#talk about a turn of phrase that felt like running full speed into a brick wall

[iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast]

...the intended meaning of that phrase is absolutely not the first thing that came to mind

[headshxtina]

Brave - Koishi Sugawara

Genre: Fluff, au

Warnings: Language! And that’s all hehe

Song of the day:

Hope you enjoy! I just wrote this out if nowhere since I’ve been in love with him so much,, forgive me for the cliché-ish plot djjdjd this is my first tumblr fic i’ve only written one-shots before all my fics are on wattpad 🥺

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

“Dealing with the kids is pretty hard, right?”

Sugawara asked, eyebrow slightly lifted as you were oblivious to his appearance again because of being too concentrated on the lists of teams Karasuno were about to have practice matches with in two weeks.

“Oh? Y- yeah...”

The boy leaned down to the notes, nonchalantly humming, but it seemed like he was focused on your expression more than the tough lists that could match the math revise papers you get.

“Are you tired of replacing Yachi? She’d be absent for pretty long. maybe for MONTHS...” Sugawara left out a soft sigh, being his considerate self as usual, or at least that what was you thought.

He was also known for being the gentle parental figure and the sweet, gentle setter of the team. He was training very hard with the team, even though he wasn’t usually the main setter.

But he seemed to not mind. He appreciated how his appearance helped his fellows practice more consistently and more focused, not to mention his calmness and skillful way of thinking during the matches. You liked that about him, but the recent thoughts about him have been... different from the past ones. Like an evolution. Like how his smile was like an efflorescent kind of spring, how the gentle color of his eyes was like clouds passing the clear afternoon skies, and his comforting smile that sometimes you couldn’t face, and how his iries sometimes were labyrinthe whenever he turned to yo-

“Hey? HEY...?”

Your thoughts stopped in a halt.

“HUH? HUH? WHAT THE FUC-“

“You accidentally kicked your coffee...”

“Oh my GOD... I’m so sorry, I- OH SHIT!”

His shirt was filled with the smell of cappuccino.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! I’M SO SORRY SUGA! DO- DO YOU-“

The latter lifted your frown up by caressing the corners of your lips and gently pulled them up, ended it with a soft cheeks pinch.

“Hey... I have extra shirts. I’m okay, you know how third years always know how to prepare.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m still so sorry though.”

“Remember to not kick your sprite next time.” He mocked you and went to grab an another shirt. “Do you need me to buy you an another coff-“

“NAH. NAH. ME GOOD AS FUCK. UH...”

“Okay then! Don’t worry about me. Poor you... so focused on work.”

His footsteps echoed around the practice room, as the team weren’t there yet. Suga went early because he said he “wanted fresh air and some time to talk to the new manager”, which is you.

The sun rays soared the clear sky, replacing the early aurora. It was somewhat idyllic, it reminded you of the halcyon ages, the early mornings when you and your ex-boyfriend would walk into the convenient stores on the way to school, how he would share his coffee with you. Cappuccino. Always cappuccino.

But that was before your break-up last year. Your heart has promised itself to create a barrier from any emotions from being hurt deep down from his getaway. but somehow, it has lost its composure.

Just because of some other boy.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

“Yes Daichi!”

Sugawara fist-bumped Daichi when they got an another point for the red team.

They were having a practice set, as always.

“Aye! Y/n, are you tired?”

Your thoughts stopped wandering when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Oh! Asahi! How’s the match going?”

“Oh! Yamaguchi asked me to let him replace me for a while. Homeboy’s doing good. Like look at him. Awww...”

“Proud dad you are, Asahi.”

You two left out a small chuckle as he could feel something going on instantly with his left and nimble instinct. And a compassionate soul.

“Y/n, you like Koushi-boy, right?”

Asahi saying that left a huff out of your lips.

“What? Who said that?”

“Nah, just feels like it. Sorry if i’m wrong. But man, the way you’ve been looking at him these past months since Yachi left means something.”

Your tongue was mixed in dirt and cut dry. Somehow, your saliva was nowhere to be found in the back of your throat.

“Uh... Yeah. Sugawara. I l-“

“SEE? HOMEBOY I WAS RIGHT BITCH! OKAY SO WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP YO-“

“SHHH BITCH!”

Your warning reminded Asahi that it was the practice room you guys were standing in, not in the supermarket.

“Okay. But uh...”

“Hm?” He asked as soon as the words left your lips again, like a reflex.

“Dude doesn’t even look at me. No chance. Still painful since my last break-up. No way. I don’t even think of-“

“So,” Asahi stopped you in a gentle manner and leaned in. “I know it hurts, but feelings can’t be stopped. We are human. Being hurt and showing how you feel isn’t bad at all... It’s called being brave. And after it, you can be even stronger. You have to take over your fears. You have me here advising and sharing everything with you. Don’t think of covering it up. It’s better if you just tell Koushi. And, to be honest, you are too focused on your papers you rarely observe how he looks at you.”

You punched Asahi in the stomach, which made he chuckle a little bit. “Ow!”

“Anyways... Yamaguchi’s going in again. You should get out there.”

“Okay.”

The way Asahi smiled at you told you to DO something. Do a thing you’d never thought of doing again.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

The night at the Karasuno rest house was a mess and rowdy as always, filled with the laughs of Tanaka, Nishinoya and Hinata in the halls, and the shouts from Daichi and Ukai telling them to shut up.

It was eerie as the clock hit twelve. Kageyama and Hinata weren’t practicing as always, they fell off asleep after the practice that day, since they had to do about ten laps of running around the school for having a fight and then forgetting about it again.

You were closing your eyes, but it stung. You couldn’t bare to sleep with your heart beating so fast in the middle of the quiet and calm night air.

Your head was full of Sugawara. No, you couldn’t push the heavy brick blocking your emotions out of your heart. It would be forgotten, as many other emotions.

But no. It had been there for months.

Refusing to continue that annoying phrase, you slipped into your slippers and walked out the hallways, out into the staircase in front of the house.

Everyone must’ve been asleep by then. Even Asahi, whom was in the same class as you and understood you the most. There was no one to talk to.

