#next chapter will be the last one!

[velvet-paradox]

Heartstrings (Part Four)

Pairing: Vessel x Female reader

Length: Long

Warnings: NSFW, 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, in which Vessel tells you the truth.

Tagging: @synnersaintt @megangovier20 @thesoundresoundsecho @marmalademary

ENJOY!!!

It's quiet.

Everything is muffled, underwater.

Streaks of black stain and drip over the side of the tub like spiders legs. Vessel holds his breath under the water. It's surprisingly large enough to house his lithe frame, suspended in time, his mind reeling and with the weightless thoughts he's suddenly disrupted he nearly drowns. He opens his eyes under the murky water in time to see Sleep hanging over the shower curtain, red smoky paws propped under its' chin.

"Don't do that!" Vessel sputtered and wiped at his bare face, coughing up little hiccups of water.

"There's something you should know."

"Can't it wait? Jesus." Vessel huffed and sat up, splashing more water over onto the floor.

"I suppose it could but by then it will be too late."

"Too late for what?" Vessel pulled out the plug, the chain tickled his foot and he watched as the water disappeared revealing him in his glorious birthday suit. Sleep didn't care or couldn't be bothered to look away from his position, just watched with narrowed black eyes. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, host."

Vessel sighed, and stood up, wrapping his waist with a fluffy, actually an extra fluffy towel. He secured it then gave his full attention to Sleep, even if he did huff and puff about it.

"Now, what is just so important?"

"He's a liar." Sleep spat, as if the words held venom and by the look on the little creatures' scrunched red face, it just might be.

"Who? Who are you talking about?"

"Who do you think, sir? Y/N's fiancé. He's a phony! I'm surprised she didn't see it, he practically reeks of it. Foul thing to lie to the one you're supposed to love. He must be dealt with."

Vessel frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh I do not think it my dear, Vessel. Oh no. I know it! I know a trickster when I see one," Sleep scoffed and swayed around the top of the medicine cabinet, sitting as politely as an otherworldly cat with six black eyes can. "I overheard him this morning, his conversation sounded promising so I went into his room and all was revealed."

Vessel started to panic. That awful ache in his chest made his stomach hot and his mouth sour.

"Go on."

"Well you see my dear boy…"

….

He hated it. Every second that passed seemed to linger a little too long, set the pace and tone for the dinner. Vessel was never uncertain about Sleep and what the red deity was completely capable of, always took his advice since the incident, had followed along its' path and yet he didn't have a single reason not to trust, right?

But as he sat, albeit uncomfortably beside you at some swanky restaurant in an industrial area of the city, he couldn't help but wonder if Sleep was playing tricks. Although he'd mentioned time and time again, much like old Louie had, that you two were destined to be together. Vessel could never say for sure but he hadn't been led astray so far and whether you knew it or not, the truth was in stone or so Sleep would mumble.

Breakable stones, apparently.

This guy, this Zeke guy, your fiancé was your soulmate. Not Vessel.

He poked around at the roasted vegetables on his plate, adorning everyone's features in this low lighting, the glimmer of your engagement ring. He clutched the necklace when III nearly fell out of his chair with his dramatic story, something new he'd learned about Elephants was very exciting to him.

You grabbed onto him and nearly toppled yourself over as well if it weren't for Vessel's turbo reflexes. He'd just grabbed the crook of your elbow, a mysterious white hot jab to his palm made him jolt. III settled down but when you looked at him, really looked at him, he felt as if you could see his whole life story (including the absent three year hiatus), a collection of thoughts and memories and the unknowns of the future.

"Are you really okay? You were so quiet at dinner." You asked, walking back to the hotel behind the others. Zeke was flowery in his own storytelling, II was eating it up like a fresh baked pie but IV had been skeptical. Looking over his shoulder and pretending to hang himself out of boredom.

"Yeah yeah I'm fine. Just tired you know. Jetlag and all." He said with a shrug. His palm still pulsed a bit.

"I'm glad you came. I don't what I would've done if you didn't." You admitted.

"You would still be getting married." That words filled his mouth dirt. He looked down when he felt your arm hook around his.

"I don't know. I feel like I need your approval for some reason. You wouldn't lead me astray."

Vessel didn't know what to say so he kept his mouth shut, patting your hand until you made back to the hotel and your respected rooms.

….

"She's gotta' know by now right?" IV asked the next afternoon, tapping his chin as he paced the room. "Sleep wouldn't just lie about something like that, would he?"

Vessel shrugged. All the blood rushing to his head as laid upside down on one of the stiff and scratchy recliners. III looked incredibly spindly from this angle, he thought.

"Oh shit! Is it here? Is Sleep in here, listening?" IV rolled off the bed and circled himself around, eyes frantic through the peep holes of his mask. If he didn't stop soon he'd be dizzy and sick and no one needed any of that mess, including housekeeping.

Vessel remained silent. Truth was Sleep never left his side. Well not exactly his side, he wasn't attached to the creature, not bodily, but Vessel would get little glimpses of those piercing, watchful inky eyes, wisps of crimson out of the corner of his eye. A few times Vessel had seen Sleep resting, unnoticed on one of their shoulders or at their feet.

"Well we gotta' tell her, right? We can't let this go on like this! She'll be absolutely heartbroken."

"Or worse." II chimed in.

"How do you mean?"

II sighed and slouched even further into the other recliner. "She could think were trying to ruin her big day. Alright so, say we do tell her 'hey Y/N by the way this chump is lying to you and isn't your true forever mate but because he see's how much of a catch you are and how lucky he'd be to lock you away, he's been pretending so.' Yeah, that sounds HORRIBLE. Or that we might be jealous. Ves should be the one to feel that shock, not that poser."

Blood pounded in Vessel's ears at II's words. Yes it would be terrible to hear something like that from close friends about your supposedly sacred mate. But… the shock part. Vessel squinted and sat up, shivering as he got a rush.

"What kind of shock?"

II snorted and crossed his hands over his belly. "Oh come now, you know. Didn't you pay attention in any of your classes?"

II cleared his throat and pretended to straighten some invisible tie before reciting the following:

Once one finds their mate,

Everything becomes white and clear,

For the shock of fate,

Makes them let go of fear

"Sheesh, you think you of all people would remember that!"

….

He hadn't. He must've forgotten it. Flashbacks of sitting in the back of his classes, doodling and filling the wide ruled pages of his notebooks with everything but lasting information. Back in the days of his "jester" make up, his happiness, reeking of coffee beans and tricks played. Eating SpaghettiO's cold, right out of the can as you and him would swing in gentle unison.

Zeke didn't come off as jealous as he sat with the guys, you'd banged on their hotel room door begging them to come out. You were desperate for a dance, like old times. Vessel even broke a smile as he watched III twirl you down the carpeted hallway.

You and III hadn't lost your rhythm or chemistry on the dance floor, the music of the club was smooth and easy enough to tap his feet to. Vessel looked over to see Zeke checking out some other girl in a low cut top adjust her cleavage. A wandering eye and a liar. Fucks sake.

IV and II noticed too, keeping their eyes on the new prey.

"Nice rack, right?" II's voice broke through the silence.

Zeke beamed like she'd actually flashed them, nodding with his bottom lip his teeth. IV grunted next to Vessel, he silently agreed.

"Not bad. I've seen better."

Vessel wanted to throw his drink in Zeke's face, cause a scene, expose him for all to see. But he didn't. You didn't need that. He instead slammed it in case he got the urge to follow through with whatever the man before him came up with.

"Y/N's are great, don't me wrong boys but… there's nothing like a fresh pair. The lead up to it, the adreanaline, the rush. She hates when I got to strip clubs, why get worked up to not fuck a stripper when I could just do her instead?"

As vulgar as Zeke made his plight, Vessel did quietly agree. Even if he did a piss poor mock of your voice. If he had a beautiful woman (and not just any woman but his fucking mate!) at home who would do what he liked, why waste time and money?

Zeke sat back, confidently, a little too confidently by Vessel's standards really. "That's why I don't tell her anymore."

Thankfully the glass in Vessel's hand was plastic as it would've been in shards on the floor.

"You lie to her?" IV asked.

"A little white lie here and there never hurt anyone."

