, does my tutor have a crush on you?" he sighed when you seriously pondered that thought for a moment.

You give him a brief rundown of your assignment and what you needed him to do. It was rather simple this time as the focus was more on lighting, you just needed him to walk casually and look at the camera every once in a while.

After the first couple of shots you see him reach into his pocket and pull out some sort of... banner? Your brows furrow as you continue snapping shots. Only when he fully unfurls it do you cease movement, letting your camera slip out of your hands entirely.

Thankfully, your camera strap works perfectly and the weight of it dropping against your neck brings you back to life, snapping your mouth shut.

Iwaizumi Hajime stands five feet away from you, holding up a small banner that reads “Please go on an actual date with me.”

“I- You- what….?” Is the best you come up with.

He grins, “It reads, I really like you, please go out with me,”

“You like…?” Seems like you’re full on malfunctioning now, and about to overheat too.

“I like you, have been liking you for a while now,” he rubs his neck nervously, “so, what’s your answer?”

You nod frantically, no longer trusting your mouth. His grin stretches impossibly wide.

You’ve always known you were a bumbling idiot and a mess. But now looking at his laughing face backlit by the setting sun, you can’t help thinking that maybe being an idiot wasn’t all that bad.

The shutter clicks.

This might just be your favourite photo yet.

(Matsukawa is later asked how he knew you would like such a gesture. “Judging from the way you spoke of her, I figured she was into sappy shit, and that you probably was into it too.” He gets headlocked for a full five minutes.)

[rainofaugustsith]

SWTOR and Companion Death

So. Some thoughts about companion deaths in SWTOR in general.

I'm not a fan.

SPOILERS FOR KOTFE ONWARD.

I do know the name of the franchise is Star WARS, and people die in wars. It would probably be extremely unrealistic if we had a scenario where our characters spent literally 17 years of their lives (and counting...well, 12 if we don't count carbonite) fighting and nobody around them died.

However, in SWTOR I think that most of the deaths could been avoided. I don't think they benefit the story. I think that all they really do, in the end, is deprive the audience of a lot of interesting characters. 

I do think there are occasions when a player's character may wish to reject or kill a companion, but I also feel that there are ways to write so that it is an exception, and not commonplace.

And we have not even gotten to the NPC deaths. It has been a bloodbath for years with SWTOR and the writers show no signs of stopping it. Nathema - the body count from Nathema has taken almost twenty NPCs out of the main story. Onslaught? Yeah. Many more. It's become more unusual for an NPC to actually survive for the duration than to have a kill option.

I feel there are better ways to write than to take a Game of Thrones approach and kill everyone. When you eliminate everyone's beloved characters, and you leave the player with nothing more than a rotating cast of strangers, it's quite difficult to get into the story after a while.

Going through the companion deaths from KOTFE to Iokath:

Tanno Vik: The voiceover artist who played Tanno Vik died several years ago, and apparently the devs decided not to make the character recruitable in KOTFE because of that. I can understand this one. It seems that Tanno may die regardless of your choices, too. If you spare him during your meeting, he may not have survived the attack on Asylum, especially if the PC chose to use Valkorion's power.

HK-55: Yes, we get it, you wanted to show everyone that Arcann is a big old monster. The "thrown into carbonite," "slaughtering the Scions" “subjugating both the Republic and Empire” and "ruling as a harsh dictator" plot points didn't get it across quite enough. Dramatic. Yes. And they do bring HK-55 back

My objection to this death is not that they did it - because it actually does fit, even if it's a little extreme - is that they didn't make HK-55's return available to all in the actual main story of the game. I can understand making Shroud of Memory a bonus, because it's cute and funny but doesn't tie super directly into the main plot. But Arma Rasa? I think that should have been for everyone. Yes, I know you can buy it now - and I did - but I still think it should have been main story. If it were, we could have enjoyed HK-55's commentary in the rest of KOTFE and KOTET.

Kaliyo Djannis, Aric Jorgan: Fan service. But it makes no fucking sense. What exactly are you killing them for? They didn't listen, after they tried to compensate and salvage a mission that had gone south? They were left in the lurch because your PC was mission critical and went on a hallucinogenic hiking trip and didn't show up? There's literally nothing you can do to make the mission go right. It always fails, no matter who is in charge or what you tell them to do.

In Kaliyo's case, I really question why the devs thought that she, of all people, would be the character that most players would just love to spend an entire chapter with in one-on-one quality time in KOTFE. I think her kill option was a response to that - "yes, we forced you to play a chapter with this character but look, you can let her go now." Or perhaps it was a response to the frustration some players had with not being able to kill or reject her in the class story.

I think the class story could have sustained a branch where Kaliyo was asked to leave after the Wheezer incident. I think it's reasonable that a player's Agent may not have wanted to continue associating with her at that point. There were four other characters who could have taken her dialogue in the class story missions. But to do it years later? Eh.

In Aric's case, I have no idea what they were thinking. I've never had the feeling he's a character that is widely disliked. They needed to give an option to kill someone along with Kaliyo. I don't know. But it's weird and doesn't make sense IMHO.

Senya: So she's saved her boy. We get it. But considering that Senya also spent several chapters insisting that her children needed to be brought to justice, and was fully willing to engage Vaylin in combat if not kill her - the change of heart was confusing. I think Senya's fate was attached to Arcann's simply to give Arcann greater odds of survival. It seems that people like Senya even if they don't like Arcann. If the two had been separated, I really think less people would have saved Arcann.

Koth: Fan service. Nothing but fucking fan service. I'm sure it had nothing to do with Koth being a LGBTQ+ Black man who actually protested the player's actions and didn't let them off the hook. No, nothing to worry about here with that. That;s sarcasm in case I need to clarify. If things get to the point where Koth has left, your character literally works with him to save the ship and then can kill him while Lana stands there and watches and not a single person protests. After Koth has hijacked the ship and planted a bomb on it. The ship he adores. I can’t even. They could have done so much with this character and they just...did this instead. And then chose to completely ignore him even if he remained in the player's story. I still am salty, years later, that he didn't even get a cameo in the Nathema story. It's not as though the Gravestone's fate would have bothered him at all, amirite?

SCORPIO: One of the few kill options that actually might be justifiable, but the larger question is why she was trusted so much to begin with. And why the game feels it's light side to let her merge with a planet that keeps a necropolis of billions of organics it has slaughtered as research subjects.

Arcann: I feel Arcann should be handled and considered separately because he was not established first as a companion. He was framed and written as an adversary for all of KOTFE. But here we are forced to choose between "let Arcann live and become your new BFF who takes over Lana and Theron's place of trust with no punishment for his crimes" or "kill him on live television! I'm sure I'll be an Instagram Influencer now! Follow me at AllianceCommanderOdesssen uwu!"

Vette; Torian: Completely unnecessary. You have an Alliance that is so large that fighters are literally on the cliffs and in the trees helping you as you progress through the chapter. The Gravestone's taken to the skies. And yet nobody is available to swing by Torian or Vette's position to help them. You and Lana/Theron or Senya/Arcann are literally THE ONLY PEOPLE EVER who can do that. Oh, and the super-smart Hutt scientist in charge of your Research and Development team has given Vette an assault cannon for this huge battle against strong, skilled forces, despite the fact she's only operated an assault cannon...once? For a few minutes? *thumbs up, Oggurobb!*

I feel this was simply done to try to evoke emotion and to erase any sympathy the player may have had for Vaylin, since it immediately follows the Nathema sanitarium visit.

If they really felt the need to go with this, I feel they could have tied it to player actions earlier in the game. Did you do a lot of Alliance Alerts? Did you raise the Specialists' influence above 10? Did you do some of those veteran Star Fortresses and pick up a few extra companions? Then maybe you have enough extra personnel to save both. Quinn: More fan service, served up for those who would have liked to kill or reject Quinn all those years ago in the class story.

Just like Kaliyo - and Skadge, and Tanno Vik - I think the class story could have gone on without him if the Sith Warrior had been allowed to reject him after the Quinncident. I would have rejected him at that point. The writing in the class story could have sustained it. They could have given the healer role to one of the others. And then you'd get a branch where if Quinn was present, he'd show up on Iokath. If not, it would be someone else from the Sith class story, like one of the many Moffs the Warrior meets. Maybe the dude from Ilum, since he doesn't die. Or Hesker.

Theron: Now, here's the issue. The story sets up a scenario where asking Theron to leave because you no longer trust him is understandable. But I plead the case that it never should have gotten to that point. The entire betrayal story was completely unnecessary. Theron NEEDED to go undercover like that? He had a secret language he and Lana developed and just never used it to tip everyone off? He thought frying the Commander on Iokath or throwing her out the train window would be fun? After working so hard for peace, he literally sparked the next galactic war by tipping off everyone about Iokath and manipulating them all into going there so they could learn lots of fun new ways to kill each other?

