#there's also a bit of lightheadedness too of course. very bad!

[overchromatic]

im probably gonna be posting here less frequently for a while due to. Medical Issues.

[fatuismooches]

The book ask has me thinking...

Pantalone, keeping records of funding. Like, how much he gave to who and what it was spent on. And then an entirely different book of records of him spending money and what for.

The formatting gives a date, a price, who it was for and what he bought. And a few pages in, the format changes. Date, what it was, who it was for.

And then it changes entirely to what it was and reader.

Page after page of just item and reader.

Scarf, reader.

Stuffed animal, reader.

Blanket, reader.

When the Traveller asks him why the prices disappeared he just says that it's to keep prying eyes from knowing too much. In reality, he got yelled at for spending too much money when Reader got their hands on it once.

It's also really unfortunate. Pantalone has black hair, glasses and gets shipped with Dottore.

I have black hair and glasses, where's my ship with Dottore? It's not fair.

🦚

I LOVE THIS. Pantalone who is meticulously organized (unlike a certain co-worker of his), making sure that the tiniest details are exact and up to date. With his work and all, it's essential that everything is neat and accurate, can't have forgotten debts or fraud, now can he? Anyone who needs to view it for business purposes can understand it easily. Unfortunately, they cannot view more... private matters anymore. (Or perhaps it's fortunate, because whenever regular employees see how much Lord Pantalone spends on his dear spouse, they tend to have sudden bouts of lightheadedness.)

It's sort of obvious to everyone how much the Harbinger spends on you, it's kind of a no-brainer to everyone that of course the richest man in Snezhnaya would have no issue with spoiling his lover, but it just quite never clicks until one actually see the records of his expenses for you. It just... boggles the mind and any normal person would need to sit down. If you think a few pages is bad, it's nothing really in the grand scheme of things because he's been keeping a record for all the years you've been together. And the funnier part is that he has all these luxurious purchases for you, and then really simple things next to them as well that you yourself requested. I imagine Pantalone likes to flip through the records every now and then and reminisce about certain purchases and your reaction to them.

Poor Paimon, her head is absolutely spinning from all the zeroes after zeroes in Pantalone's purchases. Traveler too - and they thought Childe was generous! They are only left to wonder the numbers for you though. And poor Pantalone as well - he left you unguarded for a few minutes and all of a sudden you've discovered his secrets... For a long time he's always been very good at dodging the conversation of price whenever he buys something for you, this time however, it seems his luck has run out. Needless to say even though you're pouty and ignoring him for a bit he quickly makes it up to you by cuddling you and promising to "cut back a bit" (never happened.)

At first he thought of downplaying the prices to appease you, but quickly removed that idea from his mind because of how much hassle and trouble it would probably end up creating. In the end he leaves your expenses blank in the main book, but has another side ledger solely dedicated to you. Thankfully, you have not found this one yet, and he plans to keep it that way. For the sake of both of your healths...

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don’t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.

[inkbyajm]

Something Brewing

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: fluff

warnings: anxiety attack

word count: 1.5k

notes: felt like angst, felt like sobbing uncontrollably, but my body wouldn’t cooperate, so imagining it will do for now. this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i didn’t realise how much i had written. now i’m splitting it into two parts. next part will definitely be more angst than fluff, so stay tuned for the terrifying sight that is angry corpse :) (p.s. don’t mind the occasional use of british english, it’s my default lmao)

next >

A peculiar thing it was, the concept of love. It was very personal and feelings about it varied from person to person. For some, it had existed since the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve first walked the Earth, when the Almighty willed his beloved humans to lead their own lives with him in their hearts. For others, it is a feeling to long for, to crave, a feeling they found themselves daydreaming about often. And for the rest, love is a tool of ruin, potentially driving people who cared for one another away from each other, instilling at least a smidge of repulsion in each one of them. However, humans are social creatures after all, and sometimes, attraction was unavoidable no matter how much one tried. And try he did.

━

Living in California could get hard and stressful at times, but at least Corpse didn’t live at the heart of the city of anxiety-inducing social interactions and constant chaos that was Los Angeles. Sure, it meant that he didn’t live close to his friends, but he wasn’t far away from her, and that was enough for him.

A few soft grunts and sounds of slippers landing on the hardwood floor echoed from the kitchen of (Y/N)’s apartment. He got up from the couch in her living room and decided to investigate the source of the noise. Coming into the room, he saw her jumping to reach the highest shelf in one of the cupboards. Looking at it, he noticed her favourite mug sitting at the edge of said shelf and, afraid she would knock it over whilst attempting to grab it, he effortlessly got it for her. “Thank you. God, I was about to grow a foot taller trying to reach for this thing.” she sighed, eliciting a deep chuckle from him, “See, this is exactly why you’re my favourite friend.” Friend? Well, yes, of course a friend, what else would he be? Corpse felt an uncomfortable tug at his heart, and he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why he was feeling that way, so he brushed it aside. “Why was it that high up if you can’t even reach it?” (Y/N) wasn’t a short person, she was perfectly average, and he himself wasn’t that tall of a guy either. But when it came to situations of this kind, he couldn’t help but feel good about his being taller. “It usually isn’t, but I let (F/N) use it once the other day because she refused to drink out of any of the other mugs, that stubborn bitch.” she replied, pouring her homemade Italian hot chocolate into the acquired cup. (F/N) was also taller than (Y/N), so it was only natural for her to be putting things in higher places. It was done out of habit.

(Y/N) and Corpse walked back to the living room to once again settle into the couch. He glanced at her as she sat with her legs crossed, concentrated on blowing on her moderately hot beverage, while the light from the moon peeked through the curtains of the balcony door, illuminating her face ever so slightly. Since when did he start noticing these things? Looking away to set his eyes on the TV in front of them, he sensed his heart beating at an usual rhythm, palpitating, and along with it came slight lightheadedness. Was he having a heart attack? Were these signs of atrial fibrillation? Or was this simply the start of an anxiety attack? Surely any of these would be more...recognisable, to say the least. The only situation he could think of with similar reactions was when one would develop a crush. A fucking crush? At his age? How old was he, ten? “Earth to Corpse? Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who sleep with their eyes open, that’s fucking creepy.” Her finger snaps pulled him out of whatever trance he was in. “Sorry, were you saying something?” “I asked you if you had watched Bly Manor like three times. You were very far away.” she answered, emitting a few giggles. “Sorry, I uh- I was thinking of something, but it’s stupid. And no, I haven’t, I’ve been meaning to, though.” And just like that, they settled on the show they were going to watch for the next couple of weeks.

━

“NOOOOOOO,” (Y/N) yelled, voicing her defeat “WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF LUCK IS THIS.” Corpse lay on the floor, slamming his palm down onto it out of hysterical laughter. They had been playing Unmatched for the past hour, this being their third round, and after many cards and a level of tension that could only be cut through with a saw, his Robin Hood had finally defeated her Alice. It was Corpse’s first time playing, so to say that his winning of all three games was a crushing moment for her was an understatement. “This is not normal, you lied saying you’ve never played before!” she pouted, putting everything back into the box, “I’m usually really good at this game.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes, struggling to keep a good composure. “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve found my talent,” he joked, but he did feel bad for stealing her thunder, “Would it make you feel better if I said that my Robin Hood is, like, extremely hurt right now? You have a fucking gigantic knife as a weapon, I only have, like, a bow and arrow. That’s kind of unfair.” (Y/N) bit her lip in hesitation, then picked up her figurine and lightly tapped it along the table to approach his. Putting Alice at a slight angle, she made a kissing sound as to imitate her character smooching his. “There, a kiss to make it better. I promise not to hurt you too much if you let me win next time.” 

The same strange feeling he had experienced for the first time two months ago, when they were sitting on the couch of her living room, and many more times after that, had come back. He would’ve blamed it on heartburn, except it was nothing like it. It wasn’t anything he was used to. “Hey, you alright?” (Y/N) furrowed her brows in concern “You’ve been doing that a lot lately, rubbing your chest like that.” Fuck. He had never noticed the habit he had developed. “I’m fine, just me and my heart problems, nothing unusual.” Filthy liar. Brows still furrowed, she moved closer to him and, with her legs tucked under her, she put her hand above his heart to check. “Jesus, Corpse, your heart is going a million miles per hour! Are you sure you’re okay?”

Looking up at him, she noticed how red he had suddenly become, and this worried her even more. “Bubs, you’re literally changing colours.” How did she expect him not to when she was doing this? (Y/N) further inspected his condition and put the back of her hand on his forehead, then his cheeks, to check his temperature. Expectedly, he was getting warmer. She stopped for a second and listened intently, only to hear his shallow breathing fill the silence. She then glanced down at his left hand resting on his thigh, and surely enough, found it trembling. “Alright, Corpse? Hey, can you hear me?”

His breathing only picked up its pace as the seconds went by. On the spur of the moment, (Y/N) placed herself in front of him, her legs on either side, and gently cradled his head. “Corpse, darling, I’m gonna need you to look at me, okay? Focus on me, focus on my breathing, mm?” He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the ground and did as he was told, eyes darting around, analysing her expression. He’s never found himself having an attack in her presence, it was surprising how well she was handling it.

Wait- darling? Bubs? “Now, can you name four things that you see? Can you do that for me?” He briefly scanned the room for answers, his mind still cluttered. “The fridge, the couch, the light and-” Did she mean to call him that? It was probably nothing, she could be using it with any of her friends for all he knew. He wasn’t special. “and the game, the board game. On the table.” “Good, now can you name three things you hear?” This one took a lot of concentration, there weren’t many obvious sounds for him to point out. “The motorcycle outside, your hands rubbing against my skin, uh-” What the fuck else? Was he losing his mind? The task was simple enough, why was he having so much trouble with it? “I’m sorry, I- I don’t hear anything else.” “No, it’s okay. You’re doing splendid, see? Your breathing is much more stable.” she reassured him, squeezing his upper arms.

“Lastly, can you give me two things you can smell?” Nodding, he closed his eyes. “The coffee you drank earlier.” It took him a moment to come up with something else, and just as she was about to get off of his lap, figuring he had done a good enough job, she heard him mumble “your perfume”. Scared he’d get another attack, Corpse avoided looking into her eyes, which he could feel the gaze of. He only picked up on the scent from her shifting closer in the last second. “That’s funny, I had forgotten to put perfume on this morning.” 

[rose7420]

Close Encounters

Hey!! For a story request, can you do one where Thor corners a tiny teen on the kitchen counter and Loki comes in because he hears Thor talking to someone? Once Loki sees that Thor is scaring a tiny mortal, his soft, protective side comes out and he pushes Thor away from the tiny and scoops them up, saying things to calm her down. Then Thor is kinda like “Well why do you get to hold her?” Thor goes to try and grab the tiny off of Loki, but Loki isn’t having it and starts fighting with Thor, all while the teen is clinging onto Loki’s shirt because she knows that Loki is protecting her. Loki just ends up teleporting to his room and apologizes to the teen for Thor’s actions and Loki can’t even get the teen to let go of her shirt cause she’s that scared😂🥺

This was a request from the talented @laurenandloki ! Hope you like it!

Y/N had super bad anxiety. Being a borrower she never had the proper amount of socialization and she always felt like an outsider when she would quietly observe humans from a distance. They never knew she was there, but it was nice to be in the company of another living creature. One that didn’t view her as food. She had only gotten caught spying once in her life, by none other than the God of Mischief himself. That was about a month ago and he had terrified her out of her wits when they first met, yet, she discovered he was a gentle person who cared immensely for others. However, she was still a borrower and he a human so there could be no sense of a friendship for them. And so she had retreated to live away on her own in the walls of the tower.

In the current moment she stood behind a container that held sugar, she would know since she had “borrowed” from it quite a few times. But today, she came needing other items that were a bit harder to retrieve. Magnets. It sounded bizarre, but they came in handy for scaling tall objects susceptible to the magnetic pull. Magnets were hard to get because they were stuck on the fridge(which was very tall), were half as big as her body, and extremely hard to pull off the fridge. She carried a coil of rope and a harness she had made herself and roped it around her body. Latching the hook attached to the end of the rope to the top of the fridge she, scaled down the side searching for a magnet that wouldn’t be missed. That was the thing about humans. When they lost something they blamed it on their own consciousness, not the doing of a two-inch tall chick who lived in the walls. She found the right one finally and made her way down to it. So focused in fact, that she didn’t even notice the vibrations of the gargantuan god of Thunder making his way to the fridge for his next snack of the day.

“What in the nine-realms are you little one?” A huge voice booms out, ringing Y/N’s ears and stilling her movements. She knows who it belongs to already, Thor. The god has a huge personality that matches his unwavering optimism. He is also very touchy as she has observed, which is why she is not at all prepared for what comes next. She forgets all about the magnet and tries to find a grip to haul herself up the fridge with.

“It’s not safe for you all the way up there, why it must be like a building up there.” Immediately, pressure is at her waist and enormous fingers lift her off the cool surface of the fridge. His powerful movements snap her rope, losing her only way of a safe escape.

His unshaven, but kind face fills her entire line of vision. The fingers still hold her waist and his eyes search her form intently. There are too many sensations around her and her mind is overwhelmed.

Breathing becomes difficult, her sight becomes a dark tunnel and lightheadedness is all she can feel. Thor is too busy filling his curiosity to notice the panic-attack she is currently having.

“Are you ill tiny one?” Thor questions but Y/N has not the mind to answer his question. Also believing that the answer is pretty obvious.

“Brother, what do you have there?” Thor swings around, facing the owner of the voice. The motion makes Y/N even sicker to her stomach. She however does recognize the person’s voice. Loki.

Suddenly she feels even dizzier, looking up she sees she is being passed around like a toy as Loki now has her in his grasp. She lays down on the surface of his palm relishing the feeling of having some sort of control over her body. Breathing becomes easier, not as if she is inhaling through a straw and her vision is no longer blurred as she can see clearly. She glances around at her surroundings and sees she is held up to a black, soft, and cotton wall. Loki’s chest. His breaths shift her up and down, yet, the movement is comforting. She finds herself fisting his shirt with her small hands trying to burrow her body further into his chest. A loud yell causes her to jump out of her skin and cling to Loki even tighter.

“Give her here brother, I am in no mood for your tricks!” Thor exclaims loudly, hurting Y/N’s ears.

“You were frightening her Thor. Just look at her.” The comforting darkness she was kept in for a brief amount of time vanished as Loki removes his other shielding hand to reveal her to Thor. Thor bends to her level looking her directly in the eyes. Anxiety spikes in her veins again sending an uncomfortable jolt of panic in her stomach and a tightness in her chest. She whimpers audibly and turns her face to Loki’s chest once again. Why must everything be so scary? She thinks to herself.

A soothing motion upon her back takes her out of her panicking thoughts. Her face leaves Loki’s shirt and sees that he is rubbing her back with a single finger. And that she had been transported to Loki’s bedroom.

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

Loki couldn't stand seeing this small being panicking anymore. He remembered seeing the small one earlier before and letting her be, but today when she had been so vulnerable in front of his oaf for a brother, he couldn’t just stand by and watch. It was obvious that the small one was terror-struck by the presence of larger beings as himself. So he had teleported to his room to calm her down. Her entire body clung to his shirt like a lifeline and he had tried to pry her off his chest but she held strong, not willing to leave him just yet. He stopped trying to force her off him, afraid her tiny arms would break at his immense strength. Instead, he rubbed her back in soothing circles with the tip of his finger. He awed at the size difference. His entire finger dwarfed her body, it took not even a slight bend of his finger to caress her back. He shuddered at the fragility of this tiny being.

Not to mention she had put her trust in him to protect her from Thor. Even though he knew Thor was probably the only person on this earth that you would never need protection from because of his kind, generous heart. Sometimes his brother came off too strong to those he showed an intense interest with. And to this small girl, he would imagine the interaction between Thor and her would be very intense from her perspective.

Once the girl realized she was in no danger she slowly released herself from his person. He slowly raised her to his eye-level taking in the rare sight of an actual borrower. Loki had read about them in informational books on Asgard, there were not many factual books here on Earth, but they had plenty of fictional ones. From what he read, borrowers were on average around the height of three to four inches. But this girl seemed to be barely clearing two and a half. She was exceptionally small and this caused him to be even more cautious as he bore her in a palm.

She perched on her hands and knees, staring at him with big, round (Y/E/C) eyes. He had to practically bring her right on top of his nose to see her properly. He felt her anxiety rising under his close inspection and he lowered her down to his bedside table, kneeling to see her better. Awkwardness lingered at first but Loki broke the silence.

“Your exceptionally small, little one. What shall I call you?”

He watched her face scrunch up in anger, not responding to his question.

“Hmmm, let’s see… I can call you little one, of course, Thumbelina, Bite-Size, or-”

“Okay! Stop, just stop, call me Y/N.”She said with her arms crossed over her chest trying to be intimidating but failing.

“Y/N, what a delightful name. Are you alright now? I apologize for my brother’s actions.” Loki said being serious now.

Y/N nodded her head, “Y-yeah I’m okay now. I have really b-bad anxiety.” She admitted.

Loki smiled reassuringly, “I promise you to have nothing to fear from me or my brother.”

“Would you like me to assist you back to your quarters Y/N?”

“A-actually could I hang out with you for a little bit. I-I don’t really have many friends and I find your company...tolerable.” Y/N said with a bit of hesitation.

Loki laughed at her remark, “Just tolerable huh? Well, I must tell you that I find your company rather tolerable too Thumbelina.” He retorted with a smirk.

Y/N blushed and grinned, he offered a helpful palm to boost her to his shoulder.

“What should we do?” Loki asked.

“I don’t know, what do you have in mind?” Y/N asked, taking a comfortable seat where the dip in his collarbone lay.

Her little body tickled his neck and Loki laughed once again responding with, “I have a perfect idea,” with mischief coating his voice.

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

Y/N watched with fascination as Loki illusioned a snake out of thin air. Snakes did terrify her as a borrower, but way up on Loki’s shoulder she had no fear of the serpent on the ground. Loki’s shoulder was pretty comfortable, she clung to his neck and could feel every movement that he made, and his voice thundered through her when he spoke even in a whisper. They were waiting for someone to walk and spot the snake. Finally, a passerby came, one she recognized to be Peter. As he walked he immediately spotted the snake and screamed loudly running away. Loki almost doubled over in laughter as did Y/N. He cupped her in his hands, holding her safely in his embrace. Y/N couldn't stop smiling for another reason. She had finally found a friend.

[faylor]

Poison

By @faylor for @gr-eet

Rating: General

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary: Peter and Tony are at a SI press event/dance/gala and Peter accidentally drinks a spiked/poisoned drink meant for Tony.

Additional Prompt: “Do you even care?”

“So what d’ya think, kid? Burgundy or black for the tie?”

The question hadn’t even fully registered to Peter as he focused maybe a little too hard at the scribbles of words and numbers in his notebook.

“Or do you even care?” Tony continued with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’ll look good, Mr. Stark,” the teenager blurted without even for a moment breaking eye contact with his work.

“Okay, I think it’s time to take a break.”

“I’m almost done, Mr. Stark. I promise, just lemme...”

“Kid, you’ve got literally all weekend to finish your homework.” He took a few steps closer toward the couch where Peter was sitting. “And besides, you’ve gotta get ready, too, you know. T-minus 20 minutes before we gotta head down. Pepper won’t be too happy if we decide to show up fashionably late.”

Peter finally managed to tear his eyes away from his work to look at his mentor. “I know, I know. I just wanted to try and get all of this done so I’d have the rest of the weekend free.” He shrugged. He was going to be spending the entire weekend at the tower, which meant plenty of time in the lab to tinker around and brainstorm new suit upgrade ideas. But first, he’d have to survive a fancy Stark Industries party that was being held at the tower. From what Tony had told him, it was supposed to be some kind of charity ball or something, and that it would be a pretty fancy event. Suit and tie kind of fancy. Which, Peter admitted, he wasn’t exactly the most comfortable about.

Sure, he was at least sort of excited about it, but at the same time he worried about feeling too out of place. He was sure there’d be basically no one there he’d know, and definitely no one of his age. But Tony has asked him to come, so of course he would. Plus, he thought it might actually be kind of fun to meet some new people anyway.

“I promise, we’ll have plenty of free time even after you finish your homework. Now come on, kid. Let’s get you all dolled up, shall we?”

Peter rolled his eyes at Tony, a small laugh escaping from him. “Fine.”

After Peter got dressed in his probably way too expensive suit that Tony had gotten for him, he made his way back into the living room area.

“Um, Mr. Stark?” he asked, an almost apologetic smile on his face as he held out his neck tie. “Do you think you could maybe...”

“Sure, bud.” Tony smiled, stepping toward him and taking the tie.

Twenty minutes and a bit too much hair gel later, Peter walked out of the elevator behind Tony, his fingers toying with the hem of his jacket. He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect as they walked down a corridor and finally reaching a doorway. Peter’s eyes widened as they walked though it, finally seeing the event room.

The entire ballroom was decorated so nicely. All the tables were set toward the front, covered in fancy, white cloths with plate settings already in place. And everyone there was dressed as if they were attending some big Hollywood movie premiere. Peter was almost overwhelmed as he took all of it in. The only kind of parties he’d ever been to were house parties - well, one house party, that is - so this was totally new to him.

He hesitantly followed Tony as he made his way through the room of people until they’d made it to a table where Pepper was already sitting and talking to someone Peter didn’t recognize. Tony had pulled out the chair next to her, taking a seat as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey, there you two are.” She turned to Peter with a warm smile. “You look very nice, Pete.”

“The kid does clean up pretty nice, doesn’t he?” Tony added.

Peter chuckled, feeling his cheeks turn a bit pink as he tugged at the bottom of his jacket. “Thanks. The suit’s really nice, Mr. Stark, really.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Now, why don’t you have a seat? Unless you’d rather just stand there to eat your dinner.”

So he took his seat next to Tony, placing his hands in his lap as he peered around the room once more. It was filled with, as he’d expected, people who he didn’t know. There were maybe one or two slightly familiar faces that he’d seen around the tower a few times though.

“So, um, do all of these people work for you, Mr. Stark?” he wondered.

“Some of them, yeah. Some are from other companies, too. Might have to introduce my favorite intern to them, huh?”

“Oh, um sure!” Peter smiled, his enthusiasm showing within his features. Okay, so maybe this night wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought. His eyes wandered again, scanning the sea of people for maybe even one familiar face.

He broke his concentration as one of the waiters had approached their table, tray in hand as he offered drinks to them. Peter watched as Tony grabbed a couple of the red tinted glasses and held one out to him. He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. Was... Was Tony actually offering him alcohol?

“Don’t worry, kid. These aren’t alcoholic,” Tony assured with a smile. “Just sparkling cider. I don’t think I’d ever risk the wrath of your aunt if she found out I’d let you drink.”

“Oh. Um, right.” He took one of the glasses from Tony, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Thanks.” He lifted the glass to his mouth, taking a sip.

The moment the liquid passed his lips, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was wrong. He slowly swallowed the swig he took as he glanced around the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place. No one seemed to be posing a threat. So what had made his senses go off?

His answer quickly came in the form of lightheadedness, and he blinked as his eyebrows crinkled. Where had this feeling come from? It was getting worse by the second, too. His eyes darted around, his heart pounding as he found it increasingly hard to catch his breath.

“Kid?” Tony’s voice was brimmed with worry. Peter couldn’t decipher what was going on, but he knew it wasn’t good. And now his stomach felt like it was on fire. Was he getting sick? But it didn’t feel like any sickness he’d ever had before. This was different. Intense. Painful. Unnerving.

And now the room was spinning, the walls closing in on him as his throat refused to let go of his breath. This was bad. Really bad. But he couldn’t panic. He had to stay calm. He wasn’t dying. He wasn’t. Was he?

He turned to his mentor, head spinning at what felt like a trillion miles an hour, and his heart was nearly jumping out of his chest by now.

“Mssr Stark...” Peter slurred, his legs starting to turn into jelly as the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor. “I... I don feel s-“

And then he was on the ground, blackness caving in on his vision as he choked on the air he’d been struggling to intake. Tony’s voice faintly echoed through his ears before it began to fade. Then, nothing.

A faint beeping coming from Peter’s left was the next thing he remembered as he felt himself slowly regain consciousness. Then the pain in his head began to come back, and he tried to figure out where he was.

But he found it almost impossible to open his eyes fully, because everything was so bright. Why was everything so bright? Wait, was he actually dead? Was this that metaphorical light that everyone talked about seeing when you die? But there was that beeping. Right. Not dead. So, in a hospital? But why? What had happened to put him in a hospital? He remembered the party, and seeing all the people. Then he remembered the drink.

The drink.

It made sense. Drinking from it had been the last thing he remembered before he’d gotten sick. Before he’d blacked out. But that had to be it. The drink had to have been spiked with something. But why? Why would someone want to poison him? Oh god... had someone figured out his identity? His mind raced through the speculations a bit too quickly for his still aching head, the train of thought only stopping once he’d heard the door of the room he was in opening.