Your lips left out a sigh and as you were just about to close your eyes to meet with the sounds of the night wind, a figure passed by you in silence, a little observant as you realized it was a silhouette of someone.

“Y/n? Aren’t you supposed to be in your bed right now, idiot?”

It was no other than Suga.

“Should be you more, turd. It’s literally midnight, why the fuck are you still here?”

“Can’t sleep.” He replied. “Just thoughts...”

“Too many thoughts are up in my head, couldn’t sleep either.”

You earned nothing but a look down to the ground between both of you. The boy said nothing, as he diverted his pupils to the sky. Immediately, the sight of his face being illuminated by the carressing moonlight holding his face so firmly and softly made your heart fly out of your chest again. Something inside you was urging you to say just three words. Just. Three.

But the past memories triggered them away. You could not get yourself hurt again.

The voice of Asahi stuck inside your head.

“I know it hurts, but feelings can’t be stopped. We are human. Being hurt and showing how you feel isn’t bad at all... It’s called being brave.”

You opened your lips in a short second, which was noticed by Suga.

“You were about to say?”

“KOUSHI SUGAWARA! I-“

Your heart was competing with speed of your tongue. Competing with the tears about to fall right down your face. But just three words was the easiest thing you could say that time. No way back.

Your tears could drop at the moment. Your tongue could be cut at that moment. Your trust in love could be crushed again.

“I LIKE YOU!”

He stood there, looking at you, a little bit observant and calm.

“I like you. Ever since Yachi left for the business trip. I just... don’t believe after that stupid break-up, I could ever let my emotions happen again. I...” You choked on the tears beginning to fall from your lids. “I could be he- heartbroken- again- I’m so- sorry-“

Your hiccups were the sound of pain to him. He immediately walked in nearer to you when your tears started to fall. They kept on wetting your cheeks. They dropped. Fell. Wet the road. They were salty upon your lips and your soft hiccups.

“I’M SUCH AN IDIOT! I’M EMBARRASSING US TWO! I’M A FAILURE... I’m so sorry Suga...”

“Why? Why would you ever be one? Why would you be a failure? You just did the bravest thing." His voice was soft and was faded between your hiccups. You couldn't quite hear or see the caring look on his eyes when he touched your fingers and hesitated for a little before caressing them and molding them inbetween his.

You kept on crying loudly and sobbing. You didn't care about anything anymore. You knew it was a failure saying those words. And the feelings you've kept for so long. If Asahi broke the brick wall of Datekou, then you'd just broken the walls keeping your emotions flow out again.

Noticing you didn't reply, Koushi just quietly planted a soft kiss on your temple, and he kept on kissing when he turned to you and you nodded, he kissed all the way down to your cheeks, feelings your tears touching his lips, but he kept on kissing and stopped at your neck.

"Don't wanna do the licky licky thing over here-"

That left out a soft chuckle from you, which made him a little happy.

"Now... All you have to know is that you're the bravest you've ever been. You're always so brave..."

Before he could notice, your sobs quickly turned into lazy snores as your head bumped down onto his shoulders. The boy realized you had fell asleep and smiled, and there was a beautiful flower blooming inside of his heart as well. His love for you these past months have been opened up by you, not him. He felt like a wimp for not saying it first, but he finally felt happy you'd broken out of your tight shell.

So his hands went to caress your hair between pulling his fingers down your lucious locks. They were soft, opposite to the way his heart was beating for you.

“Sleep tight, sugar. I love you so much.” He whispered.

Asahi and Kiyoko were no other than the ones who brought you two up to your bunks, chuckling at each other, knowing everything by the way you two both fell asleep on each other on the staircase, Suga's hand still holding yours. Firmly. Like he wouldn't ever want to let it go.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

As the alarm clock rang through the eerie silence, you heard everyone groaning in tiredness as Tanaka shouted against Daichi that he wanted a little more sleep and quickly snored again against the soft blanket.

Everyone got ready with huffs and complains under their sleepy breaths, Hinata fixed his funny-looking disheveled hair while shouting at Kageyama for stealing his snacks.

When Karasuno got into the practice room, hyper and ready for an another day of practice, you immediately noticed that familiar silhoutte passing by and stopping right in front of you.

"So, here's a thing, Y/n."

His lips figured in about a few seconds.

"I also... like you back. I love everything about you."

"Hm."

You flashed a smile at him, your eyes still puffy from last night. He just went in and gently kissed the corner of your eye. "Don't cry because of me again, that was.... heartbreaking to see."

"Who would, idiot."

"Who ELSE would." He mocked you as you shyly looked down.

"So, be my girlfriend? As in girlfriend, not girl-friend... uh... like friend as a girl hsjssjshshdh- Alright, be my girlfriend?"

"Gladly, Koushi."

In a sudden, he caught everyone's attention intentionally when he called everyone to get ready and immediately turned to you, got a nod, and crashed his lips onto yours.

A sweet apple smell from his hair passed by your nose, your lips were perfectly molded together, and his soft breath made you feel even better, ecstasy was filling your body, your hands keeping on playing with his soft grey locks.

"OKAY SUGAWHATTHEFUCK?"

Nishinoya and Tanaka's squeals could be heard from afar as Tsukki smiled softly. "Well, Yamaguchi, looks like our setter has fallen in love."

The whole room was filled with squeals and excitement, especially Hinata continuously pulling Kageyama's shirt in surprise, and the latter couldn't care less but gasp and felt so happy for both of you and didn't give a single fuck about Hinata's stupid actions.

"Uh hum." Coach Ukai could be heard from a distance. "Well, looks like our setter has been having a little... makeout sessi-"

"OH SHIT SORRY COACH-" Both of you turned around and realized the whole team has surrounded you guys, including Coach Ukai and Takeda sensei.

"Okay! Suga has a lovey dovey girlfriend, but that doesn't mean we don't continue to practice, remember? You two do that lovey dovey shit at home, not here-"

"YES COACH! I FEEL SO MUCH MORE ENERGETIC AFTER SPEAKING UP MY THOUGHTS! LET ME DO A FUCKING TWO-ATTACK-"

Everyone laughed at Suga's excitement. In the corner of the room, you saw a smile upon Asahi's lips, his eyes gentle and his grin wide as he raised a thumbs up.