Come. On. It doesn't make sense. Even in a spy game, I don't think Theron would have really thought that prodding the Empire and Republic to war with each other and the Alliance would have been worth it.

I feel like they could have done so many other things with the Order of Zildrog, and even had the same flashpoints, without making Theron appear to betray the Alliance. 

DS Jaesa: *sigh* So she saw the Commander on the Holonet, never thought of coming to Odessen and instead went to Iokath to slaughter Alliance troops. Oh, and threaten to kill Lana, who may be the player’s partner. Again, it sets up a scenario where it makes sense that a player might kill her, but why was that even necessary? The scenario itself doesn't make sense. If you have Master Ranos, she says that Jaesa was spotted hunting for artifacts, I think? Maybe just maybe they could have worked with that?

Xalek: You're killing Xalek for...um...terrorizing miners...and...yeah. Okay. Dude was in the class story for about five minutes so I don't think anyone knows what is going on here.

Broonmark: Yes, he's basically a cold-blooded killer. But he's going after this Wookiee senator because he's allying with the Republic? Or getting some Talz to be allies? The Talz already seem to be aligned Republic. He's a bit late to that party. Why is it that I don't think Broonmark would be into politics or watching the news and would not care about this?

Rusk: Um, yeah, Bey'wan, about that guy you wanted me to recruit, he's, um, dead. Because I decided to sell him out to a Black Sun gang leader. Don't be mad?

Skadge: One of the few kill options I think most could agree is...not that bad. Your mission with Rusk is to kill him. He was an adversary in the game. My headcanon for my bounty hunters is that he never gets on the ship after Belsavis. There’s no way they would have ever brought him along. Another case of correcting something from the class story?

[irrlicht-writes]

the path we choose to walk on pt.4

So this is it. Part 4, everyone. The last part! We made it to the end! Wooo! (now I have to focus on my bang again) Thank you for being with me. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Tell me what you thought! Tell me what you liked! Tell me what you hated! (be nice though) @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @cass-said-i-love-you @professorerudite @insertdeeplyrics anyone else want on the tag list?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Ao3

Part 4: let the good times roll

Sam and Eileen gift a painting set to Castiel one day. Dean isn’t sure why but they say it’s because he saved their baby. Later Cas admits to Dean that he barely remembers what happened.

As it turns out, Castiel sees the world vastly different than Dean. Dean’s no art critic, nor could he detect a masterpiece in the making but to him, Cas’ pieces feel alive. There is a certain aspect to them.

Castiel paints mostly with his fingers and the faces of the people are wonky at best but still, they stare right into Dean’s heart.

“They are dead,” Cas says, “but with this, they’re alive. There was a world people cannot understand today. You have changed so much in so little time and yet it remains – you will always look at the world with wonder in your eyes.”

 Charlie helps them sell Cas’ art online. They sell somewhat well and Dean thinks that Cas is happy that he gets to help. Cas had said that he would’ve like to take a real job, but Dean shut him down very quickly.

Nobody would want to hire Cas – first, Cas didn’t even properly exist. And second; there would be too many days where Cas would have to stay at home. Any employer would only allow so many sick days and Dean is afraid of sending Cas to a therapist.

Even though he knows that they all probably need one, how would you even start explaining?

“Yeah, roughly 15 years ago I set off with my brother to find our dad and now our son turned into God. Oh and also we picked up this literal angel as our best friend and all of us – our son concluded who by the way was fathered by Lucifer – have died several times and then we just kind of went going.”

Yeah. No.

Not to mention all the additional bullshit Castiel would have to unpack. Dean’s been in a mental constitution once; he doesn’t really have to go there again. And he certainly doesn’t want Cas to go there – also, again.

The bees are still on Dean’s mind. He doesn’t need a repeat of that.

And anyway, the paintings are selling. And in time, they might even be able to ask for more money. Dean doesn’t really hold out hope but who knows?

 Two years after Maria is born, Sam and Eileen get married. Dean knows that they’ve been discussing marriage for a long time and have never been able to decide whether it was for them or not. But then Eileen proposed and here they are.

“She asked me to accompany her with the ring shopping. I think she just wanted to use me for my fingers,” Cas says to Dean and Dean smirks.

“Do you think Jack’ll show up?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told him; and I’m sure he knows but whether or not he’ll actually show up... it would be good to see him again. But even if he can’t make it here, he’ll be watching over these two.”

They are about to begin the ceremony and Dean’s excited to be the Best Man. He’s never thought he’d get to be that for real so it feels like a dream. Maria’s supposed to be the Flower Girl but she hasn’t shown up yet.

“Cas,” Charlie rushes over to them. Cas blinks up at her, tilting his head.

“Maria doesn’t want to walk, she’s embarrassed. Do you think you can help her out?”

Maria has gotten overly attached to Cas in these past two years and Dean believes it’s just infatuation. After all, who could look into these big blue eyes and not fall for them? Dean, however, is a little bit upset over the fact that she likes Cas better than him. But he’ll just wait until Maria will appreciate cars. And that’s when Dean will win.

“Of course,” Cas replies, “come on, Miracle.”

Miracle has essentially become Castiel’s therapy dog. She follows him everywhere and makes sure he eats and drinks enough. She loves Cas to pieces and anyone who even looks at the angel wrong gets growled at.

Dean watches them walk away and gets his phone out. He knows that there is a photographer here that films things but he wants that piece for himself. And he has to go up there anyway, so he might just go now anyway.

It takes five more minutes before Cas was apparently able to convince Maria to come out – and even then, she’s getting carried. She’s holding the flower basket close to her chest and Cas encourages her to throw the petals down. Dean’s heart melts at the sight of them.

Cas stops next to the pew where Claire and Kaia are sitting and basically tells Maria to throw flowers on them. Claire laughs and playfully shoves Cas away from them. Jody and Donna are also getting petals thrown in their face. Everybody is smiling and Dean’s happy that he’s filming this.

Maria is giggling and throwing petals all over the place. “She was so stiff before,” Charlie whispers in his direction.

“She wasn’t even looking at me and now look at that. How is Cas’ gayness softer than mine?”

“You’re just intimidating.”

“Cas is an angel!”

 Eileen is beautiful when she walks down the aisle. Sam next to him exhales and has the biggest smile on his stupid face.

“Mama so pretty!” Maria proclaims loudly while clapping her hands.

“Yes, she is,” Cas replies a little quieter. He has her sitting on his lap and he has a flower in his hair. Apparently Maria was supposed to give that to her mom but she had decided that it was for Cas, so now he was wearing the flower. It does fit him, Dean thinks.

The ceremony itself goes over without a hitch even though Sam almost breaks down crying twice. Dean was expecting more, if he’s honest. Maybe Sammy practised with Cas – apparently Cas is the solution to every problem.

Later, at the party, Dean holds an embarrassing speech about Sam and after, Sam dunks his head into a pie. This is fair, because Dean definitely deserves that. It’s all good, though. Cas laughs and wipes Dean’s face clean and Maria – still in Cas’ lap – giggles like it’s Christmas.

Dean dances with Eileen and Sam dances with Cas and Maria. Charlie’s taking pictures and Dean loves it. Cas can’t dance for very long and he leans heavily onto Sam but he tries his best for Sam and Maria both.

Dean loves him.

And someday, he’ll man up enough to actually say these words. He just needs a little bit longer. And Cas is here to stay. Dean’ll work up the courage he needs and then it’ll be alright.

 Charlie is dancing with Maria and Eileen is sitting next to Cas. She’s taken her shoes off and is likely complaining to the angel that her feet hurt. Cas is holding the wedding bouquet now and Dean knows that Eileen will insist he keep it.

“I wish she would’ve thrown it,” Claire says and Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

“You were hoping to catch it, weren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

 At the end, Jack didn’t show. The party had ended a while ago, but Dean and Castiel are still sitting on a bench outside. It’s a nice night, and Dean doesn’t want to drive home yet. There are no clouds in the sky and the stars are shining bright. Dean reckons that that’s Jack’s doing. He still wishes he would’ve shown his face.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Castiel says while leaning on Dean’s shoulder. “You know he doesn’t do that well with a lot of people.”

Yes. That is true but still – he hadn’t even come to congratulate Sam? He also still hadn’t come to meet Maria yet. Dean wonders what work a God has to do. Didn’t Jack say he wanted to be hands off?

“Don’t you miss him?” Dean asks.

“Every day,” Castiel replies.

Castiel raises a hand towards the sky and Dean sees a shooting star. But the star stops after it passes Cas’ hand.

Castiel retracts his hand and there’s a golden orb floating above his palm.

“What’s that?”

It glows brightly and it’s almost too much for Dean to look at. It compels him in the same way it tells him to stay away from it. Where did it come from? Why is it here? What’s it going to do?