He forced his eyelids open, blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust them to the light, and he’d noticed a figure moving toward him. His vision came back into focus, and he saw that the figure was that of Helen Cho. Okay, so he was sure that he was in a hospital now. Or, rather, the tower’s medbay.

“Peter?” Helen’s voice was soft as she spoke to him. “How’re you feeling?”

“‘M okay,” he mumbled, still feeling a bit groggy. “Head hurts.”

“I’d say it does.” There was a slightly concerned expression on her face. “Do you remember what happened?”

“The drink...” He paused. “Was I... poisoned?”

Before Helen could even answer, the door swung open again, and Tony came practically sprinting through it, worry plastered across his features.

“Kid?” Oh, he sounded so worried. Scared, even. Peter blinked again, his brows furrowed as he watched his mentor approach him. Peter’s mind jolted again as he remembered that Tony had also taken a drink from that same tray last night. Had he been poisoned too? But he was obviously fine. Did he even drink his?

“Mssr Stark? I- Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Pete.” Tony’s tone softened. “You really scared me, you know. I thought...” His voice trailed off.

Helen looked between the two of them before she spoke again. “I’ll give you two a moment. I’ll be back in a few minutes to run some tests, Peter.” She nodded at him with a soft smile before turning toward the door and making her way out.

Peter’s gaze turned back to Tony. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“I know, I just- I thought I’d lost you, Pete.” He ran a hand over his face, sighing. “Bruce and I ran some tests on that cider you drank, and... I’ll be honest with you, kid, you shouldn’t have survived. But lucky for you, your healing factor was fighting it from the beginning.”

“Oh...” His eyes dropped. “How long- Um, how long was I out?”

“About eighteen hours.”

Peter’s eyes widened. Eighteen hours?! How had he been out for that long? Sure, his healing factor worked better while he was sleeping, but it never knocked him out for nearly that long before. So it must’ve been really really bad. Even Tony had said he shouldn’t have survived it. Then his mind toyed with the idea of Tony having drank the tampered drink, too. Oh, he didn’t like that. Not at all. He couldn’t even imagine...

“I- Mister Stark? Did you... Was your drink poisoned, too?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately, his gaze falling to the floor for a moment before it found Peter again. “Yeah. It was.” He paused. “I’m assuming whoever did this was going after me, but they obviously didn’t care if you died too as collateral damage.” His voice wavered. “And I don’t know what I’d do if...”

“Mr. Stark...” Peter sat up slightly in his bed, his face scrunching for a moment as he felt a slight pain shift through his body. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I should’ve. I should’ve had better security and been more diligent on checking the staff, because I could’ve lost you, Pete. And I couldn’t live with myself knowing I could’ve stopped it.” His tone was becoming feverish as he stood from his seat.

Peter felt his heart skip a beat at Tony’s words. He almost felt... guilty. But it wasn’t exactly his fault, was it? Should he have been able to sense that the drinks were spiked sooner?

“I’m sorry...”

“Kid, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t even sense anything was wrong until I’d already taken a drink... I should’ve-“

“Pete,” Tony cut him off, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. “None of this is on you. It’s on me.”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t blame you.”

“I know, kid. But I do. I should’ve made sure you’d be safer.”

“But it was a party. Usually those are pretty safe.”

“This one apparently wasn’t. But I’m gonna make sure that never happens again.”

“But I’m fine. You didn’t actually have anything to worry about.” Peter shrugged.

“I’m always gonna worry about you. You’re my kid, Pete. If something were to happen to you on my watch, that’d be on me for the rest of my life.”

His kid? Tony thought of him as his kid. Peter felt his cheeks warm at the concept, but in the best way possible. And it wasn’t exactly like Tony was his dad. But he was the closest thing Peter had to one. And now Tony had told Peter that he was his kid.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Not anymore,” Tony continued.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright, Pete. I’m just glad that you’re okay. You feeling any better, by the way? Helen said you’d have one hell of a headache when you woke up.”

“Well she definitely wasn’t wrong about that.” Peter chuckled, rubbing the side of his head. “But I’m feeling a bit better now.”

“Good.” He reached up to tousle the teenager’s curls, a soft smile playing on his face. “Now rest up, kiddo. We’ve got some time in the lab to make up for tomorrow, if you’re still up to it.”

“Yeah, of course!”

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that homework you didn’t finish, either.”

“That you wouldn’t let me finish,” Peter reminded him with a smirk. Tony returned it with one of his own.

“I think that poison’s obviously gone to your head. You’re making stuff up now.”

“Mr Stark!” Peter’s face turned to feigned offense, inciting laughter from his mentor.

“Get some rest, kid. I’ll see you in a bit.”

And so he happily did, knowing that Tony would be there for him no matter what. Knowing that he was his kid.

Tag List: @zissa93 @mala-sadas @romeoandjulietyouwish

If you would like to be on my tag list, please let me know! 😊

[set-phasers-to-whump]

such wow. many normal. very oops.

Prompt: accidents

Whumpee: Kyle Valenti

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

hello i had a real good time writing this fic and i actually don’t hate it for once!! i hope you like it too!! also please don’t think too much about like plot and stuff who hit him is Not Important we don’t care lol

The car came out of nowhere. One second, Kyle was jogging across the basically-deserted street on his way home from an errand, and the next, he was on top of the hood of a car, then rolling over it, and then on the ground.

He laid there for a moment, stunned, not thinking. Did I just get hit by a car? he wondered, finally. 

A painful stinging across his hands and knees and a general terrible aching across his entire body answered that question well enough. But before he could dwell too much on the extent of the pain that his body was in, Kyle remembered that he was still in the middle of the street, which was not a good place to be.

He slowly pushed himself up, wincing when his scraped-raw hands made contact with the asphalt. Very carefully and very shakily, he stood up, keeping his legs slightly bent in an effort to minimize the pain that his knees were experiencing. 

Kyle staggered his way over to the curb, limping heavily, curling one arm around his chest when a sharp twinge told him he’d, at the very least, bruised his ribs. He sank down heavily onto the curb, body trembling with the effort of walking, and took as deep a breath as his hurting ribs would allow. 

He then took a second to professionally take stock of his injuries. His head ached, and he felt blood dripping down his forehead from a stinging gash, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have a concussion. His ribs hurt like hell, and his entire torso felt...well, like he’d been hit by a car. Which, obviously, he had. But he didn’t feel any blood, nor any signs that he might have been bleeding internally.

Deeming the pain in his torso nothing that couldn’t be dealt with, he moved on to his hands, which had been scraped bloody and raw from his fall to the ground. They hurt to move, which was unfortunate, but in the end, they were only scrapes, and not too worrying. His knees had fared similarly, though he was pretty sure they’d slammed into the car far harder than his hands had, when he’d thrown himself onto the hood to avoid being flattened. They ached in a way he imagined old peoples’ knees ached, and they were fairly torn up from hitting the road, the blood clearly visible through the now-also-torn knees of his jeans. 

Could have been worse, was Kyle’s final judgement. Nothing worth going to the hospital over, he decided, additionally, grateful that there wasn’t anyone around on the street to make that decision for him. 

With his mind made up that he would be fine, Kyle figured there was no use sitting around on the ground anymore, so he again slowly pushed himself up, wincing as small bits of gravel caught in his bloody palms, swaying slightly on his feet as a rush of lightheadedness came over him momentarily. 

After his head cleared, Kyle stepped up onto the sidewalk, curling his arm back around his ribs and setting off at a very slow limp for home. 

He made it through his front door perhaps twenty minutes later, though ordinarily he would have been home in half the time. He’d had to stop three times to catch his breath and practically force his body to keep moving, and he was absolutely exhausted by the time he was closing the door. 

He leaned against the wood for a moment, waiting for the pain in his...everywhere...to die down to an acceptable level. Which it did, eventually, and he celebrated that fact by stumbling off to the bathroom, where a large supply of first-aid items and pain medicine awaited.

In the bathroom, Kyle stopped for a moment to lean against the counter, not wanting to sit down before he grabbed everything he needed. He took a few steadying, though not deep, breaths, then opened his cabinets and selected everything he thought he might need. 

Finally allowing himself to sit down on the lid of the toilet, Kyle got to work, a process ordinarily just as easily said as done, but currently, one a great deal more difficult than it should have been, owing to the fact that his hands stung every time he used them. 

But there was nothing for it, so Kyle simply opened up a bottle of ibuprofen, took the maximum dose, and forced his hands to work. 

He started out with his knees, carefully swabbing them out with a cotton ball dipped in hydrogen peroxide. It stung not only on his knees, but on his hands as well, and he nearly dropped the ball on the ground when a particularly large cut on his hand got the liquid in it. 

Still, it wasn’t that bad, he knew. Skinned knees were something easily handled by a child, never mind a surgeon. So he gritted his teeth and dealt with it, not bothering to apply bandages because he knew they would just come back off. 

Following this, Kyle carefully unbuttoned and removed his shirt. As expected, the area around his ribs was starting to bruise a lovely shade of purple, and there were several other bruises forming across his stomach and arms, and probably his back as well, if the pain there was anything to go by. But there wasn’t anything Kyle could do for these injuries, except wait for them to heal. So he moved on to his hands, which had already been slightly cleaned in the process of cleaning his knees. 

He swept away as much dirt and gravel as he could, knowing that he probably should have used a pair of tweezers but sure he’d be unable to operate them with the scraped-up condition of his fingers. He did bandage these injuries, as best as he could, regretting the action almost immediately when he realized he still had to work on his head with his hands’ now even more limited mobility.

He was also going to need to stand up, he realized, which he really hadn’t wanted to do. But, he reflected, he was going to have to get up at some point anyway, so it might as well be now. 

He pushed himself up, bracing a hand on the counter, a sensation which felt partly bad, because of the pain, but partly good, because of the cool sensation of the granite under his hands. That’s what I need, he decided. To lie down in the cold and let it freeze everything away. 

Unfortunately, that was not very realistic, and Kyle shook off the thought, focusing back on the task of patching himself up. He looked into the mirror. There was a large, shallow, bloody scrape across his forehead, a couple smaller cuts on his cheeks, and a bruise on his jaw. Once again, he counted himself lucky. No broken nose or black eye. 

The cut on his forehead was easy enough to patch up, though it continued to bleed into the bandage for longer than Kyle would have liked. The cuts on his cheeks were likewise easy to deal with, and small enough to not warrant the bandages. 

Gingerly, he touched his fingers to his bruised jaw, sucking in a sharp breath as he poked the sore skin. That’s that, he thought. Nothing else I can do. He looked around at his now-messy bathroom for a second, dreading the thought of cleaning it up before deciding that could wait until he felt a little less like roadkill.

With that decided, Kyle left the bathroom and headed into the living room, where he turned on the fan as high as it would go and carefully laid himself on the couch. I should have taken a shower, he thought vaguely, the surgeon in him thinking about all the dirt and germs that still covered his body and could lead to infection. Everything hurts too much, was the thought that overruled it, the injured person in him thinking about the fact that he had just been hit by a car. 

He sighed, closing his eyes. He’d be fine, he decided. He could take a shower later, and then maybe he’d stop by work and have one of his coworkers give him a once-over. At the moment, though, he was far too tired and far too achy to even consider getting up, let alone giving himself over to be poked and prodded at. All he really wanted to do was sleep. 

But of course, sleep never seemed to come when he most wanted it, and for half an hour he just laid there, staring at the fan spinning on the ceiling and trying desperately to fall asleep. But it was no use. He simply couldn’t.

So he did the thing that made sense to him - he picked up his phone with his bandaged hands and clumsily called Alex. Alex could fix anything, he knew, probably even sleeplessness brought about by a car accident.

“What’s up, Kyle?” 

“Um...hi,” Kyle replied, suddenly wondering whether calling Alex had been such a good idea. He doesn’t want to be bothered by your very small problems, Kyle thought to himself. What were you thinking?

“Kyle? You okay?” 

Kyle shrugged, then remembered Alex couldn’t see him. “No,” he admitted, “but it’s nothing.”

“If it’s bothering you, it’s not nothing,” Alex said, and Kyle wanted to cry. After everything, still Alex was so nice to him, even if his problems really were nothing compared to the kind of problems they’d been dealing with lately. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, truthfully, and also not for the first time. “For everything.”

“What do you mean, Kyle?” came Alex’s voice, sounding worried. Kyle hated himself for that. He didn’t want Alex to worry.

“No, no, I just mean...for high school. I know, I know I keep saying it, but I am, I was horrible to you and you’re so nice to me and you’re the best person I know and I don’t know what I did to deserve to have you back in my life but here you are, and you’re my best friend, and...I maybe got hit by a car and everything hurts a lot even though I took like, six ibuprofen, and I can’t fall asleep and I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess, I…” He trailed off, finally, faintly exhausted by the words that had suddenly come spilling out of him, unbidden.

Alex was silent on the other end for a second. “You got hit by a car?”

“Um...yeah.”

“And you’re not at the hospital.”

“No.”

“You’re at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go anywhere, I’m coming.”

Alex hung up then, and Kyle kept laying there, smiling to himself despite everything. Alex is coming, he thought, he’s coming and it’s going to be okay.

A few minutes later, Kyle’s front door was swinging open, causing Kyle to shoot up in mild alarm, then wince audibly as his ribs shouted in protest and his head swam. 

There had been no need to worry, anyway, because it was Alex who had come through the door, which, Kyle realized, he hadn’t locked when he’d first stumbled inside.

“Kyle,” Alex said, concerned. “You look like hell.” He crossed the room swiftly, grabbing a pillow from a chair and sticking it behind Kyle’s back. “Lie back down,” he instructed, and Kyle did. 

“Thanks for coming,” he said, as Alex gently poked at him. “Ow,” he added, as Alex hit an especially sore spot on his ribs.

“”Sorry,” Alex said, stopping his poking. “I guess you did all this already, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied. “It sucked.”

“I bet.”

Alex moved from next to him then, and sat down on the end of the couch, carefully picking up Kyle’s legs and draping them back across his lap. “You tired?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Kyle said, though he was sure Alex could believe.

“Think you can sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. Now that you’re here, he didn’t say, not that he supposed Alex couldn’t figure that fact out. 

“And you’re sure you don’t need the hospital?”

“Yes, mom,” Kyle said, already feeling himself falling asleep. “It’s not that bad.”

Alex sighed, clearly annoyed. “You got hit by a car, Kyle. That’s bad by default.”

“Mm.”

“I know you’re tired, and I’m not going to keep you up, but don’t think we’re done talking about this,” Alex said, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument.

“‘Kay,” Kyle replied, and then Alex gave his leg a gentle, reassuring pat, and Alex himself gave him a promise that he’d be there when Kyle woke up, and then at long last the pain started to fade, and he fell asleep.

thanks so much for reading this!!! i really hope you liked it :)

[aerielart]

An Evening Chat

WELP look who wrote some more of her ocs!

After that really short and angsty thing I did last time, I thought it might be nice to do something a little more substantial (and canon compliant) to give you guys a better idea of their characters. I hope you like it!

(Fair warning I wrote this all over the span of today and it is very minimally edited so proceed with caution lmao! I am not the most skilled with prose, I just wanted to share something of my fictional kiddos)

Without further ado please enjoy

-

Mae heaved out a sigh as she fumbled in her pocket for her box of cigarettes. With her other hand she flicked open her lighter, and in one smooth movement she had the death stick lit and in her mouth. She closed her eyes and took a nice long drag, concentrating on the warmth in her lungs and waiting for the pleasant lightheadedness to come, but it didn’t. Nowadays, all it was good for was scratching the itch. A ritual that she couldn’t break out of. 

She exhaled, disappointed, watching the smoke escape from her mouth and disintegrate into the evening air. 

Muffled laughter reached her ears, and she turned her head toward the source of the noise. Her… neighbors? Landlords? She still wasn’t sure exactly what to consider them. Her… whatevers, Jim and Carol, were standing around a merrily roaring bonfire, chatting and drinking and just enjoying the balmy summer weather. From the other side of the smokey haze Jace appeared, his arms full of fallen branches which he began feeding to the fire. Of course he was there too. He always seemed to be over there, inserting himself into Mae’s life unprompted. 

He said he was just helping them with yard work, clearing out brush and all that, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it. He was a strange guy. 

As if sensing her attention, Jace glanced up from where he had been squated next to the fire and the two of them locked eyes. He smiled and waved, and Mae averted her gaze, pretending to occupy herself with her cigarette once again. But that didn’t stop him from straightening up and walking over to where she stood leaning against her house.

Shit shit shit shit shit…

“Hey!”

Shit shit shit shit shit!

She gave a resigned huff, causing more smoke to billow from her mouth as she removed her cigarette again. “Hi…”

Jace frowned at her unfavorable reaction and stuck his hands into his pockets, glancing behind himself a few times. “Did you, uh, wanna join us and have a beer? Or… something?” he tried. 

Mae bit her lip. “No thanks, I’m… trying to cut back.”

“Oh.” Jace replied. His eyes strayed down to the still burning cigarette between her fingers, and Mae let it fall to the ground, stomping it out with her shoe.

“Besides, I would rather not get eaten by mosquitos,” Mae continued. “I only came out here for a quick smoke.”

A high pitched buzzing suddenly started and a mosquito zoomed in between the two of them to accentuate her point. She grimaced and swiped at it.

Jace gave a great belly laugh, revealing his slightly-too-sharp teeth. “Yeah, well, it was a bad idea to move up to the mountains then. They’re pretty bad around here.” 

He grinned at his halfhearted joke, and Mae grunted. 

Jace grew quiet for a moment, scrutinizing her with a subtle tint of his head. “So, what did bring you out here anyway,” he asked suddenly. “No offense, but you don’t really seem like the type to wanna ruff it.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh come on. Carol said you’re from California, right?” His grin returned and Mae watched as he sauntered around her and over to her side, settling himself against the wall next to her. “Let me guess, you’re one of those city folk who wanted to ‘get away from it all’, so you move to the mountains or out to the country thinking it’ll be a peaceful, magical wonderland, and then run screaming at the slightest sign of mother nature.”

A flash of anger ignited in Mae’s chest at that and she rounded on him. “What the hell? Who do you think you are? You don’t know me!” The nerve of this kid!

That finally wiped the shit-eating expression off his face once and for all, and he raised his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Bad joke. You’re right, I don’t know.” He paused for a moment to lower his hands and head in submission, then murmured. “I’m sure you had a good reason. And… if it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell me…”

Mae held her glare for a moment, but decided to let it go. She had already gathered that Jace could be a bit clumsy and tactless sometimes, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t the same way, so it wasn’t fair for her to judge. She leaned back, her gaze drifting back over to the bonfire next door. “Are you from here?” She had gotten that impression ever since she’d met him. He just… seemed like he belonged here, somehow. Even more than, say, Jim and Carol. Which was a weird thing to think, and she couldn’t exactly explain it even to herself, but it was still true.

Jace glanced up at that, giving a sheepish chuckle. “Actually, no. This is gonna make me look like an ass, but, I’m from the city too.”

Really? With the way he seemed to know just about everybody, Mae had assumed that he’d lived here his entire life. Mae raised her brows and gave him a sidelong look. “Well, at least you're self aware about it.”

Jace winced.

A silence settled over them once more, though Mae wouldn’t exactly call it comfortable. Without her cigarette she had nothing to occupy her hands, so she copied Jace and stuffed them inside the pockets of her jacket. 

“So why’d you move out here then?” she finally asked, half out of pettiness but also because his answer had not been what she expected and she genuinely wanted to know. 

Jace frowned. “It’s… complicated.”

Mae just nodded. This strange kid might still be an enigma to her, but that, at least, she could understand. So she decided not to press the issue. 

“It’s great here, though,” he went on. “Everybody just does what they want, goes at their own pace. Not like in the city. Feels like… home.”

Home. Mae thought she might have known what that felt like once, but not anymore. Would this place ever feel like home? She wanted to believe, but she also didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Then again…

She glanced at the younger man next to her, and then back over at her neighbors. They had all been so kind and welcoming to her when she had first arrived here, did all that they could to help her settle in. The thought brought another spark of warmth to her chest, though it was softer this time. Gentler. Was that what home was supposed to feel like? The thought caused the corners of her lips to quirk in a tentative smile. 

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she glanced back over at Jace to watch him pull himself from the wall. He looked up at her with a soft, earnest gaze. “You sure you don’t wanna come over and sit with us? It can’t be fun being in the dark by yourself.”

“What if that’s just the way I like it?” 

“Oh, well, I guess that’s alright. But you know,” Jace gave her a long look. “Even introverts need friends.”

It was very difficult to leave Mae speechless, but somehow, Jace’s words struck her deep and managed just that. They’d known each other, what, maybe a week or two? Yet he was able to drop the F word so easily? It left a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her, making her want to laugh and cry and slap him in his stupid, naive face all at the same time. Instead, she settled for dropping her gaze to the ground and watching as some sort of bug that she couldn’t identify scuttled around her foot. 

“I’m... not the kind of person people wanna be friends with…” 

At that, Jace broke out into a deep, sardonic laugh. “Yeah, me either.”

Mae wasn’t sure what reaction she had expected, but that definitely was not it. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She grimaced. Was he mocking her?

No… She may have only known Jace for a short while, but she did know enough to be sure that he wouldn’t joke about something like that. It caused her natural curiosity to kick in and she almost chose to dig a little deeper, but in the end she thought better of it. After all, she had her secrets as well. He could keep his. 

“Well, I guess we’re a perfect match then,” she replied sardonically. 

Jace gave his own rye smile in return. “Guess so.” But then, as if he finally realized that he’d let his guard drop, that same big grin that he always wore suddenly returned. The one that Mae was finally starting to see for what it was: a mask. 

The one that made her even more curious to find out what was going on behind that mask.

“Well, sorry for interrupting your smoke. I’ll let you get back to it.” He raised a hand in farewell, then started heading back over to where Jim and Carol were still sitting around the bonfire. They waved and gave a greeting that Mae couldn’t hear before inviting him to sit down in one of the lawn chairs that must have appeared sometime during their talk. 

Mae glanced down at the snuffed cigarette that still sat beneath her shoe and frowned. Well, her smoke had been ruined, might as well just go back inside now. She turned around to do just that, but before she did, she couldn’t help taking one last glance over her shoulder. 

And, as she watched the three of them drink and laugh and be merry, she couldn’t help the thought that maybe next time it wouldn’t be so bad to join them.

[mollymauk-the-peacock]

Poesy got her magical tattoo. No clue what it looks like yet, because it’s on her chest and she didn’t want to watch. Then she passed out and missed it being bandaged. 😅 Jess also passed out but that comes with wolf-y implications, apparently. 

Our old half-ogre friend Iosef is the tattoo artist for most all of the Champions. He’s a retired fighter that loves to cook for everyone and apparently is ridiculously gifted with ink and has the lightest touch. Also a pet bunny. He’s a wonderful sweetheart.

Iosef: "Fantastic.  You will go first?"

Poesy: She nods, "Can do."

Iosef: He motions for her to sit, "You want telepathy with Jesse, yes?"

Poesy: "Yes. For as long as needed, if that's doable. For specific applications."

Dots: “This is exciting! I’ve never even seen a regular tattoo done.”

Iosef: "Tattoo goes over heart.  You are... shy?"

Poesy: She rolls her eyes.

Iosef: "Let's work."

Dots: Dots raises her eyebrows, “Do... Should?  I come back? I’ll just go get some ale.”

Iosef sort of motions toward her blouse as he selects the right tools and a small inkwell where he starts mixing ingredients.

Poesy: Unbuttoning and taking it off,  getting comfortable. Trying not to look too nervous, "You're fine. I imagine having the company would be nice."

Dots: “... You’re very brave, Poesy.” Dots pats her hand.

The ingredients seem like they'd overflow the little inkwell, but they all disappear into it. He mixes as he starts to hum idly to himself. As he begins, he looks at Jesse as if for inspiration, then you feel the needle.

Make a constitution save.

Dots: Dots squeals quietly.

He's remarkably dexterous, carefully pricking the skin, adding ink, then again with the needle.

Occasionally he wipes it away and you feel the burn of alcohol on that rag. It hurts, but you've endured far worse and after a few minutes it becomes a familiar pain. It doesn't seem like a large space, but after an hour of work you can't discern what he's trying to depict. 

A mote of doubt creeps into your mind that this might not be a tattoo you show off.

Poesy: Glancing sidelong at Dots and Jesse to gauge their reactions

Dots: Dots grins nervously and gives a cheerful thumbs up.

Make an insight check.

Jesse looks worried.  Mostly about your pain, a little about what he's looking at. His smile is forced as he sees Poesy looking at him.

Poesy: Poesy returns Dots' thumbs up without moving too much

Iosef: "Almost done."

He grabs the alcohol rag, thrusts it into a mix of gem, astrium, and platinum dust and then smears it roughly across the space where he's been working.

Make another con save.

It's like fire and you feel yourself start to black out, but you fall into his hand (which is the size of your head). When you're fully conscious there's a bandage on your chest.