"Good job." The tall boy chuckled as he walked towards you.

"All bets on you, Asahi." You smiled back at him. "Thank you. For everything."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

[ohgoddard]

Truth, Justice, and the Symbol of Peace.

Kyoto, Japan.

Fire.

All around him he felt the heat of the fire, the light of it bouncing in his peripherals. The flames seemed to tower above him, which was impressive given his height. High into the air, touching the tops of buildings the heat rose and masked all from his sight. The yelling was piercing through the wall of fire, screams for help as the back up heroes did their best to corral the citizens away from the encounter. The sky had turned dark and cloudy when he arrived, a hallmark of his style. First the ground shook, then the buildings fell. It was only with superspeed that he was able to save them all. They all shouted his name, called for him when there was trouble. He was…

“The symbol of peace? Please.”

All-Might stood not ten feet away from All For One. His business suit seemed immaculate as ever, his short silver hair swaying in the heat waves given off by the fire that now surrounds him. All-Might gripped his fists, his gold bracelets flexing on his arms. His red and white bodysuit had been torn, and his cape ripped to shreds, but he showed no injury.

“All for One..This is your last warning. Surrender now or feel the weight of your consequences! I am and will forever be the bastion of justice and freedom against your tyrannical desires! It is no use!” 

All-Might shifted his stance, raising his fists to his face. The fire moved his long pointed bangs in its waves, and his glare could scare even the most hardened of thugs. All for One laughed. “Foolish to even suggest it, Toshinori. You will be taken care of easily, belief or not. The people do not have your back.” he made a sweeping gesture, opening the wall of fire for a reveal. Dozens of people were running away from villains, who were being fought by heroes in a vain attempt to stall while they escaped. All-Might did not move from his position, though his heart sank when the direness of the situation met him. Will I have the strength to do after all? Even if I defeat All for One, will I still be enough to fight everyone else? As the wall of flame closed again, All for One rose into the air and lifted his arms into a cackle, whirlwinds forming in his hands.

“It's become that time, Toshinori! I will finally defeat my brother, I will end One for All, and I will become what I set out to be!” With this, he pointed his open hands shot forth the powerful gusts of wind. With precision and speed, All-Might weaved to the side, wind-stepping with light force against the air, and delivered a punch into All For One’s face. He flew backwards into a crashed building, but soon shot out and landed a giant arm into the chest of All-Might, followed by headbutting him into the ground. He floated over him, using his telekinesis to lift a chunk of the ground, then throwing it on All-Might. He laughed as he kept dropping more and more pieces of debris onto the crater, throwing each down with malicious intent. After a minutes of piledriving into the ground, he stopped, heaving with breath. For a second, all was quiet. The flames crackled softly, the air did not move, the screaming had been drowned out by the earthquake levels of shaking left by All for One. Then, from the skies as if the heavens themselves sent it..

“MISSISSIPPI SMASH!”

All for One looked up in a flash but it was too late. All-Might was falling from the sky, fist extended, pushing through the dark clouds that hung over the world. It was all All for One could do to raise his defenses, but he could not raise them all. All-Might’s fist connected to All for One’s face, breaking the sound barrier. The shockwave turned buildings around them into rubble. The searing force of All-Might’s fist hitting skin had burned his skin beyond all recognition, and the pure concussive force had shattered his eye sockets and nose. 

Dust flew in all directions, clearing all fires.

When it cleared, All-Might stood over All For One, fists raised, and began pummeling him. A hundred hits a minute, his body broken multiple times only to be healed the next second. Agonizing pain. The constant hits registered on the Richter scale a 2.3 earthquake, and a small tornado moved around All-Might as the friction of his punches against the air heated it against the otherwise cold front. The mind of All For One thought a mile of minute, trying to defend itself against the onslaught, until it thought of a solution. I will change the arm under myself into a spear, then in one quick movement stab him in his stomach. It will have to be quick, and it will be my only chance of escaping that gives me freedom.

Elsewhere, atop a nearby shattered building looking on, a cloud of a man in a black suit stand. In his mind, a single phrase repeated itself. I must save my master. Kurogiri watched the Symbol of Evil become more and more akin to the gravel he was being punched into, and began to develop a portal. One that would need to be quick, as he did not have much time. He would need concentration as well, or else consequences could be had. He began to focus, and as he did a portal slowly opened above All For One, unbeknownst All-Might.

All For One saw the beginnings of the portal and smirked internally, as his mouth was long since caved in by the fists of justice. He began to slowly reform his arm into a spear, then turned to shove it into All-Might’s stomach!

Or atleast, attempted to.

Back atop the ruined building where Kurogiri was making his portal, his concentration was broken by the slight tumbling of brick behind him. Then the boot to his face as Gran Torino flew into the face of Kurogiri. He fell to the floor, unconscious, but the portal still stood open! Gran Torino saw that the portal was starting to suck in the surroundings and shouted, “ALL-MIGHT! BEHIND YOU!”

All-Might turned his body, his torso narrowly missing the stab sent in by All For One. It did not matter though, as soon the force of the portal became too much for either to handle. All-Might stood his ground, refusing to be drawn into the tear in reality. However, All For One lept from the crater he had been beaten into and jeered at All-Might as he flew into the rip. “Goodbye, Symbol of Peace. My plans are not done!” As he disappeared into the portal, All-Might grimmaced. And in a split second decision…

“Toshinori! NO!” Gran Torino screamed as All-Might lept into the portal, which then closed with a shattering Snap! 

Kyoto was quiet again, and all was uncertain. Where had the Symbol of Peace gone to?

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

Metropolis, Illinois.  