"But you just said--"

"I know what I said! Sorry. I uh, no harm no foul. What she doesn't know and I do expect you lot to keep those mouths of yours shut, won't kill her. You wouldn't want to ruin her big, beautiful day now would you? Didn't think so. I trust you guys know better than that so… I'm gonna' go get another drink and grind up on my fiancé. Excuse me, lads."

Zeke got up, patted Vessel's shoulder smugly and left the table.

"I'm gonna' get him." II growled and stood, only for Vessel to grab his wrist and drag him back down.

"Don't."

"Ves--"

"I know. I know. We'll tell her, I promise."

"Yeah when? The wedding is three days, man!"

Vessel knew that. He swallowed hard and saw you spinning with III, a take on Jack and Rose in Titanic. Though it looked incredibly strange for this long legged man to be twirling so quickly with a girl two heads shorter.

He'd be the one to break it to you. It would only be fair.

Right?

….

Vessel paced the long hallway the next night. Up and down, touch the elevator doors then walk back to the bay window and touch the cool glass that overlooked the pool. You swam lap after lap, languid and gentle as falling snow. Vessel paced the hall one more time. Two more times. Poor guy was trying to hype himself up to deliver the news.

"What are you doing up?"

Your voice alerted through the quiet of the hall.

Vessel turned to see you by the elevator bank he'd just left, standing there like a vision in black. You wore a sheer and lacy swimsuit cover up, your flip flops squished with water from the pool.

He should have just gone down there, he thought. What if you screamed, what if you cried, what if you wailed like a banshee in the night at the truth of Zeke's betrayal? Would you wake the whole hotel, cause rife and chaos, break out in fight?

Vessel panicked but let you walk up on him, allowed you and only you to touch his mask, cup his cheek, pinch his painted chin. To his surprise another hot jolt of electricity hit him in the gut.

"What's wrong?" You asked, lingering there and smelling of chlorine and whatever it was your wore or maybe it was just you he was smelling. Mates could scent each other after all.

"I uh, I um… can we talk?"

"Of course," you said instantly, taking his wrist and walked further down the hallway. "Zeke said he was gonna' stay out a bit longer, hang with his boys before the wedding."

Vessel bit his tongue, last nights' unscrupulous conversations sans your ears made him instantly picture your fiancé at a strip club, face deep in oiled tits. It made him hot.

"So, what you do wanna' talk about?" You asked once inside your room, the smell of your perfume or lotion or scrub or something Vessel wasn't even aware of reeked, in a good way of course. Just a bit more overpowering. Hints and wisps of Zeke wafted from the double sink vanity in the bathroom. You settled down your things and stood facing your former best friend.

"Zeke--"

"I knew it! You don't like him do you? Vessel he's my person; he knew my phrase, the zing thing. I was really hoping you'd approve." You sounded so sad as you moved away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Vessel hadn't even said anything and you were already distraught.

"It's not that its just… he's not right. The things he's doing, the lies, the betrayal, his attitude is just all sorts of wrong. I know love is sometimes blind but, you've got to see things as they are."

"Lies? Betrayal?" You gave him a quizzical glare and marched back to him. Your scent growing even stronger. "What are you talking about?"

He took a deep breath before unleashing all his knowledge about the situation. He didn't know how you'd take it. What your reaction might be.

It certainly wasn't a slap to his face.

Vessel didn't taste blood but he checked just the same, wiping his mouth, adjusting his mask.

"Get out."

"I'm sorry Y/N. But I'm not the one you should be made at."

"I said: GET OUT!" You shouted again, shoving him towards the door with tears welling up in your eyes, your face scrunched as you sobbed for air.

"If you don't believe me," Vessel took off the necklace, held it out in his palm as he stood out in the hallway then. "Game."

"I don't want it!"

"Take it," Vessel held back his own tears, thankful for the crafted mesh eyes, you couldn't see them pregnantly well up. "It's your turn."

You reluctantly took the necklace and shut the door in his face, making his cape billow with the force of it. He touched the door when he heard you start to sob behind it. He pictured you sliding down its' length, covering your face in your hands. Would you lock Zeke out? Would you confront him straight away? Would you--

"You did the right thing, Vessel." Sleep announced, coiling around his feet.

"Did I? She's a mess right now because of me." He sniffled, gripping his keycard.

"Ah ah, not because of you, because of what you told her. That's a big difference, my boy. You're surely bright enough to know that," Sleep leapt up onto Vessel's shoulder, even gave him a little pat on the cheek with his paw. "There there, host. Let her breathe. She'll understand."

….

None of them seemed to understand how you were going through with all of this. The rehearsal dinner goes on as scheduled, only difference is your lack of enthusiasm. You greeted the guys and everyone who was invited but you just looked at Vessel, he could tell you'd been crying still.

But he did see that you wore the necklace.

He moved II out of the way at the little buffet line, plating up food he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach.

"Game."

"What?" You whispered back to him, pouring gravy over some mashed potatoes.

"You heard me. Are you game?"

"Vessel please-"

"If you really love him you'll play."

With a huff you looked at him, holding up the line.

"I'm still pissed at you."

"I know." Vessel hushed his voice down and gave you a little nudge to keep it moving. "I promise I'm not trying to hurt you. I only want you to be safe, cared for. Don't you know that?"

"No, Ves I don't." Your voice paused, watery and once again on the verge of tears but you saved face and stared up at the popcorn ceiling of the venue before finding your table. "I don't know anything anymore."

That hurt more than intended.

You were lost. All those years ago ihe'd been the one to be lost, didn't know which end was up, if he was on an even path of destrcution or pleasure. You'd been there to guide him along the way. You were there for him when he needed it most and Vessel was damn sure he'd serve you the same dish.

The sudden slam of a SpaghettiO's can on the tablecloth made everyone jump.

Your eyes were wild when they met Vessel's.

III looked at II who looked at Vessel then to you. All their blue eyes were focused on you.

"The hells' that for?" Zeke asked through a mouthful of food.

You stared silently at the can.

"Honey? What is that?" He asked again, bumping your arm.

"Game?"

You straightened and reached for the can, another stinger to Vessel's fingertips this time when you touched. You locked eyes and slid the can towards you, looking at it fondly.

"Game."

"What?"

"It's her favorite thing, but of course you know that don't you Zeke? Being Y/N's mate and all o' that. Keeps them neatly tucked away in all corners," Vessel mused, remembering that one time you'd so conveniently stashed two cans of the quick meal above your stove like a trying-to-quit-one-more-time smoker. There just in case of an emergency. "Probably brought some with her."

"Is that a joke?"

II choked on his Redbull, knowing full well that ALL mates know their partners specialties of choice. Vessel tilted his head as you looked at Zeke. He should know that answer.

"You know I eat them all the time."

"Yeah and it's fucking weird but you're weird so I didn't think of it. I didn't know they were your favorite all time but I mean, I know what you like otherwise."

"I'm weird?"

"In a good way."

You scoffed and started to spin the can on the table. "Tell me then, what's my favorite dessert?"

The people at the table tried to pry, tried to listen in on "happy" couple as tension grew like vines.

Sleep poked his little head out from between the crook of your elbow, it winked one full side of eyes at Vessel the turned its' head upside down like an owl and peered up at you thoughtfully.

"Carrot cake. Duh."

You blinked at Zeke.

"What? Or is it German Chocolate…"

"I don't like dessert."

"What? Of course you do babe, I've seen you eat chocolate every month."

"Only for a week."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Babe come on it's not that--"

"What was my first car?"

Zeke was in a visible panic, Sleep was now totally invested and showing bleach white fangs in glee, III and IV had their hands on their glasses but stilled them in thin air.

"I don't-"

"You don't know?" As if Vessel was tuned into you like an AM radio, he could hear the wavering in your voice, the realization, the coming to terms that maybe just maybe he was right. He hated the defeated look on your painted up face. Hopefully your mascara was waterproof.

You shot him a watery look then across the table.

"Excuse me."

You abruptly got up, screeched back your chair and stomped towards the exit. The wedding party just stared and murmured what a shame Zeke couldn't remember his mates' particulars. Things that should come rushing to the surface. They went back to eating and chatting, while Zeke shifted and looked uncomfortable but not amused, Vessel noticed that the can of SpaghettiO's was missing from the table.