Iosef: "You did well.  Some I work on while they sleep.”

Poesy: "I'd say it wasn't so bad but you'd know I was lying."

Iosef: "Is worth it, I hope."

Poesy: Picking at the edge of the bandage some. Nodding.

Iosef:  He pulls your hand away, "Tsk, tsk.  Five days."

Dots: “That last step was a surprise!”

Poesy: "I'd say.”

Iosef: "Telling would only make you afraid.  It's better this way."

Poesy: Nodding to Iosef, "Knowing the particulars wouldn't have made a difference.

Dots: “Like I said, I never saw a regular tattoo done before, but I’d bet it is NOTHING like what we just saw.”

Jesse: "Alright, my turn, unless you need a break, Iosef."

Poesy: Vacating the seating area. They both seem good?

Jesse seems nervous for sure.

Iosef: Iosef nods a bit. "I'll stretch my old bones."   Poesy: Steering him to the chair

Iosef: Before he goes, Iosef points to the bandage, "I joke.  Change twice a day.  If it hurts more, come to me.  Less, is good.  When poking doesn't hurt, no bandage. I'll be right back."

He leaves, heading into the kitchen.

Dots: “Don’t worry, Jesse. I’m sure your experience will be totally different from Poesy’s just now,” Dots stage-whispers.

Poesy: Kissing the top of Jesse's head and standing beside him, trying to exude calm. "You next, Dots?"

Dots: “Nope.”

Jesse: "If this keeps me from ripping off some poor sap's head, it'll be worthwhile."

Poesy: Humming an affirmative, running her fingers over his scalp.

Poesy's chest throbs and occasionally feels like someone is massaging the skin with shards of glass.  It comes in waves accompanied by lightheadedness and nausea.

Poesy: Finding a second chair and pulling it up close

Dots: Eyeing Poesy with concern, “So brave, Poesy.”

DM: Iosef returns from the kitchen and Jesse jumps a little when he sees him.

Jesse: "Back so soon? Lovely." He fumbles with the buttons on his shirt.

Poesy: Poesy just leans her head on Jesse's shoulder and tries to focus on breathing to chase the last of the pain away as best can be done (until she has to move).

"It wasn't so bad. Dots, you might like getting just a nice normal tattoo."

Sitting back in the chair out of Iosef's way.

Dots: "I think the hells not. Not a... fan of the needles, it turns out."

 Iosef starts working as Jesse does his best to breathe evenly.

He seem almost unaffected and actually manages a smile.

Poesy: "See?"

Jesse: "Not so bad.”

Iosef: "No talking."

Jesse makes a face like a scolded child and winks at Poesy.

Poesy: Watching Iosef this time

The perspective gives you no better insight into the design.  It just looks like an inky bloody mess.

Dots: Getting a bit woozier the longer the process goes on.

Poesy: Trying not to stare at the blood. Focusing instead on playing absently with Jesse's hair and not thinking about her own throbbing chest.

Iosef: After about an hour Iosef puts down his needles, "All done.  No more for you."

Jesse looks relieved and as he looks to Poesy, about to remark about something Iosef quickly dabs the rag and rakes it across his chest.

Jesse passes out hard into Poesy's arms.

Dots: “Oh my goodness!”

Poesy: Poesy clicks her tongue, "Oh, Iosef...”

Eyes closed, body limp, he starts to growl.

Poesy: Sternly, "Out."

Dots: “I’ll get some hard liquor!” Running.

Poesy's chest suddenly feels like a splash of cold water and she is connected with Jesse, not telepathically, but empathically. Panic, fear, pain. You can feel the wolf trying to claw itself out in self defense.

Poesy: Shifting him back into the chair, offering as much reassurance as possible through the bond, trying to learn how.

"You're okay. Just breathe."

Make a persuasion check with advantage.

The fear abates first, then the panic, and the pain dulls finally as Jesse's heart rate slows. Then he starts snoring.

Poesy: "He's fine."

Iosef: Iosef was backing away, but this took a few moments, "I did not expect that."

Poesy: Making sure Jesse doesn't slip out of the chair, but moving to stand behind him instead, "I certainly didn't either. But it worked, I think. I can feel what he's feeling."

 He opens his eyes and sits up suddenly, bracing himself against Poesy.

Poesy: "Welcome back." Reassuringly rubbing his shoulders.

You can see in his eyes that he's still coming down from it, but then he recognizes you and gives a reassuring smile.

Poesy: Kissing his cheek, "You did wonderfully."

Your chest returns to burning glass and the emotions are gone.

Jesse: "Thank you for the help."

Poesy: Letting out a sharp breath and nodding, "Of course, love."

[clevercatchphrase]

You Monster Chpt. 35

(This story is also on my AO3, same username as here! I am no longer putting links in these posts, or else tumblr would hide the whole thing from the search engine. Sorry for the inconvenience!)

You sit with your legs drawn up to your chest and your head on your knees as the ferry gently rocks from side to side with the current, Alphys’ stolen ID card loosely clutched in one hand.

The riverboat person is blessedly quiet, humming to themselves while you sulk in self-pity, repeating your latest outburst over and over in your head. Your friends had known what you were on sight and had done nothing. Protect you? Please. They didn’t want you to realize what you were capable of. And hadn’t you proved them right by lashing out at them? By declaring you hated them? No wonder no one ever told you what kind of monster you were. You were the worst kind. The humankind.

You wallow in self-loathing , wishing it wasn’t true. You weren’t human, you COULDN’T be human. The books in the library had said that humans didn’t have love or compassion in their souls. Undyne had said that a human’s very existence was a crime against the Underground. It made you feel like it was YOUR fault that the monsters you claimed to love were trapped under the mountain. You stifle a sob, and rub your eyes with one hand- your human hands, hands that couldn’t do magic but could kill with one strike, hands that you hid beneath monster fur because maybe deep down you knew that you never fit in all this time and had tricked yourself into thinking otherwise.

But it was undeniable now. Unacceptable. Unthinkable.

Unforgiveable.

Hastily, you tear off your hat and gloves and stuff them in your sleeves.

You try not to think about it, because the more you do, the more the memories come rushing back; the déjà vu of long-forgotten places and people. They’re fuzzy and faint, but undeniably real. You had been born on the surface, had human parents, maybe human friends. Psh. As if humans could ever make friends…

Looking back on it, everyone’s behavior suddenly makes a lot more sense. Sans had known and tried to protect his brother. Undyne had known and had tried to protect the king. Alphys had known and had tried to protect the citizens. And could you blame them? With how quick you reacted upon discovering the truth? They were in the right to keep such close tabs on you. You were dangerous. You wish you could take it back. You didn’t hate them, not really. You only hate yourself.

“Tra la la, here we are,” the river person hums as the boat pulls up into Snowdin’s dock, and you wearily disembark onto the short wooden pier. “Come again sometime. Or not. It doesn’t really matter.”

You turn towards the forest, but a realization strikes you before you even take a step. Oh god, Toriel knew, too, hadn’t she? She knew longer than anyone and she had loved you and accepted you with only one request that you never leave the safety she had offered. No wonder she never answered the doors when you knocked. You gave up that ignorance and protection the moment you left the Ruins. So what did you think you would achieve running back to those doors now? You know she won’t answer you, now that you know the truth. You can’t take back your lost innocence.

There was nowhere left for you to go. Nowhere you were wanted, nowhere you belonged… You can’t stay here. Not when your continued existence meant that others would suffer. Slowly you look up.

…Actually, that wasn’t true. There WAS still one place you could go, where your mere existence wouldn’t be a detriment to others around you.

You could go away. Away forever.

“Actually…” you say turning back around to ferry. “I’ve changed my mind. Can you take me back to Hotland?”

“Of course~ May I see your boat pass?” You flash the boat pass you pilfered from Alphys’ desk and the ferry driver lets you board. Apparently they didn’t care if the pass was yours or not, so long as you had one. You felt a little bad about taking it before remembering that humans don’t care about right or wrong.

“And we’re off~”

Turning against the tide, the boat sprouts a head and legs and scampers across the surface of the water, fighting the current. You may have screwed everything up but there was still one way you could make all of this right.

--

You aren’t sure if it’s the rocking of the boat making you nauseated or your returning memories on the ride back to Hotland, but you debark the boat and sprint past the lab, back to the elevators, trying your best to avoid being spotted by any locals. You don't want anyone to see you in all your blatant, horrible human-ness. All the while your stomach churns and you fight the need to gag. It was as if your own soul had realized the body it was in and was now rejecting it, but you force yourself to hold together for a little longer- just a little bit longer.

Running hard, you almost make it to the elevator, when you suddenly trip, and fall hard on your hands and knees, your hat and gloves spilling out of your sleeves, as if mocking you, teasing you to put them back on and resume your silly game of pretend. Angrily, you bundle the three into a lump and wind up your arm, about to chuck the useless clothing over the edge and into the lava… but despite your anger, despite your self-loathing you can’t… you can’t let them go. These symbols of lies, these crutches you had relied on for years to fit in and feel normal, you know now how useless they were at actually making a difference, but you can’t bring yourself to drop them in the magma. Instead you gently place them on the ground for someone else to find. Maybe it would do someone more deserving some good in the future where you don’t exist in the Underground and the items’ memories are no longer tainted with a human touch.

Swallowing hard, you turn your back on the hat and gloves, pull out your stolen phone, and type a text message. It takes you several tries to get the words right due to your shaking fingers, but after a while you succeed, hit send, and leave the phone behind along with Alphys' ID card on your discarded clothes, knowing a Good Samaritan would find its proper owner, because that’s just how monsters were. Finally, you board the elevator without looking back.

_______________________________________________________

Sans skips the walk home and instead jumps himself and Papyrus back to Snowdin, just in front of the dock. The scene doesn’t look promising. The ferry isn’t here and there are no fresh foot prints in the snow. Maybe he got here too early? Maybe the kid hadn’t come this way after all.

“You take the town and I’ll take the forest?” Sans suggests. If there was one thing Sans knew Papyrus was good at, it was drawing attention to himself.

“On it!” Papyrus nods. “I’ll alert all the residents in town!”

The brothers split, Papyrus heading east and Sans heading west, skipping through each field in the forest all the way back to the doors, but finds not even a single trace of the kid. He does, however, find a couple of dogs out on patrol.

“Sans?” one of the dogi asks when they scent him down the road. “Is that you I smell? What are you doing up so early?”

An idea hits him. An extra pair of eyes and noses searching for the human certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“Guys, listen. I seriously need your help.” Sans says. “I lost my kid and I have no idea where they could have gone. Can you help me sniff them out?”

“You lost your puppy?!” Dogaressa gasps.

“Oh, Sans, did you at least get them microchipped?” Dogamy scolds.

“Where did you last see them?”

“This is why is so important to teach Come When Called, Sans!”

“But never fear! We’ll get on it right away!”

“We’ll recruit the rest of the canine unit as well!”

“Don’t worry, Sans. We’re on the trail!”

Well, finding the kid may be a bust, but at least now he’s got five canine noses on the search which is still a success however small. He’s just about to turn around and head back to the main street when his cellphone starts to vibrate in his pocket, alerting him to a new text message. At first he’s confused- the sender is from Papyrus. Had he found them?

'Sans, I’m sorry I got mad at you and said I hated you all.’ The message reads. ’I didn’t mean it.’

Before he can question what Papyrus is talking about, another message pops up on the conversation screen.

’But I can’t stay here knowing all of you will remain trapped because of me. You were all right to keep me under surveillance. There’s no place in the Underground for someone like me. So I’m going away. For good.’

Shit. Shit. This wasn’t Papyrus, this was the kid. Fumbling with the keys, Sans hastily dials Alphys’ number.

“Did you find them?” Alphys answers, skipping the formalities.

“No, but you gotta shut down all the elevators to New Home. I think the kid’s gonna try to cross the barrier. We can’t let them reach the capital!”

“O-on it! B-but I can’t shut down every elevator Sans. The ones in the resort aren’t part of the laboratory infrastructure. D-do you think you can get there in time before they get on one?”

“Of course,” Sans says, already walking in the direction of New Home. “I know a short cut.”

Ending the call, Sans sharpens his focus. He lifts one foot out of the freezing snow and places it back down on hot, igneous rock, right outside the elevator of Hotland’s third level. The brief wave of lightheadedness from two consecutive far-reaching jumps passes after a minute and he moves forward towards the hotel.

There’s a massive line already forming almost to the hotel doors as monsters wait to get a ride to work on their daily commute. Sans scans the crowd. At first he doesn’t see the kid, and his soul skips a beat, fearful he’s already missed them, but on his second pass, his eye-sockets catch sight of one person in the throng shorter than the rest.

At first he didn’t recognize them; they’re missing their signature hat, but the way they stand so ridged as if desperate not to touch any one tips him off. The elevator dings and monsters begin to file out. He had to move fast.

“’Scuse me, pardon me, coming through,” Sans says as he elbows is way to the front of the line. Angry shouts and insults reply to him as he bullies his way forward until he reaches the kid. They’re just about to move forward when he lurches out and grabs their arm. “There you are,” he grunts, seizing them before they can board the elevator.

The kid fights back at once, thrashing their arm and straining against him, but the skeleton’s grip is like a steel trap. Twisting and struggling like a cornered animal, the kid raises their free arm as if to strike him, and freezes.

Their eyes meet.

Despite not having lungs, Sans still finds himself holding his breath, waiting for the human’s choice.

They could hurt him if they wanted.

They could kill him if they were angry enough.

He knows this, and, judging by the look on their face, they know this too, and knowing they can hurt him, terrifies them.

The kid looks at Sans in despair, and then at their raised fist with horror. Then, very slowly, they lower their free arm and grab the front of their shirt. They keep their head down and don’t meet his gaze.

“Kid what do you think you’re doing?”

“L-let go of me Sans,” they demand weakly, but there’s no threat in their voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Kiddo, I don’t think you could hurt me if you tried,” Sans sighs.

“But I could!” They wail. “And that’s the scary part! I-I could hurt you, any of you without trying! I have the potential and that’s what makes me so dangerous! Th-that’s why I have to go away- to insure I don’t accidentally hurt someone.”

“Kid, just because you have the potential, doesn’t mean you have the capacity.” Sans says. “You don’t have it in you to hurt a fly.”

The kid looks unconvinced.

“Listen, buddy… I’m sorry I lied to you and treated you like a threat. We all are. But truth of the matter is we’ve all really grown to like you, kid. Being human doesn’t matter to us. Do you really think you have to leave the Underground just ‘cause you aren’t a monster like the rest of us?”

“Leave?” The kid repeats drily. They start to laugh, but it’s a harsh sound with no humor in it. They look up and met his eyes, their face serious. “I’m not leaving, Sans. I’m gonna go to the king and willingly give him my soul, and then he'll use it to break the barrier. You’re all going to be free.”

Of all the possible things he expected the kid to say, that certainly wasn’t one of them. Taken off guard, Sans’ grip loosens just a bit. The kid notices, and with a lightning quick jerk, they snap their wrist out of his hand and weasel their way to the next open elevator.

“Kid, wait!” The skeleton shouts, but the oncoming wave of monsters pushes him back.

“Hey! No cutting!” “Get at the end of the line!” “Wait your turn!” the wage workers yell at him. The last glimpse Sans sees of the kid is them jumping on the elevator and pressing the ‘close door’ button, effectively stealing the elevator for themselves as they make a solo ride upward.

Crap. Damn it! No, don’t panic. It still wasn’t too late. He could still jump to New Home and-

He could… He could-

He remembered the look in their eyes, the dead seriousness of a mind made up that no words he could say would be enough to alter their decision. No amount of force would deter them on their quest of self-sacrifice.

No, it was evident now that he wouldn’t be able to stop them by himself. He needed back up.

He needed everyone.

With not a moment to lose, Sans pinches the fabric of reality and skips back to Snowdin.

_________________________________________________________

Back in the Ruins, Toriel slowly proceeds down the ancient tunnels with a watering can in hand on her daily morning cortege to the flower patch. Her thoughts are dark and solemn as they had been for the past seven days.

She blinks. Has it really only been a week? It feels like it’s been years. Absently, she wonders why she even keeps trying. So many times she had tried to save these children that had, quite literally, fallen into her life, and so many times she had failed. Distractedly, she ponders the idea of finding a way to block that hole in the ceiling, that one window to the outside world, to prevent any more innocent lives from falling here and ultimately meeting their demise. If she could assure that no more children would find their way to the Underground, then maybe she, too, could finally… move on.

The sound of a canine happily causing mischief draws her out of her daydreaming and Toriel looks up to find a small white dog digging up the center of the flower bed. The dog looks up with paper in its mouth, its façade of obliviousness not strong enough to detract from the incriminating soil stains on its legs and face. Fury ignites her instantly.

“You vile fiend!” She roars, dropping the watering can at once and unleashing an arc of fire in the dog’s direction. “Wretched cur! Have you no respect for the dead? GET! OUT!”

The dog’s eyes bug out as the fire blazes his way, and he flattens himself to the earth as the fireballs sail past. Unfortunately, he could not duck fast enough, and his tail ignites like a wick. Scream-howling in pain, the mutt drops his parcel and bolts away, leaving the scent of smoke and burned fur behind.

Toriel watches him go with narrowed eyes. She grunts in contempt. How could she ever think about leaving this mortal realm when there were grave-robbers afoot?

She turns to the destruction the dog had caused, wondering if any of the uprooted flowers could be salvaged. In the middle of the mess is the crumpled newspaper. As much as she wishes to incinerate the trash where it sits, she decides against it to spare the surrounding flowers of any more trauma. Instead, she pulls the half-buried piece of garbage out of the dirt.

She’s moments away from sending the paper up in smoke, when the picture on the front catches her eye and she does a double take hard enough to give herself whiplash. She gasps in disbelief, one paw covering her mouth, while the other trembles in shock.

It’s her child. Her child is the front of the newspaper.

A hundred feelings flood her at once; from incredulity to overwhelming anxiety at what this means. They’re alive. They’re alive and they’ve been alive all this time, and they’re still out there. The newspaper is only one day old. This is their handwriting on the front!

Abandoning the watering can and flowers, Toriel dashes back to her house and down the basement stairs. She only slows when she approaches the doors, where she firmly places her hands upon the ancient wood and repeats an incantation that breaks the magic seal, allowing the doors to open wide, and stay open once and for all.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Toriel rushes out of the Ruins into the chilly air, only to stop short in bewilderment.

“Oh…” She looks around. The forest of Snowdin has changed from how she last remembered it. New trees had grown, old ones had fallen. Buttes and bluffs had shifted from the erosion of feet and the passing of time. She proceeds forward with care, on the lookout for a single friendly face and the newspaper tucked close to her chest, but the forest is unusually empty and still.

“Pal! Paaal!” A nasally voice is screaming up ahead. “Please come out! We’re sorry we hid the truth from you! Please come back, friend! This is making the Great Papyrus very upset!”

In the distance, Toriel spies a skeleton monster shouting into the air. Swallowing hard, she cautiously approaches.

“E-excuse me, sir.” She says boldly. “I h-have lost my child several days ago. Have you by any chance seen them?”

The skeleton looks at her with deep serious. “Oh! What an unfortunate coincidence! I’ve lost a child too. Maybe we can help each other. Can you describe yours?”

“There name is Chara and they look like this,” Toriel says, pointing to the picture in the paper.

“HEY! THAT THE EXACT KID I’M LOOKING FOR!”

“Papyrus! Papyrus, we found them!” A new voice shouts in the distance. Toriel turns to the noise to see another skeleton jogging their way. He's shorter than the first, and he comes trotting up.

“We… found... them…” he pants.

Toriel gives a small gasp. “Your voice!” she whispers. “I know you!”

The lights in the smaller skeleton’s eyes dilate. “Y-your voice…” He echoes as they realize who the other is.

There’s a moment of awkward staring that Toriel swiftly kills by holding up the newspaper to him. There would be time for questions and explanations later.

“Please…” her voice quivers. The paper trembles in her grip, but her hands are not shaking from the cold. “My child… what happened to them? Where are they? Please tell me if they are alright!”

Sans looks into her pleading eyes. “They figured out the truth,” he confesses with shame. “We tried our best to keep them from putting the pieces together, but we weren’t good enough. They’re on their way to the king now and we have to stop them quick or they’re going to try to do something really stupid.”

“Sans, you knew where they were and you didn’t stop them?!”

“They got away before I could jump them back here!” Sans argues. “And they’re not in the right state of mind to just listen to me; we need to get as many monsters as we can over there to convince them.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time, then!” Papyrus shouts, already turning back towards Snowdin. “Let’s make haste!”

And with that, the trio races back to town.

--

Back in Snowdin proper, Toriel skids to an astonished stop to see the entire town on the search. Dogs and rabbits and ice caps and snowdrakes were all scrambling about, searching in every crack and crevice, and calling into every stretch of woods, hoping for a reply.

“Are they… are all these monsters looking for my child?”

“Yes!” Papyrus declares. “I’ve rounded up everyone in town to help look for our missing child, and Sans mobilized the dogs! They’ve personally helped quite a few of us, now it’s our turn to do the same!”

“Really?” Toriel asks, mystified.

A purple rabbit monster perks up at Papyrus’ statement and hops over.

“You bet we are,” the rabbit says. “That child gave me a recipe that made my business more profitable in one day than I’ve been in an entire year. I’ve got to repay a kindness like that.”

“They liked my jokes,” a Snowdrake says. “And they brought my mom back!”

“They helped relieve me of my eternal torment," says a pink deer monster with ornaments hanging off his antlers. "Well, at least for one day."

“They saved me from falling off a bridge in Waterfall,” an armless lizard tells her. “Now it’s our turn to save them!”

Papyrus turns to the dispersed crowd. With a thumb and for finger in his jaw, he blows an ear-piercing whistle of unbelievable volume for someone with no lips.

“There’s been an update to the search! The child has been spotted in New Home! But they are in danger of hurting themselves and we need to get there immediately to stop them! Everyone, move out!”

Monsters with wings take to the air, those with fins run off towards the water, and everyone else charges towards Waterfall. Toriel can hardly believe it. Without even questioning it, everyone had taken off for New Home just to help her child.

A mob was coming.

__________________________________________________

You huddle in the corner of the elevator as it gently hums around you, ears popping more than once on the slow ascent. You sigh dejectedly. It’s a long way up.

The elevator comes to a rickety stop at the top with a pleasant chime. The doors part, letting a beam of dim light fall across your face. You stand up and march forward. The city is remarkably quiet and the air deafeningly still. Far overhead, florescent lights cast a pale glow across the roof tops, bathing the town in soft greys and muted silvers. The streets are surprisingly vacant for a capital.

You raise your head and search the skyline. As you predicted, a massive castle stands bigger and taller than any of the surrounding buildings. A sky bridge elevated above all the other establishments stretches straight through the city right up to the castle’s front door like a super highway. You scale the nearest flight of stairs to get on the bridge and make a beeline to the palace. It’s quite the walk to the castle. Much like the MTT resort, the building is huge, but also far away. You aren’t surprised. This place could be seen from Waterfall.

When you finally breach the last rise, you stop short in confusion. You blink a couple of time to make sure you aren’t seeing anything, but your vision isn’t lying to you. In front of the castle, you expected armed guards, imposing doors, maybe a mote with alligators, but the front of this castle is none of those things; it’s a house. A house that looks identical to one you’ve known for years.

“Mom…” You utter without thinking about it.

You drift forward like a sleep walker. The closer you get, the more surreal it feels; the house is a perfect clone of hers, aside from the fact that it seems to be built smack-dab in the middle of giant, protective walls that surround the main castle. The front door is open. Without thinking, you wander inside. There’s a noticeable shift in the air when you cross the threshold. It’s warmer, with a spicy scent of recent cooking, maybe breakfast. It draws you towards the kitchen, and you half expect to find your mother reading her favorite book by the fire place, as if this whole past week had been nothing but a bad dream.

Eyes wide like a star-struck dreamer, you float towards the den. Just as you round the doorway, you catch sight of a monster sitting at the table that shocks you back to your senses, and you duck back in terror.

This monster… he must be Asgore. There’s no doubt about it. He’s huge and he’s muscled and imposing, but worst of all, he looks just like her.

You brace yourself against the wall and try to remember how to breathe. You close your eyes and swallow. This is it.

After a week of traveling, it was finally time for you to meet the king.

______________________________________________________

Asgore’s morning had started like any other. He woke up, put on his favorite pink sweater, made tea and a breakfast of sausages and toast. Maybe later he’d give that pie recipe another go. He feels he’s getting close to getting right these days. Maybe he wasn’t using enough eggs? He’d take a crack at it this afternoon.

Haha. Eggs. Crack. She would have liked that one.

With a bittersweet sigh, the king of all monsters took his breakfast to the den and sat at his table, ready to review yesterday’s daily reports from his royal guards. Curiously, the Waterfall report from Undyne was missing. That wasn’t like her. Ah, well. Surely it was just a simple mistake. There was hardly any crime in the Waterfall with her as its guard, but maybe today after he watered his flowers and made a pie he would visit Waterfall and say ‘hi’ to its residents. It had been a while since he took a walk through the other regions of the Underground.