“Clark, for the last time the answer is no! This scoop is dangerous and I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Lois Lane walked down the aisles of the Daily Planet offices, the sounds of typewriters firing off like machine guns. The only woman in the room it seemed, but she commanded the respect of everyone there. What she said usually went, at least in terms of who is getting the best stories to write. Tailing behind her was a large, but doltish and a bit clumsily dressed, man whose arms were wrapped around an overburdened folder. He fixed the glasses on his face, moving the curled hair out of the way. Clark Kent was as country-boy out of water as you could get. 

“Lois that's exactly why I want to come! It's dangerous and, well, i’m kinda big. I think I can scare some people off!” Lois stopped in her tracks in between the cubicles, and turned around to face Clark Kent. Clark had faced off against the most terrifying men on earth and beyond it and had felt no fear. However in that moment, fear was a real thing.

Despite the height difference of about two feet, Lois had a commanding presence. Her eyebrows raised, her lips set up in a smug way, her jet black hair flowing behind her head, it gave an air of authority.

“Smallville, are you suggesting that you can take on the thugs of Gotham? You? Clark you fell up the stairs twice when the elevator broke last week. Every time there is a monster attack you run to the bathroom, or the nearest subway station, or whatever. Nothing against you but,” she raised her arms up to Clark’s shoulders and gave it a friendly pat, '' I'm just about as protected with you as I am with Jimmy.”

The redhead himself was walking by when she said that and shot her a glare, which she rolled her eyes over.

“Besides, its been very quiet around here recently. You always complain about the events here getting in the way of your work. A good long stint of nothing is more your speed. That's why i’m going to report on the new Robin in Gotham anyways.”

Clark groaned out loud, then firmly placed his falling-apart folder on his desk. “Lois,” he said while adjusting his glasses again, “don’t go talking about the quiet! It makes me jittery!”

She laughed. “Relax, Clark. Not like anything is going to happen by my saying.”

Right after her saying that, the building shook. The lights hanging above them flickered as dust fell from the ceiling. A few startled voices peppered the crowd of reporters, and a door flew open at the end of the hallway. Out stepped Perry White, editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet. He was already shouting orders. “I WANT TEAMS OUT ASAP! WE’RE GONNA GET THIS BEFORE THE ILLINOIS TIMES! I DON'T WANT TO BE SECOND PLACE AGAIN!”

The reporters began to collect their things, all grabbing the equipment , when Lois gave a loud whistle. Removing her hand from her mouth, “Guys! Wait a minute! This could just be a domestic issue! Like a pipe burst, or a plane hit the street or whatever. While I want to get there quick shouldn’t we be orderly about this?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, already eyeing up the employee bathroom, “we should just take a breather and look out the window maybe.”

He walked over to the large curtained office window and flung it open, looking down from the high skyscraper onto the street. There was a large crater, at the center of it was a man in a suit.

“There’s a guy in a crater. This might be interesting after all, but not warranting a full mobilization”

Then, shouting from the sky and falling at incredible speeds was a mass of red and white. As he passed the window Clark stood in front of, time slowed. He saw that he was huge, massive. Taller than him. His muscles rivaled Bane, his hair outrageous, a monstrous fist raised before him, and his gaze fierce. And he was screaming. A phrase so loud it shattered the window on his descent, and filled the ears of all present.

“DELAWARE SMASH!”

Seconds later, two shockwaves hit the building. One from the fall itself, the other from the punch hitting the ground beneath them. The building shook again, and Clark saw the same in other buildings around the Daily Planet. Perry White yelled from his office, “This urgent enough for ya? Now everyone, GET OUT THERE!”

Clark turned around, shouting out. “Lois! Be care-”

“Can’t right now Smallville,” she shouted back, grabbing her coat and reporting tools, “this is a great catch and i’m getting right on it! JIMMY! WITH ME LETS GO!” She ran out the door without even looking back, redhead cameraman in tow. Clark smirked. He loved her dedication. With everyone not looking, he jumped out the window.

“Pitiful.” Another Jet stream narrowly missed All-Might, as he maneuvered through the crowd moving people out the way as best he could from the destruction. All For One was slashing buildings and hurling debris into him, and it was all he could do to stop it from hitting the civilians. A rock thrown there, a hit All-Might had to take to keep a family safe. A car here, another hit.

All For One was laughing, or atleast the best he could given the shattering of his vocal chords.

“For the Symbol of Peace, you sure are being awful destructive today. Perhaps you want to change sides?” Another shot of the winds, shaving concrete off a building and sending into the eyes of All-Might as he stopped rebar from hitting a child. “Its time for us to end this squabble, once and for all!” At this, he clapped his hands and a shockwave exploded from him. All-Might dropped to his knees, shielding the group of kids he was protecting earlier. He did not notice the building falling towards him, and when he did it was too late. Thousands of tons of concrete fell onto him, covering him and the kids in debris. The explosion was immaculate, as was the silence that followed it.

When the dust cleared, those in the streets looked up in fear at the man in the black suit and burnt face floating above the destroyed building. He cackled, and dark clouds began to surround Metropolis. “AT LAST! I have defeated my adversary! Now, all shall know my power!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” All For One turned in an instant to see another man, clad in blue and red floating in the air. With a mighty blow of his breath, the dark clouds shot away like cotton candy in the wind. His huge arms were crossed over his chest, which was emblazoned in a bright red S. He turned into a crimson streak, racing across the air and into All For One, who went flying into collapsed rubble. As he shakily stood up, his suit now torn at the chest in the imprint of a fist slowly repairing itself, he glanced up to the skies. Through his powers he could still see, an dhw did not understand how he could have survived that.

“WHO DARES?” He raised his arms again and let loose a hardy right hook, but was deflected easily again onto his back. The sunlight cast beams around his body, the man floating above him. The voice sounded out again, in a voice that carried power. “I am the man who fights for Truth, Justice, and the American Way! And you impede on all of that right now.” 

A voice calls out from the crowd, “GET HIM, SUPERMAN!” The onlookers begin to cheer.