He found you by the pool.

Swaying your feet in the cool water, the can of food tipped towards your mouth.

"Hey."

You pulled the can away, a ring of sweet red sauce around your bottom lip. You swallowed and gave him a sad little wave.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For ruining your night. Well… nights', plural that is." Vessel crouched down next to you.

"I should be the one apologizing to you. For three years ago, for reaching out after all this time. For slapping you when clearly you knew more than me. For thinking… I don't even know what I was thinking," you sniffed and looked down into the half eaten/drunk can of pasta rings. "I just missed you. The first thing I thought of when Zeke proposed was you. I wanted to share something major in my life, something eccentric was happening to me and I wanted you there. I needed you there."

Vessel touched your shoulder eventually. "I'll always be there."

"I am really sorry for dragging you into this."

"You didn't drag me into anything. You know you can't make me do anything I don't want to do."

You looked over at him with half a smile and an offer of what was left in the can.

"That's not true."

Your eeyes shone bright when Vessel wiped the corner of your mouth. You jerked and opened your mouth but thought against whatever it was you were going to say. Instead you got up, told him you had to go.

He watched you leave, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself. Of course you needed time to process your next move. Vessel's shoulders sagged when he saw you stop at the doors, look back at him one last time then disappeared into the hotel.

[aster-draws]

I can finally post my first piece for this year's dpxdc big bang!!!! This one is from @perch-of-cerul's fic Chance Medley

I loved working on this so much, it was such a fun fic to make art for!! Please go and check it out!

[naurius]

I accidentally sent this clip no context to my family groupchat so. yeah

[muffinlance]

Wooo the bidder's choice auction winner chose the next Dark Night in Ba Sing Se WOOOOO

[ferngle]

Ok so I read "Reaping what you sew" by @/thetriggeredhappy a week or so ago. Definitely did not get the feels. No tears were shed... anyways-

[amaranthdahlia]

happy holidays everybody ! i dont have anything on theme to celebrate with, so instead have this months worth of kudoichi art :] !

[i recently got an ipad for christmas so im practicing using a stylus for the first time and also procreate :D this is one of my practice sketches]

[two types of people after the end of a month long gay situationship]

[so i have this kinda cheesy headcanon where since kudou called afo demon lord in chapter 407, what if he ....... hear me out......... calls yoichi 'angel' ...... atleast by accident]

[redraw meme from twt]

[all of these is to contribute to a rarepair poll from twitter (which btw, they won, only after a series of botting from the other side and drama lmao)]

[some miscellaneous stuff]

[below are some kdch au doodles]

[tallichi has hit the 2nd tower again]

[kudoichi fankids from an undisclosed family au about kdch being katsuki's great grandparents, which is not related to any of the family aus ive posted before (bc god am i Obsessed with designing fankids, these two arent even the only ones, theres 5 more kids that i havent drawn yet. and if ur wondering why that amount, this just to follow the ofa user count. and to also reinforce the thing where the much older generation had so many kids back then LMAO)]

commissions

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Nothing… just Violet wearing Xaden’s shirt and stealing his clothes, and Xaden asking to help wash her hair and taking care of her, while making sure his mind is open to her so the bond can wrap around her now-dreamless-nights and never let her be alone, and joking about how far they’ve come beyond any “breakup point”, and really channeling the “old married couple” vibes the squad said they had at the beginning of this book only double-dosed on fluff.

[every-grelle-sutcliff]

[welivetodream]

Whhhhaatttttttt------------

Guys I think Asagiri ships Sskk....just a feelin' you know?

And Aku, you're being a bit zesty with the "return him to me" so he is yours? 🔎🔎🤔🤔🤔🌈🌈🌈❓⁉️

[demaparbat-hp]

The Painted Lady turned around slowly, deliberately, and stared right through each ghost present in the room. Then, she raised her hands in a graceful arc, pointed loosely at the ceiling, and chanted, “Well, off you go.” She made a shoo, go away gesture, the spirits disappeared, and—wait. The spirits disappeared.

Izumi comes back in For the Spirits Chapter VI: Dream of You. Zuko has a mild panic attack and her upbeat attitude does not help him (or does it?).

Just what is she up to? And what is the meaning behind the blue eyes from Zuko's dream?

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter V

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: bjorn fucks you seven ways to Sunday. that's it, that's the chapter. also, I don't know why it took me five chapters to realize I never mentioned the title of the fic is from the song "small doses" by bebe rexha lol, the lyrics inspired the story, it's worth a listen if you've never heard it before.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 5.1k

Masterlist Next Chapter

It was meant to be a one time thing—sleeping with Bjorn.

Something that neither of you would ever bring up, not to anyone, not to each other, a silent pact of secrecy you mutually understood but, like everything else that's happened since your transfer to sector six, things don't go as planned. 

Kay nearly lunges at you when she sees you again, having barely been extracted from the ruins of that specific section of the man made tunnel you’d been down in. Her fingers create wrinkles in the fabric near the shoulder blades of your grimy tee you haven't gotten a chance to change out of, face wet with tears, arms coming up to return her embrace, the first time you've actually ever done so. 

She'd been crying ever since she heard the news, word having traveled fast about what had happened after you went looking for Bjorn in the mines. Kay and the others had immediately rushed over to the accident site only to be met with heavy yellow tape and traffic cones policed by armed guards, roping the area off to the rest of the colonists that had gathered there. 

According to the reports, you and Bjorn had been trapped for just over six hours, which doesn't seem accurate, not when it felt like an eternity to you, throats tight from the fumes while you found comfort in each other. 

Speaking of, you glance over to see Tyler and Navarro taking turns bear hugging Bjorn, squeezing him a little tighter, holding him a little longer, undoubtedly over the moon to have him back alive. 

Navarro buries her face in his chest to hide her tears, never one to show her emotions just like her brother, though the shakiness in her shoulders gives it away, the flat of his palm running over her back to reassure her. 

You turn the other way as soon as you realize Bjorn is craning his head to look in your direction, his gaze burning into your profile with the intensity of it, fighting the urge to look over and meet the icy blues of his irises. 

While you keep your eyes trained elsewhere you can't help but wonder what Bjorn is thinking while he stares at you, if he's thinking about what you just did together. If he's remembering how you sounded crying out his name, the way you looked desperately bouncing on top of him, how it felt to be inside of you with nothing in between. 

You suppress the shudder threatening to run down the length of your spine thinking about it, not wanting Kay to notice, even if you could theoretically write it off as a side effect from being trapped for hours.

That’s when Tyler makes his way over to you and Kay, who's just barely let you go, swapping places with her to hug you next and apologize profusely, feeling guilty for what happened, like he's trying to take responsibility for sending you in after Bjorn, like it's his fault.

“Tyler—Tyler listen,” you insist, hoping to assuage his remorse, finally getting him to pull back and look at you, holding you at arm's length by your biceps, “I don't blame you like—at all. How could you've possibly known what was gonna happen? Besides, it was probably a good thing, Bjorn and I talked it out and we're…okay now.” 

Thing is though, you honestly don't know where the truth lies in that statement, having no clue where you and Bjorn stand at the current moment. 

Yeah, you hooked up and yeah it was incredible, best lay of your life—which isn't saying much considering you were hammered every other time—but you have no idea how it'll affect your dynamic going forward, what parts of it will inevitably change and what will remain the same, if anything at all. 

And that scares you, the uncertainty of it all, downright terrifies you. It's the entire reason you chose to isolate yourself from other people after your transfer, wanting to be left alone, a type of peace that can only be forged within yourself, finding solace in its predictability. 

But you've been flirting with danger instead, ever since you accepted Kay's invite to hangout, telling yourself—lying to yourself—that you won't get too close as you were integrated into the group, so slow and imperceptible you didn't even notice until you were in too deep, up to your shoulders in a bottomless pit of quicksand. 

Once the medical team on standby clears you and Bjorn you're free to go, watching Tyler sling his arm around Bjorn's shoulders and ask if he and Navarro would like to have a sleepover at his and Kay's, “yanno like when we wuz little,” he laughed, patting Bjorn's chest with an added layer of enthusiasm, Bjorn accepting the invite with an easy little smile and nod. 