The house is silent as the king of all monsters sips his tea and flips through the reports, so when a noise out of the ordinary is made, he notices it at once.

“Hm?” Asgore hums, looking up. He could have sworn he had heard a small gasp coming from the hallway. “Is someone there?”

From the corner of his eye, Asgore spots a little face shrink behind the wall. He had to stop himself from chuckling. Years of visits to the local schools had taught him he was quite the intimidating presence around children, and that the best way to respond to a frightened child was patience and kindness.

He puts down his tea cup and papers and takes off his reading glasses. It was unusual for him to have a visitor so early in the morning and from someone so young, but as king of the Underground he had made it a point that he would be there for his people at all hours of the day. It was never too early to listen when someone needed to talk.

“You are… King Asgore, right?” The stranger asks.

“The one and only,” Asgore chuckles. “And you sound like a child. Would you like to come out? I can make you a cup of tea, if you’d like.”

“No thank you, sir,” The voice says forlornly.

“That is perfectly alright,” Asgore assures them. “And, pardon me asking, but you sound rather distressed. Is there anything you need to discuss with me or get off your chest? I am always ready to listen to my citizens if you need to chat.”

“Y… yes there is.” The young voice says from behind the wall.

“Would you like to come have a seat by me to discuss it?” Asgore asks. “I can get the fire going.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather stay where I am.” The voice sighs.

“Very well. I am still all ears. What troubles you, child?”

Behind the wall, the mysterious speaker inhales, exhales, and begins their tale.

“For the past seven years, sir, I’ve lived in the Ruins. My life was okay, but it was… so restricting there. I wanted nothing more in the world than to see the rest of the Underground, and meet other monsters, but my m- but my guardian wouldn’t let me.”

Asgore listens to their story with curious interest, already questions are forming in his mind. The Ruins? But no one’s come through those doors in years. Did monsters still live in there? The child continues speaking, and Asgore refocuses his attention on them.

“Then… a week ago, I snuck out of my home to go exploring without telling my guardian. I meant to go right back without her even noticing, but the doors closed behind me and I was shut out. Only a Boss Monster could break the spell from the outside, and I… well, I’m not a Boss Monster.

“My guardian never came back for me and I thought that was it- I thought I was banished from my home forever, until I learned maybe someone else could open the doors; You.

“So I traveled all the way across the Underground, through Snowdin, Waterfall and Hotland just to ask you for one favor. It took days, and I met so many monsters and saw so many new things and tried tons of new food and made some really nice friends, and got into more than one fight… all just to ask you if you could help me get home.”

Impressed with their recounting, Asgore moves as if to get up, only to realize the story is not over.

“But…. recently I learned something terrible. Something unforgiveable about myself. I know now I can’t go back home, or to the Ruins, or anywhere at all… because I learned I don’t belong here.”

Their voice catches, making Asgore’s soul pang with sympathy.

“Come now, child. Surely you are mistaken,” he tries to console them, but he admits it’s not easy to do from afar. “What could you have possibly learned that deserves such self-loathing? You are just a child, are you not?”

“I am, but…” their voice quivers, and a hesitant hand pokes out from around the corner, followed by the rest of them. They meet his gaze in shameb and his breath catches in his throat.

“I am also human.”

________________________________________________________

Despite the urgency, a crowd of people could only move so fast through the narrower tunnels of the Underground.

“This is going to take us too long if we go this way,” Sans says. He turns to his brother and pun pal. “Hey, both of you get close to me. I’m gonna take a short cut to get us there faster.”

“A short cut?” Toriel asks. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t over exert yourself, brother,” Papyrus warns. “You know how much harder it is for you to travel with a group.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sans says, grabbing their hands. “If it’ll help us get to the kid faster, it’s a risk worth taking.”

Brother in one hand, Boss Monster in the other, Sans concentrates on his destination and reaches out. Immediately the extra mass of his traveling companions is noticeable; the weight feels like an anchor attached to his spine, and he can physically feel his magic reserves get cut in half. New Home was too far- he’d over estimated his ability. He wasn’t going to make it. He had to jump to somewhere closer.

With a grunt of exertion, sans envisions a spot in Waterfall, and steps back into reality, swaying on his feet, breathless and spent.

Papyrus and Toriel blink a few times as they shake off the vertigo.

“What- Sans! This isn’t New Home! This is Waterfall!” Papyrus says looking around.

“S… sorry,” Sans breathes, struggling to stay upright. “I… underestimated how much magic it would take me to jump all three of us there… couldn’t make it… had to detour.”

“Please, Sans,” Toriel begs him, grabbing his hands in hers. “Do you think you can try again?”

“Yeah… no problem… just… lemme… catch my breath first.”

“Oh! Maybe this detour isn’t bad luck after all!” Papyrus says. “Look! We’re in Undyne’s neighborhood! And there’s Undyne!”

Sans looks up just enough to see the captain of the royal guard issuing orders to a massive group of monsters.

“A Team! I want you guys to start searching the wishing room! B Team! I need you to re-search the glowing water cavern! C Team and D Team! I want you doing a line sweep over every trash heap in the junk yard, and E team! You’re to search the forest to the Hotland border! If you find any scrap of them, report back to me immediately!”

“I… I do not believe what I am seeing,” says Toriel mystified as the monsters scramble about, eagerly rushing off to start their search. “Are all these monsters really concerned about my child? They all want to help?”

“Of course we want to help!” A muscular seahorse says, turning back and winking at the former queen. Beside him an anglerfish monster trills a sweet, confident tune. “The little champ helped me hook up with Shyren and even brought our family closer together when they brought Lemon Bread back!”

“They told good clean jokes,” a Woshua nods.

“They R a tem!” A small white Temmie says, vibrating intensely. “And tems always help other tems!”

Toriel can only listen in astonishment. Her child had really done all that?

Hearing the commotion, Undyne turns to the brothers and her serious expression turns into worried hope.

“Did you find them?”

“Yes and no!” Papyrus says. “They’re headed to the capital to face Asgore!”

“What!? But the king’s gonna try and kill them!”

“They know. That’s why they went.” Sans says darkly. “They want to sacrifice themselves so monsters can go free.”

“WHAT!?” Undyne rages. “You know where they are and didn’t go straight to them?! Why not!?!”

“We need backup. As much as we can get,” Sans explains. “They’re not going to listen to just any one of us alone.”

“Well then you came to the right guard!” Undyne turns back to the crowds awaiting her instructions.

“EVERYBODY! There’s been a change in the plans! The kid’s been located in New Home, but they still need our help! All teams report to the castle at once!” Instantly, all the monsters stop what they’re doing and about-face towards Hotland. Simultaneously they all rollout, practically a stampede charging towards New Home.

The captain of the royal guard watches in satisfaction as they all make a mad dash towards the new objective. She can’t help but notice the Boss Monster accompanying Sans and Papyrus, and looks the new comer up and down.

“Who’s this? Another recruit for the search?” She asks impatiently.

“This is the kid’s mother,” says Sans.

Undyne does a double take. Mother?! Two days ago Undyne would have had some choice words to say to this person. But now, standing before the imposing, eight foot tall woman made her nerve waiver. Wow, so the kid hadn’t been lying about living with a Boss Monster after all.

“Well, well! There’s a sight for sore eyes!” a creaky old voice asks from behind. “Toriel! Where have you been all these years?”

“Gerson?” Toriel blinks as the speaker approaches. “Is that really you?”

“As real as you are the queen, your majesty!” The old turtle laughs.

Your majesty?!?! The kid’s mother was a Boss Monster AND royalty!?!? Undyne was starting to feel very relieved she wasn’t able to kill them when she first had the chance.

“Please, no need for titles,” Toriel says. “I am queen no longer. But please tell me because I cannot believe my eyes. You are all looking for my child?”

“Eh, what can we say?” Gerson chuckles. “The tyke’s grown on us. There’s just something about them that makes ‘em easy to get along with, and after spending some time to get to know them, none of us want to see them get hurt.”

“I… I do not know how I could ever thank so many of you.”

“Eh, worry about that later,” Gerson waves his hand nonchalantly. “First find the child and make sure they’re safe. Then we can talk about rewards for heroic action. Waha!”

“Are you ready to try another jump, Sans?” Papyrus asks.

“Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be. Get close.”

“I’m coming with you punks!” Undyne announces, practically jumping on Sans’s shoulders.

“Oh-kay,” Sans grunts under her weight. “One more person. No big deal. Here we go!”

And in the blink of an eye, the group of four was gone as the last of the Waterfall monsters charged by, storming towards the capital.

An army was coming.

_________________________________________________________

The king of all monsters doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe or even blink. He just stares at you and you don’t know what to think, because you know he sees you for what you are, and the way he stares at you hurts. The next thing you know he’s rising from his seat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he closes in, his expression unreadable, until he’s towering over you.

You close your eyes, unable to watch. This is it. This is the end.

“Oh…” he breathes, placing his large hands on your shoulders with such care that you’re surprised you aren’t instantly smashed. “Child… I am… so sorry.”

Slowly he pulls you in, and you don’t struggle as you wait for the final blow. He’s going to smother you, crush you. But… it never comes. The squeeze is gentle, comforting even, and you blink in confusion. He’s… he’s hugging you- the king of all monsters and declarer of revenge against all of humanity- hugging you like a baby and telling you everything was going to be all right. You can’t… you can’t take it. Overwhelmed with grief and guilt, you break down in his arms.

Little did you know, but Asgore had a policy when it came to hugs; never let go first. He holds you there until you’ve cried yourself out and gently begin to push away.

You dry your eyes with the back of your sleeve and refuse to look up. You’ve gone completely silent except for the odd hiccup that seizes your chest every few breaths.

“I am afraid…. You know what must happen next, do you not?”

You nod, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Okay… I will be right back.” The king shuffles down the hall and disappears into the last room. Minutes later he returns, now fully dressed in golden armor and a flowing velvet robe. His expression is grim as he heads towards the stairs.

“Come,” he beckons, and proceeds to the lower level. Obediently, you follow without a word.

The house, it turns out, is not attached to the castle itself, but is instead a precursor. Behind the palace walls are, in fact, more buildings and establishments. For serfs and maids and guards and noblemen, you guess, though every structure currently seems vacant. Silently, you tail the king of monsters through desolate roads and quiet, perfectly manicured courtyards, down cobbled streets worn smooth with time, past impeccably carved granite statues and marble fountains that quietly babbled to themselves. Neither of you speak as he leads you through the winding maze of dwellings, pausing every so often to admire some sculpture or green space. Was he deliberately taking his time, touring through his city? Was he choosing to take the longer paths to chew up the minutes and make you sweat? Or was he just as nervous as you were and trying to avoid your final destination? He doesn’t look back at you as he meanders through the passageways. You can’t see his face or even begin to guess his thoughts.

Eventually he guides you into another lavish spire of the castle, wider and taller than the rest, and takes a turn into a grand hallway lined with elegant paintings of history on one side, and giant stained glass windows on the other. Florescent light filters through the golden-colored glass, casting long amber shafts across the halls, as if mimicking sunset despite it being midmorning.

You blink. Had… had you ever seen a true sunset? Felt the warmth of the sun unobstructed like you have down here? You… you think you have, but you cannot genuinely recall…

Oh well. Not like it mattered much now anymore.

Is it just your imagination or does the light dim ever so slightly the further down the hall you march? As if it senses the pensive air between you and the king and shies away, unwilling to witness what it knows will come next.

“How tense…” Asgore says over his shoulder at you, as if also detecting the shift in the melancholy atmosphere. You startle a bit. These were the first words he has said since you went down the stairs. “Just think of it like… a visit to the dentist.”

You nod absently, a strange sort of calmness washing over you. You pause for a brief moment when you enter the throne room; taken aback by the sheer volume of radiant golden flowers blooming all over the floor. Distantly, you hear the sound of bird song echoing through the fissures in the roof. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful- like a secret magical garden described in fairytales, and it painfully reminds you of the only home you had known- the one you had abandoned.

Asgore stops when he notices you hesitating.

“If… if you have any unfinished business before we continue, please feel free to attend to it. Even something as small as taking a walk, or finishing a book is important enough. Take all the time you need. I understand if you are not ready. I am not ready either.”

You shake your head automatically, not even giving yourself a chance to think of an excuse. Your mind has already been made up. No more running away now.

“I’m… not going to fight you,” you speak up for the first time the king of monsters held you in his arms. Your voice breaks with the effort. “I know… you need my soul to break the barrier so monsters can go free. I want them to go free too, and I don’t care about getting to the surface myself, so please… just… Just take it so I will have done something good for all of you. It’s the least I can do after all monsters have done for me.”

You don’t know what you expected the king’s reaction to be. Surprise, maybe. Vindicated agreement, perhaps. You would have even wanted him to cheer with joy at your sacrifice. But instead a look of utter grief shadows his features, and you don’t know what to think of it.

“You… remind me so much of my child…” he whispers, and cracks a pained smile. “We raise our children to believe they are invincible, do we not? We tell them they can do anything they set their hearts to- to accomplish impossible dreams, achieve unreachable goals all in the name of self-confidence. I, myself, will be the first to admit that I am guilty of this practice, having done it to my own.”

His voice starts to quiver, and ever so slightly his body begins to tremble. He takes a rickety breath, calming himself before going on, trying to delay the end as well.

“I always thought that the day after my children died and my wife left me would be the worst of my life. But then, months, years down the line, it came back with each new human that fell, and I had to relive the pain all over again. Then one day I met a f- I met someone who reminded me so much of my son, someone who suggested that my children’s deaths may not have been accidental.

“Outwardly, I became enraged, just as bad when I demanded that all the souls of any future human who came here shall be harvested for our cause. But inwardly? Inside I believe I was more ashamed than ever before in light of this revelation. To think I put all the hopes and dreams and expectations and the future of an entire race on the shoulders of a single child to the point where they believed the only way to help us was to forfeit their own life.”

His pitch jumps up a few notches as he chokes out the last word. He closes his eyes and sadly shakes his head.

“I did not want to believe it. I refused to believe the insinuation was true, but time has done nothing but make my anger cold and my doubts fester. Because if… if it is true, then that means I am responsible for driving my own child to suicide.”

Asgore’s mouth pulls into a line and his eyes screw shut. He tries to turn away from you but isn’t fast enough to hide the first tears that stream down his muzzle.

Hollowly, you approach and try to take his hand in yours, but the king of all monsters is so massive in size compared to you, that you can only grip one of this fingers.

“I-if it makes you feel any better,” you stutter, “I didn’t even know I was human until a few hours ago, and nobody pressured me into this. I’m ready to give up my soul because I want to, not because I feel forced.”

The king stares at you for a long while, and you stare back, unblinking. You can practically see his whole history in his eyes, the war, the loss of his children, the vow he made to his people, each encounter with the other fallen humans and the position he’s currently stuck in all playing in his mind as he deliberates what to do next.

“You will… be remembered as a hero. I promise it.” He tells you, though he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself not to despair more than you. “Generations of monsters will be taught of your selfless sacrifice. Do you… have any last requests before we finish this?”

You close your eyes and turn your face up to one of the patches of sunlight, savoring the last time you’ll feel it’s warmth, and think of all the friends you’ve made this past week. Papyrus, Sans, Undyne, Alphys. You take a moment to burn the memory of everyone’s faces into your heart. Mettaton, Kid, Napstablook, Muffet. Every monster you encountered, right down to every spider and snail you’ve ever met, imprinted on your soul where they will never be forgotten.

You think of Toriel, and your throat goes tight and nose gets hot.

You have no doubt, that if you had asked, Asgore would have given you pen and paper and all the time you needed to write each and every one of them a farewell and apology if you felt inclined, but you had left on bad terms. You were done with everyone stalling you. It was time to finish this once and for all.

“No.” You rasp hoarsely, shaking your head with conviction. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

“Very well,” Asgore nods, a grim sort of understanding in his tone, of not wanting to hurt anyone more he’d had already. “Please follow me. It’s time.”

_________________________________________________________

Sans concentrates with all his will power and reaches out as far as he could go. New Home was closer, but still too far away for his power and with so many people in his group. He wouldn’t make it. He’d have to take another detour.

His feet leave Waterfall and touch down in Hotland, just outside of the MTT Hotel right behind a massive crowd of monsters at the doors impeding any and all movement forward.

“Oh no, don’t tell me the elevators to New Home are down!” Undyne groans. In front of her, a gator and cat monster turn around.

“You’d better believe it, sister,” Bratty says. “Like, Mettaton sent out an alert saying his little cohost was in super danger in the king’s castle, and if anyone had the means, to get to New Home ASAP.”

“Yeah!” Says Catty. “Everyone in Hotland loves them! So many people have been trying to cram into the elevators that a couple have stalled out!”

"Indeed! They helped us solve an impossible puzzle!" A Final Froggit croaks.

"They got me out of a tight situation," a Pyrope jests.

"They gave me a tip, and showed me I still have a life worth living," an orange feline overdramatically sniffs. "But I am more than ready to lay down that life if it means it will help them in their time of need! I'll do it even if it means I'll die! Even if it means I'm gonna be late for my shift!"

Toriel scans the masses, unable to comprehend how many monsters are trying to help. Astigmatisms, Whimsalots, slimes, and even more guards. All these people… all of these monsters trying to help a single child.

Beside her, Sans collapses to his hands and knees.

“I don’t think… I can go any further,” he heaves. “Sorry… guys… you’re gonna… have to go… on foot… from here.”

“But Sans, you said so yourself! We need everyone there!”

“I’m only gonna… slow you down… at this rate. You’ll be faster… without me.”

“Sans?” A yellow dinosaur asks from the back of the crowd. “Is that you?”

“Hey Alphys,” Sans gasps. “Any… news from… New Home yet?”

“No, b-but we found these." She pulls a white hand-knit hat and pair of gloves out of her lab coat to show the group. Toriel gasps with renewed panic and takes the items from the scientist's claws, holding them close to her chest. "Mettaton and I have put out a public service announcement throughout the whole region to mobilize all the monsters. Every Vulcan, Pyrope, Madjyk and spider is on the move, b-but at this rate, I think we may be doing more harm than help…”

“What are we going to do?!” Papyrus wails. “We’ll never get to the front and even if we did, the elevators are down!”

“Wait! The CORE!” Undyne snaps her fingers. “There’s another elevator in there only for royal personnel, and I’M a royal guard! Come on!”

Without giving them much choice to refuse, Undyne grabs Sans and Alphys by their napes, lifts the two up like a pair of kittens, and vaults over the crowds, bashing her own entrance into the MTT hotel in the process. Fueled by adrenaline and desperation, she doesn’t stop to pull out her keycard, instead opting to kick the door to the CORE straight off its hinges along with a good chunk of the wall.

“Let’s go!” She screams to the queen and guard in training, and sprints towards the elevator.

Against her better judgement, Toriel takes a look back as she races to the lift. A thousand Hotland citizens behind her can’t help but notice that the door to the CORE is now all-access to the public, and frantically follow in pursuit. Every monster in Hotland- No, every monster in the entirety of the Underground was desperately trying to help a single child, a single human, and it was more than she could take in.

A nation was coming.

_________________________________________________________

There’s a hall that branches off at the back of the throne room that leads up and up and up. With each step you take, you feel a deep pulsing reverberate in your bones and echo in your skull. Despite your upward march, there’s a great pressure in the air all around you that makes your eyes water and ears throb.

Asgore stops short and you nearly run into him. Just behind him is a tunnel who’s end you cannot see, but bands of magical light trace down its walls in a double-time tremor. You can’t tell if it’s coincidence, if you are effecting it, or if it’s effecting you, but the pattern of the light is identical to that of the beating of your heart.

“This is the barrier,” Asgore says, turning to you. “The seal that keeps us all trapped down here. Seven human souls are needed to break the barrier forever. Six have been gathered thus far, and yours shall be the last. Are you ready?”

You swallow and nod.

Asgore summons a trident, and gracefully arcs it over his head, casting a spell that seals off the way you had come. It is impossible to turn back now. Both for you and for him.

With the butt of his trident, Asgore pounds the ground twice, and behind him seven jars are summoned from the earth. Six of them contain a single floating heart, each a shade of the rainbow. The seventh is empty and waiting expectantly.

“Human. It was nice to meet you,” he says softly, genuine sincerity in his voice.

You nod the same and watch as he pulls his trident back in preparation to strike, its points aimed at your center.

You stand fixed to the spot, not out of fear but out of acceptance. You hold your head high, close your eyes, and wait for the final blow. Asgore takes a breath and speaks to you one last time.

“Goodbye.”

_______________________________________________________

The elevator doors explode off the lift not a second after it dings, impaled with a dozen blue spears. Undyne leaps from the wreckage, the rest of the party spilling out close behind.

It had been a mad rush to get to the elevator first, and just cramming the five of them in there had been a challenge.

With the rest of the Underground hot on their heels, it had physically hurt Toriel to watch Undyne slam the “close door” button on them when all anyone was trying to do was help, but there was simply no time for politeness and manners to cram as many monsters in the lift like a game of jenga.

“They’ll just have to take the emergency stairs,” The royal guard had said. “We gotta get there fast.”

And the elevator apparently agreed, shooting straight up to New Home like a bullet train and depositing them barely a block away from the Royal Family castle.

The humble home-front is worryingly empty after a mad panic search through all the rooms.

“Dammit! They’re not here!” Undyne rages, punching a hole in the nearest wall.

“A-are we too late?” Alphys frets.

“Don’t jump to conclusions just yet, Alph,” Sans reminds her, heavily leaning on the nearest wall. “There’s still one last place to look.”

“Indeed! If they are not here, then that simply means they must be further in!” Papyrus exclaims. “Which can only mean-”

“They’re both at the barrier,” Toriel finishes, making for the stairs without a second’s pause.

Spurred on by a renewed sense of urgency, the former monarch bolts towards the throne room fast enough to even give Undyne a run for her money. Claws skidding on the polished tiles, she makes a sharp right into the golden hallway, the sound of her pulse deafening in her ears. Her mantra returned; ’Please don’t let me be too late. Please don’t let me be too late!’

More agile and better able to corner, Undyne overtakes Toriel at the last stretch, sending flowers flying as she tears through the garden, only to be violently stopped by an invisible wall blocking the tunnel to the barrier.

“OW! What the fuck??? What is this doing here?!?” The warrior screams, rubbing her smarting nose.

“A force field?” Alphys says, as Papyrus jogs up with her and Sans in tow. “Asgore must have done it to prevent the human from running away.”

“Or anyone else from interrupting,” Sans pants.

Toriel glares at the shimmering wall of magic with narrowed eyes. If Asgore thought a simple blocking spell would deter her now, then he had severely underestimated a mother’s fury.

“No,” the former queen growls, threateningly low like an oncoming thunderstorm and her eyes flashing with lightning. “I have had hope ripped away from me eight times too many.” She summons two fists full of fire, as bright and as hot as miniature stars. “I refuse to timidly stand by and let it be taken from me again! Not as long there is a chance I can get them back!”

The opening of the tunnel may be magicked, but the rest of the wall was still vulnerable. Toriel turns to the adjacent wall, unleashing the fiery spell on a spot right next to her old thrown. Understanding her intent, Undyne conjures a volley of spears and begins to loose them on a spot beside her, chipping away at the ancient brick. Summoning an arsenal of bones, Papyrus set Sans and Alphys down to join them, doing all he could to help tear down the wall.

Still too worn out from his time-saving game of dimensional hopscotch, Sans sways on his feet and is barely caught by Alphys in time before completely crashing to his knees. The two magically impaired monsters helplessly watch form the sidelines, silently willing them to break through in time, but all their efforts are barely even making a dent.

Clutching a spot on his skull right beside his left eye-socket, Sans’ thoughts races a mile a minute. He didn’t have enough magic left in him to make another jump, not for all five of them or even just one for himself… but maybe he had enough to pull off something else. He didn’t even have to think that hard to summon it.

Gradually, a shadow collects and solidifies over him and Alphys, and the doctor looks up only to gasp at the demonic-looking skull that has suddenly materialized above them.

“Hey guys?” Sans manages to cough loud enough to get the other three’s attention just in time for them to notice the bright ball of pure energy pooling in the blaster’s gaping jaws. “You might wanna step to the side.”

Undyne and Papyrus dive out of the way, taking Toriel down with them seconds before the skull fires, turning the once-intact wall into a finely ground pile of rubble.

Not a word is said, not a pun or a cheer, not that it would have been heard over the ringing in everyone’s ears. Instead, once Sans sees Toriel hopping through the newly created doorway, he cracks an exhausted smile… and rightfully decides to faint.

________________________________________________________

The explosion knocks you off your feet, sending you tumbling to the ground.