All For One groans and he shakes his head. “Another deluded soul who believes himself to be the symbol of peace? A setback that cannot be tolerated.” He raised his hands again and lasers shot from them, grazing Superman’s shoulder as he dashed out of the way. “I can do the same thing, villain!” His eyes glowed red and out shot his own lasers, which cut a chunk of debris hanging above All For One. He dodged it, leaping for the ground next to him. Superman bolted down from his point in the air, landing a punch that was blocked at the last second by All For One. The two traded blows, dashing and trying to outmaneuver the other for what seemed like hours but was only minutes. The action captivated the audience, even the police who were trying to evacuate them.

However, All For One landed a blow that flew Superman backwards into a parked car and slumped him. The two hand traded blows so fast that it felt like days of effort between them, Superman not being prepared for this kind of fight could not keep up! The people looked on in shock as Superman was slumped against the car, making shallow breaths. They began to scream as All For One flew into the air once more. “If that is your greatest champion, then I am to be ruler certainly! Now then, attention all! You are now under the rule of ME! ALL FOR ONE!” 

The crowds screamed and yelled and began running away, but soon giant rock pillars rose from the concrete. The peoples turned shocked and scared, as All For One cackled. “Now, now. You all cannot be going yet. I must make an example!” The walls started to move inwards, moving the people closer and closer. And as he kept laughing and laughing, someone from it yelled out.

“SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!”

“DO NOT WORRY!”

All For One stopped and turned his head in shock. He screamed, “NO! HOW?!” 

All-Might stood atop the mountain of rubble that fell on him, the children he protected sitting at his feet unharmed. A smile was emblazoned across his face, and the sunlight shown upon him. 

“WHY?! I AM HERE!”

He jumped from the rubble, fists raised, and punched All For One into the ground. While he was down, All-Might gave three punches to the rock walls he constructed, and yelled to the people within to get out. But as he was doing this, All For One stumbled to his feet and raised his arms again.

But was stopped when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to see Superman’s fist shortly connect with his face. His body flew backwards into All-Might’s foot, which finally knocked the villain out on the ground.

The people cheered. All-Might turned to them, and struck a pose. 

This is when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Superman. His arms crossed,and looking quite angry. “Ah.” All-Might said sheepishly, “where are my manners. I am All-Might. Symbol of Peace.” He extended his hand. Superman did not take it.

“I am Superman. You’re coming with me. I have some questions.”

[grailacademy]

Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-one: Something Soon

Calicem was a diverse city, but a heavily segregated one as well. The rich pushed most of the working-class citizens out of their homes and neighborhoods years ago, planning to renovate the abandoned buildings left behind but never actually starting any projects. The communities that still fought against the gentrification were all grouped together in one sector of the city, and it was in one of these neighborhoods that a famous diner stood, like a beacon in the darkness: Peach’s Diner. This is where Yorick sat, huddled in a booth with his hands around a tall glass containing a vanilla milkshake and a curly straw. As he slurped on his drink in silence, Rettah plucked the cherry on top and popped it into her mouth, interrupting the anecdote she was sharing.

“-And he never even called me back! Can you believe that?” She chewed on the tooth-rottingly sweet red bubble.

“No way, he didn’t want to talk to a girl who sawed the legs off all of his furniture? That’s crazy!” Queenie responded with sarcasm, but they both knew it was a joke, and the girls laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as Scarlet’s last boyfriend, ha!” Queenie jostled Scarlet sitting next to her, making the chunk of cake on his fork plop onto his plate with a splatter of icing. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe some frosting off his face, mumbling a quiet, “Yeah, he was a total weirdo.”

Queenie slid a napkin towards the center of the table, showing all the notes and lines scribbled on it in pen. “Okay, our guy is waiting at the club next door. This should be a normal trade, but the buyer is a little….paranoid.” Yorick leaned forward to look at the napkin, eyes scanning over the plan. He asked Queenie, “What exactly do we get in return for these trades?”, and she shrugged her shoulders underneath the poofy letterman jacket decorating her torso.

“Depends,” she started, “Information, coordinates and defenses on our enemies, recipes or ingredients for Boost products, new recruits, whatever Sable values as important. This one is for blueprints of a few buildings she wants to use as outposts.”

Yorick nodded and spooned the last bit of whipped cream out from the bottom of the glass with his fingers, popping it into his mouth. Queenie and Scarlet stood up, the leader of their team slapping a few Lien on the table while their teammates left the diner to scope out their checkpoints for the meeting. “I got this one, you guys go ahead and scout.”

Bernard closed the door to the bathroom behind him. He turned the faucet to the shower on and let the water run until it heated up, meanwhile setting his scroll on the edge of the sink. His teammates had yet to return to the dorm room after their exams, so he took this bit of alone time to clean himself up. He pressed the play button on his scroll’s screen, and jumped into the shower while music played from its speakers. He didn’t consider himself to be a good singer, but that didn’t stop him from crooning out the words to his favorite song as he washed his hair. This was the one time he allowed himself to be vocal and dynamic, when nobody else was around. His out-of-tune rendition of an old rock n’ roll song paused just before the chorus, because the ringing of a call on his scroll stopped the music. The warm water from the shower faucet dripped down his chest, following the trails of various scars and old wounds before they were trapped by a soft towel. He answered the call while he dried his hair.

“Hello?”

“¿Como va tu entrenamiento, Bernie?” The voice on the other line made him shiver. He knew who it was, but that wasn’t his mother. Bernard looked at the lesions and blemishes across his chest the foggy mirror, draping the towel over his shoulder.

“....Qué deseas.”

“¿No puedo revisar a mi estudiante estrella?”

“Qué es lo que realmente quieres.”

“....Los planes han cambiado. Necesitamos que termines tu entrenamiento y vuelvas a casa. Hay trabajo que hacer.”

Bernard was quiet. Not out of choice, but because he didn’t know how to respond. The voice on the other line filled the lack of noise for him, though.

“Sería una pena si tuviéramos que poner a tu hermana en el sistema. Usted tomó ella lugar para mantenerla fuera de peligro. Hazlo por ella.”

“Tres meses.”

“Demasiado largo. No empujes tu suerte. Un mes.” The person hung up, and the chorus of the song played again. It didn’t have the same impact on him that it did before, ringing through the now hollow emptiness he felt in his chest.

