#that building was strange and i wish i knew the location because i want to know what the fuck it exactly was

[bloodskelter]

My PTSD from my RAMCOA has been fucking with me for weeks and each flashback and recovered memory I get is worse.

I don't want to remember being raped so severely and violently that I profusely bled from my genitals every time it happened.

I don't want to remember being laid down on a metal table in some medical room within that building and being injected with a substance that would make me dissociated and drugged up. So it would be easier to control, program, and abuse me. And sometimes being raped by the "doctors" on that table.

I don't want to remember being 8 and dying from a rape and sexual torture instance that lasted for hours and then being brought back. Waking up on the metal table hooked up to various medical equipment. And then being raped by a "doctor" in that position.

I don't want to remember the monsters forcing male dogs onto me. Recording it and watching the entire instances with disgusting smiles on their faces. As if they enjoyed seeing a small child in this type of pain.

I don't want to remember screaming and crying out for help. Crying for my parents and loved ones who would have protected me from these monsters. Throwing up from how horrific everything was. Feeling nothing but excruciating pain, fear, and disgust. Fearing for my life but also wishing I would just die already so the hell would be over.

I don't want to remember that building where all of these horrors happened. Where nobody came to save me and the other victims involved.

I was only 3 to 9/10 years old during all of this. I should have been enjoying my childhood not being subjected to hell by the hands of people who were supposed to protect me and strangers I never knew outside of these horrors. I should have been treated and seen as the child I was, not some kind of pleasure toy and lab animal/test subject.

[indecisivemuch]

Time wasn't in our favor - Part 4 (Happy Ending)

Pairing: TASM Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) x Female!Reader

Summary: "Maybe I'll give you another reward if you manage to save my New York city," - What if...your soulmate is from another universe but you didn't know? Soulmate AU. Set during NWH, fluff.

Note: Here's the happy ending, if I am honest, I think I'm better at writing sad endings.

Word count: 1k

Series Masterlist: Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Happy Ending, Sad Ending.

The girl ran through the portal without any hesitation, jumping slightly when she saw it closed straight away. Cautiously exiting the alley, the girl gulped as she realized how reckless she was being - entering another universe with no plan beforehand. How was she going to find Peter?

It has been seven days, three hours and thirty-two minutes since he left his soulmate's universe. 

Right after returning to his own world, Peter checked his tattoo. When he did, staring back at him was no longer the faded gray spider web tattoo. In its place was now a red spider tattoo. It was as if the world hated him, and to show this evident hatred, it made his first soulmate die, and his second from another universe where he could not travel to. Ever since then, the boy could barely have a blink of sleep at night or even function properly in the morning. This meant that his performance at being Spiderman was plummeting, and people noticed.

Swinging along buildings in New York City, Peter sought for any commotion that indicated trouble. That was when he heard it:

“Spiderman,” it was far away, but his heightened sense of hearing allowed him to catch it. He glanced in the general direction and saw a person standing atop his favorite building. “Peter Parker,” that was when alarms rang in his head. Has somebody discovered his identity? He swung towards the building, approaching the person without revealing himself.

“I have like roughly 10 minutes.” He almost could not believe it, hearing her voice. Never would he think of meeting the Y/N from his universe. He peered at her from the shadows and it almost made his mouth drop at how similar they looked. There was nothing different about her, which surprised him considering how different he looked in other universes.

“If I can’t find you, Doctor Strange will come back and drag me back home and I need you to…somehow hear me. Spiderman, Peter Parker, Peter 3, or any other name you go by. I…” she stopped before sniffling.

“I can’t give up now, but at the same time, how do I find you in a New York city that is actually so much different than mine? I don’t want to leave, but I don’t know what to do. Why are you so near but so far at the same time,” she sobbed, feeling helpless. Indeed, time was almost up. Y/N wished she had bargained for more time. She went to many of the locations where she thought he would be. She even tuned into the news for criminal activities and recklessly ran to them hoping that Spiderman would be there. But because of his distracted state, Peter has barely made it to crime scenes, and instead slacked off. 

Realizing that this was the Y/N that he met yesterday - his soulmate, Peter almost lurched forward from the shadow to wipe away her emerging tears. His heart was in disbelief, but he knew it was her.

“Y/N?” he softly spoke, hoping not to scare her with his presence. Nevertheless, she jumped slightly before realizing that it was him.

"Peter...it's me..."

At this, the boy couldn't help but pull her in for a hug, embracing her in his arms and inhaling as he buried his head in her neck. “I never thought I would see you again,” he muttered against her skin, hoping he could remember her scent before she leaves.

Any thought of leaving left her as she felt herself melt into his arms. How could she? Especially when this was the most that she felt like she was home. How could she when she knew how empty it felt without him or the memories of their moments together? She bit her lip as her head and heart started battling each other. But at the end, her heart won, and it ignored any sensibility or logic that her mind was yelling - that Doctor Strange would come and drag her back to her original universe, or the fact that she might bump into herself in this world.

“...Take me around our New York, Peter,” the girl blurted out while in his embrace, referring back to their conversation days ago. She watched as Peter pulled away from their hug and looked at her. There was slight confusion before a look of shock painted over his face instead.

“You’re staying?” he almost yelled, his tone holding some doubt on whether he had read her implications correctly. She laughed at his exclamation before nodding eagerly to confirm. Peter chuckled in disbelief before lifting Y/N up and flung her around in his arms with pure joy. Their harmonious laughter echoed off the building as the two embraced each other.

“But what about…what about your universe? Don’t you have to go back?” he asked, despite hating to imagine that happening.

“Peter…you’re my soulmate. My universe is here with you,” Y/N muttered, grinning up at Peter, who did not reply to this. Instead, he chose to take a moment of silence with her in his arms, and allow his mind to process the thought of having her forever.

“You know I won’t say ‘no’, right?” Peter whispered as he peered down at Y/N. “I won’t say ‘no’ if you say that you’ll stay, and I would not give a damn about the universe as long as I have you” he added, gulping at what was probably the most selfish thing he has ever uttered.

“The world has taken so much away from me, and I just want to be selfish for once in my life, and do something for me…and I want you. I need you. So, if you say you’ll stay, I would never say ‘no’. Never,” Peter rambled. He watched as Y/N’s eyes started to water from his words.

“Y/N, I need you.”

“Have me,” Y/N responded with no hesitation. “Keep me…I would not say ‘no’ to that, Peter,” she added.

He glanced down at her lips indiscreetly, causing the girl to grin. 

“Our New York. I like the sound of that,” he confessed. "By the way, you still owe me.”

Y/N scrunched her eyebrows at this, trying to scour her memory for whatever she was in debt for. Her confusion only made Peter grin. 

"I believe I did save your New York," Y/N's face immediately lightened as she remembered what this was about.

"Oh, my knight in shining armor, Peter Parker! I'm assuming you're here to collect your reward?" Y/N teased, her hand slowly wrapping around his neck. Peter, on the hand, only smirked at her question and did not answer. Instead, he pulled her in, connecting their lips together.

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

BONUS:

In the middle of New York, a girl entered her favorite sandwich shop. “Hi, can I get a meatball sandwich without pickles and extra cheese, please? Thanks, Richard” the girl ordered.

“No problem, Y/N. How was the shift?”

“Super busy...and depressing. I had to slip away to get my mind off today's surgeries. Everything just seems to fall apart today,” Doctor Y/N L/N answered. Surgery after surgery, the girl has worked for over 50 hours without sleeping. Not only that, but the bus accident has left many in critical conditions.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here, a brownie on the house,”

“Thank you, Richard, I’ll see you soon.”

The girl picked up her sandwich and brownie before heading towards the door. Before she could reach it, her knee gave away. She collapsed on the ground, groaning loudly as she felt an excruciating pain on her wrist, where her soul mark was.

“What’s happening?” she looked down to see her tattoo of a spider with two shorter legs slowly vanishing. 

“Y/N?” the owner called out, coming up from behind her, trying to figure out what was wrong. The doctor, however, only had her eyes on what was happening to her wrist. There it was, a pink scar in the spot where her soulmate tattoo used to be. Without answering the man behind her, Y/N took out her phone and dialed it.

“This is the Palmer-Strange clinic for soulmate care. How may we help you?” a voice answered through the device.

“Get Doctor Christine Palmer on the phone, please.”

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

Anddd that's it for this series. Thank you for reading it. I wrote this pre-"across the spider-verse" so if it doesn't mash well with that, I'm sorry. Miguel would definitely not like it if the events pan out like this ending. The bonus bit is just my imagination spinning and creating a whole universe for this series. Feel free to head over to the sad ending as well.

Series Masterlist: Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Happy Ending, Sad Ending.

[cozzzynook]

A Soundwave from another dimension is transported to a dimension where the war is over. Soundwave is in a relationship with Hot Rod who's sparked.

Soundwave from Transformers prime seeing Soundwave and Rodimus from mtmte makes prime Soundwave feral.

That cryptic literally takes one look at Rodimus and wants him but mtmte Soundwave is not letting anyone have Rodimus not even himself from another timeline and they are so close to brawling like gladiators it was terrifying even to the cons aboard the ship.

Prime Soundwave only stopped when Rodimus stood between the two and put his back to him looking very scary and adorable as he glared at his soundwave who just knew not to test him while in emotive swing.

Its up to brainstorm and Perceptor to send Prime Soundwave back who with Rodimus permission, gently touches Rodimus’s tanks and has this sad aura about him.

Rodimus asks him to use glyphs to communicate and he learns Soundwave doesn’t have any of his cassettes and only Laserbeak is left. The little cassette flies and lands on Rodimus tanks chirping at him and he smiles rubbing their little wings and helm.

Rodimus adores Laserbeak and he smiles even rubbing the prime Soundwaves face plate and tells him he should give his four optics a break. Prime Soundwave is completely shocked by Rodimus knowing and Rodimus admits to him that his Soundwave has four optics too.

“You’re very similar, still different but pretty similar,” he laughed making his bitty pat his tanks and Prime Soundwaves servo.

For a moment he wishes to break his vow of silence for Rodimus but he does not because Mtmte Soundwave walks in and stands in the door looking angry and pops Prime soundwaves servo off his conjunxs tanks and holds Rodimus close to him.

“Lesser Soundwave: cease and desist. Rodimus: my conjunx. Will only share with sparkling.”

“Sound, its fine. I don’t think he wants me,” Rodimus doesn’t make a move to leave his Soundwaves hold but he does shift to get more comfortable.

Prime Soundwave doesn’t bother with saying Rodimus is wrong since he doesn’t want to deal with his other self but he is happy to be reminded of what he fought for. The right to this. Living. Enjoying his loved ones instead of fighting an endless war that he wishes to be over.

It makes Prime Soundwave think over the war his Megatron keeps going and he thinks over this Megatrons apologies, musings, his guilt and admittance of it not being about rights but power. He decides when home that he won’t be keeping the war going but focusing on rebuilding the decepticons and working towards building their home planet to be better. They have the technology and science to do it and Shockwave wishes for the same. He knows he can do it.

So when the portal is finished and he says goodbye to Rodimus making sure to piss off this version of himself he hugs Rodimus before transforming and leaving.

When he comes out the other side every con is waiting for him and he proceeds to get Megatron in a room alone and shows him the possibilities of the other world. Shows him what happened and shows him the personal tape his other self left for him.

He’s not sure what the other Megatron said to his version but whatever it was it worked.

A peace treaty was not drawn but the cons left planet Earth and returned home.

On the way they passed a floating small pod that was unidentified and within it was a red and yellow and mech who was heavily injured.

By the time they reached Cybertron and began rebuilding their home by cleaning up frames and debris as Shockwave worked on a way to bring life back, the strange bot onlined and Soundwave knew immediately who the mech was by his optics even if he had a different frame than his other self.

“Where am I?”

“Condition: injured. Location: cybertron,” he used glyphs to inform the mech of his situation and he noticed how weary he was at the sight of his decepticon badge but he didn’t make a move to attack or do anything else aside from ask his name.

“Designation: Soundwave.”

That made the mech startle and he rushed up which made Soundwave startle and try to push him down only for the mech to hold his servos and move them back a little and open his subspace.

He carefully cradled the small cassettecon that he long thought he lost.

“Hey, bitty wake up, your cassette carrier, he’s here,” the mech sounded so happy and Soundwave could barely grasp anything aside from having Laserbeak undock and land on the mech to chirp and nuzzle Ratbat awake who cooed before yawning and stretching tiny wings that hadn’t changed since their tragic separation.

The little bat sparkling looked up and cooed at the mech before sniffing and rushing towards Laserbeak and crying.

Soundwave took both cassettes in his arms and held them close.

Behind his mask he cried and outwardly his shoulders shook.

“I’m not a cassette carrier so..I couldn’t help them develop the way you could but I did keep them alive,” the mech stated looking sad.

“Casseette: returned. Soundwave: forever in your debt.”

“Oh! No! Its not trouble really! They’re a sparkling, I couldn’t just let them get hurt or offline.”

The mech smiled at the happy reunion and finally sat back on the med berth where he closed his subspace and rubbed over his spark chamber.

“Oh, sorry about that. I forgot to tell you. My name. It’s Hot rod.”

Soundwave for the first time in a long time, felt something shift and he retracted his lower face shield to reveal scarred dermas and fangs that were permanently revealed from the damage.

“Thank you, Hot rod.”

Soundwave watched as the mech’s spark sped up and his optics flashed.

‘He felt it too,’ Soundwave realizes.

The mechs soul caught in his throat and he couldn’t focus on anything but Soundwave, his voice and half of his face.

He knows the mech is a con but..

“Beautiful,” he struggled out as venting was impossible.

It warmed him in a way he never knew struggling to vent could and he decided then he didn’t want to leave the mech behind.

“You’re beautiful,” he gazed, hypnotized.

“As are you, Hot rod.”

Soundwave pictured Rodimus and his other part Hot rod who looked so similar and yet different and he understood why his other half was so protective.

He plans to do the same.

[atelierlili]

Roses are Red Chapter 2

The nation is still mourning Katniss Everdeen and whatever future they thought we would have together. They are not used to their toys dying right before they can sink their teeth into them.

Panem mourns. Peeta gets gifts.

The days after Katniss' funeral go by in a haze. I've been forced to stay in the capitol under orders of President Snow. The nation is still mourning Katniss Everdeen and whatever future they thought we would have together. To be honest, I'm getting tired of watching capitol hosts cry on national television every morning. They are not used to their toys dying right before they can sink their teeth into them.  

Strangely enough, I don't mind staying in the Capitol. And I guess the sentiment is shared. Since the news broke out, my family hasn't reached out to me at all. Not even my Father. Perhaps he didn't want to relive the past through me. Only sweet Delly Cartwright, my childhood friend, called. She was in tears. She knew better than anyone else what was happening - or rather, what wasn't happening- between Katniss and I. I told her the truth when my loneliness became unbearable during those six months after the 74th games. 