“Divinity,” Castiel quietly replies and closes his hand, making the orb disappear.

 *

 “Dean, really?”

Dean sighs. He knew it was a mistake to talk to Sam about this. But he knows that Charlie would’ve squealed in his ear and honestly, Claire is still a bit too young for this to talk about it. And yeah sure, Eileen would’ve been an option but even after all this time, Dean still hasn’t improved on his signing skills.

“I know it’s stupid.”

“I didn’t say that. But have you even choked up an I love you?”

Dean is quiet.

“Oh my god, I knew it. Dean, you can’t just propose like that!”

“...shut up.”

He pockets the box inside his jacket. He doesn’t want to propose right now anyway. It’s more like a promise to himself, that one day he might be worthy of this. If – when he’ll find the words one day, he’ll be good enough for Cas. He can be.

He will be.

For Cas, the best thing that ever happened to him.

For Cas, who still thinks he’s barely tolerated.

For Cas, who sees the world as more than it is.

For Cas, who loves so much and has never been loved in return.

 Their first kiss doesn’t quite happen as Dean would’ve imagined it – not that he had ever been imagining it in the first place.

Cas is watching Dancing With The Stars and he’s really fascinated. Apparently, he’s never danced before. Dean’s never told him about Garth and Bess dancing in front of the window. He wonders how they’re doing now. Maybe they’re dancing right at this moment, while Sam and Castiel are finally asleep?

“Dean, please?” Castiel’s blue eyes are pleading and Dean has a hard time saying no. Cas always asks for so little and Dean’s always liked dancing when he got a chance to do it – which sadly is not often. So he sighs and stands up from the couch, offering his hand up to Cas.

“Might I have this dance, milady?”

Cas blinks at him in question, and then looks at the outstretched hand. At last, there’s a smile stealing itself across Castiel’s face and he gently takes Dean’s hand and hauls himself up.

“Of course, my lord.”

Dean chuckles and pulls Cas flush against him. It’s been a while since they were this close together without one of them on literal death’s door. Cas is alive and warm under his hands and Dean starts swaying. He’s never danced a real dance, much less so with another man. But it’s not like Cas could dance at all, so it’s okay. And besides – it’s not about the skill, it’s about the experience. And Cas –

Cas is laughing. It’s a happy laugh and he enjoys himself. It’s truly a sight to see. It’s rare to see Cas so relaxed and Dean feels more than privileged to witness this much less be the cause of it. Dean swirls Cas on the spot and as the swirl ends, Cas stumbles forward against Dean’s chest. Dean holds him tight and it’s a good feeling.

Cas’ hair is brushing against Dean’s chin and he feels calm. He gently puts one hand on Castiel’s cheek and Cas nuzzles into it. Castiel’s hand is loosely laying on Dean’s chest and the volume of the TV playing in the background is already fading away.

Dean’s in love.

He’s in love with Castiel.

He gently directs Castiel’s face upwards and looks at the big, blue, blinking eyes.

He doesn’t understand how he got to be so lucky.

Dean bends down, just a little, and ever so gently presses his lips against Castiel’s mouth.

It’s a quiet kiss, one that doesn’t require anything.

“Dean,” is all that Cas says afterwards but Dean quietly hushes him.

“Shh,” he replies and kisses him again.

It’s easier than anything else he’s ever done.

He doesn’t remember why he was ever afraid of this.

This, right here, is where he’s meant to be.

With the TV running in the background, in his shitty apartment, in worn-out clothes, with a dog sleeping in her bed, kissing Castiel.

Sometimes things are just easy.

Dean holds Castiel tight and thankfully, Castiel doesn’t speak.

It’s the most comforting silence and Dean cherishes it.

He’s in love.

 *

 It’s a soft thing, after. Nothing changes and yet, so much is different.

He kisses Cas in the morning before he goes to work; in the afternoon when he returns; when they make dinner; when they watch TV.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

And yet, Dean knows that Cas wonders.

I know you don’t love me.

But Dean does. He just can’t say it. If he did, then – then what would John say? Dad would judge him for this. Dad would call him a girl; and a fairy; and tell Dean that Dad hadn’t raised a gay son.

 He’s still thinking about this in bed. Next to him, Cas is fast asleep, holding onto Dean’s arm. Miracle is snoring in her own doggy bed.

“I love Cas,” Dean says toneless into the dark room and is instantly overcome by anxiety. Somehow, even after all these years, he expects John to bust through the door and expose him and nail him to the cross or something.

He turns to his side and looks at Cas. The angel looks so relaxed in his sleep and Dean gently pats his hair. Cas mumbles a bit and burrows closer to Dean as if to seek warmth. Dean puts his free arm around him and pulls him as close as possible, tucking the angel under his chin.

He doesn’t know what to do. Cas deserves to be told. But whenever Dean thinks it might be the right time for it – then there’s John standing in the distance, observing and judging him. Dean knows he just has to do it, that he just has to push through. Dad is dead and nothing can happen anymore. But this fear is far too ingrained inside his brain. Maybe writing a letter would help? But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.

Dean needs to say it.

He has to say it.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

For all his bravery, for all his courage – he can’t.

 “A bird learns to fly when it falls.”

Cas is not in bed when Dean wakes up.

“Water will whittle away the mountain.”

Cas is nowhere to be found inside the apartment. Miracle is quiet.

“A flower will break through the concrete.”

Dean panics. In his panic, he runs outside.

“Long after its death, a star will remain in the sky.”

 Outside it’s foggy.

But there is Cas.

Cas is standing outside, barefooted, and Dean is rooted to the spot.

There are golden orbs floating around Castiel.

Divinity, Cas had called them.

“Cas,” Dean breathes and the angel turns around.

“Hello, Dean.”

 “What are those?”

“I’ve told you. Divinity.”

“Yes, I know, but what are they?”

“A burden shared is a burden lifted. Ever since I woke all the way back before time existed, a great many stars have died. And still, some remain in the sky. Did you never wonder where they go?

Their physical form shall burn from velocity, but what about the stars? What about them? Who catches them? Where do they go? Shall they forever be lost in space?

I was lost too, you know. I was lost ever since the start. Sometimes I think I remember. Sometimes I think I remember an all consuming light in the dark. Sometimes I think I remember the beginning before it ever began. Sometimes I think I remember the void, the naught.

And then, just as quickly, I lose it again.

Why did Father abandon us?

Why did He create so many of us, if none of us mattered?

Come with us, the stars whispered to me, we have no answers but mayhap we shall find them.

Why did the stars exist, if only to die? I didn’t want them to be lost and so I collected them. I found them in the void and I took them with me for I thought I might find a purpose within them. And in time, they started finding me. I became their haven, their destination.

But still, I was lost. Each time a star would find me, I think I can see the light in the void again, the end after the end. But soon these memories are gone, too, and I can only hold on to scraps. And I wonder.

What if I don’t remember at all? What if what I see are just fragments from the stars, showing me what they saw in their last moments?

Dean, you must know: time is not linear. What happens before will happen after. The end happens before the start and sometimes the beginning happens in the middle. This time, this life is just one stream amongst them all.

Some stars tell me of the end; and others tell me of the start. Maybe some tell me of the middle. And maybe some tell me of all, and all I get is the light in the void at the start.

I’ve wondered.

Why am I broken?

Why am I, of all the angels, the only one that’s cracked?

What went wrong?

Why was it only ever me? Why wasn’t perfect like the others? Why weren’t others cracked as I was?

Why was I the only one that’s ever looked to the stars and collected them?

What if Father never made me?

What if – what if I was created by something else?

And if so, what was it? And why? And why did Father allow me to continue existing? Did He perhaps just not notice? Did He perhaps just not care? Did He perhaps just think me merely another insignificant angel that He needn’t pay attention to?

What broke the connection?

Why am I the only angel to love you?

Was I whole before, perhaps, but if that was so – what shattered me? What put me back together? Where did the missing pieces go?

The light I remember in the naught – what is it? Where does it come from? Why does it matter at all, why do I care if it lights up the void or not?

Why do I cling to a light that does not matter?

I –

I’m lost, Dean.

Amidst the stars, I am lost.

From here on out, where do I go?”

 Dean reaches out.

Castiel is standing there all alone, surrounded by what remains of the stars – surrounded by divinity.

He takes Castiel’s hand.

“Go with me,” he says.

“I love you,” he says.

Amidst the stars, Castiel smiles.

Dean thinks he can see the light that Castiel spoke about.

It’s a soft, shining light and it’s free.

 *

 “I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a big thing, Cas, you know? What if I fail?”

“Then we’ll fail together.”

 Dean buys a corner lot. It’s very expensive. But he has a dream. He doesn’t want to work construction forever. He deserves to be happy. And Cas is here. Cas is here, and Sam is here, and Eileen is here – and everyone is here.