Confusion and panic seize your mind at once. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was supposed to hit you from the front, and you had hoped he’d do it quick so it wouldn’t hurt-

Despite not wanting to, your eyes fly open and find the king, and at the same time you wish you hadn’t. Thrown off balance by the earthquake as well, the trident that had been ready to tear out your soul takes a sharp nose dive south, stabbing the ground inches from your body as Asgore tries to keep himself on his feet.

You flinch back out of reflex, and look up at him, dumbfounded. He stares back, equally lost for words but probably more horrified with the knowing how close he had come to impaling you where you once stood.

Both your mouths hang open. No one knows what to say, but before either of you can find your tongues, there is another booming explosion, this time coupled with blinding light and searing heat that slices a barricade between you and him. You recoil from the fire on instinct, away from the heat, away from pain, and at last turn to the source- and the world freezes.

It’s her. Standing in the mouth of the tunnel and staring at you wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Toriel. Your mother.

A torrent of emotion swells up inside you, a dozen different jumbled, chaotic feelings rapidly firing through your mind faster than you can understand them, threatening to drown you.

Disbelief. Confusion.

She’s here. She came. But why? Why now? Why not when you had pounded on the Ruin doors? Why not when you had begged and pleaded in the letters for her forgiveness?

Hope. Despair.

Did she come to rescue you? But how did she know you were here? What if she wasn’t here to save here to save you? What if she was here to watch?

Denial. Anger.

You don’t want her to be here. You don’t want her to see you. Not now. Not like this, all beaten and battered and bruised. You were going to help all the monsters get free. You were going to do something good. Something good for her, for everyone.

Grief. Regret.

You don’t want her to watch you die.

You don’t want her to watch.

You don’t want her to.

You don’t.

You.

You-

You don’t-

You don’t want-

You don’t want to-

You don’t want to die.

You don’t want to die.

A strange high-pitched keening reaches your ears and you realize it’s the sound of your own voice, threatening to cry. And the next thing you know, you’re on your feet, running towards her, and she towards you, because you both simply can’t get to each other fast enough, desperate to close the gap. You collide with her just as your throat breaks along with the rest of you, and her arms engulf you as you wail into her shirt.

There’s so much you want to say, to tell her, but you can’t stop crying, tears of fear and utter relief streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to croak on the first breath you get. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Sorry for what, you wonder? For running away, for not listening to her, for being human, for existing, for everything. You wish you could tell her, but your voice is like a broken record now, only able to repeat those two words; “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, my child,” your mother soothes you. Her entire body trembles and you feel her tears tapping on your head and shoulders. “Please, do not apologize for anything,” her voice quakes. “You are here. You are alive and right now that is the only thing in the world that matters.”

“Tori? Is it really you?” Asgore hesitantly ventures from the side of the room. “Y-you’re here! Have you really come back after all this time?”

“Do not ‘Tori’ me, Dreemurr,” Toriel hisses, her mood instantly doing a one-eighty. “If I find that you have harmed one hair on this child’s head I’ll-!”

“NNAAAGHHH!!! NOBODY MOVE!” Undyne screams, rushing into the room spear first.

“ASGORE! HUMAN! If you would be so kind, please cease fighting at once!” Papyrus shouts not far behind, Undyne stops short as she takes in the scene, and Papyrus nearly crashes into her. “Oh look at that! It worked!” he beams.

“B-but I was gonna set you all free.” You moan, ignoring the others. “You wouldn’t have to be trapped Underground anymore.”

“My child, I would rather spend a lifetime underneath this mountain than live one day on the surface without you,” Toriel assures you. “I love you that much.”

“I wish you didn’t” You sniffle, hiding your face in her robes. “I wish you didn’t, ‘cause then I c-could go and you’d all be free.”

“What the ffffffffffffriggin’ fudge, kid!?!” Undyne complains, slapping a firm hand on your shoulder. “Can’t you see we like you much better here than a floating soul in a jar?” She turns sharply to her boss. “And Asgore? I know this goes against everything I stand for as the captain of the royal guard, and what I’m about to say could be considered treason, but I don’t think it’d be right for you to take this child’s soul, sir!”

“I second that notion!” Papyrus agrees. “Even though I would love nothing more than to be a member of the royal guard, if it means hurting someone I consider a friend, then I must politely decline!”

“I t-triple that!” Alphys chimes in, stumbling into the room with a barely-conscious Sans hanging off her shoulder. “S-sorry, Asgore, b-but it doesn’t feel right for me to do research on humans or souls anymore. I-if you want to f-fire me because of my choice, I-I’d understand.”

“Everyone, everyone, please, let’s not be hasty,” The king says in his most calming baritone voice. Asgore’s eyes drift over the line of monsters making a living wall between him and you in astonishment. He nods at you.

“Human, it is clear to me that you have made quite the impact on many of my subject’s lives, seemingly for the better.” He smiles at you, the relief of not having to fight is written all over his face. “And what sort of king would I be if I did not listen to the will of my people? They do not wish to see you harmed, and quite frankly, neither do I. There will be no fighting between us today, nor any day here out.”

“B-but if I stay here, you’ll never go free!” You complain.

“Friend! If us being free means you’d have to die for it I’m not sure how much I’d want that,” says Papyrus.

“But I’m human,” you insist, like this should be a deal breaker. “I’m inherently dangerous.”

“Bud, you are many things, but dangerous ain’t one of them.” Sans huffs from Alphys’ side. “For instance,” the skeleton goes on, forcing a tired wink. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“You’re also polite and kind!” Alphys adds.

“Not to mention caring and empathetic,” says Papyrus,

“Don’t forget honest and brave!” Undyne interjects.

“It’s like I told you, kid,” Sans says, lifting his head enough so he appears to smile. “It doesn’t matter to us what you are. It only matters who you are. And you are our friend, plain and simple. That’s more than enough reason we don’t want you to die for us.”

You don’t see your friends close in on you as you continue to weep into your mother’s arms, but you feel their presence as they surround you in a huge group hug. It’s a tight embrace of fur and scales and bones, but it’s undeniably warm and inescapably full of compassion.

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their acceptance. You don't deserve them as a whole. But you don't have it in you to fight back, so slowly you surrender and allow yourself to be loved, the tenseness in your body seeping away with each breath and you sigh. And at last when all your tears have either been cried or hugged out of you, you’re finally able to breathe normally again. It was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

But then- something curious happened. A shift in the air pressure? A sudden drop in temperature?

You knit brow, the hairs on your nape prickling with trepidation. You open your mouth to speak-

And then the vines erupt from the floor.

They rocket skywards like fireworks, barring you off from your friends. Faster than you or anyone can comprehend, they coil around you all like thorny snakes and begin to constrict, choking the air out of your lungs.

Slowly they begin to separate your little group. You try to scream as Toriel desperately tries to hang on to your arm, her claws leaving scratches down your wrists as you are forcibly torn apart.

Divided, restrained, the tendrils slither and weave around you and the shapes of your friends until you find yourself in a brambly cage with yours significantly further away from everyone else’s.

There are shouts of panic, confusion and outrage from the six around you, but their voices fall deaf on your ears when you spot a single yellow flower emerging from the ground in front of you, and the rest of the world seems to fall away from your line of sight.

“Howdy, Chara!” Flowey giggles and winks at you as innocent as ever. “So you finally made it all the way to the capital. Congratulations! Now get ready to die~!”

[sodumbsougly]

oh i almost forgot about this - written quite a long time ago but i'll never finish it properly so i will just. slap it here

“Hey. Old timer.” Dice only pauses for a moment to make sure he’s got Elder Kettle’s attention. “Y'know how… You were harpin’ on me about going over there to the doctor?” Kettle gives the taller man his full attention, pausing from his newspaper an laying it flat against the table. “Yes. And…?” “Uhhh,” Dice looks away, leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the rest of the home. “…I’ll probably go next time.” Kettle nods once. “You know that’s tomorrow, right?” “Yeah…” “Okay.” Kettle smiles gently, pleased. “I don’t mind taking you, you know. It’s not like the taxi ride puts me out any, my friend.” “Yeah,” Dice says again, not looking back at him. A few seconds pass, and he walks away without another word.

🎲🎲

Looking at the way his new ‘friend’ is curled up in the chair, Elder Kettle raises one eyebrow. Surely it’s not comfortable to curl up so tightly, like stuffed into the chair by an external source, arms wrapped around himself - Kettle tilts his head, realizing Dice has just stuffed his face into the chair. “Hm. Hey, are you going to use your bed, maybe?” Kettle says this, eyeing the folding bed that’s now taking up room in his livingroom. There’s no response, so after a second, he tries again. “Mr. Dice, my friend? It’s late. …Hmm.” A gentle shove on the shoulder, and Dice finally moves, untangling himself from his noodle arms. “Gosh,” Kettle says, the second he sees Dice’s face. “You must be tired. C'mon, aren’t you going to actually use your bed? Surely that’s… More… Are you alright?” Dice, turning himself around, doesn’t look at Kettle for more than a few moments, expression uncomfortable. “You alright?” Kettle says again. He doesn’t want to say much more after that - he’s said quite a lot to the other man very quickly, and even beyond his usual irritated nature, he doesn’t seem to be absorbing it. “Mm-hmm.” Dice answers him, finally, but Kettle’s eyebrows are already twisting in concern, stepping closer. “Are you sure?” Kettle asks at first, but instantly follows it up with his own answers. “You’re very pale.” And, one hand reaching out to Dice to pat his arm, “you’re breathing hard. Are you okay?” Dice just pulls himself away from the old man, getting to his feet and instantly having to pause from what Kettle can tell is a bit of lightheadedness. “Mr. Dice,” Kettle says, gently. “Why don’t you rest in my bed? It’s comfortable.” “’m alright,” the former bastard replies, putting one hand on his forehead. “I don’t think so,” Kettle urges gently. “I want you to sit down. Come in my room.”

🎲🎲🎲

Dice curls up, on top of all of Kettle’s fluffy blankets and covers instead of under them, the near instant way he sinks into the comfort of it very telling as to how miserable he is. Between that, and the way Dice’s body practically radiates heat, Kettle’s set himself on a mission. He continues speaking, gently. “I told you that you could make yourself sick… I guess we’re seeing that firsthand, huh? Well, it’s alright. Here, sit up for a moment.” Dice takes his medicine without protest, chugging the water he’s given with it, too. “There you are,” Kettle says, and he can tell that just talking, at least seems to give the other man some comfort. He can’t help but feel bad for him. It isn’t like he doesn’t know exactly what the fiend has done - and the damage he caused and could’ve caused to Kettle’s boys. But, all the same, Kettle has also seen this man first-hand, and in the moment, he’s sure Dice’s current state is the lowest he can go. And what else has Kettle done before, he thinks, preparing a little pot of cool water, but help people who are at their lowest? It’s especially important to Kettle to help the man, since it was important to Mugman. So, Kettle will do what he does best. “You’re alright,” he repeats, and with a little difficulty, he reaches upwards to lay a cool cloth on Dice, but the second he’s close, the other man’s eyes snap open again, ducking away. “Hey, relax,” Kettle says instantly, mildly confused. “You’re alright… I’m not going to hurt you.” Dice isn’t speaking, just looking at him, miserable, sweating. There isn’t any time for reflection on past faults, Kettle decides, trying again. Although it does feel weird to be soothing the man who - …The man who’s surely in a lot of pain, aching, groaning softly as he turns away, radiating heat like a fire. Hm. “You’re okay, my friend. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me lie this right here,” Kettle says, very gently, almost reminded of how he’d soothe a scared child. Dice shrinks away from him slightly, but otherwise doesn’t move, so Kettle hopes he’ll appreciate the cool cloth once he finally relaxes. And he does after a second, forcing his eyes shut again. “You’re okay. You’re safe right here,” the old man assures, and this time goes for a gentle pat on the arm. He won’t take no for an answer, giving Dice a second to relax after his initial flinch at the touch. “Shh. You’re okay. I’m right here for you. I’m sure you’re awfully miserable, so just relax, my friend.” In the darkness of Kettle’s room, the sound of Dice’s occasional whimpering and Kettle’s gentle reassurance being the only real noise, there’s no room for the past. In the moment, Kettle sees a man suffering, and there’s no way he’ll stand by and let suffering continue.

That’s what he tells himself at least, finally leaving the man’s side and getting as comfortable as he can in the chair to one side of the room. Sighing, Kettle’s eyes ache slightly with tiredness - there’s no clock in his room, but it’s taken so long to soothe the die into rest that Kettle is absolutely sure it’s past midnight.

He’s sure, too, it’s past three in the morning when he blinks awake from his slumber on the chair. Dice is sitting up, rather obviously trying not to outright groan and making a low noise with both hands on his face. That triggers Kettle back into action, and soon enough he’s back at the bedside. “Are you alright?” Dice says nothing for a moment, but nods against his hands. There’s still half-melted ice in the little pitcher Kettle brought in, so - “Here. Why don’t you have a drink, my friend?” Dice’s face is red, although in the barely lit room, only real light being what’s come through the cracked open door, Kettle can’t tell if that’s from rubbing his face to wake up or pure illness. He drinks groggily, and then sighs, holding the cup tightly.  “Thanks,” he mumbles, not looking directly at Kettle.

“Of course,” comes the surprisingly cheery reply. Then, he notices the damp cloth that’s fallen beside Dice, and scoops it up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Elder Ket'l,” the old man’s patient says first when he returns, voice slightly strained, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

They’re both extremely lucky Kettle can move fast enough to grab his trash can from the other side of the bed and hand it up to Dice, because he’s absolutely right, and remains leaning over the trash can for a minute after he’s done barfing, miserably whimpering. And Kettle can tell he’s a bit more lucid, since he hates every whimper that’s forced out of him, groaning afterward.

“You’re alright,” Kettle offers soothingly, but that just earns another frustrated grown. Lifting his head, Dice grips the side of the whicker can. “What do I… Do with this..?” “Bag that up for me, if you can. I’ll go put it in the can outside. It’s got several layers of bag inside, I’m sure,” he adds after realizing how bad Dice seems to feel about making someone else clean THAT up. Kettle’s much too experienced with uneasy-stomached toddlers to leave his trash cans anything but triple-bagged, he assures, although even once Kettle’s washed his hands and come back, Dice’s expression is slightly guilty. “Don’t you worry,” Kettle says, slightly muffled by a yawn at the end of his sentence. “Alright,” Dice replies, not looking satisfied. “You should head back to sleep. You need to rest up, you know.” “Yeah, I’m sure… Ugh…” “If you still feel a bit icky, that can’s right down there.” “No, no, I’m… D-Done now…” “Alright. Please do try to get some rest, though. Your body needs that to recover, and I’m sure it’s late.”

[latinegro]

Sketchy

I am a brilliant asshole and not in a good way. I’m always putting myself in a situation that sounds great at first, but as it happens, it’s not so great at all. 

I put the pencil on the paper and I begin to outline the basic layout of my model. Myra is laying on the couch in front of me. It’s old couch too, she’s probably the best thing that has happened on that couch in years.

She posed herself in a particular way so that the contours of her curves can be accentuated. I nervously erase the first mistake I make. It’s been a very long time since I’ve drawn a nude model. I’m acting like I’ve never sketched a naked woman before, it’s really not that hard. But, this is absolutely the first time I’ve drawn a woman that I’m acquainted with. It doesn’t help that I find her to be one of the sexiest women I know.

I can feel my heart racing because I know what I’m doing is wrong. I know that I shouldn’t be doing this but an opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. It does sound selfish but in a way, it really isn’t. First of all, the artist in me will not allow me to call this whole thing off. Secondly, I try to tell myself that she’s not a hot woman that I have been attracted to for a while but rather a future portrait for a client. I take a few deep breaths so I can maintain my concentration. Nervousness will only lead to a shaky hand and that’s not good for any sketch.

But, of course, I had to open my big mouth. I’m a writer at heart and by trade. I can describe what she looks like the best way I can use words and adjectives not with this damn pencil that I’m pretending was my hand going down those beautiful thick brown legs of hers. The thing is, I used to draw fairly regularly. I was one of those kids that would be so annoyingly good at drawing anything that I felt I didn’t need those pretentious art classes. I could freehand any comic book cover I see. I could draw anything or anyone if they were standing in front of me. My only weakness was I could never draw anything as I good as I wanted to from memory. My measurements were always wrong, at least that was what I was told.

At the end of the day it wasn’t big deal to me because no matter how good I was at drawing, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t love it like other people love it and that’s probably why I didn’t take it as seriously. I felt much more at ease using words to describe anything. I can perfectly describe how beautiful Myra is. She’s like a brown-skinned Athena from Themyscira that Wonder Woman would never talk about. Myra is the reason some would believe that God exists. When scientists talk about how we’re all made from stardust, they had Myra in mind.

I need to focus.

I have the basic shell of her body that fits perfectly on my old couch that should seat three people comfortably. Her black curly hair may be a problem for me. Myra chooses to wear it natural which makes her even more attractive but if I don’t shade it correctly this whole drawing would look like a caricature. But, alas, her big brown eyes look past me. She stares off into space truly hoping that I’m capturing this moment and indeed I am catching this very moment of her looking past me. I will consider that to be my fault. I may be good with writing words but actually speaking them to women is another thing entirely.

I met Myra first but I lacked the basic courage to kick it to her. We ended up being a little less than friends but more than just passing acquaintances. Of course, when Jules met her it was all downhill from there. I was always happy for them but mad at myself. Jules is a decent guy and when they first got together, all they did was fuck. Yes, I know that is normal because if it were me, I would hope that she would break me every damn day.

Another mistake. I may need a better eraser.

I get up and she asks, “Everything OK?”

“Sure, I just have to get another eraser,” I answer. She shrugs her bare shoulders as I walk to the desk and open the drawer. Jules is the real artist in all this. He’s one half of the team behind the independent Black comic book, The Insiders. We met at the NY Comic Con years ago and Jules and I became fast friends. Through the years we created our own comic book universe that has a plethora of characters. The excitement for this project is palpable because we’re building something important. In our universe, there are no meaningless black characters created for the sole purpose of being sidekicks. Together we’ve molded superheroes that matter; superheroes that look like us. There is a true meaning behind every page and we’re ready to take the industry by storm.

Jules has tons of different art supplies in this desk that it’s hard to keep track of all of it. But, at least I know where the erasers are. He stores most of his art supplies in my apartment since it has become our default workspace. It’s just easier this way since both of our day jobs make it hard to be the creators we are. We need a place to work and bounce our ideas off of each other. I pick one a small eraser and close the drawer. Before I walk away from the desk, my eyes focus on one of the sketches he was working on from issue #3. One thing about working with friends is, at times, it’s hard to come to a real agreement on the philosophy of a particular story. I really don’t think that the splash on page 11 is necessary but clearly, he’s working on it anyway.

I walk back to my chair and I smile at Myra before I sit down. I grab my pad and I keep going. My eyes scan slowly scan her from left to right. She’s laying on her right side with her right arm holding up her head and her left arm resting on her hip. Her breasts are a perfect size. They don’t sag at all and her tummy is a result of a lot of gym work. No visible stretch marks and no tattoos. This makes this sketch easier than what I originally anticipated.

I draw carefully. My pencil tries to mimic everything that my eyes absorb. I cannot believe that Julius’ wife is laying on this couch modeling for me. She wants this to be a present for him on their upcoming anniversary. Has it been two years already? It must be. That’s was around the time we decided to build this whole comic book company together. He’s the artist and I’m the writer. Now, look at me, doing a sketch that I may be getting more pleasure from than she is. Granted, this probably a bad idea, but how can I deny her this. I tried to convince her that perhaps it would be a better idea to dress up as a sexy gender bender of Grand Admiral Thrawn and I would make sure to get the colors right. She denied that, but I can, at least, convince myself that I tried to get her to wear the most clothes as possible.

I scan her navel trying to make sure that I can get the correct dimensions and diameter of the belly button ring. It looks like a small little pendant that sparkles from the light coming from the ceiling fan above. I scan further past her navel toward her vagina. Her legs are slightly crossed with her left leg slightly bent downward covering her right. It casts a shadow from the light.

My pencil breaks. Shit, was I pressing down that hard? She chuckles, “Having trouble?”

“Not at all,” I reply as I grab the extra pencil next to me. I want to try to be as emotionless as possible. Mentally I’m shaking my head. How did you get into this Zander? I will tell you how; I was cocky. I thought that I could talk enough shit in hopes to just flirt a little and now... my partner’s wife is my living room, nude.

Did I mention I was a brilliant asshole and not in a good way?

I remember staying over their townhouse in Brooklyn one night and while I have wondered what is that she does that allows her to own such a place, that was the night I got a glance of how skillful she was.

It was a late night of partying and they offered me a room to crash. I was so drunk that night that I just passed out as soon as I hit the bed. It must of been an hour or two later when I really had to use the bathroom. I got up and there was a long hallway that I had to navigate despite my lightheadedness. As I begin to walk down the general direction of what I thought was the bathroom, I hear noises. I slowly passed the room where it coming from and that is when I catch a glimpse of her reverse cowgirl riding Jules in a way that made me realize that twerking needs to a sport. I tried not to voyeur too long and thank God I had to piss, but all I remember was my heart beating so much that I felt it in my dick.

I need to continue on her legs and feet. I really do hate drawing feet. I can never get the right angle. I need to take my time and make sure the curvatures are correct. Shadowing will also be a problem. The lighting is pretty decent in here but I will need to at least need to define her curves with some type of shadow.

I can’t even imagine actually inking this. The good thing is that I can scan this into the computer and work on all the coloring there. I assume she wants it colored. Actually, I never asked. “Did you want this sketch in color?” I do my best to look at her eyes when I converse with her.

“Hm, You know, I think that would be a nice touch. Sure, if you can do it. But I will take one in black and white, just in case,” Myra chuckles a bit. I think she knows that coloring may be a tad difficult for me. Not only do I have to make sure that I color inside the lines, but how do I get her exact skin tone?

Then it hits me. I put the pencil down and I look at her. “So, I have an idea and it’s totally ok if you’re not willing to do it.”

“What would that be?”

I’m nervous to even suggest it. “You know what? Never mind. It’s a dumb idea. I don’t even know why I would even think of such a thing.”

“Just tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “Ok so, I want to get the shade of color just right and once I scan this in into the laptop I will need to..”

Myra laughs, “Zander, just spit it out.”

“I need to take a picture of you so that I can match your skin tone with the RGB color code.” I look down at my unfinished sketch as soon as I said it.

“You sly little devil!” Myra sits up and looks at me with a surprised look on her face as if she caught me red handed.

“What do you mean?” I ask

“Why the fuck you lyin?” She asks in a sing-songy manner. “You just want a nude picture of me!” I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, but she’s absolutely telling the truth. See how much of a brilliant bastard I am? This is how I get myself into trouble and once again I feel my heart coming through my dick.

“I mean, I would delete it as soon as I got the color correct.” Which is a lie.

“I don’t know about that. In all honesty, you can just take pictures of me with my clothes on and then screen-grab the color.” She was totally right about that. I hadn’t thought about it. Then she continues, “The reason why I am asking you to do this sketch is because I do trust you. That is why I never said anything to Jules when I saw you peeping into our room that night.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask nervously. I was never sure if she actually saw me and I assumed that since no one said anything that perhaps we were all just drunk. Of course, I cannot forget that after I went to the bathroom I returned to continue my voyeurism. Shit.  

Myra gives me a smirk, “Please, do not insult my intelligence. I know you’ve seen me naked before and I am quite comfortable with my body. So I will save you more embarrassment by saying that I do want this drawing to come out correctly. So I will allow you to take a picture but I want you to delete the picture in front of me.”

I pull out my iPhone from my pocket and ask her to return to her original pose. Myra is right about this but I don’t care right now. Even if I delete all the photos from my device and the cloud, I will still have her body burned into my brain. If not, there is always the original copy of this sketch… for portfolio purposes of course. I take a few pictures with and without the flash.

Myra smiles and asks, “How many photos do you plan on taking?” I want to explain lighting and such but then she cuts me off, “I hope you have enough space on the cloud for all of these.”

I freeze, “Um…”

“I am not stupid, Zander. I fully expect you to find a way to try to keep pictures of me. Just know that…”

Bang. Bang.

We both look up. There’s a knock on the door. I look at Myra as she gets up quickly and covers herself with a robe I gave her.

“Who is it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s Jules. Dude, let me in. We need to talk…about everything.”

Shit. I put my face in my palm. This could be four years and three issues down the drain.

[what-even-is-thiss]

4-7-8

This is a personal essay I wrote for my creative non fiction class. I dunno if any of you will find it interesting, but here it is in case you do. It’s a very rough draft of an essay about my relationship with breathing.

    I’m told that babies cry when they’re born to get their lungs to start. Whether or not they’re actually upset about being introduced to the fluorescent lighting of the hospital we may never know, but they start crying to get their lungs working, everyone tells me. Maybe they’re upset about having to breathe now. After all, oxygen has been fed to them by their parent for what? Eight or nine months now? The poor little level one human hasn’t had to do anything yet, but it knows what it has to do anyways. Scream and breathe.