I doubt she was the only person in the know. The people of 12 aren't stupid. They know Katniss. They know Gale. They know of Katniss and Gale. They know better than to trust anything that the capitol gives us. Everyone knows Katniss ran off with Gale and their families. They know I've been left behind. Maybe it's better if I stay here for a while longer. I don't think I could handle the mockery or the pity in their eyes. Not right now. I'm not strong enough. 

On the flip side, it seems the Capitol can't get enough of me. They seem to think grief could be stamped out by gifts, parties and a long list of drugs. There is a room in my suite that is dedicated to all the gifts my admirers send now. As if flowers, sparkling jewels, clothes and love letters could ease the pain of a lost loved one. Like everything in the capitol, the people here think the problem can be bought with money and jewels. What do they know of grief? 

Effie looks through each and every one of them though. She always makes sure to send a thank you card and a small gift on my behalf. She is a sweetheart like that. 

"Oh Peeta! Look at this gift! It's simply marvelous, I'm positive you'll love it!" She says. 

"If it's another necktie, I'll have to decline. I think I have enough neckties to last a lifetime, Effie," I say as I work on a painting in my makeshift studio. 

I don't leave the room unless Effie pries me out for dinner, taking me to a capitol restaurant that she'd make a reservation for. She titters about all the high profile celebrities and ‘influencers” that are dying to meet me, but she’s kind enough to reject all offers in consideration of my feelings. She keeps me company on these lonely nights and her incessant chattering keeps me from staying in my head all the time. It works. I enjoy listening to hear her talk about things she cares about, even if I don't really understand how a four-point sparkle is superior to a seven-point one. I don't have a good relationship with my mother, but if I did, I wished it would be like the one I have with Effie. 

"I know you better than that, young man!" she says with a giddy squeal. 

I decided to humor her and set my brush down. I walk into the living room where Effie is in drowning boxes of gifts and flowers. When I catch her eye, she springs up and runs to me with a book pressed to her chest. 

"Look here!" She says and shoves the book into my hands. 

I give her a cocked brow because turning to the page and instantly I know Effie is right, for once. 

It's a photography book filled with pictures and locations of different places of the capital, I think. I'd find the book uninspiring if it were only the tall absurdist and bulky concrete buildings that line the city streets, but instead it's pictures of gardens, parks and the inside of what I assume is a large greenhouse. Flora and fauna take up a majority of the content, many of which are plants that I've never seen before. There is even a picture of an adorable white cat with yellow eyes. The final picture of a meadow in the dead of night underneath a sea of silver-white stars.

All at once I am hit with a wave of homesickness. I miss the nature of District 12. I miss the forest that lived beyond the fence and the sound of birds. I miss the apple tree I used to climb with my older brothers. I miss the meadow that Katniss Everdeen crosses everyday to hunt. There is a whole sketchbook of 12 in my closet back home. She's in there. A swinging braid in the wind. Always in my line of sight, but never to reach. 

I don't think I can go back and not think about her. 

A note slips out from the book and falls to the ground, breaking me from my thoughts. It's folded neatly in pretty stationary paper. 

I noticed you have an eye for nature, giving the subject of your paintings. You can find beauty in the most strange places. 

The Capitol has few places where flowers can grow unyieldingly, but I've tried to find a few. I think you might like them. Perhaps something will even inspire you. 

Sunlight will do you good. 

You have my condolences. 

C. Nightshade. 

"Who is C. Nightshade?" I hand the note to Effie, who plucks it out of my hand with a smile.

"Nightshade Enterprise!" Effie chirps, "they are the leading tech company that assists and manages the production of the Hunger Games arenas. The current president is Florence Nightshade. However, if I recall correctly, she has three daughters and the youngest is a beauty named Cynthia." 

My stomach twists at the mere mention of the Games. It won't be long until they start up again and this time I will have to play a part by being a mentor. And while it makes me sick that I've become another cog in this death machine, there is nothing I can do about it now. 

The games never stop, do they? And if I want even a slightest chance of keeping my kids alive, maybe having a friend as well connected as a Nightshade may have its perks. Sponsor money is what kept me alive in the arena. I should know better than anyone else how important that is. 

"Get me one of those pretty papers you write your letters on, Effie," I say, taking the slip of paper back from her. "I'll write this one myself. Afterwards we can get some dinner- your pick as usual." 

Effie squeals and beams brightly. "Oh, of course! I'm so glad to see your spirits lift. Even if it's the slightest bit!" 

I chuckle to myself as Effie's heels click away towards another room and reach for the remote on the coffee table. I like the sound of chatter as I go about the suite. My home was always busy. Someone was always doing something, whether it be my brothers wrestling behind the house or my father baking in the kitchen. Sometimes I like to turn on the holo just so I could have something playing in the background. 

I flip through the channels until I've reached the national broadcasting channel and watch Katniss Everdeen kiss Gale Hawthrone. 

Chapter 3 >>

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - A Premature Burial 4

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika, Nazuna, Kuro

Translator: Mika Enstars

"I wonder. Although I am discussing art with Westerners in Paris in a foreign language, my flesh and blood is held captive by this facile building."

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: The Itsuki's House (Exterior)

Shu: However, as long as you have a brain in your head, you should have been able to figure out what I’d just told you out yourself.

This is just a villa, the Itsuki household has their stronghold in Kansai. That’s why I’ve always told you I’m going “returning home to the countryside” during the New Year’s holiday and such.

The circumstances surrounding when I’d first met you is also due to that.

Mika: Nnah, I’d always wondered why ya had been in my hometown, Oshi-san… Huh, but wasn’t there somethin’ about you and “Ryuu~-kun”-san runnin’ away together?

Shu: That’s likely because the destination of our expedition was just around the area. At the time, my world was extremely small, and I knew very little about the area.

So, well, in the end my little childhood adventure ended without any result. I could reach anywhere with my child’s feet…

Mika: Ya met me, didn’tcha~? And now, ya can go wherever ya want, right, Oshi-san?

Shu: I wonder. Although I am discussing art with Westerners in Paris in a foreign language, my flesh and blood is held captive by this facile building.

That’s how I feel. It seems humans are not so easily freed from their ties.

There are always various things pulling us about everywhere. Much like strings tied to a marionette.

Mika: Oshi-san…

Shu: Ahh, I’ve said something strange. Let us go in, we shouldn’t be chatting out in front.

Also, to answer your first question, why I brought you along with is because “I do not want to see my family alone”. Do I need any other reason?

Mika: No need t’be so scared, they’re family.

Shu: It’s not as if I’m scared, or we have a poor relationship, though. The hierarchical relationship ingrained into my instincts since childhood is simply something that I cannot ignore.

But, as long as you’re here, my family will put up a front of sorts and go a little easier, which helps. My family likes you as well, somewhat.

Mika: Even though they completely ignored me when I first arrived, huh… Or rather, they were completely surprised an’ caught off guard when ya suddenly picked me up, Oshi-san.

But I feel like we’ve been able to get t’know each other better over time. When ya live under the same roof as another, it’s natural to start t’warm up to one another.

Aha. First it were an orphanage, then Oshi-san’s house, and now Starmony Dorms… Come t’think of it, I’ve always been roomin’ with other people!

Shu: If you don’t feel comfortable with that, find the “family” you want to live with with all your heart going forward.

You have the limbs to do so. You are a free soul bound by no one. And nobody, not even God, can forbid you from it.

Location: Starmony Dorms Kitchen

Nazuna: Hello~, Kagehira?

Ohh, so you’ve arrived at Itsuki’s house and are taking a break now that you’ve dropped off your luggage?

Didn’t want to bother them early in the morning, so you ate early and came over at noon, huh?

Itsuki arranged a flight in a hurry and returned to the country later on, so you waited for him and came along with…

Right, right. He wasn’t planning to return to Japan originally, so he arrived a little later than you.

Hm? Well it’s lunchtime, so I’m eating.

Yeah… I think Kuro-chin’s trying to win me over with a home-cooked meal, giving an excuse that he “made too much”…

Kuro: I’m not givin’ up, Nito.

Nazuna: Hm~… Then I’ll just have to introduce you to some of my friends who often crossdress as women and don't seem to have a problem with it.

Kuro: I’d prefer if it were you, Nito.

Nazuna: I wish I was hearing those words in a different context, you know… Well, if this is for behalf of your sister, “cross-dressing” would be somewhat different.

No, even if it were me, it’d still be “cross-dressing”! Isn’t this too uncomfortable?

Kuro: It’ll be fine. Have confidence, Nito. You’re far cuter than any girl out there!

Nazuna: That doesn’t make me happy… You’re stubborn. I should have expected that from a childhood friend of Itsuki—You two are pretty similar.

Oh, well. Anyways, Kagehira, I know I’m being persistent, but if anything happens, call me right away, okay?

We at Ra*bits are going through a strange situation right now, so we’ve been a bit dried up on our work and have time to spare. Yeah, but it’s not like I’m poking my head in for the fun of it, okay?

I’m not helpless, not anymore… Maybe I just want to prove that I am able to at least help someone.

Kuro: Ya don’t gotta prove that. You can help me right now, at least.

Nazuna: Oh~, you~ are such a pain in the ass~, have you always been someone so annoyingly selfish, Kuro-chin? It’s strange!

Kuro: A lot of things are at play here. I’m tryn’a shed off the character of bein’ a “understanding, dependable big brother who doesn’t bother anyone”.

Rather, I’m in the process of try’na figure out who I am, and what I want to do.

Nazuna: So you’re trying to dress your male best friend in child’s girl’s clothes… If that’s your true nature, then put it away where else nobody can see, it’s gross.

Kuro: You’re so cruel. I’m askin’ you ’cause you’re my best friend, you know?

Nazuna: Hm. Oh well, it’s rude to be on the phone while eating, so I’ll be hanging up. Right, I may not understand everything, but—Let’s hang in there, you and I.

I know it’s not easy taking care of someone like Itsuki. But that’s exactly the thing you “want to do”, right… Kagehira? ♪

[ ☆ ]

← prev | story directory | next →

[senasadventures]

Hey! (It's me, almathecolormaniac just in asks tumblr only lets the main blog to ask)

Do you mind if i ask here, about your comic?

Like how did this story come to your mind, or what is your motivation to make tangible. (i mean my ideas for stories never get further than my mind 😆) And what does the drawing process look like for you?

When did you found alta and what is that you like about it, do you like to read fan fictions too?

Or just ramble as much and about anything or nothing really, no pressure i dont mind at all.

If anything, thanks for your art and have a good day!

Hello there! Thanks a lot for your message!

I’m posting this as public because maybe it could help somebody else too. When I first started making this comic, I was really overwhelmed and wished there was someone to share their own experience to help.

This is going to be long!

When I first started with Sena's story, I was not intending to write a tangible story or make it into an actual comic. I was simply drawing a character as I was fantasizing about an Avatar story.

Just with this little drawing, there was immediately a concrete picture of what kind of character this was in my head, along with her age, her name, her possible path... Other characters followed in much of the same way, without even trying to create them. It was like they were just there. Sometimes the stars will align and such things will happen.

It's interesting how it all started with Nina (whom you do not know yet) and not with my main character Sena. But it's not strange as I always loved drawing waterbenders the most (and their hair loopies)! Nina gave me the headstart to imagine all the rest.

Wishing to give these characters the story they belong to, I began writing , in book format, without any plans on what to do with it later.

I talked about this in another post before, but one of my biggest motivations was that I wasn't content with what followed after the original show and really wanted to see what I'd do with the Avatar Universe. I wanted to prove that a story didn't need to have war, epic battles, villains or "edgy" superpowers to be interesting. And I wanted it to be about "kids", having the same naive and simple (yet deep) quality that I love about AtLA.

Much of the initial writing came naturally to me, and I was influenced by the themes that played out in my own life. Many of Sena's struggles are also my struggles and it means a lot to me to find out where they lead in Sena's case. I write the story as I go and although there are certain events I already know I want to lead into, much of it is still uncertain.

( One of the influences to this story was The Neverending Story, which I had read shortly before I started writing this story. Some of Sena's characteristics were inspired by Bastian, and Kai's were inspired by Atreyu. )

At some point I decided to make this into a comic, which I was hesitant since I knew it would be laborious, but it was the medium that this story would really flourish and catch other's attention as well. And I did want to share it.

There were a lot of tasks ahead of me before I could actually start drawing the first pages. I have different locations in this story, different cultures. I needed a visual language for them.

Shun Fei is a culture that borrows from both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom, but it's not supposed to look like either of them. On top of that, it has some of what may be called Western influences to it, as it carries the kind of values that in our world, first came to be in the West. In order to incorporate that while preserving the Asian aesthetic of the Avatar Universe, I borrowed some subtle elements from both Roman and 19th century European aesthetics, or even a little bit of medieval Europe. The pillar architecture of the Shun Fei government building, or the white shirts with puffed sleeves and raised collars of Shun Fei citizens are examples to that. For the color scheme, I went with white, black and brown. It's weird how that hadn't immediately occur to me, but was the most sensible choice, given everything about Shun Fei.

At times, I kept some colors and elements from Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation fashion, but I think it was too much. I actually generally dislike this frame anyway :D

When you're making a comic, there are so many details that are invisible to the viewer, but you nevertheless have to work on. To be honest, it was driving me crazy, because I was unable to produce anything visible for a while. It's best to know this beforehand and be patient with the early stages of your work. It is going to save you so much time later on.

Once I started drawing the pages, there was once again, a lot more that was driving me mad.

I was trying to be authentic with my visual language of the comic, such as the design of the frames and the flow of the story, because I wanted this to have a "book-ish" feeling and a little bit of ancientness to it. I didn't want it to feel like a modern comic. This was taking a lot of effort, because there isn't anything exactly like it that I can imitate.

Secondly, drawing comics is A LOT OF work. It takes so much time that I was unable to move forward with the story! I went from fully colored to monochrome, and later from hand-drawn to all digital. I tried a lot of different approaches and if you look carefully, you can see how the style changes throughout the pages, which I think is not a good thing professionally, but fortunately this is a personal project from which I'm learning.

What I currently do is, I make a storyboard on paper with adequate details to use as a sketch under my digital lineart process later on. I have at least 3-4 other pages' storyboards ready before I start drawing a page digitally. I used to make the storyboards from the text I wrote when I began writing the story in book format, which was difficult to adapt. Nowadays I'm working on a segment which I hadn't written in text and I directly write on the storyboard.

I still don't know how some people can draw so many pages in so little time, it's a mystery to me. But I did get faster and more efficient in time, mostly because I understood how to do things and don't have to think every single thing through anymore.