The factory homebase of the Hedge Witches was much larger than most would expect. Yes, there was the actual factory portion where shipments were made, and the courtyard connecting the greenhouse to the main building, the field behind it, and the array of repurposed storage rooms used as offices, but there was much left to explore. The black haired boy who sat in on meetings held by the organization’s leaders, arms crossed and sitting on a crate when he was supposed to be taking notes, cautiously moved down a long stairwell. His only source of light came from candles mounted on the walls, which flickered rhythmically as he walked past each one, like a dance of warning to turn back. He wasn’t afraid. The stairs opened into a narrow hallway in the basement, a level of the headquarters few people had ever actually seen. This area looked older than the building on top of it, and it reminded him of ancient catacombs more than a dusty cellar. As he made his way through the crypt, the boy took time to acknowledge how the brick walls and wooden floors were now covered in dirt and mud, packed on in layers like an animal den. The end of the hallway opened up into another oddly shaped room, a mud-shaped cave that ended at a near wall, and an extremely high ceiling. At one point, it was a smokestack that puffed fumes from the taffy factory. But now, the floor of it was covered in silk pillows and cushions. The boy looked up to the tall, open center of the pillar that shone a foggy grey sky through a mess of black webs and nets wrapped around its walls. “You needed me?” He shouted up, listening as his voice bounced off the walls of the structure in echoes.

The black netting shifted and changed shape, and slowly, Sable lowered herself onto the pillows by her hair like a ribbon-dancing acrobat. Her locks stayed where they were, except for the few that held her head and waist like a harness. “Yes.” The sway in her walk gave her body the shape of melting wax, her movements resembling the dancing flickers of the candle flames at the entrance as she stepped over the lush cushioned bedding on the floor.

“I need you to run an errand for me. Yorick’s semblance training is moving at a….less than reasonable pace. We have to speed up the process.” She handed Hari a tattered comic book. The ink on the cover was faded, but the title, Blue Inferno vs Doctor Bloodlust, was still readable. He took it, running his hand over the figures of a masked vigilante fighting a man in a lab coat, both of them clad in futuristic armor and shooting lasers at one another. The art style of the book has not aged well, the blue spandex on the story’s hero looked to be riding up a bit too high in some rather unappealing places. “How long do you think a trip to Atlas will take?”

“Two days, if I leave right now.”

“Good. Find Azura, follow her to their home. Take anything that you think will spark memories for him.”

“Anything?” “Anything.”

Hari rolled up the comic and tucked it under his arm, and Sable’s hair spread to make an opening in the tower’s ceiling. He crouched down, pulled at the neckline of his tank top, and looked up through the hole into the sky. “Oh!” Sable remembered, advising him, “Bring a coat, I hear it’s cold in Atlas this time of year.”

Hari rolled his eyes, “I’ll be fine, mom.”

“I know you will, but I get worried!” She hugged him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek, which he immediately wiped off in embarrassment and disgust.

“Goodbye, sweetie! Stay safe! I love you!” She clasped her hands over her chest, giving Hari a patient look while she waited for him to repeat the phrase. He groaned loudly and turned his back to her, groaning “....I love you too, mom,” before he sprung out of the crouch and disappeared out the mouth of the smokestack in a swirl of black hair and feathers.

Yorick’s hands were getting sweaty again. It was a strange sensation when it was paired with the frigid cold from his milkshake glass. The drink was long finished, he wasn’t even holding the cup. But the club he followed Rettah into after Scarlet and Queenie scouted it out put him off. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Rowdy biker bars full of criminals and drunks weren’t his preferred spot. The raucous laughing and shouting pounded at his ear drums, and the constant shattering of bottles and metal music on the jukebox in the corner didn’t help. He would have killed for a smoke right about now, to calm his nerves. A gang of bikers hunched over a pool table, one of them with a thick beard reminiscing about the good old days. Like some kind of miracle sent by an angel, the miscreant flicked half a cigarette butt onto the floor at Yorick’s feet, apparently finished. Avoiding eye contact with the group of men, he sneakily picked up the butt from the floor before someone stepped on it and snuffed it out. He took a couple of puffs and followed Rettah the rest of the way to a booth at the back of the bar, where their friends waited. Their path was blocked by a crowd of people waiting in line for the bathroom, so the girl grabbed Yorick’s wrist and pulled him through the sea of ruffians. On the other side of the line, Queenie leaned forward over the table of their booth and negotiated with a lanky man in a burgundy pinstripe suit. Scarlet scooched further into the booth to make room for the other two to sit down, and Rettah skipped over giddily with Yorick trailing behind.

“You have been very generous to me, and I appreciate that.” The man combed a strand of hair neatly back into place on his head of grey hair, eyeing Queenie. “But I want something in return for these goods. Understand?”

“Whatever you need. Money, Boost, supplies, we can provide it.” Queenie rapped her knuckles against the wooden table.

“Protection.” The man shifted in his seat, the gold pins on his lapel reflecting the light hanging over them. “I want a guaranteed alliance with the Hedge Witches. The way I see it, you need someone on the inside, and I need someone to keep me safe if you want this job done correctly.”

Scarlet tugged on the sleeve of Queenie’s jacket, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, and held her hand out to the man. He took it and shook, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching them. Under the table, he handed an orange envelope to Scarlet, who folded the package and hid it between his knees. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Reed.”

Reed picked up his hat from one of the coat hooks on the sides of the booth, placing it on his head and leaving the bar without another word. The four of them made sure he was out the door before they pulled the envelope out. Scarlet wedged his nail under the fold on the paper, ripping the top open and pouring its contents onto the table. “What is it,” Rettah asked. Queenie turned the papers over, and showed them the detailed blueprints of Grail Academy’s clocktower.

[whipplefilter]

Fic: Burning Sky

This fic is for @gillg25​, who asked for fic based on this headcanon of hers, about Lightning’s crash. I didn’t want to just steal your idea, and I didn’t want to repeat stuff I myself have already written, so this starts a bit further back. ;) Hope you enjoy! The epigraph (and title) are from Bad Company’s “Burnin’ Sky.”