    Somewhere along the path to becoming a fully realized human creature we lose most of our screaming privileges, but we all keep on breathing. If you have to choose between water and air, you always choose air because that buys you another three days to negotiate yourself some water. You can’t survive more than a few minutes without air, as annoying as that is when you seriously want to be lazy at the bottom of a swimming pool or bury yourself in blankets to escape responsibility for a few hours.

    Sometimes I forget to breathe. Just for a few seconds. I’m watching a movie or reading a book or solving some idiotic logic puzzle that most other humans would have solved by now and I become so invested that I just sort of don’t breathe for a bit. Usually this snaps me out of my trance because of the uncomfortable sensation in my lungs occasionally coupled with lightheadedness. I usually feel like a buffoon after that. Imaginary people in my head point at me and laugh. Look at that guy. They can’t even remember to breathe. No actual human has ever told me I’m stupid for forgetting to breathe sometimes. I just imagine that they do.

    Breathing has always been an issue, unfortunately. I have asthma, which means my body decides sometimes that it’s under attack and responds by attacking itself. Not quite like allergies. I’m told when an irritant enters my respiratory system my body decides to set off a red alert or something and then my lungs start tensing up. The tubes that the air usually goes through become much smaller and start filling up with mucus. Charming, really. It can also be painful. Physical education class was always my worst nightmare in high school. They made me run and I had to use my inhaler. I even ran when I was sick, which I’m pretty sure nearly killed me. I had a friend that also had asthma, but his asthma wasn’t triggered by running. Luis’ asthma was more under control than mine. Sometimes he would run an extra lap just to jog next to me and tell me I could do it. He reminded me to put my arms above my head when it got really bad and then sat next to me while I took my medication.

    I think of Luis briefly years later when I’m in a class about managing anxiety and we’re talking about breathing. The therapist leading the class has one of those voices that are suspiciously calm. The other three people in the class are between the ages of forty five and fifty six and seem to be buying every word she’s saying. One of them is a woman with a panic disorder, another is a woman with an extreme worrying problem, and the third is a man who just left his abusive ex wife and worries about her finding him. I’m nineteen and having panic attacks and detached general anxiety and social fears. I’m just listening to the unconvincingly calm therapist talking about breathing. The only thing I took away from that class was that if you’re too anxious you may start breathing with shorter breaths. If you don’t ever take deep breaths then your brain won’t work properly. She leads us through a breathing exercise that doesn’t involve any counting. My lungs fill up for the first time in weeks and it’s strangely disorienting. I wonder if this is at all similar to breathing for the first time. My cynicism tells me this is all pointless and weird. I’m more scared than I was when I arrived. I feel like screaming would feel pretty cathartic right now, but I’m told it’s not appropriate for adults to scream unless absolutely necessary, so I just keep pressure on my diaphragm and continue to pretend to blow out a candle with the four people that are all over twenty years older than me.

    As I have a panic attack for the second time in a month I start to realize where terrifying maniacal laughter might come from. This level of terror and disability is almost funny in a way. It is funny. Pain is funny. That’s where comedy comes from, I’m told. Counting calms me down sometimes, so I try a breathing technique that involves counting. Breathe in for four seconds, hold your breath for seven seconds, and then breathe out for eight seconds. Four seven eight. Four seven eight. It doesn’t work for me apparently. I fall back on my bed as my fingers and lips go numb. It feels like my chest is caught in one of those clamps I see my dad using when he works with wood. The ones that twist down and slowly become tighter as you screw and will leave a circular indent in the wood if you go overboard. Moving feels like the biggest task in the world. I want to cry to release whatever hormones are making me feel like this. Somehow stop getting attacked by my own fight or flight instinct on this scale. I keep on breathing. I can’t think about anything complicated so my mind drifts to lemonade flavored slurpees. I forget to breathe for a second and that’s my downfall. I was too focused on lemonade flavored slurpees. The imaginary people in my head start pointing and laughing again and I tell them to piss off. They do, because normally I don’t use such crude language and it shocked them away. That’s what I imagine, anyhow.

    On days when my mental state isn’t trying to kill me and my respiratory system actually works, sometimes I wear a chest binder. It just looks like a normal tank top, but it’s actually made to squish breasts out of sight, and consequently makes it harder to breathe. So every day when I wake up I have to choose between lungs full of air and a relatively flat chest paired with some mental comfort. On days when I choose the flat chest I cough more than usual. That charming thing called mucus makes it’s delightful entrance and builds up to restrict my breathing so I have to cough to remind the mucus that it is not welcome. It never takes the hint, of course, but I keep at it. After eight hours I struggle out of the thing and gasp with an incredibly ugly noise like I was just underwater for two minutes. The pressure on my body subsides and all of the relief that my lungs feel seems to be begging me to never do that again, for the love of God please no. I don’t listen and the next day or a few days later I’m back at it again, purposefully letting my breathing be restricted just so I’m a little less likely to be mistaken for a girl again.

    When I can’t breathe I usually cough a lot. I’m told my mother just went blue. Apparently the first time she had an asthma attack she didn’t cough at all. She just couldn’t breathe and my grandmother carried her into the hospital. I guess breathing problems run in the family then. One of the few clear memories I have of my mother is her breathing vapor out of a machine. It was a white box hooked up to some tubes that we had that you put some kind of medication in and breathed in the vapors. My mother had a blue mouthpiece that she put her mouth around and breathed out of. When I was hooked up to the breathing machine I wore a mask and didn’t use the mouth thing, because when you used the mask the vapor came out of some holes that looked a bit like nostrils and you could pretend to be a dragon. I still pretend to be a dragon with my breath. I didn’t need that breathing machine forever like my mama did, but on cold days when I can see my breath I’ll breathe hard and in my mind imagine it’s smoke.

When I was in middle school sometimes I would pretend the smoke was from a cigarette. I would pretend to smoke in the early mornings waiting for classes to start. My father used to actually smoke. He doesn’t have asthma so he could. He quit before I was born so now it’s like he never smoked at all. His mother died of lung cancer at eighty five. She started smoking when she was twelve, I think. One of his sisters has quit smoking too late and she has lung cancer too now. I know I would die if I smoked a cigarette. Sometimes I’m bold enough to joke about how if I ever wanted to die I’d just walk over to seven eleven and buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. My younger brother has asthma too, but his lungs aren’t bothered by tobacco. He hates the smell of it though. I love the smell of it but can’t stay around it for more than a few breaths or else my lungs will panic again. I remember when I used to hug my aunt that smoked or my paternal grandma. They smelled like tobacco. I love that smell, but it always steals my breath away, so I have to avoid it.

If you go more than a few seconds without breathing things get ugly, which annoys me because that means I can’t actually sleep face down. My pillow would kill me faster than the cigarettes would, which is a shame because I find lying face down on a pillow to be extremely comfortable for the thirty seconds I’m able to hold my breath without panic or discomfort. The comfort of lying facedown on that pillow is just another thing that makes me hyper aware of my own breathing. I lie facedown on it when I want to forget about the world for a second. Usually when I’m anxious but not having an attack. Then maybe I’ll try that famous breathing technique again. The one that never works for me but I use anyways. Four seven eight. Four seven eight. It’s a Tuesday night in January and I haven’t known a full set of lungs in about a week. The air is probably cold enough outside for me to play dragon if I want to, but I don’t go out because everyone is asleep and if I open the door they could wake up. I feel dizzy from so much air. It’s confusing but my brain does feel clearer. I suppress my primal urge to scream out in frustration and try burying my head in the pillow again. I need to dust my room and I forgot to take my preventative medication so my lungs start panicking. I take the rescue inhaler and then go back to the pillow in an attempt to block out the voices that tell me I’m so stupid I can’t even breathe correctly. I’m too tired to tell them to piss off right now.

I can’t remember the day I was born or if I didn’t want to breathe, but right now I wish I didn’t have to. I don’t want to die. I just wish these complications didn’t exist. I wish I could just continue existing as I do without this annoying fact of existence for us carbon based life forms called respiration. Or if I have to keep doing this thing, I’d at least like it to be socially acceptable to scream about it. Babies get to. They’re expected to. If they don’t scream about it there’s a problem. Their lungs aren’t working. Or perhaps we’re all wrong about this and the newborns are annoyed that they actually have to do things now. That seems like an understandable reason to scream if you ask me. Even breathing is frustrating.

[brerediddy]

more than survive - chapter 1

"Jeremy couldn’t believe that he kept getting himself into such bad situations. Sure, he was a superhero now, but mostly, he just felt like an idiot."

Michael doesn't know, but Jeremy Heere is Spider-Man. He isn't sure if he can balance vigilante justice, high school, and a crush on his best friend all at the same time. To make matters worse, his new enemy is a cocky know-it-all who glows, for god's sake. Sometimes, doing the right thing is a pain in the ass.

When Jeremy thought about death, he didn’t exactly imagine it like this. He had figured that he would live a mediocre life and peacefully go in his sleep or something. He wasn’t sure how he’d gone from that ideal to another one so suddenly, but he was Probably Dying at this very moment so it didn’t really matter. He looked around, ignoring the guilt settling in his stomach. He owed Michael an explanation for his death, he owed his father one. But if he truly didn’t make it through this, then they would never get that. Regardless, the people he had saved—they were okay. That’s what mattered. They were securely up on the dock, out of the line of fire, and Jeremy accepted that he was the only one left in it. The burning pain in his shoulderblades brought him back to reality as the boat split even wider, wires and shrapnel falling into the river below. He was in the middle of two giant halves of machinery, webs slung onto various pipes and supports of each. He hung between it all, sparks flying and bouncing off of the red and blue fabric of his suit. He was pretty sure that it was torn in various places judging from the cool air hitting his back, but that wasn’t his primary concern right now. He could worry about that when he got home. If he got home.

Jeremy considered his options. The civilians were safe and the boat was cleared except for himself and the man who had seemingly disappeared. He could let the vessel sink and web out of the situation, make it home in time for dinner. However, he knew that the man responsible for this mess was still in the area. He could sense him. And he couldn’t just let him get away, not when he was dangerous enough to split a boat in half and almost drown two-hundred people. His arms ached for reprieve, his muscles felt rather numb. He needed a solution.

At the click of a gun—too soft for Original Jeremy to hear, but loud enough to stall his too-quickly-beating heart now that he was Spider-Man—his head turned towards the sound. He saw his opponent out of the corner of his eye, standing on deteriorating tiles behind him, and even worse, he saw a pistol. The man smiled and cocked his head and in an instant, Jeremy made a decision. He threw one arm over his chest, releasing the left side of the boat and letting it sink. In the process of turning his body, he webbed a free-falling sheet of metal and swung it at the other man. The momentum of the action twisted his back painfully and he was vaguely aware of gunshots. None of them hit him except for one that lightly grazed his thigh, adding yet another tear to his suit. He gritted his teeth and released the metal, letting it freely hit the man. Jeremy watched as he fell into the river. Dead weight. He turned away as he heard the splash, quickly webbing to the scaffolding near the dock and leaving the rest of the boat to fade into the water. Ignoring the prying eyes of the civilians, Jeremy webbed out of the city.

As he arrived home, he climbed in through the window and collapsed onto his bed. “Man, that sucked,” he said in a hushed whisper to himself. Now that the adrenaline of the situation had decreased, he became aware of a hundred aches and pains. His back felt like it was stuck in about three places, his arms and shoulders were still on fire and lightly bleeding through the fabric due to scrapes and cuts from the falling metal. He could feel burn marks along his back, probably from the sparks, although the areas of his body in which the suit hadn’t torn seemed to be okay. He knew that his thigh would be the worst of it all and pushed himself up into a sitting position. The fact that he couldn’t feel the injury concerned him, but he figured that he must have stopped registering it in shock. He poked at the irritated skin, seeing where it was torn open and bloody, but felt nothing. All he could feel was lightheadedness and he realized that he should probably do something. He hobbled his way into the bathroom, pulling off his suit and mask in the process.

Jeremy reached for a black hand-towel and pushed it over the wound, unsure of what he should do. His powers would allow him to heal more quickly, but it wasn’t instant and that didn’t really help anything in the moment. He applied more pressure, trying to stop the bleeding. After what felt like hours, he finally pulled the towel away and could view the wound without too much blood. He bit his lip and reached for the medical tape that he knew was under the counter. He’d stocked up on first-aid supplies after his first bout of crime fighting and had been generally pretty thankful for his own forward thinking every time since then. He pulled out a thick pad of gauze, as well, and pushed it against his leg. He wrapped the tape around his thigh as many times as he needed to until the gauze was secure and let out a sigh. Now, he could relax. He looked himself over in the mirror, adjusting his eyes to his image. His face seemed relatively unmarked except for a small bruise just above his jawline, but it was nothing. He saw the newly-dried blood along the various marks on his biceps and forearm and grimaced, but he could hide that easily enough. Turning around, he could see the reddened burns trailing down his back along with a few more cuts and bruises.

What he needed was a shower. He’d shower and feel halfway human again. Fall asleep early and load up on Advil in the morning. Jeremy turned on the water and stepped in. The heat burned his injuries but he was careful to keep his thigh out of the stream and the dull ache of the water was actually pretty comforting. As he cleaned up, he couldn’t help but give himself a small, metaphorical, pat on the back. He’d saved two-hundred lives today. Not too shabby.

Jeremy stepped out of the shower, dried off, brushed his teeth, and threw on some boxers before collapsing into his bed yet again. It was much too early for him to go to sleep, but the exhaustion in his bones helped with that. As he dozed off, he could make out the buzz of his phone but chose to ignore it.

-

The next morning, as light shone in through his window, Jeremy groaned. If the pain he was in yesterday was bad, then this was hell. He could feel every ache in his bones, every sting of each cut, every burn from the marks on his back. His thigh was almost blindingly painful, but as he pulled off the gauze, it did look better than it had the previous evening. He moved into the bathroom to replace the bandage and got dressed for school, wincing with each motion. As he eyed the injuries to his arms, he decided to pull on his usual cardigan. He wanted nothing more than to skip school, but he knew that he’d already missed too much. After he was ready for the day, he sat on his bed and read through the texts he’d missed.

8:04 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

wanna hang out? i’m bored

8:10 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

so is that a no

8:16 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

it’s cool if not just say so

8:30 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

dude did u die or what

9:05 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

idk what ur up to but i guess i’ll talk to u later

9:13 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

see u tomorrow

11:44 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

do u want a ride to school? parents said i can have the car back

11:45 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

that was the longest grounding ever but hey i learned my lesson

11:46 PM     From: michael mell straight from hell

i’ll never leave weed in the glovebox again

12:01 AM     From: michael mell straight from hell

i’ll swing by ur house in the morning

12:03 AM     From: michael mell straight from hell

night jeremy

Jeremy suddenly felt like a dick. He quickly responded and assured Michael that he did in fact want a ride, pulling his backpack from the floor and wincing when the weight rested on his shoulders. He took a few Advil and threw the pill bottle into his bag for good measure. Walking down the stairs was no easy feat with his leg, but he made it. Jeremy saw Michael pulling into the driveway and adjusted his movements so that he wasn’t limping. He went towards the car, avoiding eye contact, and slid into the passenger’s seat. He could feel the other boy’s eyes on him.

“So, were you blowing me off last night?” Michael asked, breaking the tense silence.

“No,” he rushed to respond. “No, of course not. I fell asleep early. Sorry.”

Michael nodded and seemed to soften at that, backing out of the driveway and onto the road. As he drove, he glanced over again. “Hey, what happened to your face?” His tone this time wasn’t accusatory, only concerned.

“What?” Jeremy asked before he remembered the solemn injury. “Oh, the bruise? Yeah, you know how clumsy I am.”

Michael gave a short laugh. “Yeah, you are...so, what happened?” He asked again. He was too persistent.

“Oh, y’know, I tripped. Fell into the side of my door,” Jeremy lied. He hated lying to Michael, really, but it couldn’t be avoided. Michael couldn’t know. Not only would it give anyone out to get him a direct link to his loved ones, but it would also bring a lot of extra worry into the other boy’s life. Michael would hate it every time he left for another fight. He would insist on coming along and Jeremy was Not Good at saying no to him. He couldn’t put him in danger like that. No way. He would probably tell him eventually, but for now, it was for the best that he didn’t know. Part of him, the more selfish part of him, longed to tell. He wanted Michael to think he was cool. He wanted Michael to help him when he came home too sore to move. He wanted Michael to realize that Jeremy was worthy, in some way. He wanted to believe he was.

“Earth to Jeremy,” Michael said again. He pulled into the school parking lot. “Pay attention to me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “Just tired. What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” he pulled into his usual parking spot. “Did you see the news? About Spider-Man?” Jeremy tried not to tense and shrugged nonchalantly. “What about him?” “He saved, like, five-hundred people! On a boat!”

“I think it was actually only two-hundred,” he mumbled.

“I don’t know what your issue is with Spider-Man. He’s cool,” Michael said. He reached for his bag in the backseat and accidentally bumped Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy breathed in sharply but covered it with a cough.

Jeremy responded, “I don’t have an issue with him. I just don’t see what the big deal is. He’s some guy in a skin-tight suit.”

“A cool guy,” the other boy spoke as he got out of the car.

Jeremy followed closely behind him, thankful that the painkillers were kicking in. “So, uh, why did he have to save the boat in the first place?” Jeremy knew the answer of course, but there was a bigger issue here.

“I don’t know for sure. They said something about a mobster with super-strength. Doesn’t really matter, though, because Spider-Man completelyannihilated the guy!”

“So he died, then?” He knew this answer, too. A small part of him held some hope, though, that the man wasn’t dead. Maybe he had been apprehended and thrown in prison, but not dead.

“Oh, yeah,” Michael affirmed casually. “But hey, one less dickhead in the world, right?”

“Ha...right,” he responded, unable to lift his gaze from his feet. Michael pushed through the front doors unceremoniously and walked into the junior corridor, saying something about how much of a hero Spider-Man was. Jeremy rubbed at the inside of his wrist nervously as he made his way to his locker. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to hear more about Spider-Man. Sure, he had done a pretty good job yesterday. But he had killed a man. Whether that man deserved to die didn’t matter—he’d killed him. That didn’t seem very heroic to him. As they parted, he didn’t notice Michael’s lips moving once more. “Sorry, what?”

“I said I’ll see you at lunch,” the taller boy repeated, looking up at Jeremy and searching his face. “Jeez, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured. “See you at lunch.”

-

By the time lunchtime rolled around, Jeremy wished he had died on that boat. Okay, not really, but the day was already horrible and he was only halfway through it. He was exhausted and in pain and everyone knew someone who witnessed the action, so he was sick of hearing ten different versions of what he knew to be true. Jeremy arrived at his usual lunch table and sat down, immediately resting his head against his arms on the surface. He closed his eyes and waited for Michael to arrive, but frankly just wanted to be alone. He rested for a moment or two, listening to the dull murmur of other voices in the lunchroom.

“Jeremy, hey,” Michael said as he sat down.

The shorter boy raised his head and met the brown eyes that were watching him. “Hey,” he responded, fully moving to sit up. “How was class?”

“It was okay,” he shrugged. He pulled a sandwich from his lunchbox and picked up half of it. “Where’s your lunch?”

“Shit,” Jeremy said, realizing that he’d completely forgotten about it. He could always buy a school lunch...but the thought of that sent shivers up his spine. He rubbed at his eyes. “Well, I’m not that hungry anyways.”

Michael frowned and immediately held out the other half of his sandwich in offering.

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Jeremy. Take it,” Michael spoke. “I have other stuff in here, anyway.”

Hesitantly, he reached for the sandwich and accepted it. “Thanks.”

Michael waved a hand like it was unimportant. “Glad to help.”

The two boys ate in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Jeremy brought up a new game that was coming out soon, and the other immediately launched into his own passionate opinion. Jeremy gave a soft smile. This was normal. This was all he wanted. Forget Spider-Man and saving lives and ending them. This was what was important. Everything else, well, it didn’t matter. Not for right now. Not while Michael was talking.

[realtransfacts]

hi, do you have a post about binding safely? I want to show my mom so she can see that it's not unsafe if you do it right. thanks!

I did try my best to make a comprehensive but not too long Binding 101 post here - and one that can hopefully be read and understood by people who don’t bind & have no desire to bind themselves, at that!

Of course this post won’t include everything, but it should hopefully cover most of the basics. It may not be exactly what you were looking for though, because even when done safely, binding is not ever completely danger-free.

Why do people bind their chest?

There’s more than one reason to bind, of course, but the most common one among trans people is physical gender dysphoria.

The feeling of disconnect or dislike towards a part of your body can be hard to explain in word sometimes, especially since many people experience it in very different ways. But it is a feeling that is draining, that is painful, and that can do tremendous harm to a person’s mental well-being.

So, binding one’s chest in order to hide these parts of our bodies, both from ourselves and from others, can be a hugely relieving and freeing thing. And something that makes life so much more bearable and enjoyable.

How do people bind their chest?

There are many different ways to bind your chest, some more dangerous than others.

Ace bandages (and any other brand of similar bandages) and tape are a no-go if you want to keep yourself safe while binding. They are capable of messing you up pretty seriously even if you only bind with them for a very short time.

Some safer DIY options could be [sewing your own binder from scratch], [making one out of a camisole], [making one out of a pair of tights] or making one of out shapewear underwear [link 1] + [link 2].

However, the best option is to get a binder that is professionally made. [gc2b] is a company that makes binders specifically for trans people and it is where I have got my binders from, but [Underworks] is another popular place that a lot of people buy from. And of course there are many more aside from those two.

Wearing one (1) high compression sports bra in your right size can also be one way to bind you chest. Although keep in mind that they are not designed to be work for longer periods of time and that the lower band of it will put a lot of focused preassure on your ribs (while a binder will distibute it more evenly). Wearing multiple sports bras on top of each other, or wearing ones that are too small for you, is not safe.

When should you not bind your chest?

There are numerous medical conditions that could make binding very unsafe, so if you worry binding may trouble you for those reasons, it could be a good idea to talk to your doctor about it.

I personally have asthma and that makes binding a bit more dangerous for me than for non-asthmatic people, as my breathing is already a bit worse than it should be. So further restricting it by binding is something I would like to avoid doing, which is part of the reason I am working towards getting top surgery to have my breasts removed. Still, the possible dangers of binding are still worth it for me when I weigh them against the certain mental suffering that comes from not binding.

Even for people without medical issues though, there are times when you should not be wearing your binder:

When you sleep.

When you exercise*.

When you have already worn it for 8 hours**.

If you’re new to binding: when you are alone***.

*Some companies like Underworks sell [binders specifically made for swimming] and [gc2b have said that their binders are ok to swim in too]. You should still be very careful when swimming in a binder though, as it does restrict your breathing and movment a bit. And be sure to wash the binder you swim in regularly, as having chlorine left in it can irritate your skin.

**The given maximum of binding hours per day in one go is 8. But everybody’s body is different, so not everyone can safely bind for that long. Personally I can usually only manage 6 hours before my ribs start to hurt pretty bad. And it’s best to not start with trying to go for the 8 hours limit right away when you get your first binder; it’s better to start binding for a smaller amount of time in the beginning and the gradually increase it over time, to allow your body time to adapt to it.

***Binders can be difficult to get out of on your own sometimes, especially in the beginning when you haven’t yet figured out the best way to do it. So in the beginning, it is best to only bind when you have other people around that can help you out of your binder in case you would need help getting it off.

How do you take care of your binder?

Binders will get worn out over time, just like any other piece of clothing. However, it may be more noticable in binders than in regular clothes, as their compression ability will visibly get worse and worse the more worn out it gets. Getting a new binder about once a year is usually recommended, but it really depends on how much you wear it.

You should wash your binder regularly. Doing this might actually help it last longer, depending on the style of it.

Some have tags that say they are machine-wash safe, in which case you could absolutely wash them that way. But personally I always handwash mine, just to make sure they’re not unnecessarilydamaged.

I use a small amount of mild detergent and cold water. Spend a lot of time rinsing it out afterwards with just water, to make sure there is no, or at least no big amount of, detergent left in it. Then I carefully scrunch it up into a ball to get as much water out as possible (don’t twist, because you don’t want to stretch the fabric) and then hang it on a hanger over the bathtub to let it drip and dry completely overnight.

For the style of binder I have (the gc2b ones), washing it regularly in cold water helps the fabric retain some of its elasticity. Which is something that can help it bind better for longer.

It may be ideal to wash it after everytime you’ve worn it and sweated in it, to prevent it from irritating your skin, but washing it just once a week is enough if you can’t do it more often than that.

What are the dangers of binding your chest?

Binding will inevetably wear out the elasticity of your skin and the breast tissue in your chest area after a while. How long it takes varies from person to person, as everybody’s body is different. But you will likely notice some difference within the first year if you bind a lot. This has little to no known actual dangerous side-effects in itself, but it will make your chest sag more and may affect how the result of top surgery looks if you plan on getting that in the future, as well as affect what types of surgeries you can get.