Another thing with my process is how much I've found it difficult (and mostly still find) going consistently at it. There were many long breaks along the way and it took me longer than 2 years before I made 20 pages and started uploading this comic here.

All of these things can be very discouraging. I questioned my ability to be professional a lot, which I do want to be, since I don't want Sena's Adventures (and other stories I want to make) to just be my story and stuck with me. I want to share it with the world and do it in the best way possible. (It was my dream ever since childhood) To do that, you need many practical skills. But these do come in time and I feel a lot more confident now. I love this story, I've had a bond with it and I love doing something related to AtLA, my old time love. And I really wanted to see where this experience would take me, so I stuck with it.

A lot of people, like me, miss the Avatar of their childhood. I wanted to make a story that had the same kind of feeling. I tried to stick to the original spirit of the show, while incorporating elements that matter to me on a personal level and which I believe are on the same line with AtLA.

-----------

For your second question,

I used to see AtLA on TV as a kid and at some point I started to get interested in it, and later became a die-hard fan. It was 2008 and I was 12. This also marked my entry to digital art and the DeviantArt community, which became a huge thing for my life. I kept making Avatar fanarts until I was like 14-15, some of which were fairly popular back in the day! Good times.

As a kid and teen, I was someone who always lived with fantasies of my current favorite show in my head, the most long lasting one being AtLA. I wonder how many nights I must have fallen asleep thinking about the next romance story between Aang and Katara.

I occasionally had attempts to illustrate stories in my head throughout the years, but these were mainly childish attempts (although there's nothing wrong with that) and always left too early, so I never knew what a professional effort would look like until I began this project. It has been a great learning opportunity.

[viric-dreams]

trade secret and remote address for the ask game

trade secret: is there anything you wish you knew before starting the game?

I want to say I wish I'd known more about how the playerbase's social conventions worked because then I would've ended up meeting everyone sooner, but maybe it would've gone very differently had I not started lurking on tumblr to try to figure out what the norms were for interacting with people in the game.

remote address: which of the available lodgings sounds most appealing to you personally?

The Rooms Above a Bookshop seems nice. Centrally located, upkeep presumably in the hands of the landlord (whom I hope is decent), convenient bookstore below. The Room or Suite at the Royal Beth may be more appealing for room service reasons, but there are far too many strange things happening in that building for it to be comfortable.

[ohwynne]

Raised to Fall // Emilio & Wynne

PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: A park in Worm Row. TIMING: Recent. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse. SUMMARY: Wynne and Emilio meet in the park. With Perro as an observer, they discuss Wynne's background as well as plans for Emilio to teach them how to fight.

Instincts told them to turn away. In all fairness, their instincts were telling them that most of the time, with Wynne wondering if they would be better off abandoning this place every other night. But they kept going to work and they still walked the short walk to the park in Worm Row, hands dug deep in their pockets. Maybe the real reason they wanted to turn away is because of what lay ahead: confrontation with truth. A confession to what they’d failed to do, to the fact that they needed help.

They arrived at the park, eyes scanning for Emilio. They hoped they even recognized him, what with it not being dark and adrenaline-fueled, now. Soon enough they spotted the other, though. Their front teeth dug in their lip as they approached the bench the other sat on, but they were interrupted by a small, three legged dog running their way. “Oh!”

Something in their tense expression broke as the little thing jumped up at them. Wynne extended a hand, petting its snout and looked back up at Emilio. They moved in closer, the dog trailing behind. “Is he yours?” Settling on the bench, leaving some space between themself and the hunter, they swallowed. They wished to just pet the small dog, but something in them knew that if they focused too much on its cuteness they’d lose whatever bravery they’d gathered at home. “Hi. And, um — thanks, for meeting me.”

—

Perro liked the park. He hadn’t at first — the first time Emilio took him there, he’d been too afraid of his own shadow to do much of anything, preferring to hide beneath Emilio’s jacket and growl and yip at anything that came close, including Emilio himself — but he liked it now. It was strange, seeing how he was beginning to come out of his shell. Less terrified of the world, more willing to wander more than a few feet away from Emilio even outside of the apartment. Emilio watched him run with the kind of intensity that could only be born from worry, as if he was expecting something to come out and snatch the dog at any moment.

He saw Wynne approaching a moment before Perro did. The dog ran up to them with all the bravery he could muster, growl building up from low in his throat as he approached. It didn’t sound particularly threatening, even as he jumped at them. He didn’t bite; he never did. Instead, he licked their fingers ferociously. Emilio snorted from his position on the bench, snapping his fingers. They’d been working on this. At the sound of the snaps, Perro sat down, looking at his owner expectantly. Emilio rolled his eyes, tossing a treat.

“Sí,” he confirmed, though he suspected the action of giving the dog a treat had probably answered Wynne’s question already. “Perro. He doesn’t like people, sometimes.” When they were human, without anything extra like a slayer’s strength or a spellcaster’s magic. His reaction to Wynne confirmed Emilio’s suspicion that they were human, at least. He patted the bench beside him, and Perro jumped up to settle his head on Emilio’s lap. “Yeah. No problem. Said I’d tell you more, and I will. And I want to hear more about your stuff, too.” He paused a moment before adding, “If that’s all right.” 

—

They hadn’t had dogs like this back at home. Only the larger variety, the ones with noses so good that they could assist in the hunt or instincts so sharp that they could help with the sheep. A dog like this would be considered an accessory, and Protherians weren’t particularly known for living in splendor. Enjoyment and satisfaction were gained from other means besides material, after all. And still, Wynne beamed at the creature, wanting nothing but a dog of their own. Something loyal to them.

“Perro. That’s a good name.” Wynne didn’t know a lick of Spanish, and missed the irony at play here. They ripped their eyes from the dog, though, knowing better than to let their mind drift. Wynne was exquisitely good at suppressing what they wanted and letting their fear rule over them instead. And they did want to trust the other, knew that this was something they’d been looking for — someone older and wiser and caring to offer a listening ear. All their life they’d followed elders and now, without guidance, it felt like endless falling.

Their hands curled together in their lap, fingers intertwining to keep them from fiddling. “What do you want to know?” These things were easier with questions to guide them. “I mean, I don’t really know where to start. I guess that I come from a community that lives on a private estate near Moosehead Lake? And they had that deal I mentioned.” Their brows furrowed, gaze falling on the dog again, fingers tightening. Wynne felt that bringing up the entirety of the history and the sacrificial parts of the deal might be a bit much to just put out there. Besides, shame and fear were powerful silencers and something seemed to be stuck in their throat. 

—

“I think so, too,” Emilio replied, pleased in spite of himself. Most people, when they heard Perro’s name, passed some form of judgment on it. Like there was something wrong with calling a thing what it was, something shameful in it. But there wasn’t. A dog was a dog, even if it only had three legs to stand on. A knife was a knife, even if it was shaped like a man. Calling it anything else seemed cruel, almost, like you were giving it some false hope that it could be something more than it was. Nothing good would ever come of that.

Maybe nothing good would come of this, either. He watched Wynne, the way they curled their hands together, the way they shifted in their seat. He was asking the questions he was asking because he wanted to help, because you couldn’t solve a problem without first understanding it, but what if he was making it worse in the process? What if all he was doing here was hurting someone who had been hurt enough already? He thought of Mexico, of the house with the green door and the living room with the bodies in the floor, of all the things he carried but didn’t say aloud. Was it hypocritical of him to ask Wynne to speak on her own experiences when he’d rather die than put his to words? 

But, no. It was different, wasn’t it? Wynne’s experiences were ones that might still have solutions to them. Emilio couldn’t breathe life back into those bodies on the living room floor, but maybe he could do something for the one on the bench beside him. Maybe that could be enough, somehow. “Let’s start with the deal,” he said, deciding to rip the bandage away all at once. “What it was for, what it cost. Who made it and why. Let’s start there.”

—

Was this not what they had yearned for, all these months? Someone older and wiser, a hand to protect and guide. Wynne had spent their life listening to elders, mentors and parents and though they now continuously fed their doubt about their views and decisions, there was still something hardwired in them. Alone, they were nothing, not even mature enough to form their own thoughts. These past months, without guidance, had been a shaky blur of bad decisions. They had wanted this, and yet now that it was offered to them, they were hesitant.

They swallowed. “The forefather of my community –” A small frown. “– former community, he made it. The deal, I mean. A long time ago.” How unfair was that, that a man who had shaken his hand with an ancient thing had determined the fate of a person born centuries later? “It was for the farm, you know? They were very down on their luck, they needed something and there was nothing except what he ended up doing. Brought prosperity and fortune and a good harvest to our people when we needed it.”

Their fingers released so they could rub their forehead, eyes moving from their thumbnail to their knee. The usage of us bothered Wynne, but they couldn’t circle back. The words from their mouth weren’t their own. Easier to repeat their teachings than condemn it. “A fair trade. It just wanted reverence and sacrifice. Every blue moon.” There’s a halt, then, their voice getting stuck like an engine. “Usually sheep will do. Not always.” 

—

He listened attentively as they spoke, the pieces falling into place a little quicker than they probably should have. It was a familiar story, after all. A long time ago, before Wynne had existed at all, someone had made a decision for the greater good. It was a decision that this forefather must have thought worth it, a decision that would echo through the years long after he was gone. Emilio thought of his own family, of the way he was raised. His mother brought him up the way she had because it was how her parents had raised her, how theirs had raised them. A long, long time ago, someone had made that decision, and the echo thrummed in his chest even now. 

That was how life went, wasn’t it? They were, all of them, damned by the choices of people who were dead long before they were born. Someone made a choice, and the ripples continued for centuries. A man saved his farm with a deal, and a kid sat on a bench long after he was dead, looking lost and haunted. A parent raised their child as a weapon, and that child did the same to theirs, who did the same to theirs, who did the same to theirs for so long that no one could remember where it started. None of it was fair. None of it ever was.

Emilio knew the answer to the question tugging at his chest, but he asked it anyway. Sometimes, you needed to hear a thing out loud in order for it to be real. Even if you didn’t want it to be real, even if it shouldn’t be. “What do they do? When sheep won’t do the trick.”

—

They had been raised up to believe there was something honorable in the duty of dying, that this was simply and the way and the way was right. That it was best for the community and to do right by the community, well that was the greatest purpose you could have. Any doubt Wynne had had since learning it was to be them next, bled out on the altar like the sheep they prepped every blue moon, had been squashed with a firm word and firmer hand. But it had lived in them, that doubt, a little seed that had been buried and frozen by spring frost and still burrowed itself through the earth to see the sun.

But the fact that their doubt had won out at the end of the day, didn’t mean they were certain of their rightness. The world moved on and people in other communities didn’t have lives revolving around circumstance and they felt okay, if you discounted the insomnia, nightmares, depression and whatnot. Alive, startlingly. And yet, they were far from sure that their decision had been the correct one. There was trepidation: their shame, their fear of Emilio’s reaction, the quiet wondering if perhaps he would condemn them as their elders had, their peers had, their parents had.

They were in it now, though. So Wynne opened their mouth all the same. “A young person. One of every four sacrifices is a young person.” They both knew what came next, didn’t they? Emilio was smarter than them. And still it had to be said. “I was supposed to be next, but I ran.” They didn’t look at him, their voice smaller as they added, “I don’t really know what happened after.” 

—

He’d known it was coming. Emilio wasn’t a smart man — he knew that, even when he pretended not to — but he was a half decent detective, and it didn’t take a great one to see the direction Wynne’s story was heading. He’d known it was coming, but their words cut all the same, like a knife so sharp it sliced through skin like butter. 

Martyrdom was a funny thing. It twisted a tragedy into a celebration, made suffering into a virtue. It had played a heavy role in Emilio’s life since the beginning, since his father died less than a year after his birth the same way countless Cortezes had died years before Emilio existed at all. He remembered being twelve years old and listening to his uncle break the news that his brother hadn’t made it back from their latest hunt, remembered his uncle’s grief and his mother’s indifference, remembered looking at Lucio, who’d made it back alive, and wondering if there was more honor in dying than there was in living. 

But there was a difference there, a stark contrast that the detective couldn’t ignore: Emilio had longed to be a martyr. Wynne had had it forced upon them with no option to say no. A tragedy wasn’t an honor when the person bleeding out for it hadn’t been given a choice. A massacre that only killed the innocent and left the guilty alive would never be a sacrifice worth making.

“I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly, because what else was there to say? There were people who should have protected them, and they hadn’t. They’d been ready to offer Wynne up on a silver platter, and for what? For a farm? Emilio couldn’t fathom it. At least his mother’s willingness to sacrifice his life had always been for a larger cause. It was different. It was something he chose. “Do you think they’ll come after you? Your family or the demon. Because if they do, I can help you protect yourself.” I want to help you protect yourself. That had been his mistake with Flora, hadn’t it? Giving her none of the tools she would have needed to keep herself safe just long enough for him to get there. He couldn’t make the same mistake again. The world didn’t need any more martyrs. 

—

He apologized and perhaps that was when something in Wynne seemed to break. No one ever apologized to them back home — they revered them, called them special and chosen, caressed their cheek and smiled down on them. They had broken the news that it was them destined to be bled out as if it was something to celebrate. Their parents had been proud. None of them had ever apologized for any of it, the life that would be cut short, the prize they had to pay and wouldn’t reap the benefits from.

And so they cried. Wynne, who had spent years in a repressed state, who had only quietly stared daggers at their mother and silently begged their father to protect them as fathers ought to, cried when a man who hardly knew them apologized. Emilio knew the bare bones of their story and still saw it as something to be sorry for — and was that not what Wynne had wanted? For just anyone to acknowledge that there was something very wrong about it, even if the cause was right. 

These were quiet tears, tears that came forth despite their dislike of them. A hand reached up to rub at their eyes and their gaze redirected, as if ashamed to be caught like this. The salt stung their cheeks as they rubbed it in, and Wynne felt a sob burst past their lips as a strict voice told them to stop. It was unacceptable, this selfish show of remorse for their own life — voices of their mentors circled their mind, chastising and chiding them. 

Rubbing at their face some more, they lifted their shoulders. “I don’t know. They usually disown deserters, but I’m not —” They shook their head, took a large breath. “Not just anyone. I don’t know what happened, what repercussions there might have been, if they’re all ...” Their hand dropped from their face onto their opposing shoulder, squeezing tight. “I think they could come after me, if they’re alive or if It wants me still.” But they must have left the commune in a state of disarray and destruction or must have covered their tracks, because there had been nothing yet. They looked at Emilio finally, eyes still wet. “I want to know how to do that.” I want to feel strong, was what they really meant. They remembered how the other had faced those vampires and they wanted that — not the violence, but the resolution, the effectiveness, the survival.