The sky is burnin' I believe my soul's on fire

July, 2007.

Doc frames it as a question.

It's what he does when the idea he's had is both stupid and dangerous. Maybe it's how they teach you to talk in doctor school, or lawyer school, but Lightning has a feeling it goes deeper than that.

Doc is teaching at the edge of a sport that defines itself by exceeding its edges. Racing is, more than finish lines or pole positions, the breach between tire and asphalt when you don't have the downforce--when that bump sneaks up on you; it's the keening shriek of air better measured in cc's than inches when you're loose on a turn and skim a wall. It's teaching your hunger for the edge without dooming your student to your old mistakes.

But here's the thing. Question or not, it's what Doc Hudson would do. It's what the Fabulous Hudson Hornet would do. Lightning's never once answered 'no.'

--

November, 2016.

There's a storm up in the mountains--lightning, the works. The race is on, though--if there's anything to be said about Los Angeles, it's that it can stop a storm dead in its tracks. Traffic, grid-locked; smog, rising; inversion layer, paralytic.

"They're worried about wildfires," says Danny, whose name Lightning only knows because Danny qualified a tenth of a second ahead of him, and because he replaced Bobby. Danny's talking to Chase, who replaced Brick, because Danny still has anyone to talk to, because Danny was never friends with Brick Yardley or anyone else who's gone now.

Chase doesn't even know what a wildfire properly is. That's how young these guys are.

But Los Angeles is always worried about wildfires.

Lightning just needs to focus on Storm.

--

It's always dusk under a wildfire. Orange and hazy, Cadillac range obliterated by smoke, it feels like they're on the moon. Except it's hot. Real hot. Radiator Springs shutters, all of its residents having retreated indoors; and caught up in the sepia of wildfire, it looks the way Lightning imagines it would have, if it had been allowed to disappear.

Red's already burnt a ring of brush all around town, doused the roads and all the tractor tracks he could find. They'll probably be all right, though with fires this size it's hard to tell. It's all scrub brush out here, so they can't fuel the truly large blazes like they get up north, but if there's something this desert has in spades, it's wind. You get wind and fire on a plain together, and boy, they can dance.

Red waits, wordlessly anxious, and hopes for the best.

According to Sheriff, Red thinks the fire is far enough away, at least for now. Doesn't feel that way, though. If Lightning closed his eyes, he'd believe it were right in front of him. It's gotta be 140 degrees. It's been 140 degrees for days. It feels like it's been the last lap of a summer 500, track so slick it's almost liquid, for a full-on week.

Doc asks, "Hey, Rookie, you wanna try something?"

And so, with Red in tow, they head to Willy's Butte.

--

Los Angeles at night is a race you need to lead in order to win. Problem is, it's hard enough to hold P6 against these guys, much less overtake. Lightning stays out of the pits as long as he can to build as many hundredths of seconds as he can between him and the car behind him, snatches a few off Danny's lead on him, and prays there aren't any early yellows.

In the distance, there is thunder.

--

A couple slow laps around the Butte, and it's hot and unpleasant, but nothing awful. Lightning wasn't made for low speeds, so they always feel a little coarse. But it doesn't get better. The air's flabby, just doesn't have the density, doesn't have the oxygen, and Lightning's engine can't find its power. It's hard to breathe.

When the wind blows in, so does the ash. It coats the track like snow and it coats Doc like a fine white dust and Lightning can't see much of anything at all, just dirt and ash and the occasional snatch of the plummeting cliffside he knows is out there. He tries to find what speed he can. He feels lightheaded.

You know, when I was a rookie on the force, Sheriff told him once. He says, Any time I bulls-eyed, I couldn't ever actually see the target. When my vision went pure white I'd pull the trigger and that'd be my perfect shot. It was always the ones I couldn't ever see.

Not gonna lie, Sherif. As a private citizen living in your town, that's a little scary to me, Lightning replies.

They weren't Hail Marys, boy, Sheriff huffs. That was instinct. Experience taking over. You just don't know it 'til you feel it a coupla times.

"Watch your temperature," Doc shouts over Lightning's engine. "What you're feeling--usually you only ever get that at the tail-end of an actual race. Everyone knows you got talent, rookie, but that's only gonna get you so far when you're up against a field who's got 300, 500 races on you."

It's hard to train race circumstances as fleeting as this one--those last five minutes where the pressure's on and one poor experimental decision can cost you. But under that wildfire, it's those last five minutes forever. They train until Lightning's engine is spent and there's so much dirt and ash clogging his air filter he can't speak without hacking. He feels like he's run a thousand races.

--

Los Angeles at night. You lead, you win.

Lightning screams out of pit road just ahead of Storm. It took 450 laps to make this play. Now he just needs to hold on.

It’s honestly breathtaking how quick Storm shuts that door.

--

Sally's pretty irate at Doc when she finds out about their wildfire training, which is probably where that doctor-lawyer school thing comes in. She's irate even after Lightning coughs his way through some staccato, single-syllable version of "No, I wanted to, it's fine, I feel fine, this was actually really helpful."

"Does Spare the Air Day mean nothing to you?" she asks Doc tersely.

In truth, the phrase means less than nothing to Lightning, because he lied, he does not feel fine, and his vision's going white and he suspects it has less to do with instinct and experience than it does with oxygen deprivation, and instead of heading to the shop with Doc he groggily wanders to his cone and refuses to be roused because he'd rather be miserable and asleep at home than miserable and awake in the clinic. That can wait 'til morning. End of discussion.

It's a mistake, and the most miserable night of his life because he cannot sleep because his body keeps jostling him awake to remind him that he cannot breathe, but maybe that's a learning experience, too. Sally says I told you so.

But whatever Sally's chagrin at their bold rejection of safe common sense, he'd never felt endangered. Besides, Doc was there. Red had been there. They'd only been training the edge, not derailing from it.

They talk about this on the radio a lot, as Lightning grows his career. How good he is at finishing, at clawing to first in the last laps of a race, out of the broiling pan straight into the cool shadow of that checkered flag.