Even safe binding will likely give you some aches in your ribs, back and shoulders. But it is still best to take your binder off and give your body a break once you start feeling pain.

Excessive and unsafe binding comes with a lot of dangers:

Difficulty breathing, which can lead to fainting and, if binder is not removed, suffocating.

Extremely irritated skin.

Damaged (bruised, sprained, brokwn) ribs.

Damaged ribcage.

Damaged lungs (if punctured by a broken rib).

Damaged spine.

These things can usually be avoided as long as you bind safely, however.

How do you know if the pain/side-effects you get from binding is normal or not? When should you be worried?

Listen to your body and learn to interpret its signals. Everyone has different pain thresholds and everybody’s body has different limits, after all. So you will need to learn your own.

But some general signs and side-effects, normal and not, are as follows:

Normal:

Sore arms, shoulders, neck and/or back. This soreness may linger for a a couple of hours after you take the binder off, or not show up until the day after. It should go away completely after 2 days without binding.

Getting a bit out of breathe after having climbed a set of stairs or similar. Although you should still be able to catch your breathe again without too much difficulty.

Some chafting under your arms.

Increased chest and back acne.

Slight anxiety caused by feeling restricted.

Not normal, take the binder off as soon as you can and see a doctor if the symptoms don’t go away within a couple of days:

Difficulty breathing, especially if even after you’ve taken the binder off.

Not able to take deep breathes, cough or sneeze.

Sharp pain in chest or ribs.

Lightheadedness, feeling like you’re about to faint.

Losing vision, having your ears ringing or getting a tingling sensation in your fingers, even if just for a moment. (Often signs that you are about to faint.)

Feeling too sore/too restricted/too tired to do everyday activities that you could do without problems before you started binding.

Numbness in arms.

Bruising.

Skin rashes.

Nausea during or after binding.

Not normal, go see a doctor as soon as you can, could be signs of a serious injury:

Any of the symptoms from the list above, if you are feeling very worried about them. Better safe than sorry.

Not able to breathe at all.

Blueness in your libs or fingertips.

Fainting.

Sudden intense bursts of claustrophobia and/or panick attacks, especially if you do no get those when not binding.

Noticable change in ribcage shape.

Wow, that’s a lot of dangers. Is it really worth it?

For many people, including me: yes.

Like I said in the beginning, there are many reasons for why people bind. But mine is dysphoria, so that is the only thing I can talk about here.

Dysphoria is not a joking matter. It is often a very intense and painful kind of suffering. And taking these risks is often still better than having to deal with the dysphoria that we have when we are not binding.

This may be difficult to understand if you are not dysphoric yourself. But please try to understand that people would not knowingly be taking these risks if we didn’t feel like we needed to.

[miraimisu]

Among a Crowd of Faces

[Read at FF.net]

[Read at AO3.]

Summary: she glanced at the monster before her; his eyes pierced knives into her soul, made her terrified and lost in that sea of endless red and brutality, his wounds all but invisible– yet she had never seen a being so beautiful, so inviting. It didn’t take much more for her to fall, too.

Rating: T because it’s Bakugou and BNHA. Non AU. 

Word count: *drum roll* 21,181 words. Sweet kacchako hell, everyone goodbye. Don’t feel intimidated though, it’s easy to read (I think)

Author’s note: LOOK AT THIS MESS GUYS IT’S KINDA decent? Like for it being my first try it’s pretty damn decent. I’m a usual fanfic writer but this people’s dynamic is so unique and working with Bakugou is so delightful! I’ll definitely write more about him because he’s an awesome character and making him develop is all kinds of fun. Forgive me if there are any mistakes tho, I’m new here so I’m not used to his character.

Credit to @kacchanswife because this baby deserves love and kindness and a starshower? @liltootbrush is also so beautiful and adorkable. Also the countless dorks who commented on my tag dumpster because this fandom is so cute, supportive and awesome and I love it. I’LL GIVE MORE CREDIT LATER, I’m sunburnt but I’m crying and feeling all the butterfly shit in my stomach. I fear this may not live to the hype and the support GUYS FORGIVE M EEEE

Warnings: I could’ve gone with a single fic because this could be focused so much more but in the end I did the whole thing. And my ability to write fighting scenes is cringy as fuck, cope if you can cope. All advice is welcome! And please do realize that I’ll write a shit ton more of these. So, uh, beware. My writing’s not the best but I did my best and my first <3

I just hope Mic. Word hasn’t munched nothing of this fic or left words out.

When she told him to spar with her, he barked at her.

“Could you at least give me a human response, Bakugou? I deserve to be treated as such.”

The aforementioned looked at her, his everlasting glare piercing her soul. Of course, she didn’t give it up– she never gave it a rest. Her flashiness, her whole glittery talk and just, just herself. She never took a hint to leave him alone, that’s why he was frowining at her and mentally kicking her out the room! “What the fuck Uraka? I’m not a damn fighting trainer. Why in hell would I even say yes?”

“Don’t put this as if I was obligating you to do it. After all, I’m not in for your personality either.” she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I was hoping you’d be up for the challenge.”

He laughed hysterically at her statement. “Don’t make me fucking laugh, roundface. I have better things to do than hang out with you.”

She slammed her hand on his table. “It’ll be benefitting for you as well, you ass. I don’t think there’ll be anybody else willing to spar with you given your foul attitude and short temper.” he was about to spit in her family’s thombstone when she spoke again, her tone as clear as ever. “Besides, I think you’d be interested in some things I have learned at Gunhead.”

That got his interest, but if it sparked anything else it went unnoticed. He smirked with his beast teeth gleaming. “And what fucking tricks did the–“

She literally grabbed his arms, took him out of his seat and slammed his whole body behind her. His weight never touched ground nonetheless, as she held him one inch above the tiled floor of the empty classroom. “What about that?”

He had been shockingly impressed, both by the notion of almost being knocked unconscious by fucking Uraraka, and the fact that he didn’t even see it coming. His breath fanned on the floor. “Not completely surprised, I already knew you had this damn thing in you. But fuck, it wasn’t that bad.”

He hit the ground a moment later with her low murmur. Bakugou was on his feet shortly after. “It takes a fucking ton more to shit on me during a fight.”

“I had the pleasure of fighting with you during the Sports Festival. Maybe you should be aware of what you’re going against instead of bragging.”

His brain went on an instant rampage. “The fuck was that Uraraka!? Provoking me won’t do any damn good to you, bitch!”

She turned around and waved at him. “Try not to set yourself on fire, will you? If I’m ever winning, it’d like it to be in fair conditions. Having you marred in wounds won’t do any good.”

He stomped over her, closing the door she was opening to get the hell away from him. “I could win you even with no fucking legs, you damn bubblehead!”

“I very much doubt it. But we could try someday.” she pulled him back and made her way out of the room. “See you tomorrow, Bakogou!”

“Whatever, angelface.”

Unbeknownst to both of them, a part of him had been waiting for a retake on their battle, too.

 Bakugou Katsuki was a weird thing, that psychopath. His ashen hair, face constantly washed in anger and endless fury and a pair of hands that could kill an entire kingdom if he so desired. His arms, constantly flexing in the best angles, muscular, born to destroy and never to cure. His teeth, clenched, fangs showing. He was the best imitation of a best if there ever was one.

His mannerisms during battling were akin to a monster hunting a prey in a vicious, unstoppable loop of destruction and brutality. During his trainings he would be incredibly self-pressuring and demanding, hence his constant ambitions that may always look a bit too demanding to anyone’s liking.

During training with Uraraka, though – his brutality there was a whole new level, another story. She wouldn’t have it another way.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull this time!?” he fired another explosion at his landing prey. As soon as she touched him with her nerd-ass quirk, he was aware that he was 70% done for. “Stop playing around, shit!”

Uraraka got up again, brushing a few of her long bangs aside for better view on her enemy. “Stop the talk and land a strong hit on me, jerk!” of course she was purposefully provoking him, after all training with him when he’s not giving its all was meaningless.

“You’re fucking done for, bitch!”

She quickly activated her quirk when he was a pair of meters away, aware of the nausea factor when she was in mid-air for long. However, her lack of momentum made her just float in midair and she needed a goddamn impulse so she could propel to a safe distance from him. His explosion boomed under her and took her forward thanks to the waves in the air, and safely landed a few feet away from her persecutor. As soon as she was touching the ground, he was ready to aim at her again.

Well, Bakugou sure wasn’t going easy on her. And it elated her.

Unable to react in time, his next attack sent her flying to a tree, which shook under her hit. Her body slid to the ground, knees quivering. Bakugou sure was a powerhouse, but she sure wouldn’t give up without a proper fight. He had the decency to stop a second for her while she breathed in for a second, her muscles steeling under pressure. She was beaten, hard, but her eyes showed a passion beyond recognition.

Uraraka’s legs wobbled, but she still went after him. “So damn headstrong and stubborn.” thought the other, activating his quirk once again.

Her voice echoed around him. “I ain’t going down so easy, Bakugou.”

It was so weird for her to feel completely marred in wounds, severe burns from his explosion and lightheadedness from exhaustion, but not feel any pain. Her determination to put up a good fight, to go to a extreme length just to prove herself as a worthy comrade to her classmates (her heart whispered: Deku as well). Her head busted with options to avoid his attacks, but there was no way out of this fight if she couldn’t attack him and have the upper hand.

Their quirks were opposites. There was no way that an all-range quick against a short-range one would lose. He would be blasting her into oblivion if he landed a few more shots on her. There was no way that was going to happen.

She jumped in mid air again, surrounded in smoke. “C’mon Uraraka, think! This guy must have some weak point that I can attack…” she landed behind him. “…but which one!?”

His body lunged forward and cleared the smoke around him, his hand ready to bust her open. She could jump again, but there was no way she would handle another short flight without the nausea. She only had a few seconds to think and find an opening.

He launched another explosion at her, which she dodged with ease this time by moving left. His muscles tensed upon her movement, teeth clenched and- “Bitch, stop running away and hit me with something already!”

His shoulders. Her eyes widened at him and came up with a quick, semisuicidal idea. It was either a complete loss or a victory. It was the only way to go about this. He had been keeping his blows to a minimum height, trying to quake the ground beneath her feet to have her in the air and land a combo. She wouldn’t let him have his way this time.

Uraraka cleaned a drop of blood from her mouth. Her vision was blurry, his blonde hair only a cloud of beige in the middle of a clearing. She was panting, heavily. Bakugou knew that she would collapse soon, seeing her standing in such a disorderly state. He scowled at her. “Are you coming at me already? Stop screwing around!”

She snapped. Her feet hurried onwards towards him, teeth clenched together and her face scrunched in a desperate expression, one that Bakugou himself didn’t quite like. It was far more deep than the one she put in display during their first match. He was ready to charge his best, finishing shot at her, but he never made it to her.

Uraraka’s legs gave up under her, hitting the soil underneath her form. Bakugou stopped in his tracks. This faltering of hers was way too familiar to him. He was almost blown away by how sudden her fall was. The explosive teen internally hoped she would stop being so impossible and she’d give it up already, but another part was expecting her to get up again.

Seeing her quivering in a mess of wounds, almost unresponsive, didn’t give him much hopes, though. Her fingers scratched the ground, filling her nails. Her brain was on a rampage, needing to get up but finding herself unable to. She… she couldn’t give up.

Her hands grasped the soil and tried to support her weight with shaking limbs. She was heavily panting, with a fuzzy trail of thought as her only thread to carry her through the numbness. Uraraka managed to fully stand up despite her wounds in her body and the burns in her palms, knees struggling to keep her in place. Bakugou watched this in pure disbelief.

“I’m not… a weak girl anymore.” the words came out in a raspy gasp. “You might land as many explosions of yours as you wanna, but as you get… stronger, tougher, I will as well.”

Bakugou showed a pure smirk of amusement, hand ready to land the last blow on her. “I see you really are not as frail as everyone thinks of you, angelface.”

Uraraka grunted and managed to go forward once again, feeling every muscle of her body scream in horror. As soon as he was a few feet away, he had that sadistic grin in his face and the gleam of a soon-to-be victory burning his irises. She wouldn’t let him have his way, not this time. She is deadly tired, and he sure knew this seeing how he was charging all he had in a final blow.

His vocal chords vibrated in passion, dancing in the fire.

“DIE ALREADY!” screamed he at the top if his lungs before launching another final explosion at her, dismissing her as she jumped towards him, the fire of the explosion under her burning part of her clothes and her hands landing on his shoulders, pushing her high in a summersault while she joined her fingers.

Time stopped for one, two seconds– his fire hissing without a victim and her presence flying above him. His fingers remained stretched in shock, unbelieving.

His breath got stuck in his throat, feet meters above in the air, feeling weightless. Whimsical wind ruffled his hair and encouraged him to look behind, unprepared. Uraraka struggled to keep him afloat, limbs shaking and her breath labored, coming out in mild gasps.

His eyes widened. “Release!”

Bajugou fell down fast, and he could already feel the pain of his head hitting the hard soil, his muscles painfully tightening upon the crash and his body soaring, hurting because he dismissed her will for a second, didn’t launch in the right direction. A second before hitting his demise, his body hovered over the ground for a moment, stopping his momentum and preventing him from meeting horrendous pain. His face ate the mud shortly after.

“Next time,” spoke she softly from the ground, as she had also fallen down due to a mix of nausea and exhaustion, “don’t think I will go down so easily. You’re stronger than me… but I am determined to get better.”

He breathed in, deeply. He sat with his legs fully relaxed, facing her. She had fallen to her knees, and seemed to have trouble breathing. However, he couldn’t find the heart or energy to help somebody who could be undeniably dangerous with such a supposedly innocent quirk. He had already seen her potential months ago, but it was only more evident now. “Why on hell did you fucking stop me, Uraraka? Shit, you could have gotten me good with that stupid plan of yours.”

She gasped for air. “My aim is not to hurt you, I seek training and-“

“I COULD’VE FUCKING HANDLED THAT!” growled he, defensive at someone who underrates him. “Stop thinking I’m a softie who can’t handle shit. I can handle your attacks and more, bitch.”

She slightly looked behind her, her face not completely visible. “I can handle yours too, you know. I’m no softie, either.”

He was fully aware of that, and that’s why he was so wary of her steps most of the time. Not like he’d tell her such a stupid, cheesy thing to have her gain trust. He scowled at her, but she interrupted his spit of insults with weak sentences. “You regarded me as such just now by hitting me with such a weak strategy. I’m not afraid of getting scarred.”

“WEAK STRATEGY? I made a miscalculation, dammit. I don’t care if you end up in a fucking hospital bed after this, it’s what you came for.”

Irony would get him later for such rash statement.

“Then you made a gross miscalculation.”

He remained strangely silent, pondering his mistake. When he spoke up, he sounded strained. “I wasn’t planning on you getting up after being beaten up so fucking hard, I was just focused on finishing you off. You’re pretty fucked up yourself anyway.”

Uraraka struggled to get up. “I am aware that this is a win for you. You’re almost unscathed and I am heavily injured. But the fact that you didn’t go easy on me is a win for me.”

He got up and started bawling at her. Bakugou wasn’t going to let her bitch about such bullshit. “You actually fucking won, Uraraka! I made a damn mistake, no need to be bitchy about it!” she had actually won fair and square: he made a mistake and that’s all, no need to pour salt on the wound. “I can give fucking credit to a decent plan when I see one!”

She didn’t answer him straight away, and wavered in her steps. “I don’t wanna win a stupid battle with you, Bakugou. I want to build up strength and courage towards opponents who are stronger than me.” she stopped for a second. He observed her from behind. “I’m aware of the fact that you are stronger and I respect that.”

She brushed some sweat and blood from her face, and bit her following words back. Instead, she focused on hearing his voice from meters behind her.

“Are you sure you’re doing it for yourself? Or is there any other fucking reason behind you getting yourself so worked over all this shit?”

Uraraka couldn’t believe her ears. She briefly glanced behind her to see him leaving in the opposite direction.

“The day after tomorrow, same place, same hour. Don’t be fucking late or you’ll be dead for, angelface.”

 “Uraraka-san, those wounds in your face look terrifyingly bad! You should have gone to Recovery Girl to have them checked!”

The mentioned backed off a bit, hands shot up. “My bad, Iida-kun! I was exhausted after training and I needed to rest.”

As soon as she had entered the classroom, those who spotted her came swarming at her and fussing over her bandages around her legs and face. They weren’t so abundant, but the fact that she had taken a hard beating was evident. As soon as the morning sun had washed over her, she woke with the aftermath of nausea, exhaustion and some serious injuries that had been untreated. It hadn’t been a very good night, the dark rings under her eyes making it all more evident to the naked eye.

“Gosh, Uraraka, you sure must have trained hard to be so beaten up.” Mina patted the girl’s forearm and the other shuddered at the gesture. “You should go to Recovery Girl to finish it up faster. It won’t do any good to have them uncured during training here in class.”

Uraraka scratched the back of her neck, slightly shy with all the attention. She made her way to her desk, aware of Iida’s eyes on her. “I’ll be fine, I’ll go to Recovery Girl as soon as class finishes today.”

Deku rushed after her. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Uraraka-san! Training so hard all at once isn’t good for your body!” he gestured all over his body. One of his arms had been recently wrapped up in bandages. “Look at me, for example.”

Upon seeing his eyes on her, worry overtaking his eyes, she blushed. “Uh, it’s not that bad, Deku-kun! I’ll be fine! I have tons of work to do to catch up with the top of this class!”

She heard Bakugou curse loudly, colorfully, at the back of the class, and Kirishima laugh immediately after. She sighed. “I’ll soon be on match with you, Deku-kun! Just you wait!”

In response, the aforementioned titled his head. “Huh? Be on ma-“

The ring interrupted their conversation, giving place to the class. She could feel a burning glare on her– one she knew very well, but she didn’t dare look up from her papers. Her fight with Bakugou had been mentally draining as well as physically, and she was afraid of what he’d come up with next time they trained. But, was he really training when it came to her, though?

Uraraka looked at him from the back of the class, just after his eyes left her. He didn’t seem by far as tired and bruised as her, which somehow relieved her. He was a jerk, but she cared about all her classmates and would never wish them anything bad. Now that she noticed, maybe that’s why Bakugou was so pissed off: maybe the fact that she was so caring towards an opponent was a bit counterproductive, and he felt weak being pitied. If she wanted Bakugou to go on full at her, perhaps she should go on full on him as well.

Her resolve steeled: next time, she’d do even better, and show him what she was better than last time, that Gunhead had really proven to be useful. That way, she’d also gain fewer injures and help Deku see that she’d soon be in his league.

She looked at him as well and sighed. No matter how hard she pinned her feelings down, there was something still nagging at her. Maybe things had toned down a bit after the license exams, but she had hoped that despite doing it for her own sake, her feelings for Deku would remain somehow untouched– but she felt that, day by day, he wasn’t in her mind as much. She admired him and still loved him, but there was something nagging her that she couldn’t comprehend yet.

Uraraka had expected her heart to wait for her brain to decide– yet, when force meets an unmovable object, disgraces were bound to happen. The whirlwind of her heart losing Deku’s harmony, seeing him walk away, further and further– it sunk her deeper and deeper. Someday, the glass would shatter. Everyone knew except for her.

Hours passed. Her mind wandered in and out the situation she was in. A part of her was fidgeting over her burns and blisters from her fight with Bakugou, but she would move on from occasional damage. However, her turmoil about Deku and her situation as a hero, her determination towards becoming better and standing up to Bakugou; everything was starting to overwhelm her from behind. She didn’t notice, but it was suffocating her in a gentle, unnoticed stroke.

At the end of the first set of classes she was mentally empty. It was a miracle she had gotten through all periods without limping in her seat, otherwise she’d have been sent straight to Recovery Girl and that was something she didn’t want to do yet. If the wounds healed on their own, it’d be better for her wellbeing. Besides, bearing with a little pain would help her sustain minor injuries during battle.

She went to the restrooms while he others finished with their food to check on her bandages. Uraraka was heavily walking down the corridors, her eyes half closed.

“You know, you should really go to Recovery Girl as Iida suggested.”

The redhead’s voice scared the hell out of her, and made her eyes blow open. “Kirishima-kun! What are you doing here?”

He sighed, approaching her. He had been leaning on a nearby wall for a pretty long time, apparently. “I saw you basically crawling your way to class earlier today, and you seem pretty much the same or worse. You’re usually chipper and all shiny, not this tired.”

“It’s a bad day. We all have one of these once in a lifetime.” she looked at him mustering all the energy she could. Her smile was blinding. “I’m fine, there’s no need to worry!”

Kirishima smiled and scratched his cheek, looking at her. “I admire it that you’re so strong, Uraraka-san. But there’s no need to overdo it. It sucks that you’re so ragged today.” he caressed one of her scratches on her right cheek, sun hitting on her eyes. “I guess Bakugou-kun did go hard on you, huh?”

She immediately went all jumpy and defensive towards their supposedly secret training. “Who? Bakugou-kun? No, I’m doing some solo training, this is not his doing!”

“Bakugou-kun is the only person I know that would go this far on a human being without feeling mildly ashamed of doing so.” he chuckled, blatantly ignoring her. “It shows that he respects you and trusts on not giving up on your ambitions. After all, I doubt he’d even bother train with somebody else other than himself.”

She touched the little bruise that her friend had just laid hands on, thinking. She smiled. “I’m glad he actually went out of his way to beat somebody like me to the ground. At least I’ll be giving him the enjoyment of a victory while I get tougher.” she grinned, earnestly glad that things were unfolding this way.

Kirishima seemed confused at her statement. “You won anyway, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” she honestly doubted that Bakugou had told him about the fight itself, especially its final outcome.

“He seemed a bit troubled today, a face he only pulls when someone fucks with him – but there’s not much that one can read into since, you know, it’s King Explosion Murder we’re talking about here.” she could picture him being completely driven up the wall if he heard Kirishima speaking of him in such a earnest way. She giggled. “He had mentioned that you two would be sparring for a while. He seemed pretty fired up about it.”

Uraraka glanced at her bandaged hands, slightly absent-minded. Had she let him down with her performance the day before? Maybe he had been let down in the end and wouldn’t show up the day after to spit on her. It worried her a little bit that someone she actually admired would be disappointed with her skills, somebody who had actually taken the time to spar with her albeit he clearly doesn’t need much training, especially considering that she’s a wimp in comparison.

“By the way,” she looked up to see Kirishima leaving, hand in his pocket and a gentle smile. “I’m glad you’re alright on your own for now. And do please have those wounds checked, otherwise you’ll be rotten dead during your next spar with Bakugou-kun. He might be an almost inhuman bastard, but I can tell he wouldn’t enjoy seeing you at your weakest during your sparring.”

Uraraka stared at his back, taking his words in. What that was supposed to mean, she didn’t know. However, she clutched the fabric of her shirt, right above her hammering heart, and mused on how she seemed slightly relieved.

“Gah, Kirishima-kun is too good for Bakugou-kun.”

 Uraraka cursed under her breath. Too much for a quiet day.

During the last minutes of the last class Aizawa had surprised them with his characteristic cheer and enthusiasm by glaring at them and telling them to follow him to the USJ, that damned place where everything could go wrong with the snap of a finger. Like, where the fuck had all that people came from that day. And what was the deal with that warp dude and the brick bird. It had been a draining, weird day, so it came as a surprise that Aizawa was willing to make them remember that hideous day.

“We’re gonna do some battling for a change, all of that you call interesting hero-ish stuff.” he said in a monotone voice. “You’ll be separated in two groups: villains and heroes.” Iida rose his hand up. “Yes, Iida, it’s similar to the one we did back at the start of the previous term, but this time, we’ll do it in a larger scale. You’ve been through several rescue missions, so it’s been a while since you did some sparring. I’ll proceed to draw a bunch of names from this little box right here.”

The sole idea of sparring being so beaten up, some bruises still open and still all wincey from several cuts near sensitive areas. Uraraka snarled at the predicament, and gulped that if she and Bakugou or Todoroki were placed in opposite bands, they’d hand her ass on a silver platter.

“Villains have to catch the heroes and viceversa. When twenty minutes have passed, all remaining students will step out of wherever they are. Whoever who is defeated must gather at the central plaza and exit the battlefield. By the way, when I say battlefield I mean that the whole joint” he signaled at all the area underneath the huge vault. “is the battlefield. You can’t switch areas; you’ll go to one and fight there. All the villains will be given a head start so they can spread throughout the USJ. Each person who steps out of the battlefield at the end of the test is worth a point for whichever group they belong to.”

Everyone nodded accordingly. Uraraka listened intently, understanding the game. All she had to do was tag along with someone else so she could be a bit protected. But couldn’t she put up a fight by herself?

Looking at her bandages hidden underneath her costume, she was afraid her body wouldn’t handle much. She had gone too far by not getting some aid from Recovery Girl. Uraraka facepalmed mentally and remembered Mina, Iida, Kirishima, Deku, and everyone who had wisely advised her to get some medical aid.