—

They were crying. It took a moment for it to register, took a moment for him to catch on. Silent tears were the kind of thing that were easy to miss, and Wynne wasn’t making a goddamn sound. Selfishly, part of Emilio wished he hadn’t noticed them, because he had no idea how to react. He’d comforted his daughter when she’d cried, but that was a simple thing. Kids that young were never crying over anything too big for an adult to understand, and more often than not, a distraction made their problems disappear entirely. 

But what could he say to distract from this? What could he do to make this lighter? Wynne should have been protected, and they weren’t. They should have been loved in a way that didn’t ache, and they were left with this instead. This mountain resting upon their shoulders, this heavy weight that anyone would have run from, this unearned guilt that came with saving their own life.

Silently, Emilio reached out a hand. He didn’t know how to make contact; it was like there was an invisible wall between them, an impassable barrier that prevented him from actually touching them. His hand hovered over their back, uncertain and uneasy, too heavy and too light at the same time. He wanted to apologize for asking. He wanted to apologize that they had no kinder answer to give him. He wanted to apologize that this was the world they lived in, and that there was nothing either of them could do to make it much better. But he’d already said sorry once, and words lost meaning the more you repeated them. He knew that. 

“What do you want to do? If they come.” He knew what his first instinct was, but he also knew that this was their family. And family made everything so much more complicated. He thought of Lucio, after the massacre, thought of the ache that had lived in his gut ever since he’d stuck that blade into his uncle’s. Leaving Lucio to bleed out had been just and fair and maybe the worst thing he’d ever done all the same. He wouldn’t wish that weight on Wynne. Especially not if they didn’t want it. He nodded as they spoke, making note of the determination in their eyes. “I can help you with that,” he offered. “Teach you. I don’t — I might not be good at it, the teaching. But I can give it a try, anyway.”

—

They wished he’d let that hand fully rest on their shoulder, that they would feel comfortable to lean into it — but it seemed neither of those things would happen. Wynne focused instead on trying to stop their tears, but it seemed that only had the opposite effect. They felt weak and exposed and wanted this to stop, this raw display of emotion, this opening of the wound, but their breath just got stuck in their throat and they couldn’t, not really.

It must have been months since they’d cried in front of another person. In private they wept, preferably in their bed or under the shower — but it was known to happen in the breakroom at work too, or during a hike in the woods. To do it in front of a person who they barely knew, after the most simplest of things had been said, it was discomforting. But maybe this was the hammer finally falling, something pouring out of Wynne that had been stuck there for quite some time. Not that it felt like a relief.

Their next exhale was shaky but deep, hand continuing to press into the sinews and muscles of their shoulder. And they did not stop crying, but at least there wasn’t another sob. Instead they tried tackling Emilio’s question, head shaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d want to do with me.” Teeth grit, a correction made: “To me.” Wynne wanted cauterization. A separation of definitiveness. To think of a reality where they might face their parents, brother and rest of their former community made something constrict in their chest. As if a heavy weight pressed down on their lungs. “So it depends on that. And on who would come. Maybe I’d just run again.” Because they were too ashamed to face them, too scared. Too angry, deep down.

There was a mangled sound leaving their lips, something like a laugh that got distorted as it passed their tear-streaked face. “I don’t think you need to worry about being good or bad. You’re much better than my former instructors.” Because it was impossible not to draw parallels between Emilio, who offered them honest insight into a world they were unfamiliar with and the mentors that had teached and guided them. “Don’t sell yourself short,” Wynne said. “I’d like it. If you tried.”

—

It was almost funny, in a way; if not for the massacre, Emilio might have wound up in a very similar boat to the one Wynne was in now. He’d had it all planned out, in his head, had the idea set in stone. That awful, unforgivable plan to take his daughter and run with her, to save her by breaking the hearts of everyone who’d loved her. Would his mother have come after him? Would Juliana have tracked him down? He’d liked to pretend, when he was making that plan, that they’d all understand it. He’d liked to imagine that they’d see his side of things, let him and his daughter go, let them be people rather than weapons. 

He’d liked to think that, but he’d planned in secret all the same.

The truth, he’d known, would have been something different. His mother would have never let him leave, would have never accepted such a stain on such a proud family name. Juliana wouldn’t have sat back and let her daughter be taken from her even if her idea of motherhood hadn’t been what Emilio felt Flora deserved. Even his siblings wouldn’t have understood it. When he’d gone to his sister with his concerns, so sure that her own son would have softened her heart enough for her to understand him, he’d been met only with an angry confusion. 

If they hadn’t died, Emilio would be looking over his shoulder the same way Wynne was now, waiting for his family to come and serve him the retribution he would have so thoroughly deserved in a way Wynne didn’t. While they had run away from something unforgivable, he had wanted to run from something good. From people who’d loved him, and from a fate that had belonged to him since long before he was born at all. Wynne was braver than he was. This felt like proof of it. “If you want to run again,” he said, a little cautious, “I can help you do that, too. I know how to disappear. But… For what it’s worth, I think it’s better to stand and fight. If you like it here, you should stay. You deserve that.” They deserved safety, deserved a home. Emilio wanted to help them keep it.

But god, he wasn’t sure he could. His problem before, after all, had always been in his inability to imagine putting Flora through what his mother had put him through. Locking her in rooms with things that wanted to kill her, throwing her in the middle of a lake to see if she would swim or drown, forcing her to run until she was sick with it… The mere thought of it had often been enough to send him into a tailspin. But things were already different here. Flora had been a child, hardly old enough to walk. Wynne might not be someone Emilio considered an adult, but they were old enough to make their own choices. And they were asking him for help. “I’m going to have to try to find a better way,” he warned them. “The way I was taught isn’t… I don’t want to do it that way. But I’ll do what I can. I’ll try. I can do that.”

—

To stand and fight, he said, and Wynne didn’t understand. What fight was there? There was no argument to be had, as the rules and scripture were awfully clear. They had deviated. They had opted for selfishness in a community that thrived off communal living. They had abandoned their duty and ran, so all that was left for them was disownment. Besides, they’d given up on verbal rebuttals a long time ago — to argue against their duty and the ways of the Protherians was to receive punishment. 

What fight was there? There was no power in their hands and they’d trembled when fighting an actual monster. Would they be able to raise their hands, against the ones who’d raised their own against them and hope to win? It was a ludicrous notion. Besides, they loved these people, they owed these people, they feared these people. Instinct in the face of terror was simple for Wynne: there was simply only flight. To confront this thing was an insurmountable task. It wasn’t a fight, as there was no winning. As there was no desire for it. They did not permit themself anger.

“I don’t even know how I’d do that. Fight them. If I even want to.” But they’d like to stay, or at least have the choice to. To have a say in the continued direction of their life, because they did want to keep living. The suggestion that they were deserving of it, this small life they’d built up over the past months, though — Wynne felt another sob rise through their throat, escaping even though they tried to fight it. They felt pathetic. “I don’t want to leave, though. I’m tired of running.” 

They looked at Emilio then, wondering if what he was expressing was hesitation. And if it was, if it was them to blame — they wouldn’t blame him, if that was the case. They felt the stream of tears halt a little as they refocused on the other, as they wondered what had happened in his past. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that there was more suffering in the world. That their growing pains might be nothing compared to those of others. Sometimes that thought was a comfort, as it made it easy to reprioritize their feelings (and subsequently ignore them) but most times it just depressed them. “That’s the most important, right? Trying. We can try together. And there’s no rush.” There was some rush, but they didn’t mind a small white lie. “This is different.” It was a statement meant to reassure themself, but him too. “Than whatever came before. So we can figure it out together.”

—

Emilio had been fighting all his life. He’d been born into it, the same way all hunters were. He was born a weapon, and he was raised as one. The earliest memories he had were of things like his uncle placing a knife into his hand and showing him how to use it, of his mother closing him up in a dark room with a feral beast and locking the door to leave him to fend for himself. He’d never thought it cruel, the way the fight had been beaten into him, the way he had scars so old that they predated his memories, closer to birthmarks than old injuries. It had been necessary, for him. He was a hunter, and an untrained hunter would be a dead hunter in a matter of years. That was why his only hope of saving Flora from that life had been to take hunting out of the equation entirely, to give her a world outside of it. And he’d been stupid to think that it was a real option. He knew that now. 

But it could be an option for Wynne.

Wynne wasn’t a hunter. They weren’t born into a world of violence, weren’t bred into a fight they could never hope to win. The things they were running from existed because of selfishness, because of a community that saw children as sacrificial lambs rather than something to be protected, to be cherished. Hunters were born to die, but at least they were born to die fighting. At least they could live longer if they were skilled enough to survive. Wynne’s community hadn’t even given them that. 

“I can help you.” And he wanted to. So badly, so completely. For years now, Emilio had struggled under the weight of his failure, of his inability to save anyone back in Mexico. His family was dead. His daughter was dead. And he wasn’t. There was no reason for that, no higher purpose. There was just dumb luck, just his inability to even die when he was meant to. But if he could save someone now, if he could do something right, maybe he could make it matter. It wouldn’t be any less of a tragedy, but at least Wynne would get a chance. At least someone would. 

He knew the reassurance was, at least in part, an empty one. There was some rush because there was always a rush. The world wasn’t fond of letting people rest, wasn’t in the business of offering peace even to those who deserved it the most. Wynne’s family could very well show up tomorrow in search of them, and they wouldn’t be ready for that no matter what he agreed to now. All Emilio could really do was try to help them be ready if that day came next month, or a year from now. He just… had to get past his own inhibitions first. But at least he might have some help there. “We’ll do it together,” he agreed. “And no matter what, kid, I’m on your side. Okay? If you can’t fight, I’ll fight for you.” It was the only thing he’d ever been good for.

[empathyisagiftandacurse]

Continued from here @sunshine-and-ladybugs

“Aside from the fright of seeing you lose consciousness and struggling to reach you before I passed out, that was a relatively mild attack.” Lexi shrugged. “No less terrifying if I think about it too much, but… At least we’re not any worse off from it, as far as I can tell…”

She smiled. “It’s probably the most apt term for me, since I did start out studying botany and its medicinal uses before I joined the Foundation.

“Yes, I am happy. Oh I didn’t mean the basement is a bad place to work! It’s fully furnished, and no different from the rest of the building. But yes. The people at the Foundation are wonderful.”

She paused and read Giorno’s expression and emotions, thinking through her next words.

“Joseph Joestar. His stand can manifest photographs. This photo was taken by his stand when he and his grandson began searching for the cause of his daughter’s sudden illness.

“She had stand fever, even though she was never in danger or in a situation that would awaken a stand. Her stand started strangling her, around her organs and spine and crushing her. She lost consciousness, became feverish and weak, like she had a bad cold, and was unable to fight its effects…”

Lexi paused again. She could tell that meant something to Giorno but she did not press for information.

“Every Joestar had stands awaken in them around the same time. The cause…is very strange, but somehow this body…”

She pointed to the shadowy man’s birthmark. “-When its stand awoke, everyone connected to the body’s bloodline was affected. And He had a stand that could sense the Joestars; even those living all the way in Japan. He hired a team of assassins and sent them out to stop the Joestar party from finding him while he was in Egypt.

“He… Had a way to sense other people with the potential of developing stands, even dormant ones. When I found his manor, he sensed me and came out to question me. He kept crowding me, trying to persuade me to be his friend. I could see the energy from his stand and his emotional aura. I was terrified…” She swallowed thickly. “But every time I tried to run, he was there. Right beside me. I could not get away p. His falcon attacked me, and he used that as an excuse to escort me inside and treat my wound… And that was my last contact with the outside world for months…”

Lexi hugged herself and stayed quiet for a while before tentatively resuming her story.

“Dio kept trying to awaken a stand from me. He poked me with a strange arrow. He had one of his Allies point a gun at me, while he wondered out loud if it was worth the risk of killing me to awaken a stand, or keep me around as I was… I was useless to him. But he was intrigued by my ability to see stand auras and he wished for information about the Speedwagon Foundation, my family, the Joestars… everything… So he let me live as an unwilling guest in his manor.

“Most of the women he saw were not that fortunate… I…” She swallowed thickly and shuddered. “I saw their bodies, drained of blood. Just like the ones in the Canary Islands… He had a pile of coins and riches, and he let the corpses rot on it until his servants removed the bodies…”

“Because I took a call meant for my father, I ended up temporarily agreeing to work for the Speedwagon Foundation. I went to Cairo to search for signs of several missing Foundation agents and other missing persons. Every time they got close to finding Dio’s hideout, the agents disappeared. I knew I did not need to get close to it to find their auras, so I wanted to try to help find them. They warned me not to go to where their agents last reported their locations, but since my family was already trying to help them take care of Mrs. Joestar, I knew why the Joestars were hunting Dio. It was the only thing I did know for certain. I feared a war between stands would break out, with mass casualties. I knew Dio would not care how many people died for him.

“I begged Dio to help me research ways to stop stand fever, hoping for a peaceful solution…But… he was determined to kill all of them, including his minions who deflected to the Joestars’ side. He kept twisting my words, trying to make me question everything about myself and my beliefs. He only asked to be friends, yet… somehow… Accepting seemed too dangerous to risk it.

“He believed…the body he had stolen was fighting him, and keeping him vulnerable. He thought he would be invincible once he drank Joestar blood. It didn’t work. They defeated him, and the body turned to ash… Although all of them were wounded and several of their friends died in the battle. There were casualties throughout Cairo, too… The cause was hidden in the news but these articles cover it.”

She showed some newspaper clippings in the slideshow on her computer as proof. She paused again, unsure if she should continue her story.

Lexi swallowed. “This is where things become very strange…”

Like they weren’t already?

“…You see…that Star birthmark is a mutation passed down by the Joestar family.” She showed some pictures of various shoulders sporting various sizes of purplish Star birthmarks.

“Dio…was not a Joestar… He was a vampire… The same one who killed Joseph Joestar’s great grandfather in that ship explosion I showed you, in 1889…”

She waited a moment as she gradually added on more bad news.

“Dio was the monster in the coffin that Lady Erina had sunk to the bottom of the sea.”

She showed more pictures on the laptop now, of Dio posing in the shadows. One photo was digitally colored to reveal his face and hair color, and cruel smirk.

“Dio is the one who went on a murder spree and collected Stand Users around the world… And Dio… Sired some children… With his decapitated head attached to the body of Jonathan Joestar…”

Lexi stared down at her plate, unable to make herself look at Giorno right now. She could feel his emotions and knew it was an incredibly difficult story to process.

[cherie-zip]

1004

It is unfair that he possesses the entire ocean within his eyes, while I willingly surrender myself to drown in their depths.