He’s not alone and he can rely on all these people. They want to help him; they want him to be happy. He can do this. For the first time in his life, he can do something solely for himself.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to depend only on himself.

 *

 Sam hoists Maria out of the car seat. He wants to go and help Eileen out of the car but if he did, she’d kick him in the shin.

“Are there no balloons?” Maria wants to know. Sam looks up. True, there are no balloons outside.

“I’m sure Uncle Dean’s got some inside, sweetheart.”

Maria grins from ear to ear and hugs her monkey toy harder. Cas had given it to her just a few years ago. It hadn’t even been her birthday; he had just wanted to give something to his niece. Sam is glad that they get along so well. But sometimes he debates: should they tell her that Cas is an angel? It’s not a problem right now, but he and Dean and Eileen will start aging one day while Cas will not.

But, ah well, it might be best to cross that bridge when they’d get there.

“Hunter’s Rest is a nice name,” Eileen says when she finally steps next to Sam. Sam just nods. It’s true. Sam had kept suggesting Roadhouse, in Ellen’s and Ash’s and Jo’s legacy but Dean had always refused. Dean hadn’t wanted to be a copy-cat of what they’ve been.

Dean wants something that’s his own.

And Sam couldn’t be happier for him.

It was a long road, getting here, and even now he could scarcely believe it.

But the Hunter’s Rest is officially opening today.

He smiles at Eileen, takes both his girl’s hands and enters Dean’s bar.

 “Uncle Dean!”

Maria yells as soon as she spots her uncle and throws herself at his middle from across the room. Dean laughs and catches her. He lifts her up and holds her on his hip.

“How’s my favourite tornado?”

She giggles and hugs him tight.

“Where’s Uncle Cas?”

“He’s still in the back, sweetheart. Be nice to him today, okay? It’s not a good day. But I know he’ll be happy to see you, so why don’t you go say hello?”

Maria nods with a solemn expression on her face. She knows about Uncle Cas’ bad days. She shouldn’t be too loud on these and she has to understand that he might not want to play as much with her. She loves Uncle Cas. She wouldn’t tell this to anyone because she knows Uncle Dean would be upset, but Uncle Cas is her favourite. There’s a glow about him that she can’t explain to anyone, but it draws her to him.

Uncle Dean puts her on the ground and she goes to find Uncle Cas. When she finds him, he smiles at her. He looks tired and sick, but he glows so brightly today.

“Hello, Maria,” he greets her.

She steps closer and climbs into his lap.

“I love you,” she says and Uncle Cas hugs her tight.

 “Looks good, Dean,” Sam says to Dean in the meantime. Dean grins and pulls his brother close. He nods at Eileen who waves back.

“How are we coming along?” he asks her and she rubs her stomach.

“Good,” she replies, “the doctor says it’s two.”

“Two, huh? Man, Sammy, you dog!”

Sam laughs and Dean slaps him on the shoulder.

“Maria was really hoping for some balloons,” Sam says and Dean shrugs.

“I have some in the back, but I don’t know if I should hang them up. It’s gonna be a few hours still until official opening, you know?”

“Are Charlie and Stevie coming?”

“Yeah, Charlie’s gonna help me set up the music. The others are coming too, but Donna can’t make it. Some important thing came up but she’s gonna drop by in the coming days.”

Sam nods.

“There should be balloons,” Eileen pipes up and Dean sighs deeply.

“Fine,” he says then, “but y’all are helping me with that. I ain’t the only one blowing these things up.”

“I overheard,” Cas says as he’s rolling out of the back in his wheelchair. On his lap, there are Maria and a big load of balloons.

Dean sighs. “Why am I being set up?”

Castiel smiles at Dean. “Because balloons make everything better. We should’ve gotten glitter, too, you know? We’ll help, Dean.”

 “Bad day, huh?” Sam asks him while they are placing the balloons. Dean nods.

“Last couple days actually. Yesterday was the worst; he wouldn’t even get out of bed. The day before that, he spent almost all day puking into the toilet. But he’s getting better now, I think. It’s just – I know that he’s sick. I know that these days happen and that they’ll happen again, it just – it just fucking scares me, y’know? Knowing that there’s nothing I can do, no spell to find to cure him or anything – it just makes me feel so helpless.”

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean, you’re doing great. What you’re going through – what you both are going through – is extremely stressful. I can’t even imagine. I can’t imagine all the hurdles you had to go through to get here. How scary it has to be to wake at night and see Cas being sick again. I’m proud of you, Dean. I really am. You’re holding it together so well and if – if you ever have to break, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. You’re not alone. You’re never alone, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a laugh and turns to hug his brother.

It’s true.

Their lone journey is over.

They started with just the two of them.

But they’re never going to be alone again.

 *

 “I love you,” Dean whispers into dark hair.

“I don’t know when I fell in love. I don’t know when I realised. But I love you. I love all of you.

We’ve endured a great many things, you and I. We fell and rose together, we burned and crashed together. And in all this time, you weren’t even supposed to be there. But you were. You fought and clawed your way back to me every single time, and I’ve never even said thank you. I never once appreciated all the pain and misery you had to endure just to get back to me.

No matter what, you were there. You were there for me and Sam when nobody else was. You stayed by your side since the very beginning and you overturned everything you believed in because you started to believe in me. You had faith in me, the man without faith. And through you – you became my faith. I believed in nothing, I had faith in nothing – except you. I had faith in you. When you were gone, so was my faith gone. And when you returned, you brought it back with you.

When we met, you told me that good things do happen.

For so long, I didn’t believe you. But you were right. And know what? That good thing that would happen to me was right in front of me. And we didn’t know. Neither of us knew. Who could’ve imagined?

A man afraid of flying and an angel afraid of falling.

We really did meet in the middle, huh?

I’m sorry, Cas. I never did right by you. All your life you thought you were wrong because you weren’t like the others. You always believed that you needed to atone for your sins someway. And I – I didn’t help you. I made you think that you were expendable, that you weren’t worth anything. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, because I was wrong.

You’re worth everything. You matter so much, Cas – to me, to Sam, to the world. I’m sorry that all of us have fallen short. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it up to you for all eternity, because I love you. If you’ll have me for whatever reason, then I’m yours. And I’m never going to let go. If I lose you, I will stop at nothing to find you again.

It’s you and me. Now and forever.”

“Look for the light,” Castiel whispers into the darkness.

“Look for the light and you’ll always find me there.”

 *

 At the end of a long, long life, Dean opens his eyes.

Above him, there’s nothing but endless stretches of blue sky.

Dean sits up and looks around.

He’s in an onion field and he stands up.

He turns to the side and sees him there.

 There’s a trench-coat angel standing in the onion field, surrounded by the golden orbs of stars.

The wings behind him are magnificent and have the colour of a rainbow.

 Dean starts approaching him.

Behind the angel, there is a massive tree.

 “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

[aries-writingblog]

Atlas (1)

Summary: After years of being imprisoned on the Raft, Tony negotiates freedom for his sister Tessa. When she’s free- so is her past, and it will never stop hunting her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC(Stark)

Chapter Word count: 1,666

Warnings: PTSD (subtle ish), trauma, torture (in later parts), suicidal behaviors and thoughts, mentions of death, character death, injury, violence, angst, and a lil bit of fluff in there

Disclaimer: Atlas is my own, original work with characters belonging to Marvel (except Tessa and Dr. Clifton). Plagiarism is not cool kids.

A/N: this is my first work Im posting to this platform and I’m really excited and nervous about it. Hope you enjoy- constructive criticism is always helpful as well!!

The Avengers Tower. Former Stark Tower. 93 floors of office space, labs- people carrying out their business. People going about their day. At the top of all of them is Tony Stark. Waiting. Waiting in silence. Typically, he isn’t one to wait on anything or anyone but today... today is different. Today is special. Finally, the silence is broken by a shrill ring of his phone. Tony snaps it up, immediately accepting the call.

“Mr. Stark? Reid Kerrings.” The man’s voice carried through the phone, introducing himself. “Listen, I hear you’re trying to to negotiate a prisoners freedom?”

“She shouldn’t even be a prisoner,” Tony grumbled before plastering on a thick business tone. “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to do here. Thing is, I have a plan that I ran by Fury and Coulson and they seem to think it’s a great idea. Only thing is- that prisoner of yours is apparently ‘dangerous’ and she’d need stipulations on if she were to be released into my care.”

Tony hated this- speaking about her as if she were a terrorist. He hated that she’d been in maximum security prisons for six years. He hated that she was on the raft now. But, if he wanted to play ball, he had to agree to the terms. And unfortunately, that was one of the terms. He’d tried it his way two years ago and it got shut down. Several times.