You part ways soon after, promising Kay you'll talk to her later after you've showered and gotten a good night's rest. Going home to clean off the dirt and debris and dry come, scrubbing extra hard between your legs, scrubbing your thighs until they're almost red and raw, like you're trying to erase what happened, washing the evidence down the drain by your feet. 

Though it does nothing to get rid of the finger-shaped bruises sitting just under your hips or the hickey halfway down your neck, examining them while you stand naked in the mirror you have hanging in your bedroom, a gradually fading reminder of what happened between you and him. 

A structural defect in the support beams, that's what you're told the day after the cave-in while you're clocking in for another sixteen hour shift, something that had resulted in a disastrous domino effect leading to the collapse. An accident waiting to happen, blamed on the colonists who first erected the area rather than the corporation that had them go into the mines in an unsturdy environment in the first place.

The rescue mission wasn't about you and Bjorn, you worked that out on your own, why would they care about two low ranking miners that were referred to by numbers anyways? It was about the valuable resources that could still be extracted, saving you was a byproduct of retaining that tunnel before it could bury it all under rubble and wood. Fucking figures.

After work you stop by a convenience store and pick up a variety of pregnancy tests from different brands just to be sure, rushing back to your apartment to take them in the privacy of your own home, holding the plastic bag close to your chest so anyone passing by can't possibly see what's inside. 

The fifteen minute wait is eating at you, feeling longer than the time you spent trapped underground, leg jiggling impatiently while you sit on the closed toilet lid with your fingers loosely steepled together, one elbow resting on either knee. 

You slump back against the porcelain tank, eyes rolling up to the plaster-ridge ceiling the same time all the tension in your body drains when they all, by some miracle, come back negative. Thank fuck. That's one less thing you need to stress out over. Now you just have Bjorn to worry about, which is significantly less terrifying.  

There's a knock at the door, startling you, immediately sweeping your arm across the laminate counter to trash everything, yelling over your shoulder to, “hold on a fucking second!” when the knocking persists. It can't be Tyler this time, he isn't this impatient. Or annoying.  

Although you wish it had been, your eyes meeting striking blue ones as soon as you answer the door, your heart plummeting to your feet like a runaway dumbwaiter in an elevator shaft. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You hiss, looking left then right then left again to check if anyone is around, slightly relieved when you see no one—only slightly though, because Bjorn is standing on your doorstep like he just—belongs here. 

“Whoa, calm ur tits love,” he responds, holding his hands up in front of him, “want me ta’ suck on ‘em again?” he smirks right after, causing your blood pressure to spike through the roof. 

You curl your fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt, Bjorn letting you roughly yank him inside, using his back to slam the door shut behind him, still wearing that smug, shit-eating grin on his dumb face. 

“The fucking nerve of you just showing up here unannounced!” You don't yell, not wanting the neighbor you share a wall with to overhear but you get pretty close to it. 

Outwardly you're fuming, his shirt still twisted up in your clenched fist but inwardly—inwardly you're trying not to buckle under your own weight, inhaling the familiar scent of tobacco and winter gum rolling off his warm breath, remembering the taste of it, knees feeling a little weak and strange because of it. What the hell is wrong with you?

“And how exactly would I announce it? S’not like I got ya’ digits princess,” he reasons, punctuating his sentence with an annoying little chuckle. 

“Even if I did I would've blocked your dumbass immediately,” you fire back, a bit harsher than usual, wanting him to take the hint and get the fuck out of your home. You don't even wanna look at his face right now, still coming to terms with what you'd done while under duress. 

Because seriously—who fucks in a mineshaft when you're about to die? It kinda makes you wish you did, hoping for a sinkhole to open up from under your feet right now and swallow you whole out of sheer embarrassment. 

“Ma’ point,” he says, tipping his head at you, making you huff, “whatever,” lacking a rebuttal, letting his shirt go to take a step back and tightly cross your arms in front of you, “why'd you come here anyway?”

“Well innit obvious,” Bjorn answers, taking a step forward, then another. And another. And another. And you freeze up, Bjorn close enough now your bodies are almost pressed together, gently placing his thumb on your chin while the rest of his fingers curl under your jaw so you have no choice but to look at him, “for a round two princess.” 

Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips goldfish apart—you don’t know what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn’t that. “I only did it in the first place because I thought we were gonna die!” 

Bjorn rolls his eyes, leaning in to whisper into your ear, voice like coarse velvet, “don’t act like it wasn't tha’ best screw o’ ya’ life, princess. The way ya’ were moaning ma’ name and tha' heavenly way you wuz squeezin’ around ma’ cock. Haven’t stopped thinkin’ bout it since.”

So he was thinking about what happened in the mine when he looked over at you during your little reunion with the others. You briefly wonder how often he's replayed it in his head, if he lay awake last night while everyone slept around him, remembering how it felt to have his fingers inside you, his cock. If he dreamt about it, hearing your whimpers and pleas to a vivid degree, the sensation of his hands touching the most intimate parts of your body, burning hot like fire ants across your skin, just like you did. 

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him, his touch gentle—barely there, like he's handling porcelain, staring into your eyes for an incredibly long, drawn-out moment. 

Then his lips are on yours again, soft and hesitant, like he's testing the waters and you just melt into it, powerless to quit while you're ahead, your eyes falling close as you open your mouth, letting his tongue slip in. 

It's easier to find the rhythm this time around, having gotten more than acquainted with Bjorn's style of kissing, the slick sound of it permeating through your tiny apartment, heat already gathering in your pelvis knowing what’s to come, where this is leading to. 

Bjorn chuckles into the warm, wet cave of your mouth, thumb running over your now spit glossed lips, eyes roving over your face, seeming to like what he sees, “who knew I jus’ had ta’ stick my tongue down ya’ throat to get ya’ ta' shuddup? Woulda done it tha’ first night i met ya’ if I'da known.” 

“Fuck off—hold on,” you pause, spreading your fingers apart with your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat against your palm, “I'm not about to let you fuck me raw again,” you follow up, firm in your stance this time, thoughts wandering to the pregnancy tests sitting in the bottom of your trashcan. You were so fucking lucky not to get knocked up the first time around, you're not about to risk it a second time. 

A smirk stretches across his face, reaching into the pocket of his tan quilted lined work jacket to fish out a box of condoms, “bought a pack on ma’ way ‘ere. And I hope ya’ know I plan on usin' every. Single. One o’ ‘em. These fuckers are bloody expensive.” 

You exhale a breathy moan, nodding your head in return before you curl your fingers into his shirt again, except, instead of pushing him backward you yank him forward, smashing your lips back together. 

It's intoxicating—making out with Bjorn, maybe that's why you're so utterly weak when it comes to his advances, whimpering so needy and eager in response to him slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans to roughly squeeze your ass through them. 

The kiss you're tangled in is somehow more desperate than the one you shared in the mines less than forty eight hours ago, like you're both testing to see if the first time was a fluke or if it'll be just as incredible on the second go around.

“Ya’ gotta call tha’ shots last time princess, this time I wanna,” he tells you, more confident this time around, his eyes softening anyways, “if thas’ okay with ya’?”

The smile you give him is equally as soft, genuine, squeezing his wrist where it's still resting against the denim of your jeans, “what do you want baby?” 

“Wanna eat ya’ out. Make ya’ come on ma’ tongue then fuck ya’ nice and deep,” he groans thinking about it, arms circling your waist to keep you close, moaning back just as weak and strained. You've never had someone care about your pleasure the way he does, never had anyone go down on you. 

So you're pretty sensitive when he does, needy and pliant in his hands when he has your hips pinned down to your bed, jaw going slack as he licks up between your folds, following your breathy direction. 

It's hard telling him what to do, a broken moan escaping you on every other word, legs quivering under him, repeating, “good boy,” like a scratched record every time his tongue finds your clit, able to pinpoint it after so many praises whimpered, circling his tongue around it, spurred on by the pet name.

Cupping the underside of both thighs, his nails bite into your skin, drawing them up so your knees are pointed to the ceiling, wearing them like a pair of earmuffs while he sucks on the bundle of nerves his lips are curved around. 