She informed me that I don't need to go to the bar tonight because someone else (clearly not human) will temporarily take my place for the night. I was about to inquire about what happened, but she immediately brushed my hair with her delicate fingers, a gentle touch that washed away my worries.

"Your black swan has a surprise for you," she said before turning her back, leaving me with a shiny little feather that I immediately tucked inside my pocket.

You must have known that angels never lie. Being an angel myself, I knew that the beautiful angel with huge wings who came to me wouldn't speak a falsehood. In the morning, while I was still in my man's embrace, he whispered something to me.

"Would you like to go on a date with me today?"

Since I wasn't well-versed in human preferences, I let him choose the place we should visit. Otherwise, we might end up in a waterfall or a lake in the middle of the forest again. Initially, he insisted that I pick the location, but eventually, he gave in and decided on a place for us to visit when he saw the pleading look in my eyes.

So, here we are. He brought me to an enormous building, and at first, I was frightened. When I say the building is huge, I mean it's massive. He held both my hands tightly, reassuring me with his smile as he placed a kiss on the back of my hand. He asked me if we should go back and choose another place to visit or if he should wait for me to understand everything outside.

I knew he wasn't angry or disappointed with me. He was genuine and kind. However, I didn't want to give up just yet. So, summoning my courage, I clung to his arm as we walked inside the building.

Inside the building, it was strange. I noticed a multitude of people; it was crowded, yet all I heard were whispers from them. The atmosphere was dimly lit, not completely dark, but I was afraid of getting lost. So, I held onto his arms tightly. He chuckled, gently rubbing my hand, and then he wrapped one arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to provide a sense of security.

Amidst the darkness, I caught sight of green and blue lights as we ventured further inside. I heard more unfamiliar sounds, reminiscent of the ocean. I wasn't entirely certain, but then I caught a glimpse of water's reflection accompanied by those green and blue lights. I felt intrigued, with a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue, but I restrained myself and instead offered him a smile.

I couldn't contain my audible gasp as we arrived at our main destination. I was completely captivated, rendered speechless by the sight before me. Surrounding us were immense aquariums brimming with ocean water and teeming with marine life—clownfish, seahorses, and even tiny sharks! I was filled with excitement, almost jumping up and down before I regained composure and gently pulled myself away from his embrace. Taking his hands in mine, I led him towards a corner of the room where I spotted some small fishes gracefully swimming, away from the bustling crowd.

"What is this? Have they brought the entire ocean here? It's absolutely amazing!" I exclaimed, doing my best to contain my excitement as I tightly held his hands. The reflection of my own excitement mirrored in his eyes.

He gazed at me affectionately, urging me to stand closer to the glass and placing my hands on it. I leaned in, observing the stunning beauty before me—it was as if I were peering into a real ocean. He stood by my side, mimicking my actions as he placed his hands on the glass, his eyes fixed on the small fishes gracefully swimming about, seemingly unaware of our presence.

"I remember when you mentioned how you wished to dance amidst the fishes in the ocean, how you envied the mermaids," he chuckled, playfully poking my cheeks as I gasped in disbelief. It was clearly a joke, but it was endearing. Although, it did bring a slight sense of embarrassment, realizing that envy might have been one of the reasons for my expulsion from heaven. "I think you can dance with the fishes here, with me by your side, because I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to swim for that long in the real ocean."

I moved closer, resting my head on his shoulder while enveloping his waist with my arms. A smile adorned my face as I watched the mesmerizing movements of the fishes within the aquarium. "Thank you. You truly are the best," I whispered softly.

He nodded in response, planting a gentle kiss on the top of my head. Gradually, he loosened the embrace, intertwining our fingers as we embarked on our exploration. His smile and laughter couldn't be concealed, just as my excitement couldn't be contained. Every new discovery within the aquarium elicited sheer joy from me, especially when I encountered a small shark that seemed curious about my presence, attempting to sniff my hand through the glass. I playfully suggested that the little shark could be considered a "sea puppy," to which he agreed with a chuckle.

We continued to wander around, and he attentively listened to everything I had to say—the atmosphere, the surroundings, and my secret desire to dance in the center of the room, even though I restrained myself from acting impulsively to avoid any potential embarrassment. In the dimly lit space, with aquariums encircling us, he placed his hands on my waist, and we strolled together as if dancing under the moonlight.

During a brief pause in our exploration, I asked him, "Do you think my mermaid and siren friends would love it here?" We had only covered about half of the unexpectedly large place.

He ran his fingers through my hair, responding with an affectionate smile. "I don't think you should bring your mermaid and siren friends here. They might be disturbed to see humans seemingly confining the fishes. So, it's best not to bring them."

We both burst into laughter, and in mere moments, we became entranced by each other's gaze. It felt as if time had stood still, and we drew ourselves closer, momentarily forgetting that we were in a public setting. After all, I had observed other couples here who openly expressed their affection in front of the fish, so why shouldn't we?

He encircled his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, while I rested my hands on his shoulders. Our eyes locked as our lips met. The taste was akin to honey, bringing a sense of contentment to my heart. I couldn't tear my gaze away from his eyes, realizing that within them, he held the essence of the entire ocean. Beautiful and captivating, I willingly allowed myself to be immersed, to drown in his gaze. How could I not fall for him, with those deep, loving eyes?

1004, even the ocean couldn’t part us away.

[the-chains-are-the-easy-part]

Dream 1

This is a very strange day. Woke up after this dream with a feeling in my chest and I had to spill it out somewhere for my own good. This is very personal, about a person who is not in my life anymore, but keeps coming back now and then. This is a strange day, full of white light and ghosts. I can feel them around me, lingering, weighing on my soul. I hope this helps me to pass through this strange day.

—

I had a dream last night, I was in my middle school and you were in class with me. Once it was over, I caught up with you in an empty corridor. You were leaving. I stopped you because I wanted to talk to you, but of course you were reluctant and cold. I complimented you on your band’s tour. You thanked me with a lot of detachment and then left. I felt disappointed, I wish you weren't like that. Then the day ended, we were all leaving, but I lingered, partly because I had stuff to do, partly because I hoped to see you again. And for some reason, you approached me and, a little annoyed, dragged me away because you knew deep down that I was waiting for you, you even said it and I didn’t say anything to deny it.

You accompanied me along the tree-lined street, we talked about this and that. You told me about your house and your roommates who make a mess and smoke like crazy; after all, it seems like the ideal condition for someone like you. The house seems a bit run-down from the way you talk about it, but you seem to be comfortable there. At the end of the street, where we should part ways, without even agreeing to it, I come home with you. We keep walking and arrive in a huge white paved square. There are huge baroque-style buildings that look like churches or royal manors, ancient, it seems like to go back in time. Everything is so white, even the sky. This place gives off a very solemn vibe, like it was made for kings and queens. I'm amazed that your house, which from the way you described it seemed like a shack, could be located in such an area, but there it is. Just around a corner, behind an opulent and richly decorated building, a more modest one stands out, like a common working-class building from the 70s: gray, a bit sad, especially when compared to the surrounding architecture, clearly inhabited by ordinary people, those people who hang their laundry on the balcony and talk to each other from the windows.

We head towards the entrance, and I notice a crowd in front of the door and you say to me "The worst thing about living here is having to cross a pastry shop at lunchtime after school." and indeed, I realize that the crowd is there because of a luxury pastry shop that sells all kinds of sweets, the kind of cakes and pastries that you see on cooking shows and that give you the feeling of being fake because of how complex and rich the decorations are. In fact, that place is much more suitable for the wealth of the buildings in the piazza. Anyway, we finally arrive at the entrance to the apartment building inside the shop, a sort of bouncer is guarding it. You show him a badge, and we enter. We climb the stairs and finally arrive at the apartment. It's not a shack at all; it's a spacious apartment that develops over several levels, full of small stair ramps that lead to the various staggered rooms. The apartament is mostly white. White, again. "Luckily, the guys have tidied up a bit" and indeed, in the first rooms, the kitchen and living room, everything seems clean and tidy, but just a glance in the other rooms reveals the traces of many post-adolescent males living together. Despite the apartment exuding a certain sense of wealth, mostly given by some dark wooden furniture and a few white leather sofas, it's clear that whoever lives there doesn't fit into a category of wealthy people. The furniture, although of a certain quality, is few and far between and arranged in such a way as to optimize the space. Almost every room has a -messy- bed, even though the room clearly wasn’t supposed to be a bedroom. It's evident that young people who live there have simply made the most of the resources, and given the number of beds, I realize how they can afford such a large apartment in an affluent neighborhood. We continue the tour, probably chatting and making small talk. I roll the worst cigarette in the world and you also smoke, probably weed. The atmosphere is relaxed despite everything and I feel at ease. I feel like I can breathe a sigh of relief after this interaction, and after struggling up the various flights of stairs and stumbling a lot -probably for some strange and dreamlike reason, like when you run in dreams but can't move forward-, I finally say goodbye. All I know is that the dream ends with you sending me a message or telling me in person, it's not clear, maybe it wasn't even part of the dream and I added it in my half-asleep state, but you were telling me that what had happened didn't change things.

This dream was stangely clear, rich in details and visual perceptions that made me wake up with a weird feeling, as if I had really talked to you, and of course followed by a certain melancholy in realizing that all this was just the product of my imagination. Because in the end, a part of me just wants this, to meet after school, roll a terrible cigarette -like that day in Turin, remember?- and talk nonsense without any intention. Just talking, relaxed, as if nothing had ever happened between us, as if there had never been love and pain. I wish I could feel like I’ve felt in your apartament, or in that opulent square: no big expectations, no overwhelming feelings, like nothing was missing, like we weren’t waiting for more. I would like to experience that feeling of whiteness again. For real. With you.

[the-royal-petals]

Lack of Emotion | Stephen Strange x Reader | Part 2

Description: You and Stephen have agreed to restart your friendship, however it comes with the realisation. . . maybe that anger you had towards him was something else?

Warnings: Mention of Death, Light Angst

[ Part 1 ] - [ Part 2]

Note: Here's part 2! I apologise that this one is kinda rushed, I've been busy the last couple of days. Today hasn't been going that well for me. But here is a chapter to make up for it!

You knew this was going to be hard. 

You and Stephen have agreed to restart your friendship, act as if you've just met a few days ago. As much as you wanted to pretend that was the case, you couldn't forget how he was the last person to see the Ancient One alive. Deep down you just assumed you were jealous; it was normal. . . but you wished that you could have said goodbye to her.

Now it's been a few months since the 'restart' of your friendship. You've grown to the rank of master and it was all because of Stephen's help; in his words he wanted to 'make it up to you' by training you -- you didn't know whether to be flattered or frustrated. You appreciated it anyway. During those months, Wong had noticed the two of you grow closer, even hang out more after training sessions; among the sorcerers was a bet with how long it would take for you two to start a new argument.

So far you have won $20. 

"Did they seriously bet against us?" You unwrapped the bandage around your hand, dropping it next to you in the bucket. "I thought betting was against your culture," you said, sending a wink towards him. 

Stephen let out a light laugh, glancing over at the sorcerers who trained with Wong. "All of that was thrown out of the window since they put Wong in charge," he remarked turning back to you. "May I remind you there are a lot of people here from all across the world." 

You rolled you eyes, "I know. I thought better of them." A smile cracked on your face as you gathered your belongings, stuffing the Astral Projection book into your bag, "so where are you headed?" 

Around about this time, Stephen would go to the sanctum to do his usual guarding duties, though with someone else stationed there for the week, you could tell he had other plans. He waved and turned and headed into the main building, beckoning you to follow him. 

Hesitantly, you followed, turning back towards the sorcerers with a double glance. 

Stephen led you through the hallways, to the room that connected to the three sanctums. New York, Hong Kong and London. He looked at you.

"I thought it would be nice to maybe get some dinner together? After all, I still have a lot to do to make it up to you." You watched him grow with nervousness. Him, nervous? For a moment, you couldn't believe that could've been possible as he was the king of sarcasm and arrogance. . . though you knew that had started to resolve itself. 

A dinner with him sounded like the thing you needed. "I'd like that," you smiled, "a dinner is one of many you're going to have to do to make it up to me, Strange." You teased, poking his side -- the cloak slapped your hand.  "HEY!"

"You should know what happens when you try to punch me." 

"I didn't punch you! I poked you. There's a difference." You huffed.

You knew that the cloak didn't always understand what was an 'attack' and what was just playful banter, but either way, you appreciated how loyal it was to Stephen. You considered yourself the most loyal towards him; despite the past. 

He stepped through the New York sanctum portal before meandering throughout the infinite doorways and corridors the sanctum held. You were glad he was leading the way as you always got lost here. There was a time when you had to call Stephen and Wong to portal you back to Kamar-Taj as you got lost in the basement. Not a fun time.

Eventually, you two made it to three windows. Doorways to other parts of the world. Stephen turned the handle to change the location that whirred and flashed before your very eyes, each one circled before a small garden appeared. In the middle of it sat a bench with food stacked across it with a sorcerer standing next to it. Once they had seen Stephen, they left, bowing their head towards him before heading back to Kamar-Taj. 

"What was that about?" You asked, he looked back at you.

"I know it isn't a restaurant, however, it's one of the only places we can be without being bothered. I'd take you to another dimension, but Wong isn't so keen on that right now." 

Right. . . you heard about that. Last month a sorcerer had gotten lost in a dimension called 'weirdworld' and never returned. Despite the search parties that went after them, nobody could find them. You knew the warnings that the Mystic Arts had for dimensional travel: you had to be at least a master to even think about going -- even if you did, you had to be assisted. 

All you could assume was that the sorcerer was a novice. 

You sat at the bench, noticing the wide array of sandwiches and other things Stephen managed to stag. You picked up your favourite one, not bothering to wait for Stephen who sat beside you. 

"I take it you're hungry," he teased, reaching for a sandwich of his own. You nodded. "I uh. . . I didn't set this dinner just so we could eat. I need to talk to you." 

Oh now you were in the shit. You carefully looked at him, watching him try and think of his next words. You gestured for him to continue.

"I know I should've waited until longer. . . until later on when we've known each other longer. But i can't keep this a secret -- it's impossible to. I didn't dislike you because you were quiet all the time, well that was partly it, but the main reason is," he set his hand on your arm. You froze. "I. . . I was so angry at the fact I couldn't stop thinking about you, thinking about what I had done wrong. I really do like you. A lot. I-I'm awful with words, I'm sorry. I have feelings for you..." 

You stared at him, letting his words process throughout your brain. Did. . .did he just confess to you?

You gave him a smile and set your hand on his in return. He didn't need an answer. You set your sandwich down and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. His hands hung above like a marionette until he finally wrapped them around you, returning the well-needed hug. 

"I really like you too. . ."