“Well... you’re a damn maniac- prisoner 067112 is a psycho-“

“Her name is Tessa and that’s my sister you’re talking about so if you’d like to see your job another day I’d keep quiet.” Tony snapped, clenching his jaw. The phone fell silent before Kerrings cleared his throat.

“She would have to meet with an appointed therapist three days a week. She would also have to have a check in twice a week with a parole officer. If there is any flare up of her enhancement that is not accounted for by a member of your team, she comes back here and is no longer allowed parole. She is to be on a tight leash.” Kerrings read through the conditions of the agreement that Tony and Fury had worked out. “She must agree to these terms before her release. If she does, she will be escorted to your property tomorrow at 10:00 AM. Do you agree to these statements made today?”

“Yes.” Tony felt an excited, nervous bubble form in his stomach. He was doing it. His sister was almost free.

“Excellent. The escort team will run a security check on the building and perimeter.”

“Oh, well, not to brag or anything but- it’s the Avengers Tower. I ’m pretty sure this is the best it gets in terms of security.” Tony scoffed, turning when he heard the door opening. Steve Rogers stepped into the room, intending on speaking with Tony about another comm unit. He broke his. Again. He stopped short, hearing the man on the phone.

“This woman shouldn’t even be out of her cell here- she’s dangerous, I don’t care if shes your sister or not. The power of this woman is something that should be contained. not roaming around New York on a Thursday afternoon.”

“She’s a human being. No telling what you freaks have put her through in the raft- that’s probably why she’s going insane. You don’t even allow sunlight in that dingy of a prison. You treat someone like an animal, that’s what they become. Now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to run my own safety diagnostics on my own tower.” Tony quickly ended the call and lifted his eyes to meet Steve’s. “Can I help you, o wise elder of the yonder village?”

“Just... a new comm piece.” Steve stepped forward and tossed the broken pieces to the desk before meeting Tony’s eyes again. “What was that all about?”

“That is a surprise for the team I’m arranging.” Tony sat down at his desk, pulling up an image of a new weapon system, one that they’d encountered a few weeks ago on a mission. “These thugs were dealing with now... they’re sophisticated. They’re playing on a new ball field. So... I’m leveling it.”

“You can’t just do that without consulting the team first.” Steve scolded, his arms crossing over his chest. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see- tomorrow morning at ten, have the team all meet in the conference room. I’ll bring my surprise to you.” Tony grinned, feeling strangely optimistic for once. Steve only sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Tony.

“Fine- I’ll call a meeting.” Steve spun on his heel and marched out of the office. Tony sank further into his chair, spinning it to look out of the window.

“Friday, make sure floor ninety two is fireproof.” Tony called out, a twinge of doubt forming in his mind. He was quick to shake the thought from his mind, funneling all his belief into his sister. It had to work. For her sake.

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

Sitting at the oval conference table, Bucky felt an impatience he hadn’t felt in months. Steve had let it slip- more like Bucky could tell there was something and kept prying- that Tony was on the phone with someone, talking about a prisoner. A woman prisoner. Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect and that caused a great deal of anxiety to pit in his chest. He didn’t like being kept in the dark.

Beside him, Steve sighed heavily, leaning his head on his fist, resting on the table. Being roommates with the guy, he knew Steve hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night, like most nights. He knew this because he himself was also up, roaming the apartment, watching tv and staring off the balcony.

“Anyone know what this surprise it stark mentioned?” Natasha pressed, becoming quite impatient herself. They’d all been sitting at the table for fifteen minutes. Waiting.

“No clue- I hope it’s better than the last surprise- the one that exploded while in use on the field.” Sam commented, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

Finally, the door to the room burst open, revealing Tony Stark marching in with purpose. Behind him, a woman in heavy chains, with metal cylinders encasing her hands, was being escorted in by two men in fire retardant kevlar uniforms. Her head was bowed, dark brown hair shifting to cover her face. Bucky sat up, seeing the woman marched in, heavily restrained. Tony clapped his hands, rubbing them together afterward. He gave the crowd a large smile and nodded once.

“Surprise, Avengers! This is my favorite sister, Tessa Stark, Tess, this is everyone. I’m sure you were given the brochure.” He turned to the two men. “You fulfilled your duties, you can go now.”

The men unclipped the chains and then pressed their thumbprints to the pads on the cylinders. They released with a hiss of steam, Tessa rubbing her wrists once they were free.

“I know you.” Sam’s voice broke into the conversation. Tessa’s jaw clenched and her eyes stared into the floor. She swallowed harshly, keeping her back ramrod straight and her hands in front of her. “Stark... oh, shit- where have I seen you...”

“Anyways folks, she is here to help out on our new group of rogues... she has a, ah... particular set of skills. Mostly explosives and fire. And since that’s what we’re dealing with, I’ve brought in the big guns.” Tony explained, settling in his chair and gesturing for Tessa to take a seat as well. She seemed wary of sitting beside Wanda but did it anyways, sitting barely on the edge of the chair. “Now, we’re gonna need a new plan of attack with-“

“Atlas!” Sam snapped his fingers, pointing at her. Tessa stiffened, caught off guard by the level of his voice. “That’s it! Code Name Atlas, Operation Dry Sands! You served in the army- I’m Sam Wilson, I flew with-“

“Riley...” her voice was raspy and low, rusted with disuse. “I remember you.” Bucky watched as she seemingly tried to melt into the chair, trying to hide herself.

“You were baller, man! She cleared missions like it was nothing!” Sam praised her, excited to finally meet her. “There was talk of her all over camps- everywhere!”

“Atlas?” Natasha asked, a brow raising. “That’s a peculiar code name- sounds... specific.” Tessa didn’t respond, keeping her head low. When the room fell silent, Steve took control.

“Right, well, Tony you mentioned a new plan of attack?” He expertly guided the topic over to a new path. Bucky couldn’t help but let his attention drift back to the new mystery in the room. He allowed his eyes to scan over her, stopping on her forearm where there was black ink. A tattoo of the army symbol, numbers below it. Maybe her squad number? Her arm shifted and Bucky looked up, meeting her eyes. He knew he’d fucked up.

Her dark brown eyes smoldered- a red tint glowing under her irises. Her lips were pulled into a scowl. He quickly lowered his gaze, catching a glance of her veins in her arms. glowing lightly orange. Bucky clenched his jaw and leaned back into his chair, a fierce scowl building on his lips. He didn’t like this woman, She seemed... violent. closed off. Hell- maybe she was just too much like him. And maybe he shouldn’t make a snap assumption but for some reason...

“Alright well, that’s all for now, Tessa- welcome to the team, please make yourself comfortable and if there’s anything we can do to help out- let us know.” Steve nodded as he stood up.

Tessa only nodded, stood up and spun on her heel- leaving the room without a word. Everyone glanced to Tony. He only shrugged and stood up.

“I’m gonna go make her feel at home- just got out of prison and all, see you around.” Tony gave a small wave over his shoulder and walked out, trailing out after his explosive sister.

[365days365movies]

January 17, 2021: Atomic Blonde (Epilogue)

I genuinely really enjoyed this film! And then...about 2 minutes after it ended...I started to think. And I continued to think. I wrote those two posts, and then took a little bit more time to think.

And then...I came to my final realization.

John Wick REALLY screwed this movie. Because the perception of this movie for most, myself included, was that of a new John Wick, with a female protagonist. A lot of people referred to it as “Jane Wick.” But it’s definitely not John Wick. It’s trying to be a spy movie, especially like James Bond films.

But the problem is...it isn’t either. To be a spy movie, it tries a little too hard with a pretty standard plot. And then, it intercuts that with John Wick-caliber fight sequences, detracting from the spy movie aesthetic. And then, because you do have those fight scenes, but still need to fit in the spy stuff, it creates a distinct disparity in tone and pace throughout the movie.

In other words...let’s get to the Recap. I have some more thoughts. And don’t worry! Many of them are positive. Just...not all of them.

Recap

Cast and Acting

Let’s start, of course, with Charlize Theron. Outside of the action sequences, Theron goes well as Broughton, portraying the tough character traits we see in spy characters like her and James Bond. And with the character she’s given, Theron does wonderfully. James McAvoy, on the other hand, seems like he’s having a HELL of a lot of fun with his role. He’s an underrated actor, honestly, and it’s very cool to see him play this sort-of anarchist punk spy. Sofia Boutella also deserves a shout-out for Delphine, playing her character’s naivete well, as well as remaining likeable. Also, Bill Skarsgård deserves a shout-out! I liked Merkel a lot, even despite his shorter screentime. Goodman, Jones, Marsan all do fine in their roles. The USSR characters...eh. They aren’t really given much spotlight...which is weird, given the fact that this is a Cold War drama, but OK. Basically, we’re going with an 9/10. Great; not the best I’ve ever seen all around, but still great!