“Mmm, yeah just—fuck that feels so good, you're doing so good, keep going just like that. Good boy,” you keen, high and pretty, your hand going between your legs to find the sweaty mess of his hair and yanking on it, making him growl in response. So, he likes his hair pulled too. 

Bjorn settles his upper lip just above your clit, careful to cover his teeth, his bottom lip just above your opening before he licks into you, pushing his tongue in, causing you to grind down onto him, pulling on his scalp a little harder.

He spells his name out on your clit, like he owns it, says he read up on it just to make it good which turns you on all the more, knowing he cares enough to learn what to do and how to do it, how to get your thighs closing around his head and grinding down on the warm wet muscle penetrating you. 

He shallowly fucks it in and out of you, the spit naturally produced on his tongue aiding in the slip and slide, warm breath wafting over the cooling trail of spit causing you to shiver even more.

It's when Bjorn's pushing his fingers in alongside and curling them over your g-spot that has your abdominal muscles spasming, coming on his tongue just like he wanted, licking you into hypersensitivity. 

Bjorn looks just as drunk on it as you are, despite being completely sober when you pulled him into your apartment, lids droopy and his eyes glossed over, crawling over you to fuck you nice and deep just like he promised. 

You go through three condoms that night. After the bed you make your way into the shower next, sliding up and down the steamed glass door as he fucks you up against it, your hands and tits leaving sweaty imprints for several seconds from behind because of it. 

He has his shin resting against the lip of the low square tub to keep his balance, the warm water washing down over you with his fingers resting right over the bruises he left from before. Bjorn thrusts up into you, spearing you hard and fast, like he's trying to knock your pelvis out of its frame. 

It feels so good, beyond anything you've ever felt before, grunting into your ear that you're, “jus’ as wet n’ tight as before’ and that you're a, “littla’ fuckin’ tease ain't cha’ princess?” 

This is all under your command, something you told him to do after you soaked through your bedsheets, needing another spot to absolutely ruin, one hand curling over the lip of the glass door to keep it shut tight while he erratically fucks you up against it from behind, still learning how to channel it all in his hips so he can rail you that much harder. 

Strands of hair are sticking to your face, trying not to swallow any of it as you cry out from the force of his thrusts, rattling the glass in its frame. There's no fucking way your neighbor doesn't know what's going on now, not that you really find it in you to give a shit at the moment. 

He trashes the condom when you turn off the now cold water and get out, leading you back to the ratty futon you use as a sorry excuse for a couch, sucking another huge hickey into your neck just above your collarbone, like he's claiming his territory. 

Bjorn's refractory period is incredibly short, already getting hard again as he's toweling off, rearranging you on all fours, ass up face down, his palm flat between your shoulders blades, fingers spread out over your still wet skin while he hits it from the back. 

“Good—ah, good boy. You're doing so good, fucking me so well,” you keen, a high and needy pitch when your words have the desired affect and he plows into you that much harder. Work is gonna absolutely fucking blow tomorrow but you don't give a shit about that either, hoping to feel that ache between your legs every time you have to bend down and retrieve something or pick up the drill after a regulated break, vividly recalling everything he did to you. 

“Fuck ur pussy’s so addictin’ princess, can't get a ‘nough o’ it,” he growls, adding to the bruises he's already left on your thighs to your hips this time, the wet slap of skin and your moans echoing off the walls of your tiny apartment. 

Your fingers claw at the sheetless mattress, trying to cling onto something as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, the imprint of your wet naked body left behind for the cotton drill fabric to absorb. 

Bjorn grunts when he comes again, nearly collapsing on top of you, his gloved cock still inside as he slowly softens, peppering little kisses all over your back. 

“Fuckin’ amazin,’” he sighs, sharing your sentiment. You've both proven your hypothesis correct, both times were just as mind blowing as the first, maybe even better, your bodies in tune now that you know what the other likes, what gets each other off. 

You hum in agreement, your heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “Gonna have to go to bed soon. You know, for work.” 

He groans in annoyance, rolling off your body to lie next to you, loosely steepling his hands behind his sweaty head, “right—work.” 

“What, did you forget?” You snort, crossing your arms to rest your cheek on your stacked wrists while you look at his profile, from his pretty lashes down to the plush of his lips. Sometimes you forget just how attractive he is. 

“Yanno,” he says, making eye contact with you then, holding a warmth you've never seen before, affection blossoming inside your chest as a result, “fo’a moment—I did.” 

“Oh,” is all you can say in response, burying your face directly into your arms so he can't see how pink your cheeks are. You're not used to this, someone being sweet on you, at least not someone you're actively sleeping with, everyone else just faceless nobodies you met at a bar or in a liquor store. 

Bjorn fucks you one last time before he leaves, this time with you on your back so he can look you in the eyes while he pushes in slow and deep, so deep it feels like his cock is brushing up against your pelvis. 

There's no dirty talk this time around, just Bjorn whispering hushed praises like, “ur so fuckin' stunning it's unreal” and “ur so good ta’ me, ma’ good girl.” Kissing over your chest, your neck, your face, every one of them feeling like a thank you, your heart feeling strange inside your chest. 

It's so incredibly intimate and foreign, something you've never experienced before, his hand finding yours so he can weave your fingers together, holding it up by your head while he thrusts inside, taking his time in taking you apart. 

He kisses you when you come together, no tongue, no desperation, just an endlessly soft press of his lips to yours, kissing your forehead as he pulls out, cleaning you up with a wet washcloth after you tell him where to find them, boneless and tired against your futon. 

You exhale into the quiet air as soon as he leaves, gaze tracing over the ceiling, like you're searching for an answer that isn't there. What the absolute fuck have you gotten yourself into? 

After that night, instead of blowing off steam in the mines, Bjorn blows his steam off on you, coming around every night to fuck you once, twice, sometimes three times if he's feeling particularly frisky, having gone through three and a half boxes of condoms. That's like 140 condoms. Jesus he's so fucking horny all the time. 

It's to the point you give him your door code to avoid any unwanted questions if anyone passing by just happened to see him waiting alone on your doorstep, sometimes coming home to him already naked on your bed if his shift ends before yours or hustles down the short hallway to tackle you if yours ends before his. 

It's supposed to be casual, just something you do to work through all the pent-up tension you build while tearing down the rock in the mines, a way for you to forget about it all if only for a few hours. You want it to stay like this, easy and uncomplicated, so you keep it a secret from the others, something Bjorn ultimately agrees to when you insist on it. 

He seems displeased by your request which takes you by surprise, figuring he'd be just as on board with it as you are but he doesn't argue, just nods his head while looking up at your ceiling, settled back against your upright futon still fully-clothed, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth. 

You decide not to pry, even though you really, really, want to, itching to pick his brain and decipher why he doesn't seem to like it but a part of you, the majority of you, doesn't want to know the answer, afraid of what it might be, so you just don't open that can of worms.  

You're at a bar with everyone, knowing full well Bjorn will find his way into your bed soon after—like he always does. It's the only sure thing other than the zero percent chance of sunlight LV-410 gets.

It's been two months since you and Bjorn started fucking on the down low. Kay is waddling now, very, very round and puffy. It's cute, she has that pregnancy glow about her, especially since the group's been splitting her shifts up amongst everyone so she can kick her swollen ankles up and relax, something she is endlessly grateful for. Promising to name her baby boy after every single one of you, but you don't think, “Tyler Bjorn Navarro Rain,” followed by your name then Harrison makes for a very good one.

You're nursing your cold beer in your hands, knocking back another swig as Tyler goes on another long-winded speech about giving capitalism the middle finger if he wasn't a cog in it, already drunk. 

“Whoa,” Navarro whistles, looking at the side of your neck, at the fresh hickey Bjorn gave you last night, sitting too high up to hide under the collar of your shirt, like this was his plan all along, “who gave you that?” 

Everyone turns to look so you slap your palm over the purpling bruise, flinching at the slight sting. God you're getting sloppy, you should've told him to suck somewhere you could hide, that bastard. Now you're flaming red, the intensity of your blush and the way your floundering for an answer confirming their suspicion. 