[myherowritings]

PART 5. THE INHERENT EROTICISM OF BUTTONING SOMEONE’S CLOTHES

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 3.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. sexual tension !! and umm sexual frustration ;p, not explicit but prob rated 16+, just read the title of this chapter BAHAHA

A/N. sorry this is coming a little later than planned ! :( but i hope the dressing room scene can make up for it u.u tysm for reading and for all the feedback! enjoy :3 xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

What were you supposed to wear to a shopping date? you asked yourself. Not that today was a date or anything. Though maybe you sort of wished it were… 

The Naruhata Charity Gala was in a little over a week and Shouto would be coming over to pick you up in less than one hour and you still sat in your room with nothing but a towel on feeling more and more hopeless. 

It was a strange dilemma. He met you in your work apron wearing an unflattering work shirt and work pants. And when you met up over the weekend previously, you never paid too much mind on what you would wear. In fact, you were positive he wouldn’t even care how you looked. So why was it such a big deal to you now? 

Probably because of your recent admission of your growing feelings towards him, you thought crossly. 

In your defense, it wasn’t like it was your fault! Right? Seeing someone everyday… Wanting to see someone everyday… Texting regularly about the most random things, having the most banal objects you saw throughout the day remind you of something Shouto did or said… With all those occurrences it would’ve been practically impossible to not start crushing on him! 

Time passed as you stared at your ceiling blankly. If you kept this up, he was bound to show up in your house and find you half-naked. (Now that you mentioned it, that didn’t sound like the worst idea. But it wasn’t something you’d randomly spring upon someone.)

“Get up, Y/N!” you scolded yourself, rolling off your bed and heading towards your closet. 

In the end, you ended up settling for another variation of your usual go-to outfit and called it a day. It happened to be perfect timing since, by the time you finished getting ready, you got a new message on your phone. 

Shouto: Parked in front of your place

Shouto: Sorry I’m a little early. You can take your time getting ready :)

Y/N: it’s okay i’m ready now!! 

After hitting send, you put your shoes on, gathering your belongings you wanted to bring with you, and headed out the door. Excited to hang out with Shouto again, you walked with a skip in your step down the path until you reached his car. 

“Hi!” You waved through his half-opened, tinted window. To no one’s surprise, his car was a sleek black color with dark, tinted windows, and gold details along the sides. If it didn’t look so oddly sexy you would’ve laughed at how cutely dorky he was for matching his car with his credit card. “This is one hot car.”

He turned his head to the side when you entered the passenger’s seat. “Should I turn the AC higher?” 

“Huh— Oh!” You stifled a giggle when you processed the pun he made. “You’re funny, Shouto.” 

He only looked a little confused. “Thank you.” 

The interior of his car was no less—for lack of better term—sexy than the outside. Leather seats, a large screen for the radio and carplay, and the dashboard and side doors lit up a nice blue color. 

“Pretty!” you complimented, poking at the colorful light.

“Want to pick a color?” 

Your eyes widened. “It can change colors?!” 

Shouto nodded.

“Can it be pink?” you asked intently. 

“Light pink or hot pink?”

“Light.”

He swiftly obliged and with a hit of a touchscreen button, the interior lighting changed from blue to pastel pink. 

“Green!”

It turned green.

“Orange!”

Cue the orange. 

“Purple?” 

Purple. 

Once you were thoroughly satisfied with Shouto showing you the whole color selection (you were almost embarrassed to admit it kept you entertained for a good ten minutes), you settled on a bright turquoise that reminded you of the color of his left eye. 

“Ooh, this color! My favorite,” you said simply, giving him a wide smile. 

A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he developed a sudden interest in adjusting his rearview mirror. “Hm.”

Shouto drove the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, occasionally asking how your week was outside of work and what type of outfit you wanted to wear so he could have a better idea on where to take you. 

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asked when he hit the next stoplight, one hand holding the wheel and the other resting comfortably on the gear shift. 

His hands looked nice and slender and soft to the touch. Pretty hands, you thought but shook yourself out of it because you could go down a rabbit hole of examining his hands and going into detail about them. 

You remembered the single, measly granola bar you had due to your rush getting ready. “I didn’t really eat yet, no. Did you?”

He shook his head and pulled into a food plaza with lots of stores to choose from. The two of you agreed on a noodle restaurant that apparently had some of the best cold soba (once you learned it was his favorite food, you wanted to be able to have some with him and today was the perfect opportunity to do just that) and promptly headed to the location. 

In the shop, a waiter sat the two of you down at a dimly lit booth with the perfect amount of ambience that if someone were to casually look over, they might even mistake this outing as a date. 

You grinned at the thought. 

“Excited for the soba?” asked Shouto, examining the smile on your face thoughtfully. 

That’s not why you were smiling, but it was close enough. “Mhm. And the udon. You can never go wrong with noodles!” 

Yes, you got both udon and soba. But in your defense, where else would the fun in life be if not in sugary sweets and carbs? 

As the two of you waited for your main dishes, you ate some fish cakes and edamame while talking about the ways in which capitalism could be dismantled. Rather sexy of him, if you did say so yourself. 

Before you knew it, you were done with your meal and headed back into his car to go fancy-people shopping. On the remainder of the ride, you asked yourself what color you should pick that would match well with both you and Shouto. After all, nothing said a cute couple who totally liked each other going on a totally real date to a gala like color-coordinated outfits, right?

He parked in front of a street of buildings with a dark glass reaching from ceiling to floor with security guards at the door. Just standing near it made you feel fancy. 

“This is a place my sister told me she liked,” he said, leading you to the store front with his hand on the small of your back to guide you. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking.”

You tried your best not to pay too much attention to the warmth you felt both on your back and your stomach from the fuzzy feelings that spread. 

“Hello, welcome!” the both of you were greeted as you walked through the doors. The interior of the store was lined with designer dresses, some long, some short, and all incredibly stunning. There were only a few other patrons in the store, but all of them looked so elegant as they tried on their dresses. “It’s so lovely to see you again Mr. Todoroki.”

Shouto nodded subtly. “Hello. This is Y/N, my date to the gala who’ll need your assistance today.”

“Hi!” you chimed in at his cue. “Nice to meet you.” 

The worker smiled and made her way over to you. “And you as well. I’m Masuda and I’ll do my best to make sure you leave the store satisfied with your purchase! Did you have a particular style or perhaps color in mind?”

“Umm,” you said sheepishly, looking around the wide variety of clothings and unsure where to start. “I’m not too sure. It’s my first time going to one of these things so maybe something comfortable, but also still...fancy?” You scratched the back of your neck. “Does that even exist?”

“Of course— Just have to find something that feels comfortable to you.” She told you to hold on one moment as she disappear into the rows of fabric. 

As Masuda collected some starter dresses for you to try on, a customer walked by with bags of clothes in her hands, her gaze lingering on Shouto, though neither of you paid her much mind. 

“In this setting, you look almost fit to be a sugar daddy,” you said jokingly, looking around in awe at the sophisticated yet lavish dresses. “You take all your sugar babies here?”

“Only the ones I really like,” he teased back. His voice was deadpan but there was the telltale hints of a smirk on his face to let you know he was only messing with you.

The door chimed to signal that a customer left and by then Masuda had returned with bundles of fabric draped on her arm. She led you away in a hurry and you hesitantly looked back at Shouto who followed in a safe distance. Seeing your moment of panic, he gave you an encouraging smile that somehow was enough to ease a significant fraction of your nerves. This may be new and confusing territory, but at least he was here to help you through it. 

Masuda set a dressing room up for you—it was one of those rooms in the middle of the store with curtains that reached the ceiling and mirrors all around—and placed a bunch of outfits she thought would suit your taste. It reminded you of when a bride would go wedding dress shopping with their family. When you had enough outfits for the first round, she told Shouto to sit down on a leather seat in front of your dressing room while he waited for you to try the different dresses on. 

In a way, it felt oddly intimate: Shouto sitting just a few feet in front of you as you undressed, only separated by the veil of a curtain. Would he offer to help button the back of your dress up, fingers brushing against your bare skin? The thought made you feel almost hot inside as you changed out of your street clothes and into the first dress. 

Unfortunately for you, this dress had no such difficult buttons to reach. 

“How’s it look?” you asked shyly as you emerged from the dressing room. 

The dress was pretty and didn’t feel uncomfortable to walk in, but there wasn’t any sort of attachment you felt towards it. In other words, it was simply...meh. 

Shouto looked up from his phone to take in the sight of you. He smiled. “You look amazing as always.” 

“You think so?” You spun around and curtseyed jokingly and he chuckled. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I’m not sure if it’s the right one.” 

“We’ll be here until you find the right one you want, then. Take your time, Y/N.” 

His voice was normally on the deeper side, but it sounded even more sensual and gravelly at this very moment. You felt goosebumps on your arms and it wasn’t just because of the sleeveless dress you currently had on. 

“T-Thanks, Shouto,” you murmured, turning around and walking back into the changing room to hide the look on your face. You didn’t even know what kind of look you had on your face, but you knew it was one that might give too much away. 

It wasn’t fair that he had to be so sweet and caring and thoughtful and handsome and rich… Most guys you met barely fit into one of those criteria, let alone all five. (Sure, the last two weren’t necessary in your opinion, but you couldn’t deny they were a nice bonus.) It was too bad you had no clue how he felt about you. 

There were moments where he felt flirty and teasing, like maybe he viewed you in a more-than-friends way. But other times he was so polite and proper and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being nice because that’s simply the sort of person he was to everyone. 

While you were trying to sort through all your thoughts, you completely forgot to change into a new dress the whole time you were in here. 

You saw a shadow at the floor of the curtain before a voice said, “Y/N? Are you okay in there?” 

Jumping at the sound, you scurried to put the next dress on, a blue one with almost translucent fabric and a delicate neckline. Judging from the proximity of Shouto’s voice and the shadow of his shoes, he was right next to you as you changed. 

“I’m okay!” you managed, hoping you didn’t sound as wobbly as you felt. You held the dress closed at the back, fumbling with the fastens. “I just, ah, needed help buttoning this one up.” 

A light ruffle on the curtain then a pause. “Should I...come in and help?” 

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to actually offer to button it up like you fantasized earlier. You fully thought he might called the worker to aide you just so he wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable. (Not that he would’ve. At all.) 

“I apologize,” he said somewhat tensely after you didn’t respond. “That was indecent of me—”

“No, no!” you said profusely, poking your head out of the curtain while holding the fabric at the front of your dress to your chest. You tilted your chin to meet his gaze with a determined one of your own. “I’d love your help, Shouto.” 

With a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks, he nodded and entered your dressing room. “This dress is a nice color on you.” His voice was loud against the silence. 

Shouto ran his hand down the length of your spine and then up to unfold the column of buttons on your dress that curved inwards at your movement, his knuckles grazing against your skin like lightning striking water. You jolted at the sudden feeling but he didn’t remove his touch when he felt it.

“Sorry.” His voice was low, almost like a whisper. “Was just getting the buttons out.”

“N-No worries!”

His fingers began working on the bottom-most button at your lower back as he applied a steady pressure on the base of your spine to control the motion. Shouto slowly began his way up, fingertips cold to the touch. But you knew that wasn’t the only reason you felt yourself shiver. As he fastened the dainty buttons with immense concentration (much more concentration than was actually needed to fasten buttons, you were sure), you felt the heat of his breath tickling the back of your neck. You almost couldn’t keep yourself from arching your back in a mixture of anticipation and delight at his constant touch. 

When he finished the last button, Shouto let one hand rest on your hip, grasping the fabric between his fingertips to examine its silken texture. Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped back and bumped into his chest, but he was already there to steady you. 

With his arm on your waist and your back leaning against his chest, you made eye contact through the mirror in front of you. You weren’t sure if the pounding you felt was from your heart or his or a combination of both. 

There was something almost erotic about holding each others’ gaze in the mirror after Shouto just helped you dress, the two of you still not letting the other go despite the task being complete. 

“The dress… You look gorgeous,” he said, not taking his eyes off you for one moment. 

You nodded slowly. It did look amazing on you. And it was breathable and soft. (Plus, Shouto liked it, which made you happier than you’d care to admit.) “The only downside would be I need help getting into it.”

“We could get ready together so it’s no issue.” 

“I’d...also need help getting out of it.” 

You held your breath as his eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly in a way that made you curve your back before you remembered you were flush against Shouto and he could feel even the most subtle of movements coming from your body. But by the time you stopped yourself, it was too late. He already felt it and you wanted more.

His voice was hoarse. “I could help you with that too.”

Instead of beginning to unbutton the dress like part of you thought he would, he surprised you by spinning you around to face him, your shoulder blades pressed against the cool glass of the mirror and your palms lingering on the muscles of his warm chest. The contrast of the cold glass and Shouto’s body heat left a shiver down your spine.

“And how do you plan to help take off my dress when you can’t even see the buttons?” you said challengingly, a smirk on your face despite knowing full well your body was showcasing just how affected you were by this situation. By Shouto.

He tilted his head to the side in response to your daring tone, hands swiftly finding their way to your back and unbuttoning the top five buttons. It wasn’t enough to completely expose your breasts, but it was enough to loosen the fabric at the neckline in a way that made you gasp. 

“Seems doable to me,” he commented. 

You tugged him down slightly by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t quite believe you. Maybe you should prove it.” 

A guttural noise sounded from the back of his throat as he cupped your jaw and leaned in closer. You inched forward, eager to meet his lips. But before they could touch, a knock came from the wall next to the curtain, causing the two of you to freeze in your spots, bodies pressed against each other in an intimate flush.

“Hello, Y/N?” said Masuda cheerfully, blissfully ignorant about what was about to happen in a public dressing room in the middle of the store. “How are the dresses coming along? Did you like any?”

“Ah, actually…” you trailed off, exchanging frustrated but amused glances with Shouto. “I think we’ll take this one.”

a/n: so...mirror sex/sex in a dressing room as a bonus chapter? u.u why yes of course. i’m one step ahead; did u even have to ask? LMAO and hm i wonder if y/n’s fEeLiNGs~ are reciprocated skfkfkdg ALSO THEY WERE SO CLOSE TO KISSING BUT DIDN’T I CRY hopefully the wait will be worth it ;3

what to expect in the next part:

GALA TIMEEEE

yes y/n finally gets the fancy candy they so desired

we get to see shouto’s sexy penthouse

shouto says eat the rich >:c

[tooruluv]

Katsuki Bakugou x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ ...and then there’s you. ❞

description: you and bakugou have hated each other since childhood. through the constant bickering, fighting, and actual fist fights... you had no idea that you had been writing to him.

genre: angst, soulmate au where you have a notebook that you can write to your soulmate in

word count: 3.8k

warnings/notes: strong language, lots of angst, aged up characters, bakugou being bakugou, reader has an air manipulation quirk created as part 1 of 3 for my winner of my tooruluv2kparty contest @katsulovee​ <33

teaser | part 2

| masterlist

“ ‘cause when the sun goes down, someone’s talking back ” - talking to the moon, bruno mars

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

The storm only escalated, casting the sky in deep blues and greys. Loud rain clattered against the roof of your apartment building, the ceiling of your top floor apartment being the only thing that separated you from the pour. 