And when the Cup introduces restrictor plate races, he's skilled at that, too. He adapts well to their breathless feeling, the way they steal power that you know you have--should have. Lightning owes a lot to that wildfire.

When asked about his training, Lightning simply replies, "Doc," even though Doc's been gone for four years and the last time ash rained down on Radiator Springs was even longer ago. His answer will always be Doc.

--

Lightning remembers almost nothing from the second that back tire goes out. He thinks remembers scrambling to keep hold of the track, but being at the mercy of the elements more than anything else. Correction: His elements. This is not a dust storm, it is not a tornado. It's not even the fire, raging in the mountains under lightning far above. This is the force of himself, and at 200 miles an hour, it plows him head-first into the wall.

They say he went airborne. They say he rolled--eight times, maybe more. Straight down the track, like a cue ball. Would've been gentler in the apron. It's a miracle he didn't injure anyone else.

He doesn't remember any of that, though he swears he can remember the pain.

His nurse swears he doesn't. "Trust me, honey. What you're feeling is the pain you're in right now," she says. She sounds like she might've already had this conversation with him a couple dozen times.

He might've had an out-of-body experience. He could see what was left of himself, splayed out on the track.

"They showed it on the screens," says Sally, who's there sometimes and not, which is confusing, especially when she tells him, "No, it's Friday," except it's Saturday, because it's race night, because the ambulance was only a moment ago, and normalcy was just one tire longer ago than that.

"Yeah, they showed that on the screens," she says, in response to whatever it was he just said. "Until they cut the visual, because they thought that maybe you--"

"It's Tuesday," says Sally. "You should get some sleep."

--

The ER is filled with ashy, fire-damaged cars who've just lost their homes to the blaze that razed the hills--the blaze which was, as it turns out, not so far away after all. The news is filled with the lightning storm that started it all, and doomed them. It's filled with news of Lightning, burning too. It's a testament to how this city works that they still spare him a private room.

The number of displaced cars climbs. The fire goes uncontained. There are two confirmed deaths.

--

Lightning dreams racing more than he dreams anything else. No surprises there. He dreams the dreams where you're supposed to run your heart out, but you can't. You can't make your wheels turn faster, can't get your engine to pump air through its cylinders, can't get the life inside you spin the way you know it needs to. That's how it always happens, in dreams.

But when he wakes, alone, in the hospital, he doesn't see the difference. He smells like smoke.

"They shouldn't let you watch that," says Sally, during visiting hours the next morning. It's a Wednesday. She shuts the news off mid-cycle. (The cycle goes McQueen, wildfire, McQueen wildfire, McQueen, community interest story about cats, McQueen, wildfire…)

When Lightning reminds her that he is extremely concussed and probably won't remember it anyway, she doesn't think it's funny. She says, "I don't care. You don't need to see that."

Whether he remembers it for five minutes or five years, he doesn't need to see that. And when you watch yourself fly through the air, the screen has a way of making five seconds into five minutes, five minutes into eternity. (Remember that wildfire? With Doc watching? Five hundred last-five-minutes. A lifetime of experience.)

When Sally is gone, the TV springs to life again. It asks, "Will this be McQueen's last?"

They frame it like a question. They don't mean it like one.

--

Lightning wants to bounce back. That's sort of his style. But it doesn't come naturally this time, so maybe it's not. And there are so many maybes clogging his mind they can't possibly be helping the concussion. Which is making him feel like garbage, by the way.

Maybe they were right, putting Doc out to pasture after '54. Maybe Rusty and Dusty are wrong, for not following suit; they're not exactly business moguls. They're constantly giving away free maintenance, free bottles of bumper oil. Heaven knows how they kept on top of all those sponsor deals. But who knows? Maybe Lightning doesn't have sponsors anymore. Harv has not exactly been in contact. Maybe it was wrong to end Doc's career, but not his. He's not the Fabulous Hudson Hornet, after all; he's just Lightning McQueen. And maybe experience is nothing against what a Next-Gen's got under the hood, white-hot or not.

Maybe it'd be a mistake to come back, because it was already a mistake to have stayed.

"Well, does it feel like you made a mistake?" Sally asks, having withstood this particular litany of maybes multiple times already. It's the first time she hasn't let him get away with his self-pity, so either he's looking better or she's finally annoyed.

"It feels like I'm in pain," Lightning mutters, distracted. He's trying to figure out if she's annoyed. Present circumstances make it hard to think in anything but worst-case scenarios.

"I know you are, Stickers. But that's not what I asked," says Sally, gently. She kisses him. Not annoyed, then.

Maybe.

--

It wasn't a mistake. He ran that race because he deserved to be there. And he ran it hard, because there's no other way to race. You leave your rubber on the road and your smoke in the air and if you have to eat your own glass, then you do it. If you gotta hold yourself together with tape, you do it. And if you hit a wall and you don't remember anything, anything but this moment right now, then you get right back out there and you keep running. Even under wildfire. Just because it feels like hell doesn't mean you're wrong.

--

They're rebuilding in the LA hills, now that the fire's choked itself out. The faces of the displaced Angelenos on TV are masks of grim determination. It's not a resilience story, or community interest story (that one is about harbor seals this time); it's a 'the fire took everything' story.

"Our home is gone," one of the cars points out. "And it feels like trash; and it ain't gonna stop feeling like that. But man, I don't gotta take it lying down! Of course we're gonna rebuild. And of course it's gonna be on that same hill! It's my hill! I know I can't say this on TV but--eff that fire, you know what I mean?"

--

Lightning knows what he means.

--

Four months later, that car is back up on his blackened hill, living large in a mail-order double wide with an ostentatiously lavish fountain sitting in his front yard. It's pearl white against black char, peppered with the green of the tender new growth that made it back with the winter rains. The fountain cost four times as much as his house and he doesn't regret a single dang thing.

It has a setting where you can make water shoot up into the air like fireworks, which he uses often. So he does that, and goes back inside. He flips his TV to the Daytona 500.

He looks for the 95.