“Oooo,” Kay joins in, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, giggling, “is there something you’re not telling us? Someone perhaps?”

“I uh—well. It's nothing. Just tripped is all,” you lie, very lamely you might add. It's too perfect and round to be anything other than what it is and no one's buying it, not even Andy. Andy.

“Yah n’ fell right into tha' jaws of a hungry shark,” Tyler cracks, slapping his knee over his own joke, like it's the funniest thing in the fucking world. It isn't, it really, really fucking isn't. You feel caught, like a fish in a casting net, out of breath and fighting for your life. This is the worst possible scenario, the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Yah,” Bjorn smirks, torpedoing through all the noise, immediately lifting your head to glare at him, hand still over your neck, sending a flirty little wink your way, “why don’tcha share with tha’ class princess?” 

“You’re the absolute last person I wanna fucking hear from jackass,” you seethe, biting his head clean off his shoulders, angry and embarrassed. He falters, picking up on your tone, looking sorry for saying anything. Good. He fucking should be. He isn't the one being grilled right now, even though he's the cause of it all. 

“I gotta go,” you announce, rushing out of the bar despite everyone calling for you to come back. You'll never live this down, feeling like the talk of the town all over again, just like you were back in your old sector. 

You don't let Bjorn leave hickeys on your neck anymore, making him swear that he won't do it again if he wants to keep fucking you so he obliges, apologizing between filthy, wet kisses which you appreciate. 

No one asks you anything else about the guy you're sleeping with, aware that you'll just clam up and leave, which you appreciate even more, pretending like the whole bar incident didn't happen in the first place, denial your only way to cope. 

Bjorn usually leaves after you're both fucked out and spent but then—then he starts to stay. Starts to hold you in his arms when you're done, tucking your hair behind your ear, kissing your scalp, telling you something along the lines of, “even assholes like me like a good cuddle every now n’ then.”

It's warm. Safe. Your head is pillowed against his chest, your ear pressed to his left pec, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, the even rise and fall of his diaphragm. It's comforting, tangling your legs with his, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion. You could stay like this forever, just you two. 

But you don't want that. Can't want that. You've already allowed yourself to get close to people again but this—this is something else entirely, getting close to someone on an extremely intimate level like this. You're playing with fire and you know you could get burned at any moment. Will get burned. Emotions are the worst thing to have in a place like this, only producing pain when the inevitable happens, and it always, always does. 

You just can't help but want to know how he's doing, if he's doing well, if he's thinking about you. 

You don't just wanna see him at night when you're casually hooking up, you wanna see him in the morning too. Want to cook breakfast just for two and hold hands under the table while he makes fun of your terrible cooking but eats it anyway because you made it just for him. And you don't just wanna hold his hand in the privacy of your apartment, you wanna hold it when you're with the gang or walking around in general. 

You wanna do stupid mundane shit with him like grocery shopping or folding laundry, washing dishes while he dries them or cuddling under the blankets while you enjoy a movie night, sitting in his lap or on the other side of the futon with your legs tangled in between while he tickles you even though you fucking hate being tickled. But you might not totally hate it if it's him. 

And you wanna be greeted by him at the end of every night because these four walls are just a shitty space you reside in, you wanna come home to him. 

Because Bjorn feels like home.  

Your heart is so full and warm yet light and airy at the same time, like a swollen helium balloon wanting to float up and away into the atmosphere watching him sleep, a sort of peace on his face you don't get to see often.

Oh. Oh—fuck no, you think as the realization starts to sink in, utterly disbelieved that it's taken you this long to notice, to make sense of it.

You're falling for Bjorn. 

[lovereadandwrite]

next bsd chapter preview🫶

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Cale blinks, eyes bleary. He's being held in Choi Han's arms, tucked close to his chest. Wince. Not only does his head hurt, his body hurts now too.

Being ten is strange. Strange in the way that his body doesn't match his mind anymore. Strange in the way that he feels like a stranger in someone else's home. It reminds him of a memory, older than he is, of when he first walked into the orphanage. Out of place. The kids already there looked at him like he was no different from them, but it was strange to finally be labeled an orphan despite having been without parents for most of his life, now.

The 7 year olds memories tucked away in his mind welcome the 10 year old in. Cale frowns.

A habit from his older years, and younger ones, has him checking his environment before his condition.

"I will go to Duke Fredo." He hears Eruhaben declare to everyone in the room, clearly having a meeting of sorts. Cale is tucked so close to Choi Han that his being awake goes unnoticed. Or, if it is noticed, no one says anything about Cale listening in.

Rosalyn nods. "The White Star is planning something in Cale's absence. We need to find out what that is," somberly, she adds, "Before 'he' decides to do something about it first."

Cale yawns in the middle of her talking, and the buzzing in his ears prevents him from hearing the last part. Duke Fredo... Cale remembers being Naru, for a time. Cookies and the White Star... his head aches. It feels, very accurately, like a long needle is being inserted into his skull and poking around in his brain.

"Cale?" Choi Han squeezes his shoulder. The 10 year old in his arms frowns more at how comfortably he's being held. How long has Choi Han been carrying him? He recalls being carried by Choi Han many times. It makes him recall other things, such as pain and coughing up blood. He assertively stops thinking about it.

The meeting on the other side of the room comes to an end at Cale's emerging consciousness. The eyes on him feel familiar. It reminds him of the pitiful looks he got when he wandered the cold streets in nothing but a school uniform. His memory flickers and it suddenly reminds him again of the team, when they looked at him as the Team Leader.

Though, he can't think of any reason why they're staring at him like that.

Finally, with a twang of pain in his skull, he realizes that they're looking at him with expectation... he doesn't connect the dots that their expressions are that of worry. Was there something he missed? He yawns again, tears coming to his eyes, and he calmly wipes them away before kicking his legs.

"I want down."

Choi Han sets him on the ground, steadying him on his wobbly, sleepy legs. Cale is thinking about the conversation that Eruhanen and Rosalyn just had when hunger pains radiate from his stomach like twisting tendrils.

-Sorry Cale! I took longer to heal your body because of the curse, but it's fixed now!

Clutching his stomach with one hand, he covers his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep the blood in his hand as he coughs wetly. It tastes familiar, beyond the familiarity he had with it at 10, but rather its a lifetime of familiarity that cannot be contained in just the words, 'he tasted blood.' It was a taste he knew better than food or water.

His chest feels better, he notes. His head still hurts, unfortunately, but he shouldn't expect too much.

It also came out of his nose. Gross.

With that underwhelming thought, he keeps the blood carefully cupped in his hand. Uncle hated when he got blood on the-

Uncle is...

Right.

But still... he shouldn't get blood on his Hyung-nim's nice carpet. It's probably... expen... sive.

Noise buzzes around him, someone is touching his shoulder, but he's coughing blood again, again, and again, and it feels awful as his stomach twists and writhes with the hunger and pain that he's felt before, but it makes him ravenous all the same.

Hungry. He could eat anything right now. He remembers the tasteless rock he ate to get Super Rock's Ancient Power. He'd even eat a normal rock.

But still, even in his hunger, he keeps his mouth closed.

He can't bring himself to ask for food.

Not even from Raon. Something in his core, in his gut and his heart and his soul, tells him that he shouldn't ask. How could he take food from Raon? Well, it's Raon's supply of food for Cale anyway, so it's okay. But taking food from a child? But Cale is a child too--

"Human! That's your hungry face! Quickly eat this pie!" Raon cries out and there's suddenly a slightly smashed slice of apple pie in his face. How are there already tears on it...?

He grabs it without thinking hard.

The hunger doesn't care about tears, and soon Cale is stuffing his face with the salty apple pie with a fervor that he, at 10, would normally never have shown to anyone. He eats without chewing with a familiarity that makes him want to cry.

Choi Han's hand shakes on Cale's shoulder.

He should've checked Cale's condition beforehand. He saw that Cale used the ancient powers but still, Cale only got his external wounds treated. Why did he let his happen? He thought that it would be okay this time. Cale was young now and he wasn't showing a response for a long time, so he didn't think. There's no excuse for this.

Cale eats desperately, as if his life depends on it, and Choi Han can't help the way his heart cracks at the sight. And burns with frustration at his own uselessness.