The rain may be cold, but you were on fire.

You had been livid all day, positively outraged by the man who seemed to always be in your way. He was the most arrogant, most opinionated, and most… loud-mouthed person you ever met. You were screaming from the inside out, burning with rage.

Groaning, you sprawled out on your bed.

Katsuki Bakugou was the biggest fucking issue on the planet. His absurd need to be the best at everything he did, his cold demeanor and venom that spews from his mouth -- you wanted nothing more than to punch him directly in the throat. 

With a deep breath, you flipped open your Soulmate Journal. 

The world was such a strange place, full of quirks and criminals and heroes and villains. To add on top of that, when you turn thirteen a journal just… appears. And whoever is your soulmate can read everything you write. Once they read it, they can reply or talk to you that way and the ink disappears. There are plenty of rules that go along with it, like if you turn thirteen before your soulmate does, the ink is red until they receive their own journal. Or how the journal itself is indestructible. Or the biggest rule: you cannot write any given name. 

When you’re thirteen, your life is full of hope and wishful thinking. Almost everyone at that age is excited to start writing to their Person, the one who they were supposed to be created to be with. You were surprised when you opened yours to find nothing written.

You assumed that you were a bit older than your soulmate, but that was quickly shut down as you wrote in black ink. Your soulmate hadn’t written anything. 

It took two months for him to write back. Two months of your excessive writing and nearly diary-like entries. Two months of you wondering if they would ever write back. Until he did.

Today sucked.

That was all you wrote, your past two months of writing still ever present and glaring at you with smudges and hinted annoyance. The ink started to fade like Harry talking to Tom Riddle, reappearing with new handwriting.

It was scrawled across the page with terrible handwriting, very much one of a middle school boy. 

Life sucks. Deal with it.

You were now twenty two, an adult and that once hope and love has turned into pessimism and indifference. And life still sucked. 

You were pretty famous, your air manipulation quirk one that catches a lot of attention. That, alongside your rivalry with the second most famous hero Bakugou, brought an abundance of recognition. Bakugou completely steals your thunder every chance he has, stealing your light and victories. 

You hated him. With the utmost disrespect, you hated him. Since your days in the hero academy, the two of you were at each other’s throats. He would even stop in the middle of antagonizing Deku to make some horrendous comment towards you instead. 

You ended up scribbling along the Soulmate Pages, heated rage boiling with each word.

Hey Honey! I need to vent if that’s okay.

Of course.

You would not believe the shit I have to endure in real life. I wish I could describe the hatred I have for this man I work with, he’s a real piece of shit. Anyway, how was your day?

My day was about the same as yours, living with the idiots of real life. If we could write names I would because there’s this bitch I work with that I fucking hate.

Maybe we need new jobs (insert laughing face even though I’m livid right now)

Yeah. Maybe. But we’ll get through it.

It took years for your soulmate to warm up to you. The first interactions were hesitant, slow, and barely considered conversations. But now you can discuss your day as if you were texting a friend, talk about your likes and dislikes. 

He was your soulmate after all.

You learned that he was a boy and an only kid, he had a strong quirk, and that he liked ramen. He was a rule follower and his handwriting always used proper punctuation. You told him all about your life and how you wanted to travel away from everything.

You wanted to know who he was, more than anything. 

You wished you could tell him your name and quirk, where you lived and who you were. You wished he could do the same. 

You’ve tried, of course, to write out your name and location. But the second the words were written onto the page, they turned into a random assortment of letters. Gibberish. Never to be written, never to be known.

“Dude, fucking relax!” You rubbed your temple at your desk, voice spitting venom against Bakugou’s loud vocals. “Not everything is about you, just sit down and wait to be sent on a mission.”

“What did you say to me?”

Katsuki Bakugou had been going on and on about how Deku got assigned to a mission in upper Japan, sent to work with a separate force for a bit to expand his horizon. He was outraged, yelling and standing tall and broad to pretend to be bigger than he was. 

You were doing paperwork, trying to concentrate despite his yelling and complaining and bitching. You were hovering above your seat with your legs crossed, papers scattered (it was a habit of yours, to just kind of hover a couple of inches off the surface of things; air manipulation and all that). 

“I said,” You turned to look into his ablaze eyes. “Sit down and wait. Not everything is about you.”

You only threw fuel into his fire, you could hear the sparking between his fingers. You turned back to your paperwork. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, you’re not even in the top five heroes.” Bakugou barked in your direction. You could feel his heat as he approached your desk. “You can sit and do your own paperwork all you want! I need to be put on serious cases, just like stupid Deku is always placed on.”

“You can argue with me all you want.” You moved to continue your work, pretending to be unbothered. You could feel the anger boil in your chest. “But you still are and will always be measly little number two. Now shut the fuck up, you’re interrupting those who are actually working.”

He was going to hit you, you knew he was. You two ended up fist fighting all the time, oxygen and explosions ending in destruction. Before he could, your boss walked in with a bellowing, “Bakugou! Get over here, I have something for your loud ass!”

You decided to give him a bored middle finger as he walked away.

They say that words are the way of life. You could say an infinite amount of words and sentences in your lifespan, you could say a word and only ever say it one time. Each assortment of words are different each time, something new every day. 

You figured that’s why you hated the soulmate thing. 

Finding your soulmate should be one of chance, of pure coincidence and meeting of strangers. With the journal, you are starting something you only hope to find. You could go your whole life without finding your soulmate.

And that is terrifying.

There are horror stories of writing to an endless notebook, sad movies created where the lettering turns back to red before they’ve found each other. You wanted nothing more than to meet and just… be with the man you’ve been writing to since you were thirteen.

It seemed to be some sick joke, a tease in the palm of your hands.

When you were young, you attended UA High. It was meant to be the best school for heroes, grooming them into the best of the best. Both of your parents had been heroes themselves, your mom with a cloud quirk and your dad with wings. You took after a bit of both, no wings and no clouds but could create air currents and manipulate the air surrounding you within a certain radius. It has something to do with your breath and lungs, but you never looked too much into the actual DNA aspect. 

When you arrived in the hero program, you passed the tests with ease. You tried to focus mainly on yourself and gaining your own points, alongside a couple of students with the same idea. 

You were pissed when you were placed in 1-B instead of 1-A. It was the start of your rivalry with the explosion boy. 

Luckily, you quickly gained friends. You actually seemed to have a soft spot for Hitoshi Shinsou, and you and Itsuka Kendou seemed to be the only two with brains (this led to many conversations resulting in shit talking and giggling). So in the end, you weren’t too upset to be placed in the second best class. 

And you did get to fight with Bakugou a lot more without punishment, your professor wanting to be number one as much as anyone else. 

One particular day that you remember to this day, one that really labeled your hatred for Bakuogu, was just a normal day at first. You were finished with your normal morning classes and just beginning the hero portion of the day, the training and fighting. 

Your class was working with Class 1-A for the day, teaming up with one of their students and seeing how your quirks would act both against and with each other.

You were, of course, teamed with Bakugou.

The fucker was already set in his ways, loud and in need of attention at all times. You were well aware of his… loud personality… at that point, being beside Shinsou when he called your class “extras”. He was already someone you wanted nothing to do with. 

“Good luck.” Kendou muttered to you when your names were announced as partners. “See ya.”

The second you headed to him, you could feel his apprehension. He wanted nothing to do with you. And you wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, you were hoping for Uraraka as your partner, wanting to see how your air manipulation would work with her gravity. 

Apparently the professors wanted to see the oxygen working with the burst of flames. Which, honestly, is cool yes — but it was the person behind the explosions that you did not want to be a part of.

Bakugou was not one to mumble under his breath. 

“Why am I paired with you?” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “I could at least be with someone interesting like Mind Control over there.”

You already wanted to punch him. “You’ve obviously never seen my quirk.”

“Clearly it hasn’t been interesting enough to be worth my attention.”

“Say that again when I remove the oxygen straight from your lungs.” You threatened, knowing damn well you didn’t know how to do that yet. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He let out a long exhale, moving into position. You were already flying by the time he let off his first explosion.

His utter disrespect for you and your quirk not only irritated you, but only was the start of a long term competition on Who Can Be Better Than Who that lasted the rest of your time at UA.

Through the constant loud arguments, the yelling in the cafeteria and the comments just loud enough for the other to hear, the fist fights and the swearing that was reserved only for each other, you found comfort in talking to your soulmate. It was relaxing after a long day of pure annoyance and shit talking to finally just get to have normal conversations with someone you enjoy. 

Are we allowed to ask about school in this thing?

I don’t think so.

I’m sighing. Pretend that you could hear my sigh.

Wow, that was a loud sigh.

YOU’RE FUNNY! Anyway, I really want to know if we go to school together :(((

I don’t even think we can talk about JRTPD or BO::SOMD. See, they turn into gibberish.

 I mean… we can say school. So we can ask ABOUT school just not… specific schools. 

That’s true. I go to a special school and am the best in my class. You’re getting lucky by having me as a soulmate.

Well I would only hope so. Need a smart soulmate for fun facts.

Fun fact: you’re pretty cool. I guess.

Ah, the admission of your love for me.

Not love. I don’t hate talking to you if that does anything for you.

The one person you don’t hate. I’ll take it, Soulmate.

Don’t push it.

We should give each other nicknames. Since we can’t call each other by our real names.

Does the book allow it?

My parents did it before they found each other.

Okay. Like what?

I can call you Hot Head, because you’re hot and because you are always writing about how mad you are.

No.

I can always go with something cute like Honey.

This is gross. I was thinking like gamer tag nicknames.

Okay, Honey.

I take back what I said, asshole.

Honey and Asshole. The perfect pair. We could solve crimes!

I’m going to bed now.

Goodnight Honey ♡ I know that you aren’t reading these but you will in the morning. Dork.

“Do you know who your soulmate is?” You asked.

You were hanging out with Kendou, Monoma, and Shinsou in Kendou’s bedroom. The dorm rooms were all set up the exact same way, but for some reason Kendou’s always seemed to be bigger. 

“No idea.” Monoma shrugged. “I don’t think I want to know until I’m older, we’re too young and I want to focus on graduating first.”

“He’s right.” Kendou twisted in her position on her bed. “Why? Do you want to know who yours is?”

“I want to know more than anything.” You sighed. Your head was laid across Shinsou’s lap on the floor. “We get along so well and I try to talk to him every day.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“He told me.” You laughed. “We tried really hard to narrow it down as much as possible.”

“It sounds like he wants to know you too.” Kendou said. She giggled. “I should ask my soulmate their gender.”

“What about you, Shinsou?”

“I barely write to mine.” He shrugged, making your head tilt a little. “I’m sure they understand.”

“I’m sure they do, they were made to be yours.” You looked up at him with a smile. “Of everyone, I thought you would write the most.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because most people are scared to talk to you in real life.”

He flicked your forehead. “You aren’t scared to talk to me.”

“I’m not scared to talk to anyone.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You sighed and closed your Soulmate Journal, the rain now casting a dark shadow across the entirety of the sky. Your face was flushed in red, hair disheveled and you were still in your hero uniform, dirty and kind of burnt. 

Katsuki Bakugou had not only interrupted your victory, but he had claimed it as his own. His desperation to be the number one hero hadn’t stopped. It’s been years, you’ve grown past his stupid desire and he simply… hasn’t.

You fought the villain yourself, using your quirk to it’s full capabilities and trapping them in a circle of air. You fought for over an hour by yourself, taking up the mission while out and witnessing it first hand. Your freshly bought coffee was long forgotten as you raced after the thief.

The second you landed the thief, the ball of air dissipating as you grew tired, Bakugou arrived in a fiery feat and handcuffed the villain. Of course, the main photos were of him with the handcuffs, standing proud as if he hadn’t stolen your fight. 

His argument was that he did help. Yeah, he did ‒ for three seconds.

Katsuki Bakugou was a piss stain upon himself, truly the worst of the worst who’s own personal interest outweighs anything else in his life. He will never be anything but second best because he never thinks of anyone but himself. 

If only he could read thoughts instead of turning his sweat to ignition. Then you wouldn’t have to put your harsh thoughts into tone.

Your Soulmate was one of two people you genuinely enjoyed talking to, he always seemed to be on the same page as you. The other is Shinsou, from your high school. He was the only one you really kept in contact with.

Sometimes you like to convince yourself that Shinsou is your soulmate, since he hasn’t found his either. But you compared the handwriting and it didn’t match at all. Shinsou’s handwriting was much smaller and neater than the man you would eventually call yours.

“This is so fucking stupid!” You screamed, your rage reaching its max.

You threw your journal across your bedroom, the storm masking the sound of it banging against the wall by your bed. You were pissed, you wanted nothing more than to see Bakugou’s downfall. It’s been years. You were over it.

You were over it all. You were over him, you were over not knowing your soulmate, you were over being alone in your stupid apartment. It all reached it’s apex. Maybe you needed a shower, or maybe you needed to move from your job.

Your fit was interrupted by a loud crash on the roof of your apartment building. You nearly jumped at the sound, the sound not even close to the crashes of thunder. 

You rushed to the roof, your hero senses kicking in more than your regular carefulness. Once you were outside, you were almost instantly drenched in the rain. Only a couple of yards ahead of you was a man crumbled to the ground; they must’ve hit the roof harder than you thought.

When they turned, clutching their side, you knew instantly who it was.

“Deku?” You rushed towards him. “I thought you were in Hirosaki for some serious villain.”

He moved to stand, much taller and broad than he was back in high school. Yet still with the fluffy green hair and bright eyes with hope always seemingly sewed in. 

“I was. I just… I need your help.”

“Why do you need my help?” You helped him stand fully, taking his hand from his side to check for an injury. He wasn’t bleeding. “Doesn’t Uraraka live around here?”

“I don’t… want to involve her in this.” He stood straight. His healing must’ve started. “I… this is something I need you for.”

“Okay…” You crossed your arms. “What do you need?”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Deku started, and you didn’t move. “But it’s Bakugou.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Aero, I know that you two…”

“No.”

“Please, I…”

“Deku, you know more than anyone how and who he is. Whatever it is, he can deal with it himself.” You started back towards the stairs. “I appreciate you coming to me, for whatever reason, but this is something that you have to find someone else for.”