Plot and Writing

Yeah...here’s the thing. I might like this movie, but the plot’s kind of a massive mess. Writing’s fine, but the plot is both extremely cliche spy movie, while also being extremely muddled in terms of story. Remember what I said up there about this film trying to be both a spy movie and John Wick, and that not working really well? Yeah, basically that. It attempts to balance the two concepts, but also corrupts what makes those concepts work in the first place. The Bourne Identity is arguably a better version of that combination. It’s too bad, because elements of the plot really take away from the rest of the movie. 

And then...there’s the tacked on ending. Because, yeah, the whole American spy thing? Wasn’t in the original graphic novel. What I genuinely think they should’ve done was end it RIGHT at the interview’s terminus. Or, at least, right as she greets Bremovych as Satchel, as is done in the original novel. And, just to be clear, I thought this BEFORE reading the book. That ending feels...pander-y, for lack of a better term. I realize that we always want our protagonists to be heroic, but how great would it have been if Lorraine actually was kind of a villain? I dunno, I think not adding that extra twist at the end makes the movie stronger and more provocative, in a good way. Sorry, Kurt Johnstad, I know you did a good job on a technical standpoint, but...5/10 here.

Directing and Action

David Leitch, Jonathan Sela, and Sam Hargrave, the director, cinematographer, and stunt coordinator/fight choreographer, respectively. Full points for the action sequences, because MAN, those were some good action sequences! Rough and gritty, but extremely well-choreographed and shot at the same time, the action deserves the praise that it’s gotten. How about the cinematography? Stylistic, and very bold colors make this film very memorable. But...they don’t have much clear tie-in to the theming, and I think there’s some missed opportunity there. And the direction overall is great, even if I don’t think it’s perfect. It is Leitch’s first film as solo director, after all. 8/10!

Production and Art Design

Changed the title of this section! Turns out that I’ve been conflating the two concepts, so let’s include them both from now on, shall we? But OK, what did I think of it? Costume design was iconic...in the case for Charlize Theron, at least. James McAvoy a little bit, too, but it’s clear that Cindy Evans focused more upon Charlize than anyone else in the film, really. Which, for a spy, isn’t the best of ideas. Still, that combined with Zsuzsa Kismarty-Lechner’s art direction for the sets and set pieces (almost all of which are splashed with graffiti, in a very 1980′s flair) do bring you back to the time period in which the film is set. This, of course, is also due to the work of David Scheunmann, the production designer who’s actually from Berlin, and whose experiences were vital into making this film look as good as it does. If you’re not sold on the set design, check out the differences, obvious and subtle, between West and East Germany in the film. While some of it is clear, some of it carries some surprisingly subtle messaging (Stalker and Tetris, for example). So, even if Charlize got most of the costume attention, a lot of credit should be given to this movie. 8/10 for this one!

Music and Editing

Maybe the most well-known aspect of this movie, outside of the dramatic lighting, is the ‘80s soundtrack. Some love it, some criticize it quite a bit for overwhelming the film. And honestly...I think they’re both right? Here’s the thing, the music is great, and some of it is used in unexpectedly creative ways that critics didn’t seem to pick up on. Biggest and best example of this is Nena’s 99 Luftballons. That song if you didn’t know, is inspired by the separation between East and West Berlin. It’s literally a song about the cost of political strife, leading to war between countries over something as trivial as a red balloon. And when do they play it during the movie? When Bremovych is waging interrogating young East Berliners celebrating the culture of the west. It’s surprisingly profound! However...using Flock of Seagulls’ I Ran during a chase scene is...less so. That’s one’s a little on the nose, let’s be honest here. And that basically sums up the music for the movie. It’s all good music, but it’s either used well, or it just isn’t. Also, there actually is music composed for this movie, by Tyler Bates, and it is good...but I had to listen to the soundtrack to remember that it was even in the movie. So, yeah, not fantastic.

OK, how about the editing? The flashback sequence intercuts as part of the movie have been criticized by some for interfering with the pace and tone. And...eh. Wasn’t too much of a problem for me, to be honest. And other than that, it didn’t stand out too much to me. I’m finding that editing is the hardest thing to judge in these movies, but who knows? I think this little project might improve my film judgment skills. Also, those long shots? Not true long shots, as they were edited in post. So, good job to Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir! Overall, though, this category’s getting a 7/10 from me.

That’d be a...68% Really?

I’m legitimately surprised, because I do like this movie! Really, I do! But breaking it up piece by piece...it’s only really OK. My personal preference doesn’t necessarily dictate my score, and vice verse. So, I like this movie...even if it’s not as good as it can be. It’s a distinctive and stylish film with great action, and if you wanna see Charlize Theron be cool and kick ass, then WATCH THIS MOVIE! 

And by the way, I didn’t touch too much upon the fact that this is the rare bisexual protagonist, and this is Tumblr, so I know that that’s something you guys know. And honestly...eh. Fact of the matter is that it’s a part of her character, but...we don’t really get to know the real her throughout the entire movie, so...is it? I’m honestly not sure. But, representation is representation, I get it. Also, fun fact, Delphine actually is in the graphic novel, but as a guy. So, interesting change, that!

OK, I think we’re done with the spy movies for a bit, now. Let’s switch subgenres a day. Let’s inject a little more adventure into this month, and let’s trade fists...with swords. It’s swashbuckler time.

January 18, 2021: The Mask of Zorro

[christinaroseandrews]

Marketing Matters - Strategy - Fanfiction

Strategy - Fanfiction

So this is a bit of a taboo subject in the publishing world, but I’m going to be upfront with you all. 

We write fanfiction. 

There, I said it. 

Writing fanfic is also a viable marketing strategy for authors who are choosing to go the self-publishing route and not always for the reasons that immediately spring to mind.  In addition, the skills, fanbase, and tricks learned while writing fanfic can also apply to traditional publishing.  However, I’m going to give you one caveat right up front: many big name publishers don’t like authors who write fic. Or at least they say they don’t. It’s becoming more common, but most publishers and agents want authors to be focusing on original fic not fanfic. Several smaller presses don’t care as much, so long as your author persona and your fic persona are very separate and you don’t rub it in their faces.  But the big name publishers may require you to pull your fanworks. So that’s something to keep in mind.

So now it’s time to break it down.

About Us and What we’ve done:

We’re probably best known as fanfic writers in the Hunger Games fandom, where we have a few well regarded fics.  We’ve also dipped our toes into other fandoms including the MCU, Harry Potter, DBZ, and more drive-by one-shots in various fandoms than you can shake a stick at.

We also both were/are a part of the Sims 2 writing community and had a few well known stories there as well.  ^__^ We may or may not have met in this fandom. LOL

Both of us have been part of these fandoms for years and were active members in them. Lark started in fanfic back in 1994/5 as a beta reader (which she then parlayed that experience into becoming an editor that summer). While Rose discovered fic in college in 2002. In these fandom communities, we met people that we now call friends in real life as well as mentors, betas, advisers, and cheerleaders. We learned skills that apply both to fic and to original writing.  And, most importantly, we learned how to listen to our audience.

Let me stress that again: we learned to listen to our audience. 

When we transitioned, we hit up the people we met in these fandoms to help us with various aspects of publishing life (either paying or trading favors for work done) and we’ve also given status updates about our original writing, along with links to our author tumblr in the authors’ notes of our fics. Nothing that will violate the terms of Ao3′s Terms of use - but links to our professional website/social media.

While we write fanfic less, we still dip our fingers in now and again.

Cost:

Time. 

Straight up time.

The cost of writing fic is time, energy, and creativity.  Time spent writing fic is time NOT spent writing original works that can be published.  Time that is not spent editing or plotting or doing other sweat equity types of marketing. Which is why some authors refuse to write fic once they turn professional and it is completely understandable. Fanfic authors don’t get paid for their work and for some, getting paid is a big deal. Especially when most of your income comes from writing.

It’s a cost we willingly pay sometimes, but if a fanfic author you know also writes original works for publications. It does mean that updates may be slower and there is often less motivation to keep publishing stories -- especially if the stories don’t get much in the way of response/feedback.

It’s about return on investment.

Return on Investment:

I’m going to do this a little differently since sometimes the return isn’t monetary.  This is also likely to sound really clinical and analytical; that’s because I’m trying to be objective and I may be going too far the other way. We write fanfic because we love it, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t give back to us too.

Monetary (Language of Flowers only):

Units sold:  20

Mailing list subscribers: 6

Social media followers:  Twitter - 15, Tumblr - 60, Facebook - 8

Not Monetary but Cost Saving

Editors - 9

Cover Designers - 3

Mailing List Trades - 3

Skills Learned:

Editing (Line, Content, Story Doctoring -- Yes, all of these)

Proofreading (not the same as editing)

Creating Characters

Keeping Characters in Character

Plotting

Engaging an audience

Finishing what you start

How to handle ConCrit

How to handle Trolls

How to write to an audience

How to prevent plot holes

As you can see, the biggest return on investment of the time is in the skills section. Fanfiction is not to be taken lightly.