Drip.

The room is quiet.

Drop.

"Human! Do-do you need more apple pie?!" Raon yells, panicking, bringing out more apple pie as Cale's cheeks become wet with silent tears. He reaches for a pie in the air and scarfs it down, uncaring of the sticky fingers covered in sweet apple filling and flaky, crumbling bits of crust.

It tastes like home.

It doesn't taste like Uncles house, or blood, or school hallways or alleys or scraps.

He sobs miserably, wanting to hide. He isn't crying over apple pie, he isn't! From his memories, he definitely shouldn't be crying over this much- it didn't even hurt enough to cry!

Thunder crackles outside the castle. Cale remains hunched over a new slice of apple pie, curling into himself in a very not-Cale like manner.

Another crack of lightning outside.

Eruhaben steps in front of Cale. He brushes Choi Han, frozen in his shock, away from the scene. Raon brings more apple pie out, even as he sees that Cale isn't so much eating the pie as he is holding it.

"Human, I will- I will destroy the world! You can't go into a coma again, I will- I will," Raon's voice cracks. Choi Han gathers himself. He looks at Cale, before calmly standing next to Raon and touching his paw in the air. "Human..."

"Cale," Eruhaben speaks calmly. "Look at me."

Cake shakes his head, fingers trembling. Something's wrong with him, inside of him, and the panic gets to his chest as he starts to take quicker breaths. Cale looks through his memories to fix himself but they blur in a cacophony of sounds and words and frames.

"Cale Henituse, you need to relax. Everything is okay. No one is taking anything from you. Calm down."

They weren't inspirational and comforting words. No, the words could even be considered a little cold, for an adult speaking to what appears to be a 7 year old. But it was necessary for Cale, who was 10 and not 7, and Kim Rok Soo, who was orphaned at a young age and abused and abandoned, and a little boy who went through both child and teenage years without anyone he could call family.

Cale opens his eyes. Were they closed? Eruhaben is in front of him.

Calm down.

Why did Lee Soo Hyuk come to mind when he heard that? A distant, dusty memory falls through his mind, so he picks it up and watches it. The Record plays out.

Something happened like this, once.

It was the only time he came close to crying in front of the Team Leader. Lee Soo Hyuk brought him out of it. The Record, though the reason why he almost cried was somehow forgotten(lost?), always played when he needed to put himself together in a moment of weakness.

Even now. When he is 10 years old in a 7 year olds body. The voice brings back the feeling of calm.

His memories settle.

Right. This is more like him. More like himself.

His face levels out into something neutral.

It feels like an older version of himself, somewhere between 38 and 20, is stroking the top of his head. Cale wonders if hallucinations are part of the curse.

"Good job." Lee Soo Hyuk in the Record and Eruhaben's words overlap for a moment but Cale ignores it.

It takes mental strength to stand straight again, but he manages it with a stiff expression. His hands are a mess, a gross mix of blood and the smushed flesh of what used to be a perfect apple pie.

He's never been more ashamed and embarrassed in his life. Old memories come to mind, reminding him that he's done worse, but the 10 year old in a 7 year olds body feels mortified. If he'd done this in front of his uncle...

"I'm sorry." Cale apologizes. It comes out of his mouth naturally. He has a lot that he could be apologizing for. The floor, which surely has blood and messy apple pie on it now. The pie, which is as ruined as his shirt. The weird hyperventilating thing he did. He recalls his memories. Maybe it wasn't what Lee Soo Hyuk called it, a 'panic attack,' but something different, more sinister.

He convinces himself that it is.

Red flag number 6 it is.

"Cale, you have nothing to be sorry for." Eruhaben states clearly. Cale looks him in the eyes. Strangely, he feels compelled to believe the Ancient Dragon.

.... Red Flag number 7?

Cale backs away on instinct.

Eruhaben sighs.

"Unlucky bas... hah." Standing up from where he had apparently gotten on his knees, Eruhaben waves his hand. The gross feeling on Cale's hands disappears effortlessly, and the stain on his shirt vanishes too. "It'll still be better to wash your hands, at least. Though that doesn't mean you're dirty... it means you were attacked by apple pie." Eruhaben tells him seriously. He lowers himself to his height and makes eye contact. "So it's best to wash it off, just in case some of it is still on you. It could... attack again."

The other people in the room, notably missing Bud and the mage Glenn now, stare at Eruhaben. He pointedly ignores their gazes.

Cale nods.

Eruhaben covers his rising smile.

"Off you go now," he lowers the hand, looking serious again. Struggling, he continues,"... Be careful." Like sending off a soldier, he stands up and looks away from Cale.

Choi Han covers his own face and fights to not laugh.

Somehow, despite the fact that Cale technically has all of his memories, the explanation works for him. He goes into the bathroom, escorted by Ron, who helps wash his hands at the sink. Ron also has him change his clothes, despite their clean appearance.

Ron assures him that it's due to the risk of another apple attack. It could be stuck to the clothes as well. Cale frowns. Ron smiles at the pouting 7 year old.

The 10 year old starts changing his clothes obediently.

Cale's muscles ache and burn. Even his bones hurt.

His head is in so much pain, especially when he focuses, but he draws in his willpower to think very hard about the reason why he might be in this condition.

Cale winces as the needle in his brain digs in deep and drags itself over his frontal lobe, and he visibly shudders, trying not to grimace.

10 year olds are supposed to be bigger than 7 year olds, is the conclusion he comes to.

...

Cale gets chill on the back of his neck.

Surely he isn't going to grow... right? No, no way. If he is, surely he shouldn't be in pain, right? He became 7 years old in a flash and it didn't hurt, so why now?

The pain alleviates for a second. In feels like whatever is causing the pain is given a revelation.

In his undergarments, Cale is enveloped in a white light.

This is...

Definitely red flag number 8.

Definitely, he thinks, suddenly 12 years old in a 12 year olds body. The needle painfully digging into his brain burns and yet feels cold at the same time. It spreads like an infection, and he immediately covers his right eye as it becomes numb with a sharp, icy sensation. Strangely, his hand warms up.

Ron, who innocently retrieved a garment from the crown prince Alberu's younger days, drops it. The assassins hands, which never tremble, shake more than they would if Cale had been an adult. Seeing a newly 12 Cale bleeding from his eye...

Blood seeps through the gap between Cale's hand and his face, which is now suddenly 12 years old.

Cale-- Ron realizes as he calls, as calmly as he can, for the ancient dragon and rushes in a not-so-calm manner to the young masters side-- has yet to realize that his eye is gushing blood. The 12 year old looks at Ron, confused.

Ron's expression is stiff.

"Ron?" Cale asks.

Eruhaben enters the room alongside Raon and Choi Han, but Ron focuses on relaxing his expression, and carefully holding Cale's hand to his eye, keeping it there so he doesn't remove it.

"Young Master... Do you remember the song, Dark Night Moon Light?"

Cale frowns. His head hurts.

"No." He says honestly. Why is everyone in here all of a sudden? Cale was barely dressed in some now too-small shorts. It's cold, he thinks through the pain.

"Then I will remind you, Young Master. It's a children's song that parents or butlers like me sing at a child's bedside. The child will close their eyes and listen to the song. Would you allow this butler to sing it to you?"

All of a sudden?

Cale feels uncomfortable, but his head hurts so much that he can't think about it a lot, so he closes his eyes.

Ron sings, in his calm and low voice, a common children's melody. He himself had once sung it for Beacrox, a long time ago.

It's supposed to help children who find themselves terrified of the dark. As far as Ron knows, Cale was never been so afraid of the dark to have this song sung to him... but, he understands with a bitter heart, even if he had been scared, the song would've been sung by his mother. Not his father, who was too sucked in by his grief after her passing.

He realizes that Cale, being 12 now, must no longer have the memories of his mother singing to him.

Eruhaben has Ron carefully remove Cale's hand, which had been pooling blood inside, spilling onto the floor.

Branded under his eye, looking like a burn in the soft and thin skin, is a number.

'12'

Eruhaben waves away the blood.