“Don’t think of this as us doing something for him.” Deku rushed to stand in front of you. “Think of it as a favor for me. You owe me one.”

“Don’t do this now.” 

“I’m officially cashing in my favor.”

You sighed, “Fine. Can you at least tell me what we need to do for the asshole?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” He nearly jumped in joy. “But you cannot tell anyone. Not Shinsou, not the police, and not our boss. This is under the radar.”

“Oh, shit.” You followed him as you flew next to him. “What are you getting me into?”

tag list: @katsulovee @paradisebabey @seaofemptygold @zhaixiaowen @daylghits @haikyuusimp91 @darknessyournewfriend @samwise-though @liaxxx109

[yourmcu]

Birthday

Pairings: The Avengers x  reader

Summary:

It’s your birthday and the team gets creative on how to surprise you, putting their acting skills to the test.

Word count: 2,350

A/n: just a little something because,, well,, it’s my birthday *runs away* also it’s cheesy, hopefully it makes sense lmao

Warnings: uhhh brief mention of explosion? mostly fluff

The Avengers wanted to get creative for your birthday this year. For the few years they've known you they picked up on things about you. One, you paid no mind to your birthday at all and just considered it a normal day like the rest of the 365, Tony took note that you hated parties, at least the really big ones, something that involved only the team would be good.

Okay, you sound like a party pooper, but that isn't the case; it's not a crime to just... not want to have a grand celebration, right? And people singing the 'happy birthday' song to you too while you just sit there in silence. It's awkward, you once told Natasha. It’s also awkward and hard for you to receive presents even though that’s what birthdays are all about, you’re still getting used to it since you knew someone like Tony Stark.

Well, the team think you're an amazing friend and they all treat you like family. They're so glad they met someone like you.

You're immediately called to the conference room on that day. Only to find the team arguing and pointing fingers at one another.

You kinda just slot in, sitting on the chair you usually sit on whenever there's a meeting or mission briefing. Glancing around, you try and find out what they're fighting about.

Security. Suits. Brief mention of Ultron. Rhodey busying himself with phones, probably making a lot of calls. Natasha and Clint talking among themselves, only raising their voice whenever they're included in the conversation which mainly consisted of Tony and Steve arguing.

"Suit up, get the jet ready." Steve dismisses but before he could walk out himself you raise your hand.

"Hey, sorry, I just woke up," you say sheepishly but coolly at the same time. "What happened, is everyone supposed to go? Can I read the file?" Because if this is an Avengers-level threat that required everyone, you'd want to know all about it.

His sharp and expression softens slightly when he looks at you. "No file, I'm afraid. Some of the compound's security protocols have been compromised, someone hacked in." He proceeds to tell you how they particularly had interest in Bruce and Tony's lab so the other rooms were untouched.

Apparently, they took blueprints and materials, maybe a handful of Tony's suits.

But if you think about it, those two carelessly letting the security to their lab loose? Highly unlikely...

You push the thought to the back of your mind and nod when Steve tells you to get ready. Stark tech can be dangerous in the wrong hands, after all. Let alone the Iron Man suits.

Fortunately, those things have trackers. Leaving you to wonder again why those idiots don't even try and take them off so they won't tracked?

Sat on the floor of the jet while everyone was strangely quiet but once again you didn't pay any mind, you sharpen a few of your knives. Natasha sat on a stool near you, idly picking her nails. An hour into the flight you furrow your brows and look around.

"Are you guys okay?"

"Yes," Tony states quickly and a matter-of-factly. They all share glances before he continued. "It's the tension. Sorry. My fault."

"It's not your fault, Tony," Bruce starts.

"I'm sorry, to whom were those stolen suits again?" Steve speaks up as well and you could tell it's gonna be a full blown argument again.

"Now hold on just a second-" Tony faces the super soldier to counter.

You merely blink, not expecting a simple question to turn out like this. Clint just glances from the pilot's seat and Natasha almost cracks a smile by the look of your face. If only you knew it was all fake, all planned. But what does she know? You're a spy too, maybe you've figured out what they're up to and decided to play along.

Sad to say you're still oblivious. Maybe the fact that you only slept three hours last night is one case. You wanted nothing more than your bed right now.

Heck, not one of them wished you a happy birthday but you didn't notice at all.

Tuning out their bickering you sit down next to Natasha who's the only one not in the argument.

"I haven't seen Wanda all day," you say and she turns her head to face you. "Or Sam, or Bucky."

"Probably not back from their mission." Natasha answers promptly.

You frown at that. "Steve made this sound like an Avengers-level threat, and it is, shouldn't they be here?"

You don't wait for a response, opening up a globe-shaped hologram that shows where the jet, represented by a blinking dot. Your eyes slightly widen when you see the target location which is one of the places you've been dying to visit your whole life.

Maybe it's just a coincidence. You definitely didn't expect to visit it for the first time on a mission though.

Natasha clears her throat. "Hey, have you read the book I gave you?" She subtly closes the globe up when she catches your attention.

You shake your head bashfully. "You know I'm a slow reader. Give me two months then I'll come back to you." You laugh. Natasha smiles and tells you to take your time. "Have you read the book I gave you?"

"I loved it."

"I knew you would!" You say excitedly and the next few moments you discuss about the specific book. She's just glad you didn't ask any further questions about the location.

--

All of you split up once you reach the base but Rhodey and Bruce stay in the jet as backup. The place reminded you so much of the old Avengers tower, only with darker themes. You're paired with Clint who you follow to the side of the building, with surprisingly no cautiousness. He just... ran in, entrance deserted of guards.

You all had a digital, tech checklist to see what was stolen including all the suit names. So far you've searched two drawers now and still no sign of any agent or guard. But it's weird since the others are clearly doing their part on their floors. Thuds, footsteps and sometimes banging sounds could be heard all around.

“Finally," you mutter when you hear footsteps behind you, spinning around so suddenly to surprise your enemy and take him down with ease. You raise an eyebrow when they don't put up a fight at all.

Clint was in front of a computer when you peek in to one of the rooms but he waves you off. "I'll meet you on the next floor. This'll take a second."

"One suit on the roof!" you hear Steve grunt through your earpiece.

"Remember to remove the arc reactor, that'll shut them down for sure." Bruce reminds through everyone's comms.

You hear Tony let out a noise. "Might have a problem with that, Banner, they're all reprogrammed."

Expecting the man with seven Ph. D's to worry, it only took him a minute to respond back. "It's your tech. I don't believe they could do that completely especially having them for only twelve hours."

"In that case," Tony sighs. "There should be a kill switch under one of their reactors."

"Which one?" Natasha grunts.

The deafening silence from Tony's line explains it.

You fight your way though the thugs which again, don't put up a fight. Sometimes you throw one punch and they're out cold, leading you to believe the intense training Bucky insisted you do worked. The only tough ones were the Iron Man suits themselves.

Ripping out the arc reactors wasn't easy. You had to use all you force. On the second one you encounter it got the upper hand and blasts you through a wall, the impact sending sharp pain to your head and back.

You hear metal thumping of a suit so you get back up and attempt to get your hands on the Iron Man in front of you.

"Hey, hey. Same team. Look," Tony grips on your wrists and lifts his mask up. "You alright?"

“Yeah," you pant, relaxing a bit. "Yeah. One of them got m-"

"We just discovered a bomb, northwest," Clint says. By ‘we’ he means him and Natasha. The redhead speaks right after. “Two and a half minutes. How many suits left, Friday?”

"Only one more suit is fully functional."

You get out of Tony's hold and sprint up the stairs. "I got it."

He smiles to himself. The plan is all coming  to place.

As soon as you enter the room you dodge a blast from the much bulkier Mark XVI. Of course they'd want to make the stealth suit more powerful. You launch yourself towards it, stomping on an arm while trying to dodge blasts from the the other one.

"Y/N! Fifty seconds!" Steve shouts in your earpiece.

You could've just jumped out, leaving the compromised suits here to be blown up but being under pressure made you panic and set your only goal to find the switch.

The suit could still set off a blast from the arc reactor so you couldn't really get your hands on it without losing a freaking arm.

"Get out of there!”

But you didn’t have enough time. So you just curl into a ball against the wall, accepting your fate.

A pop did go off. Loud, but you didn't feel yourself torn into pieces right after. You also heard a bunch of aye’s and oh’s. Redwing whirs by to your head to drop off a birthday hat.

"Happy Birthday!”

Your eyes fly open. Turns out the only thing inside Mark XVI was confetti. Natasha walks over to you to inspect and make sure you're alright.

"What the hell?" Your eyes widen at her, then at everyone. Sam and Bucky were now standing with them, smiling at you amused.

"I think she's in shock.”

“You think?”

Steve glares at Tony with a hint of amusement. "I told you it would be too much."

"Trust me she prefers something like this instead of a big party. Don't you, Y/N?"

"What do you mean?" You take off the hat and clutch it between your hands, appreciating Natasha rubbing your back as you try to collect yourself. "How is none of this real?"

"We basically faked a mission for you." Rhodey says.

You look around all the rubble. "This building, the people, suits-"

"Bought the place," Tony states. "Hired stuntmen, did a few tweaks on the suits...”

"God, why would you do that?" You bury your face in your hands, not knowing if you should be laughing or crying. "I punched those guys!"

"They'll be fine, they signed up for it."

You gently get up and brush off some confetti off your knees.

"But back at the compound... you guys were yelling at each other and during the whole thing you all sounded serious," you point out. "Was that all part of the act?"

Especially when that 'bomb' was about to go off. Steve's panicked voice made you scared for your life, only to know that it was all fake.

They all show signs of agreement, laughing.

"We'd make such great actors." Natasha smirks.

"Alright, the cake isn't going to blow itself." Clint walks up to you with said cake and you meet him halfway.

Everyone gathers around and before they could inhale to sing the stupid song, you cut them off. "You all know I hate to be sung at. Can we just get this over with?"

They all burst out laughing, you giggle in the process, blowing out your candle. You all group hug right after. The laughter makes you miss the sound of faint thunder outside.

"Look who's late." Bruce points out.

"Yes, I got here as soon as I can, my apologies." Thor smiles sheepishly.

Your ears perk up at the all too familiar voice of the god of thunder. Moving everyone of the way, you leap to hug him. "Thor!"

"Happy birthday, dearest Y/N." He grins and pats you on the head. "I'm afraid my - I mean - our gift, is with Loki at the moment."

"Enough with the formality, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Peter rings up Tony to tell him everything's set up at the huge building they rented for your low-key party. Just the Avengers. Peter, Vision and Wanda were in charge of setting things up over there, from decorations and food. Sam and Bucky also helped a bit before they arrived at the fake base.

So you all get into the jet again, this time you look at the windows in awe to see what the city's like. You also asked a bunch of questions on how they pulled something stupid but unique fake mission like that.

Once you've reached your destination, the place was simple yet big enough to fit everyone. Tony really took notes for this year. You didn't like anything too fancy or elegant, and you didn't like huge-ass parties with hundreds of people you've never met before.

Here you're with your family eating, drinking booze and playing games, generally having a good time.

You give the other five Avengers big hugs. Vision's never usually a hugger but for you he made an exception just for today. Everyone was surprised when he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

"Hugging has a lot of good benefits," Vision says when he lets you go. "Astounding, I know. It is recommended eight times a day, hopefully you've already gotten that much."

You giggle at his remark and Wanda rolls her eyes playfully. “Thank you, Vision.”

“Splendid, that means I don’t have to give you one.”

You turn around to see the god of mischief himself carefully hand you a wrapped box. Loki chuckles when you smile at him. “Happiest Birthday.”

“Loki.... you know you and Thor didn’t have to-”

“Thor? That one’s from me. I assure you.”

“Y/N!” You hear Tony call from the other side of the room. “It’s time for presents, little miss. Good lord this looks like Christmas morning.”

-

unfortunatley i am that extra to post a birthday fic woo hoo

[the-broken-truth]

What if Appolo and Artimes are so close finding goddess sister Mortal half, and have a glimpse that she have five children from a man who is an outsider from Greece and worship a different god?

Apollo: Sister, are you certain that you want to do something like this? Seeking the aid of an Oracle to obtain the location of [Y/n]'s Mortal Body?

Artemis (Looks over her shoulder at her brother - who is carrying a sack of offerings in his fists as the twins walks through the Oracle's Temple Halls): Yes, the Gods of Olympus are losing their powers because without hardships life is too easy for the mortals and they no longer need the gods and stopped giving us offerings and prayers. Without the mortals' faith, we'll lose our power.

Apollo: You aren't affected by the lack of prayers that much, sister; as long as the mortals continue to hunt, you will still have your power, just as long as the mortal plays music, I shall have my power.

Artemis (Looks ahead and stops before the Oracle's Door): I'm weaker than I am used to, Brother, and I refuse to be reverted to a weakling all because of that brat.

Apollo: You are aware that it's your fault that [Y/n] left Mount Olympus, right? You and Demeter kept bullying her and that made her leave.

Artemis (Turns on her heel and gets in her brother's face): She should have been stronger to take the judgment of others.

Apollo: But her sister constantly picking on her? Everyone has their limits, Artemis.

Artemis: Whatever. We are going to talk to the Oracle to find her location and combined her with her Divine Soul once again so that the mortals will need us again.

[Artemis turns again and knocks upon the door - that slowly begins to open the moment her knuckles touch the door. The Goddess of the Moon & God of Music walk into the elegant chamber and sees a woman sitting upon a massive throne, she looks at them with shining golden eyes.]

Oracle: Ah, The Divine Twins. I have been expecting you.

Apollo: You knew we were coming?

Oracle: But, of course. I already know that you bring Golden Apples as a tribute and I accept them. Ask your question and I shall see what I can find.

Artemis (Walks up to the Oracle's Thone and stops a few feet away): The Youngest Daughter of Zeus and Hera - The Goddess of Hardships, [Y/n] - ran away from Mount Olympus and separated her divine soul from her mortal body and sealed it away in her crystal orb. We located the Divine Soul but we need [Y/n]'s Mortal Half so that we can reunite the two.

Oracle (Nods): As you wish, Goddess of the Moon.

[The Oracle closes her eyes and slowly lifts her hands to the sky - she inhales and exhales before her eyes open wide and glow golden, as well as Artemis and Apollo's. They find themselves in an unknown place with buildings almost touching the sky and strange machines that roared on the roads. That's when they saw her - [Y/n] - and she wasn't alone. Beside her were 5 children and a tall man that bore some strange cross around his neck.]

Apollo: There she is but she appears to have a family of her own in this...strange realm.

Artemis: It doesn't matter, she belongs on Olympus and she shall return to us. Now, that I know where she is... I'm going to hunt her down. (Looks at [Y/n) Get ready, Little Sister. You are coming home, even if I have to kill that little family of yours.