And as for me, Lark, I literally parlayed my experience working in fandom to actual paying jobs as an editor. I honed my skills as an editor on fanfic which I then turned around and used to get a job editing professionally. I did that multiple times for a bunch of different publishers/clients. I got my start in fanfic.

As an editor, one of the biggest problems I see with developing authors is a “sameness” in voice. AKA all of the characters sound the same.  If you want to see this in traditionally published book action, then look at Laurel K. Hamilton... Her Merry Gentry and Anita Blake heroines sound almost exactly the same. (Which not coincidentally, sounds like how she speaks in real life.)

With fanfiction, you can’t do that. You’ll get called out for being OOC. So you have to learn to adapt your voice. (Or only write characters that sound like you but that gets boring after a while.)

So in my actual job as an editor, one I get paid to do, I legitimately tell my clients to pick a character from a show they like and use them as a template for a character they’re having trouble giving a good character voice to. And unsurprisingly, it works. It’s a good trick and it subconsciously teaches your brain how to create different characters/voices.

They other HUGE takeaway from the skills is in regards to concrit and being able to take it. If you want to publish for a living and not just half-ass it, you have to develop a thick-ish skin. And fanfiction can help with that. I straight up learned to deal with harsh reviews from writing fanfiction. But more importantly, I learned how to listen to what the person was telling me and then become a better author because of it.

In fanfiction, unlike in the publishing world, the reviews are meant for the authors... not potential readers. If someone really hates your work, or worse, is apathetic to it. They just won’t comment. They’ll hit the backspace and you’ll never hear anything. Most comments, especially critical ones, are from people who legitimately like the story that you’re telling but have a problem with part of it. The comment may be harsh, it may even be mean. But it tells you something and it gives you an idea where you may be turning off readers. People aren’t always good at phrasing criticism constructively. We’re not really trained how to do that. But when someone tells you why something isn’t working for them or why they didn’t like something, listen. You don’t have to agree -- we certainly haven’t -- but listening and thinking critically about the feedback will help.

This can be seen in our first novel, The Language of Flowers, which started out its life as a fanfic. The story pissed several readers off. And we realized as we were writing it that we needed to explain something and we weren’t doing a good job of doing so. So the scene that every single one of our readers loved was born of that concrit. Our story is better and reached the top 100 in its categories on Amazon because of the feedback we got as fanfic authors.

Seriously, writing fanfic has gotten us to where we are today.

Takeaways:

My biggest take away is that writing fanfic is a great skills builder and audience builder.

Pros:

Skills. Oh so many skills. But the biggest is that you will be writing and no writing is ever wasted. It’s practice. Like an artist has to sketch or a musician practice. You’re honing and toning your writing muscles. And fanfic is absolutely valid for doing that.

Cons:

Time. Straight up Time.

Rating:

It’s been so long since I’ve done one of these that I don’t remember. But honestly, the rating varies. You get out of fanfic what you put in and what you’re willing to take from it.

(Note: This has been sitting in our drafts for about 4 years. I finally finished it up because I was bored and waiting to go to a doctor and didn’t feel like doing nothing.)

If you like our marketing posts, please consider supporting us here!

[greycappedjester]

Hi I'm so sorry I'm just too shy to ask this on ao3 but I was wondering: how is Slade's relationship with Dick? I don't mind them as a ship in general but in the story sometimes I feel like Slade gets too close to Dick and I thought if there was something platonic on his side? I'm sure you wouldn't do that in the story that's why I'm asking if it's only on Slade's side. Sorry if this is a stupid question lol. Maybe it's just because I've read sl/adedick fics before. ^^D

Nah, I’ve actually been waiting for someone to ask about that. So....it’s complicated and will take awhile to explain so I’m putting it under a Read More before I get too long winded with my character headcanons:

This is going to get soooooo long, lol, so feel free to skim. Warning for Gotham in general and Gotham being naturally a bad place for kid vigilantes to grow up in. Also because this explanation gets somewhat dark in character interpretation....

Bonus short story at the end after a really long post.

-------

Alright, so first, I feel like I should mention again that I never watched the Teen Titans animated show past maybe the first two episodes and the movie my friends wanted me to watch that I don’t really remember. (I meant to watch that show, just never got around to it). I say this because I heard that the Teen Titans TV show portrayed the Dick and Deathstroke relationship much differently in a way that’s cool and fine but not something I can see myself really wanting to write about. I know their relationship more from comics where Dick was already an adult (albeit a young adult) when he first met Slade. 

So. Back to my After the Fall of Olympus universe and yeah, I’m slowly getting to my answer. The thing is....the story is entirely in Dick’s POV right now.

And Dick’s absolutely terrible at reading and picking up any form of affection others have for him. He understands it abstractly (he knows people care) but when assessing, he critically underestimates it if he remembers to account for it at all. This goes even worse with people he’s closer to--which is why it took him forever to realize why Jason actually did want to stay with him at the manor and why he still has no idea Barbara is in love with him. Even Kory who was really, really direct about liking him, it took him years to fully emotionally process and respond to that. He’s getting better...but remembering his own value (in others eyes) isn’t something he’s overwhelming good at doing.

My headcanon, he is abnormally good at reading people and picking up basic sexual attraction. He’s good at telling when he’s being flirted with or when people are attracted to him and, honestly, Dick’s charismatic and instinctively a flirt, too.With that, partly from growing up in Gotham with its weird and supremely dark villains, I think Dick very much divorces the two concepts of romantic attraction and sexual flirting in his mind--he’s aware they can go together, obviously with Kory--but he doesn’t naturally pair them as other people probably would. It’s also part of why he just doesn’t get the level of concern Tim has about Catalina.

Okay, back to my point.

The way I write Slade and Dick’s relationship is actually mostly done off screen. But, I think Slade started with approval of Dick’s skills and potential in a clinical/objective view, growing respect and interest (personal but not at all romantic) in him as a person, and much more recently in the story (as in that last conversation he had in Ch. 18), I think Slade realized he has some legitimate attraction and cares a lot about Dick in a way that’s probably romantic.

Slade also is very, very aware immediately that he’s not going to do anything with that and, in a way, doesn’t want to because Dick ever responding to that would be jeopardizing his relationship with his family, his team, his view of his morals (which are so integral to Dick) in a way that would be exceptionally out of character and concerning coming from Dick. In other words, something happening would be a lot more terrifying than nothing happening and Slade cares.

For Dick, it’s a lot more simple. He does not have any romantic feelings there. He does in a somewhat analytical, unconscious way recognize that Slade’s probably attracted to him (probably before Slade noticed honestly) but he’s....well, kind of used to that at some level. More so, Dick doesn’t connect it to emotional care and--like with everyone else--vastly underestimates that Slade does care about him in a way that’s actually pretty selfless for a mercenary. For a romance, your guess is absolutely right, it’s not going to go anywhere in this series but I wanted the undertones and implications to be there in the final third of the story

....But, that’s also more of a later/recent development in that relationship. For most of the story that’s posted so far, Slade sees his relationship with Dick as a lot of respect and even care but not as romantic in any way. I can promise no romantic undertones at all until Dick was already in his 20s because I really, really am not interested in writing underage. (for those curious about Slade’s age in the story, I think of him as mid-20s in his introduction in Year 3 and pretty early 30s here to Dick’s early 20s)

Above everything, they respect each other and would be almost friends if that were possible.

The team and his family doesn’t know any of this.

Anyway, that was long, so here’s a bonus short story from Slade’s view. I write a lot of After the Fall of Olympus short stories in other charcter’s views that I’m not planning on posting until After the Fall of Olympus.

This one’s between Year 5 and 6 and is titled “October 7th”:

-------

It’s October 7th, almost two in the morning, and Slade’s camped out in a somehow still standing bombed out apartment in a no-name village in the middle of a war-torn country.

He’s not exactly expecting visitors.

There’s a knock on the apartment door.

Slade cocks his gun and puts two rounds in the door before, for good measure, adding matching ones on either side of the frame.

He has two seconds to let himself pretend that’s the end of it before the door knob turns to the unmistakable sound of a skilled lock pick. 

Fuck, he’s too tired for this shit today. 

“Geeze, Slade, what if I’d been an innocent civilian?”

Slade’s hand stills on the gun in surprise then consideration before slowly slipping it back into the holster. 

“Kid,” he greets. “There’s no innocent civilians left around here. ‘Specially ones that can make it to my door without me hearing any footsteps.”