"Young Master, open your eyes now. The song is over." Ron doesn't react to the number, and when Cale opens his eyes, hides his relief that his eye is not damaged. Just bleeding. "Do you know how old you are now?" Though, Ron had a strong suspicion that they already knew.

"... 12, I think."

"Cale, you've been fighting off the curse, haven't you?" Eruhaben asks. It feels angry. Cale shrinks in on himself.

"It's fine, isn't it? It's better if I'm older."

He won't cry anymore. He can bathe again, since he can now handle the phantom sensations of blood and scars and dirt. He won't ignorantly use his ancient powers. Off the top of his head, there are more reasons that he should be older than there are reasons to go back to being young.

He is a better slacker when he isn't being whiny and childish.

"... Cale-nim." Choi Han groans.

"You knew that you were fighting off the curse, right?" Eruhaben asks again, but it's calculating.

"... Yes," but how could he not? He could always feel when he grew older, smarter. Not to mention the cracking like pain of his skull being hammered in, worse and worse as he ages. Even now, he can only tell the honest and not altered truth, simply because he is in too much pain.

Choi Han wants to ask. 'Is it because you don't trust us?'

But he holds his tongue.

Eruhaben sighs. He nods at Ron.

"Get dressed." Eruhaben rubs the top of Cales red hair, leaving him frazzled, before leaving the room. Choi Han clutches his sword and restrains his rampant emotions.

"You aren't in trouble human! The great and mighty Raon will help you become a child again!" Raon flies around Cale. Ron, observing Choi Han and Raon, leaves to rob the crown prince of more clothes.

Sigh. Cale shivers.

His head hurts.

[dekusleftsock]

I think that there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what exactly is…happening with Izuku’s character. Specifically in regards to chapter 425.

I’m glad that a lot more people generally recognize that Izuku is not a character that can be read at a surface level, given that he’s both a repressed person with built up emotion of basically everything and also a very glaringly HUGELY unreliable narrator, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I agree with the ways I’ve seen this most recent chapter spoken about.

I see posts, comments, etc with ideas like “Izuku don’t suppress your emotions! Open up with people! It’ll be okay I promise!” When that’s fundamentally not what is happening here.

There’s always always ALWAYS been a distinct difference in character throughout horikoshi’s writing when he is showing that a character is:

A—Avoiding emotions, thoughts, ideas less than ideal for them. Not opening up when they probably should about their problems given that they’ve been handed the space to do so. Just genuinely not acknowledging, feeling, or expressing emotions that they don’t want.

B—Reflecting on the ways they feel about the world, themselves, or other people given their new perspective on a situation. Not outright reaching out to others to talk about these problems/feelings, but instead waiting until the moment they feel they have the most confidence to do so with their new outlook on their own life.

And genuinely, guys, to grab your BkDk attention rn, this is the exact reason why Ochako’s reflection on her feelings for Izuku and thereafter decision to pull away from them WAS NEVER GOING TO END IN OCHAKO EXPLODING WITH HER LOVE FOR HIM.

This was another common interpretation I saw of Ochako and Izuocha for a long time. That because she pushed these feelings away, they were somehow going to explode in this unbelievable way and she would “get the boy” because of it. That her arc would surround accepting her romantic feelings and that she can’t just push away how she feels for a career.

But yk. That didn’t happen. At all. Nowhere close even.

The same kind of goes for Katsuki, allmight, etc. They all had moments in their arc where it was spent genuinely reflecting, and the only reason we as the audience never connected it in the same ways we do ochako or Izuku was ALWAYS BECAUSE the narrative showed their inner thoughts while doing so (mostly because Allmight’s arc after losing OFA and Katsuki’s arc on what it means to be a hero were so intrinsically tied, both starting at the same time and ending at the same time during the final war. And because they were so tied this caused their own reflections, development, and thought process to be broadcasted to us frequently throughout their arcs… to each other. They also somewhat shared aspects with Izuku, but these were cherry picked more often than not, like dvk2 for example).

To us Katsuki never seemed to be.. idk, suppressing his anger in any way because we were always told what he was doing and why (side note: this is why I’ve always thought arguments against Katsuki were so weird, bc unlike characters like endeavor or Ochako he wasn’t like… hiding who he was and how he was changing. Ever. Like the audience knows at all times past basically season 3 what Katsuki is thinking and doing. Like how do you watch this happen, stare me dead in the eye, and tell me how much of a terrible and awful teenage boy he is. Like damn I didn’t think we were this dumb. This is also my theory as to why he’s most popular, his arc is very… in your face if that makes sense). Katsuki’s entire mini arc on reflecting his mistakes and his childhood and his future is spent TELLING YOU that it’s what he’s doing. (I’m referring mostly to the endeavor internship arc, the provisional license exam makeup, and basically everything in the war arc related to him leading up to bakugou Katsuki rising here)

And see, Horikoshi will stare you dead in the eye, tell you “this girl has taken into consideration that she doesn’t want to waste her time training her career focusing on a boy because he kinda caught her fancy”, and y’all will still say that this will explode in her face.

Y’all this is a series about learning how to manage emotions, maturity in relationship to one’s emotions, how to feel an emotion, but in a way that is helpful. Horikoshi isn’t telling you “go buck wild, feel everything all the time and always express it”, in fact he explores why you DONT do that! Through Toga or Shigaraki, they show how grief and anger can genuinely consume you. But he also shows why you shouldn’t just put everything in a box to never look at or acknowledge, or why you shouldn’t just let your grief destroy the world around you, or pretending that some emotions simply don’t exist.

I can’t say this enough, so let me say it now, mha is about the extremes of your psyche. That you should control something, but not too much. Everything can be harmful. Everything can be good.

Izuku is not controlling too much, he’s expressing just enough.

I LOVE shaming this dickhead at all times in all my posts. I love saying he’s an ignorant dipshit with a weird amount of distaste for a girl who just confessed to him. I’ve joked that chapter 348 is basically an entire chapter spent on Izuku calling Himiko a mean dyke. And yet I also believe he’s doing nothing WRONG here.

In fact, I’ll even say that this moment right here?

ISNT EVEN IZUKU DOING THE SOCIALLY APPROPRIATE THING ABOUT IT! But he’s still TRYING to reach out to someone he thinks MIGHT be able to understand. (And frankly, this moment is far deeper than what it’s being made out to be, to me it reads more like an unrequited friendship that Izuku both desires and has thought of them to have, while simultaneously showing the distance Ochako has successfully wedged between them for her own sake. Maybe it was always there though, maybe in weird, miscommunicated Horikoshi fashion, this is a representation of how Ochako always read all those “fun friend hangouts” as a little more than that, and without those feelings the friendship never really held any substance to her in the first place. Where Izuku saw his first real friend at UA, she saw little more than acquaintance)

Simultaneously, Izuku is genuinely reflecting on what it means for the world to change, to be a hero, to live after loss—and trying and failing to gain the connection he desires from individuals who can not and will not afford him that.

Izuku is ready for the world to change, a few select characters are also ready for the world to change (mirio, for example), but not nearly enough are. So maybe I’ll have to take this back if I’m proven wrong and I accidentally looked into this far past what everyone else did for no reason, but I genuinely believe with moments like this

And this

Aand this

That Izuku has come forward with that aspect of his character development. He’s reflecting on his new beliefs, not repressing his emotions for them.

[buttercupshands]

rewatched Kurogiri's holiday story from ultra impact (not related to sketch at all)

(but it did inspire me)

on another note

finally!!

[littlestkoi-n]

the rage I feel when reading Blood of Olympus chapters 45-56 is almost equivalent in magnitude to the absolute joy I experience when reading The Last Olympian chapters 1-23.

remember when percabeth was good? when they meant the world to each other but had other people they cared about (nico, for one. both of them. so much), other worries and other storylines aside from their romantic plot? and when nico's completed arc wasn't repeated for no reason other than to dump more trauma on the youngest character in the series? when background characters were included in the story not for all the unnecessary last minute romantic subplots but because they were fun and fascinating to learn more about? and were actually friends with main characters? remember when grover was percy and annabeth's best friend forever? and antagonists were actually interesting and intimidating and had compelling goals? and the story revolved around friendship and family and loyalty? and death was definite and loss was palpable and battles were thrilling?

yeah. good times.