“I’ve been working on that.” Dick says, walking into the apartment. He isn’t even wearing his uniform, just plain black military style clothes with the lower half of his face covered by a piece of cloth. He pushes it down and smiles as he presses the door shut behind him. “You did tell me to get better, after all.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” he mutters without much heat. “You getting better almost left me out of a job.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Please, as if both of us don’t know Luthor could’ve gotten out of those charges in months. If the Light didn’t erase them for him, anyway.”

Slade shrugs. Maybe another time, he’d find the energy to banter back. But not today. Never today.

“Why are you here, Dick? How’d you find me?”

The smile slides off of Dick’s face, leaving behind those far too heavy eyes to belong to an eighteen year old.

“You know I have your file, Slade.” Dick clears his throat. “I know what day it is.”

….Fuck.

It’s not like he expected anything else. Not since the moment he saw the kid. But, still...he doesn’t want to deal with this. Doesn’t want to deal with anything. Today, he just wants to crawl back into the worst, most deserted corner of the world he can find until the hours creep passed and he can find the energy to move.

Instead, he glares. “Good for you. Now get the fuck out, kid.”

Dick grimaces but shakes his head. “Not until you answer a question for me.”

Slade groans and, for a handful of seconds, honestly contemplates just killing him, considers it in a way that he hasn’t since before he even met the kid, back when he was first handed a file by a practically no name organization called H.I.V.E.

He’d regret it later. Sure. He has too much he wants to see out of the kid to kill him in a shitty, dusty apartment. But, that regret would come later. Later, once this day had finally passed.

That alone is almost enough to have him reaching for his gun. Almost

“Grayson,” he finally grounds out, “if you know what day it is, you know I’m not exactly inclined to play our game of hero and villain right now. You want information, find someone else.”

“Good, I’m not here to play either. Only problem is I can’t ask anyone else, you're the only one who knows the answer.” Dick lowers himself to sit on the floor across from him, like a particularly stupid mouse in front of a viper.

And then, he looks up and his eyes are too steady to belong to prey.

“Here’s the question: Do you really want to be alone today, Slade?”

The breath catches in Slade’s`lungs, harsher than if the kid had just punched him.

He pushes the reaction down, already knowing it’s too late, and says in the steadiest voice he can manage, “Yes.”

Dick stares at him, unmoving. “I don’t believe you.”

The air around them is too tight, too burning, and Slade’s being pushed down under it to suffocate. 

He can’t fight it, so he takes it and pushes it back into anger. “The fuck, kid! What do you know?  You said you have my file, yeah? How long have you had it? Because I’m betting you’ve had it since we first met!” He lunges forward. “So, why are you here now, Dick? What makes this year so special? What’s made you decide to pretend to care now? Because whatever it is, kid, I can promise you, I’m not worth it. So, leave!”

By the end, he’s gripping Dick’s shirt, pulling it tighter until the collar has to be digging painfully into his neck. 

Dick doesn’t look away. “No.”

Slade doesn’t look away either. “You know I really think I might kill you right now.”

“You won’t.”

 One of Slade’s hands moves until it’s pressing into the kid’s neck. A single sharp twist and he could snap it. “So sure?”

Dick nods.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I brought your favorite whiskey.”

A brown bag is pressed into Slade’s ribs and the man feels something rising in his chest that could possibly be laughter if it was some other time.

He drops the kid.

He takes the bag.

“Pretty sure heroes aren’t supposed to be contributing to alcoholism, kid.” He gestures to a half empty bottle of much cheaper stuff beside him.

Dick coughs, rubbing at his throat. “Please. With your metahuman metabolism, I bet you can barely feel it for an hour.”

“Depends how much I drink,” Slade counters, eyeing the bottle. “How’d you know my favorite?”

Dick shrugs. “Gotta keep some secrets to myself.”

He fishes out a spare shot glass from somewhere in the black folds of his outfit and pours a small glass for himself. 

Slade raises an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, you’re still 18, kid.”

Dick gives him an incredulous look in return. “Last time I checked, this place doesn’t have a drinking age...or a government, actually.”

Slade hums, amused, using a larger glass for himself. “True, but thought you’d be following the laws of your own birth city a little closer, hero. Gotham’s still at 21...on the record at least.”

“Technically, Gotham’s not my birth city.” Dick snorts and takes the shot. 

Slade tilts his head. “Where were you born?”

Dick pauses, thinking, before offering a sheepish smile. “You know….I actually have no idea. Somewhere in Europe, probably? I came early, the circus was still on tour. One of the lion tamers helped deliver me, used to be a doctor.”

“Always a surprise, kid,” Slade shakes his head, draining his glass. Tasting it in his mouth and pretending it’s enough to wash away the ash.

The next words come before he can stop them.  “...Adeline always wanted two kids.”

Dick goes quiet.

“Of course,” Slade says to his glass and fuck it, just fuck it,  “turns out we didn’t even get the one. Turns out I didn’t get either my wife or my son.”

Fuck, he hates October 7th.

He reaches for the whiskey, ignoring how his hand shakes. “Addy was a soldier, you know? A good one. Of all the stupid fucking ways she could go, I never thought it’d be childbirth. Maybe I should have. Always knew I’d kill her somehow.”

“You didn’t kill her, Slade,” Dick says softly.

“Sure. Whatever,” he agrees, too tired to argue. It’s not as if he hasn’t heard every variation sometime or another. It’s just right now, he can’t quite bring himself to debate about the cause when the end of it’s always going to be the same.

Dick drops the subject and the relief that Slade feels  is immense enough that it’s close to gratitude.

“What was your son’s name?”

“Grant. We were going to name him Grant.” He takes another sip. “If we had another one, we were going to name him Joseph. Or Rose for a girl.”

“Those are good names.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

Slade doesn’t answer, looking up to eye the kid over his drink. Dick sees it, holding up his own glass in acknowledgement before knocking it back.

“Why are you here, kid,” Slade asks again. “We’re not friends, pretty far fucking from it last time I checked.”

“I’ve got my reasons,” he answers calmly.

“If you’re here to make your usual sales pitch about the virtues of heroism, I really will kill you. Whiskey or not.”

Dick shakes his head. “....is it so hard to believe I just didn’t think you should be alone?”

Slade thinks his skepticism is loud enough without him needing the words.

The look Dick gives him is steady in return. “Think what you want to, Slade, I know what grief feels like. It’s a poison. It’ll kill you unless you find a way to drain it.” 

Dick looks down at his own glass and Slade gets the feeling the kid’s no longer talking about just Slade. It’s still a tossup whether he means himself or the Bat.

Either way, Slade makes sure his next smirk is particularly pointed. “And, look at you. Tracking me all the way down here to try and save my tortured soul. Such a hero.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dick says with an eye roll, pouring himself another drink

Slade cocks his head. “Speaking of, don’t all the good little heroes have school right about now.”

Dick looks up, almost sheepish. “I’m ditching my classes. Don’t tell my brothers, I’m still trying to be a good influence.”

Slade snorts and takes a particularly long swig.

A good influence. As if a single one of his stupid, fucking team doesn’t think the fricking sun shines out of the kid’s ass.

Fuck. What is Slade even doing? Sitting in a run down apartment in the middle of a warzone drinking whiskey with a too trusting kid a decade younger and that he probably should have killed years ago.

But, then, it’s always been exceedingly difficult for him to do what he should---what’s the sane and logical thing--when it comes to Dick Grayson. And, one day--when he doesn’t have the burn of booze sitting in his gut and his chest doesn’t ache like he’s been shot--Slade’s going to take a hard look at why that is.

For now, he’ll just leave it like he usually does. The kid’s too interesting to die yet. 

Dick eyes his shot glass, contemplatively. “This whiskey’s way too overpriced, Slade. It’s practically aged vodka.”

Slade finishes his off steadily. “Shows you have little taste, Grayson.”

Dick laughs and slides the bottle over. “I brought another one anyway.”

....Far, far too interesting.

[girlsluvbot]

MATCHMAKER pt.1

pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader

genre: fluff, angst

about:

matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/

noun

a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.

"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"

a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.

You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.

Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.

You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.

Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.

Until this very moment.

"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."

And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.

Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.

When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.

Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.

Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?

Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.

"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."

"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.

"What area?"

"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.

"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."

You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.

"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note

"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."

To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.

One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.

That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).

You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.

Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.

"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.

"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.

"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.

You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:

She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.

Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).

"Have you been standing out here for too long?"

"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.

"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.

You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.

There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.

You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.

You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.

"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.

"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."

Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.

Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."

You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.

"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.

"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"

When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"

You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.

"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."

By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:

She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.

The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.

After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.

Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.

"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"

She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."

"Oh wow, that's impressive."

She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."

You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.

"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"

"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."

"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."

"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."

Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."

"What does she think about your job now?"

Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."

"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.

Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."

Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.

You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.

You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."

"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.

You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.

"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.

"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."

She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"

You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."

She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.

You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?

A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.

Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:

Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)

You roll your eyes but continue reading,

Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.

With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.

So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.

You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?