“I’ll proceed to put you guys in groups. Just do me the favor of behaving a bit and not traumatizing each other or biting others’ necks, please?” Aizawa briefly addressed Bakugou mentally, who had actually caught the message. “Then let’s see…”

Turns out she wouldn’t be going against a big threat like Bakugou, but would probably have to face off against strongholds like Todoroki, Kirishima or Jiro. Also, Deku. Given her bad luck, fighting them was the most likely scenario. Still, seeing such strong opponents in the other group filled her with the same determination that had invaded her spar with Bakugou.

“I just hope to have some aiding.” she glanced at her surroundings as Aizawa finished answering some of Iida’s endless petty doubts. “It’s highly improbable that I’ll have help given the size of this place, but I’ll do my best! It’s handy practice before tomorrow’s training with Bakugou-kun.”

Before the villains scurried into the wilderness, Uraraka grabbed Iida and Deku for a second. “Guys, regardless our groups, if we ever encounter each other, let’s give it out all!” encouraged she, passionately.”Please don’t glance at these petty wounds, we shall give this our best shot!”

“Uraraka-san…” stuttered Deku, taken aback. He hadn’t planned on going exactly easy on her, but saying that he’d go hard on her was a bit of a stretch given her disorderly state.

“We will diligently keep our word and do our best against you, Uraraka-san!” Iida’s eyes flashed passionately. “Please don’t strain yourself too much either!”

Afterwards they hurried off with Deku talking to Iida about his gentleman shenanigans and how he didn’t need to be so overprotective. She didn’t give it much thought and waited near Tsuyu for the test to start. They talked briefly about their strategy. “I take it you’ll be going near the water, Tsuyu-chan?”

“It’s the field where my abilities come more in handy. I can fling more freely and swim easily. I doubt much people will go around there excepting Kaminari.” Tsuyu had such a vivid mind that she had already set a plan of her own way before the practice had begun. “What are you planning?”

Uraraka glanced at the ruins area. Her quirk would be much more useful in a zone with uneven surfaces and debris. The place was used as a rescue simulator all the time, so it was full of rubble, debris, and stuff she could use as weapons. Apart from that, her levitation skills would help her step out of complicated areas. “I’ll be heading towards the ruins. I don’t think I’d do much better anywhere else.”

Tsuyu nodded. “You should be careful. I agreed with Iida and Mina this morning when they said you looked a bit bad with all those uncured bruises in your face.” stated she in her constant blunt manner. “I don’t trust Midoriya or Shouto with their quirks. One can’t fully control them and Shouto is a bit of a beast. At least we have the most dangerous one on our side, this time.”

Of course, Bakugou heard her loud and clear and immediately snapped. “Watch whose ass you’re dissing, frog-girl! I can kick you six ways to Sunday as soon as we’re finished with this shit!”

Aizawa was quick to interrupt the unilateral bickering. “The villains are already in position.”

Uraraka saw Bakugou deflate and suddenly eye her. She instantly put up a dashing grin with her thumbs up, wishing him good luck. He, however, frowned and nodded, acknowledging the gesture without returning it. It was a step in the right direction for her. At least he hadn’t screamed at her something about wishing him luck because he needed it like he’d have long ago.

“URARAKA BITCH, WHO TOLD YOU I NEEDED ANY LUCK, YOU LOSER! I’LL GIVE YOU A BEATING!” the brunette shivered at the thought.

As soon as she set herself in position to run, her hands felt heavy and her legs were a bit wobbly. The gravity manipulator tried to not make a big deal out of this and, as soon as Aizawa had told them to hurry, she dashed towards the ruins zone. Uraraka stepped down the stairs and thought about her opponents.

“Kaminari must have gone to the water zone as Tsuyu mentioned before. Deku must be near the mountain zone, where land is flatter and higher. Iida-kun must have gone with him. Kirishima must be near the storm zone, considering how he has high resistance and can endure almost anything with that rock body of his. Todoroki-kun though… could he have gone to the water zone with his ice? If I encounter him, it’s game over for me…”

Uraraka scowled at the labyrinth. Some of the rubble used for rescue missions had been cleared up to make paths that branched between decaying buildings. She could go inside one of them and hide inside until the test ended, which was a good idea considering their height and abundance. Yet, their ruin state didn’t guarantee a safe stay inside. One step in the wrong direction could send her floors below. It wasn’t the best of options.

She should’ve thought about this before choosing an area so suddenly. In the conflagration zone she would’ve gotten somewhere to hide in between buildings at least. She had expected these ruins to be covered in rubble and debris for her to work with, not to have all cleaned up and free to pass. Not only she had nowhere to run, but also had scarce resources to work with.

There was rumble in a building nearby. She felt a chill down her spine and the sound of glass shattering to smithereens near her. No, it’s not glass, it was something similar…

Her eyes went wide. “Ice!” Todoroki was probably near the entrance, waiting for a prey to enter and get it over with as soon as possible. He sure expected a weaker victim than Bakugou (who had been the only one to beat him yet) to show up. She had been damned from the start, of course she’d have to fight against a top-tier student. Silly, silly Uraraka!

She took a turn in the opposite direction and ran all the way left, as far from the dual wielder as possible. He was friendly to her and a nice guy to speak with, but his mercy in a battlefield was another dimension of his person. Just remembering his cruel fight against Deku at the Sports Festival made her squirm with fear. “Whatever this guy’s up to…” she shuddered. “it’s not good.”

Her wounds seemed fine this far. Some of them had closed nicely, so she would be able to have a decent fight against a mid-tier student. She just hoped someone like Mineta would appear as well so she’d lessen the burden of her allies. But first, she had to find a place with enough destruction so she could have some weaponry. She relied in her martial skills, but Todoroki was a far-range fighter. She needed something to match his range.

“I need debris, or stones, or anything a bit big! C’mon, now that my weight limit is high I get nothing to work with?” she cursed and started to push some doors open to see if there was anything inside. All hallways were empty, dusty, and creepy. They were a big no-no for her.

As she was exiting one of the buildings, she heard a familiar voice.

“Such a casual encounter we have here, Uraraka-san.”

She slowly turned to find no other than Todoroki Shouto at the end of the street, icy steam issuing from his left hand. The sight shook her ground. “I get no pleasure from doing this, but as a villain, I have no other option but to defeat you.”

As soon as he stepped forward, ice came running towards her. Uraraka ran back and activated her quirk, successfully flying away from what soon would be a mismatched fight. She landed in a nearby street, but far enough to avoid nausea and escape from her hunter. The gravity manipulator heard the noise of falling debris and steps down the street. “That’s no good. I could’ve used some of that rumble to stop him. And there’s no way I can run back without vomiting– and that’s too much of a time waste.”

However, her run came to an end when she was met with a corner of rubble, dust, debris, and a crumbling building behind her. It was a no return point. As soon as Todoroki landed a blow near the building, it’d come crashing down on her. And seeing how he was effectively chasing after her, he’d catch up in a second. The brunette gulped in fear and grabbed one of her wounds, teeth clenched in determination. “I shall put up a fight at least. That’s what respect for your opponent stands for. He won’t be leaving unscathed, I’ll give it my all!”

Indeed, Todoroki came running with haste, breaking down a small wall that separated a street from the other. He was breathing a bit hard. “You sure can hold up for a while, Uraraka.”

Positioned defensively, she was mentally prepared to thaw herself out of ice if it meant holding up for her opponent. If she could manage to hold up for Bakugou, the blond beast of class 1-A, she’d sure as hell face Todoroki with the same energy.

Well, she was exhausted, but she’d use her last energy to face Todoroki. He summoned his quirk and launched at her, ice ready to freeze her for the whole practice. She could already taste the metallic sting of blood and the cold invading her skin, cracking it and cutting deep; a glass layer of disgrace running deep along her body, threatening to break her with the slightest of moves.

However, none of that came.

Instead, a huge explosion in between sent both of them feet behind. Uraraka would have crashed against the debris had it not been for Bakugou grabbing her arm in time. Todoroki flew to the wall and struggled to get up after such close call.

“What the fuck are you doing facing off against that bastard, angelface!?” hissed Bakugou, clearly pissed at the prospect of losing a point– her point, against that good for nothing ass. “Get the hell outta her before he roasts your ass real bad!”

“Who do you think you are to be giving orders? AND WHERE THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM!?”

Todoroki was slightly amused by the pair, but was equally tired from running around and Bakugou’s quirk, so it took him a bit to stand his ground again. “I had spotted him long ago, and I can give damn orders because you’re still fucked up!” he yelled while trying to be mildly calm, regarding her wounds. “Go take fucking shelter before that loser gets up – you’ll do nothing fucking useful here, Uraraka!”

Before she could actually comply, Todoroki sent a trail of ice spikes after them, trying to cage them and prevent them from escaping again. “SEE WHAT I TOLD YOU ABOUT? GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY, goddammit!”

She deeply frowned at him before touching his arm, tugging him forward and jumping up before activating her quirk. Both flew a few feet forward, out of the ice makeshift crater. They landed a few feet away from the spike barrier and its creator. “Call me good for nothing again and I’ll send you to outer space, you jerk!”

His whole face cracked in disgust and ire. “Get the fuck out of here before he spots us! I’ll take care of that bastard in the meantime, just go hide while I sort this out!” he screamed, frowning. He just hated having people in the way of his work. Uraraka would do nothing good in her already injured state, that much both knew. “I can do this on my fucking own, there’s no need for your help here. Just run off!”

She gritted her teeth while taking a few steps into the building, where his ice would be useless. As soon as Bakugou prevented Todoroki from entering by fighting him, she’d be fine. “You better kick his ass to make this a worthy investment.”

Bakugou secretly smirked and lunged towards Todoroki, who he could fight against on his own like a baby builds a sand castle. Still, Bakugou was a bit tired from running after the half-n-half loser, who at the same time was tired from running after Uraraka, who, again, had been running away from Todoroki. “If only I wasn’t a coward– a weakling with these injuries, running away from Todoroki-kun in the first place, Bakugou-kun and I would’ve beaten him a long time ago! I can’t stand here and do nothing!”

From a dusty glass Uraraka saw the fight unfold. They were equal on strength and they had this rematch to do since their last encounter at the Sports Festival. Both were tired, and Bakugou didn’t have much ground to move across – the street was fairly narrow. Todoroki though, he could freeze the whole street with a single hand. Bakugou was at clear disadvantage here with so little places to jump around and angles to blast him from. He was firing at him like a maniac anyway.

“C’mon Uraraka, think!” she unconsciously grabbed the wall’s decaying paint for focus. “We need to trap Todoroki-kun so he doesn’t get Bakugou-kun. I can’t let him rob us points, that’d be disgraceful. Besides, I’m better than a bystander! And I bet both know I’m plenty able on my own!”

Her fist hit the frail concrete of the wall, biting her lip. Suddenly, an idea came to her, palming the wall.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull here, half-n-half?” snarled Bakugou, avoiding his opponents ice by an inch. “Trying to build me an igloo? Too damn chilly for me, loser!”

“I don’t see where’s the fun on calling me loser.” stated Todoroki with a stale trail of voice, blowing icy steam. “But whatever you’re planning, you won’t be able to avoid me forever!”

“Whatever you say!” he blasted one of his explosions in his direction, only to be shielded by more ice. He could make his way forward with his quirk, but his palms were damn painful to use already. He made a run for it, seeking a weak point. He successfully made a hole on the barrier, sending Todoroki a few feet behind. “I’m gonna blast you so hard, you goddamn–“

“LOOK OUT!”

Bakugou immediately lunged backwards. A deaf noise rumbled across the ruins and shook the ground. The glass of the whole building broke into pieces upon the grasp of Urakaka’s gravitational pull, and the very same building came crushing down a second later. The fall of the building shattered Todoroki’s barrier to pieces and transform it into a mix of debris and melting shards.

What Bakugou didn’t expect was to see Uraraka actually fucking holding a whole enormous wall of the very same broken building, pillars and all, in her gravitational pull, with enough momentum from the fall to–

“RELEASE!” and the walls, pillars and bricks were thrown at a shocked and unguarded Todoroki, who was sent to the end of the street among half of the fallen building. The debris, bricks, dust and stones gathered on top of the unsuspecting student, who was buried underneath the crazy weight of a whole building. After a loud crash and the wall of that street broke down, Todoroki’s form emerged from all the rubble that Uraraka had caused.

The smoke of the crash cleared and gave away Uraraka’s standing form atop of the debris, sun bathing her in gold, breathing hard and shaking from the quirk effort and the incoming nausea. At the other side of the road, Todoroki struggled to get out of the mess with weak ice spikes.

“Holy shit.” breathed Bakugou very softly, seeing the nerd trying hard to recover after the mess she had caused. There was a tint of appreciation in his voice as he glanced at what he thought would be a bystander companion after the beating he had given her the day prior to this, after she had refused to be healed and had stubbornly helped him out. “Kickass.”

Todoroki eventually surfaced wholly and staggered halfway the street, only to collapse after his muscles gave up his walking, unmoving from his spot on the concrete. Only then, Uraraka allowed herself to fall down to her feet. However, Bakugou caught her arm before she touched the ground. She looked at him, the question evident in her eyes.

“You’re my ally now. It won’t do any fucking good to have you crawling back to the plaza.” Bakugou looked at her as if she was crazy, his resting bitch face scowling at her. “You don’t deserve fucking less than help after beating his loser ass. Above all, not if you’re in my team.”

She smiled with gratefulness shining through, blushing a little bit. “Thank you.” shortly after, she detached herself from him. She felt a little pang, a gentle tug at her heart – roaring with pride after his little commentary – after his hand disappeared. “But we should check the area just in case there’s anybody else around. We don’t want a surprise attack from an ally of his.”

Both glanced at the unmoving form of the dual wielder. Bakugou frowned. “I doubt that fucker has any allies around. He doesn’t really need one, he’s not any regular weak ass.”

She nodded in response, almost falling down again. She decided to support herself, hand on her knees, panting. She refused the nausea to take over. Being slightly dizzy was okay, though. She wouldn’t let that jerk – not that much of a jerk anymore though, he was being pretty nice to her today – see her in a weak state again.

“I’ll do a quick sweep just in case.” her feet padded all the way down the debris pile, slightly groggy. “Carry Todoroki-kun to the entrance and meet me there.”

Bakugou also made his way down the rubble, trusting her to be alright on her own for a few minutes. The area was quite grand, but she shouldn’t have any problems if she was as fine as she insisted to be. Deep down, he knew she was injured pretty badly, but he’d let her have this. After all, she really was not a wimp. He couldn’t help the small fire of pride burn for his mate. She didn’t need protection.

“So this is what companionship is all about? Seeing your companion beat some ass and still be damn fine about it?” he chuckled while getting Todoroki on his back. Since the bastard couldn’t carry himself over to the plaza, he’d have to do it himself. “I guess some people are good as teammates. As soon as I get my hands on Deku, though...”

He was seething as soon as that guy came to his mind, sulking all the way to the entrance. Meanwhile, Uraraka made a stop at a corner, near a pile of trash Todoroki had sure wrecked and took a minute to recompose herself, waiting for her breakfast to come running through her throat. However, she had been building up resistance towards this perk so she held it in and regained her breath. She still had stamina for a quick scan of the ruins with a high, gravity-less jump. She ran to the centre of the ruins, where all the streets where visible, and did a quick check of noise, any weird spot in the streets, everything.

The thought of somebody hiding inside a building came to her mind, but as she had done before herself, deemed it to be unlikely. Had anybody been around and the sound of an actual building collapsing would have scared them shitless. Nobody would have enough backbone to endure such a thing and greet its source with courage. Besides, they’d have joined the battle or gotten Uraraka beforehand. After all, Todoroki was making himself heard before the final battle and she was running away all the time.

She landed on safe ground, slightly lightheaded and dizzy again. However, upon seeing Bakugou at the entrance, she felt relieved and better all of a sudden. He was carrying Todoroki around like a sack of potatoes from the farm. “It shows he has grown.” thought she, making her way to them. “Otherwise he would have left him there to rot, or would’ve hit me out of his way against Todoroki-kun.”

“You sure took your damn sweet time in that stupid sweep, roundface.” spat he, clearly tired but still as aggressive as ever. It was endearing to see him unchanged despite the commotion from before and still being an asshole. “What took you so goddamn long?”

Bakugou checked her physical state and was slightly alarmed by how messed up she looked. Some of her bandages were torn apart after her entrance against Todoroki, she was full of scratches, hair completely disheveled after running around for a bit too long, and fininding it difficult to breathe– had this girl even slept at all?

“I wanted to make sure there was nobody else around, lurking in the shadows or plotting a surprise attack. I don’t think we’d be able to make it through another fight.”

He frowned, fist in mid air ready to hit her. “I SURE AS HELL WOULD, BITCH.” he eyed her, still frowning. “I wouldn’t be so sure about you, though.”

She grinned wide, actually pissing him off somehow. His forehead wrinkled. “I’m fine! I could use some rest though, like I guess you would as well.”

After a few seconds of pondering his answer, Bakugou glared at her. “Why do you fucking pretend you’re perfectly uninjured when you’re clearly struggling to even stand?” he kicked some soil. “I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing and it’s damn confusing.”

She looked at him, bewildered that he was even giving it a second of thought. “I am fine, Bakugou-kun. And when I say fine, I mean I could be crawling back, but I’m not. I’m standing and I can walk, I can breathe.” answered she.

“That’s bullshit, Uraraka.” he took her arm and swung it around his shoulders, her arm trapped beneath Todoroki’s form. “I’m giving you the credit you deserve, and because you belong to my team, we’re walking back with our heads high, not with ‘I could be worse’ shit. You don’t worry me– I know you can handle worse.” he grabbed her waist to help her wobble by his side.

She looked at him, blatantly flabbergasted at his honesty and agressivity. “Why are you being so honest?”

“You are my teammate now, and you defeated this loser back there. I’m giving you the respect you fucking deserve.” Bakugou grunted, eyeing her for a second. “I’ve fought with you, and I know you can endure this. For that, I’ll help you do a damn decent way back there. I don’t want you to fucking stagger your way back to those nerds.”

Uraraka gaped at him, so touched by his forwardness and how his voice tinged with pride and determination for her, just like she had done other times towards him. Her heart swarmed with gratitude and trust towards this guy. He was rude, bratty, a beast in the battlefield and as emotional as a brick. However, he was also passionate, proud and hard-working.

And his hands, harboring her to his side: they were calloused, probably in deep pain and exhausted, but they were also caring and careful, like an artist’s seeking a canvas to paint on.

“By the way,” he eyed the finishing count-down, frowning and ready to pound the lights out of her if she dared to blurt a giggle of hers. “if you tell anyone about all this shit I told you about, I’ll go badshit crazy against you tomorrow, got it?”

Nonetheless, it seemed like she’d be the only one to notice for now.

The timer at the roof beeped loudly as the count marked its ending. All the survivors (surprisingly, very few of them remained untouched) stepped out of the wilderness. The big shock came when a beaming Uraraka marched down the path towards the plaza, supported by an endlessly sulking Bakugou and Todoroki knocked out on his back. Bakugou was struggling to keep this victory quiet and that cheesy feeling in his chest at a minimum, pride swelling deep inside his heart.

“Guys!? You made it back… and you seem fairly well!” screamed Deku as soon as they came into view.

Bakugou instantly went on a rampage and Todoroki fell to the ground. “Were you even doubting it, you bastard!?” Uraraka tried to give her fallen companion a piggy back ride to the teachers while her former companion terrorized Deku. “YOU’LL REGRET BEING ALIVE, DAMN NERD!”

Deku ran for his life, peachy after the practice and in no need for a fight against the official high school murderer.

“Defensive as ever, I see.” commented Kirishima, who had been beaten judging by his scratches and cuts all over his face. As soon as he saw Uraraka, he took Todoroki from her. Her back was suffering. “Nice to see you in a fairly good shape after this, Uraraka-san! I take it Bakugou-kun won the rematch this time?”

Bakugou stopped plotting a thousand murder sprees against Midoriya and frowned.

“What the fuck, you damn redhead.” the blonde hissed at his ear. “She ended up doing most of the job, I only opened a path for her.”

Both blinked at the grumpy blonde, who realized his confession and made his way to a corner, probably scream into an abyss. Meanwhile, everyone who had heard the confession scurried over Uraraka, surprised by the news. Some of them were specially skeptic. Deku hugged her shoulders, and she visibly winced. “Did you really do that? That’s awesome, Uraraka-san!”

Uraraka glanced at her off-cast companion. “Don’t listen to Bakugou-kun. He did most of the job himself. I just… landed the final blow. His battle against Todoroki-kun was harder than my petty final hit.”

“So, who won against Todoroki-kun?” questioned Kirishima, adjusting his body to Todoroki’s.

She sighed. Her hit had been a lucky shot, a matter of circumstances meeting luck, abilities and a bit of imagination. Bakugou’s battle against Todoroki had been way more demanding and he’d have won without her help anyway. Uraraka would give him the credit he previously gave her. Yes, her little scene had been impressive to not only him, but also her herself– although that didn’t mean that she had been the MVP of the practice.

Aware of his glare on her neck, she answered what was fitting for her. The scars on her arms were hidden to the rest behind her back. “We won as a team, but he did most of the impotant work. Had I been alone and I’d be crawling.”

“Wow Uraraka-san, you sure are getting strong though!” Mina hugged her friend from her side, not seeing or touching her arm wounds.

Uraraka grinned. “I’ll be soon catching up, Mina-san! Just you wait!”

Bakugou did see her injuries, some of them bleeding. As well as the blisters, burns and scars, all of their bandages torn open due to her previous handiwork. If she wasn’t willing to let the others know, he’d make her realize himself. His moment of honesty wouldn’t be in vain.

When Uraraka hit her bed, she was almost dead. Her full weight crashed the mattress and soaked her into a mixture of lullabies, sweet dreams and decent resting. Her most critical injuries had been taken care of by Recovery Girl – who had been constantly puffing about how indecent and outrageous of her to go into a battlefield with open cuts and bruises. Needless to say, it had been a remarkably tiring day.

If only she had listened to Iida and, like, the rest of humanity, she’d sure be in a better condition than this. She’d have a few minutes of mental rest and then take all painkillers and change into new bandages, like Recovery Girl had taught her as a pragmatic measure for critical conditions. It’d sure be useful if they ever had another survival exam in a forest with a bunch of villains. Again, where the heck did all those come from.

Uraraka forced herself to gather the bandages from her counter and undo the old ones, slowly, and wincing all the way. Their condition was far worse than she had expected: some injuries would sure scar, others had turned slightly yellow, and the rest were healing nicely, already closed. She had decided to leave those closed injuries unbandaged when a cow came pounding at her door.

Well, it sure was not a cow, but whoever the visitor was needed to learn about silence and being a bit less enthusiastic. Of course, when she opened the door, the surprise was evident when it shouldn’t really have come as much of a shock.

“Bakug–“

“I didn’t need your fucking praise shit back at the USJ.” attacked he directly. He stepped near her, a bit too close for her liking. His breath ran the mountains of her nose and filled her with warmth upon his proximity. Bakugou gripped her arm, knowing it’d hurt her, and growled. “You can do whatever you want, but don’t you ever dare call me a damn liar.”

The red in his eyes burned against her brown irises, increasingly angry as moments passed. His grip was tightening on her burnt forearm, sore after their fight the day prior. Whatever he was trying to convey, it was being consumed by the flames of his anger. “Bakugou-kun, I never intended to call you a liar. If anything, you showed me how honest you could be.”

“Then what the fuck was that about my fight being more demanding when we both know that you almost got yourself straight into a goddamn deathbed against half-n-half?” he couldn’t understand how she reached the conclusion that him interrupting the fight had been any more useful than her actually finishing it off.

Uraraka shook her head, effectively releasing herself from his grip. Instead, she grasped his bruised hands with infinite care. He didn’t seem to mind it much, only flinched and made a frail attempt to pull away. She was too soft, her hands too smooth but also injured and hard at the same time. She was a fighter.

“If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be in a terrible state!” stated she clearly. Her fingers stroked his in a caress. “Todoroki-kun would have devastated the whole area if you hadn’t been there to hold him up! If anything, you are the one who deserves the credit!”

“You were about to collapse back there, Uraraka.” snarled he. “You may fool everyone, but you ain’t fooling me any fucking time soon.”

She was scowling at him, a grimace he found odd plastered in her angelical features. Her round cheeks were covered in small rubble cuts, her nose perked up in fits of anger and her arms– oh, her arms, so full of little scars that could fill a whole galaxy. He wasn’t the most sensitive person in the world, but he could recognize a tough person when he saw one. Bakugou had this urge to tend her wounds, to help her recover from this hard day and wrap her in blankets; wish her goodnight, tell her he was proud of her and watch her finally fucking rest.

A big, submerged part of his heart wanted to take care of her like a good companion, a good rival and a proud teammate. He was craving to tell her to give it a rest, that he could wait another day and postpone their sparring session. A nasty fraction of his mind knew that this was both his and her fault: his for being an animal and hers for being stubborn, for trying to ‘keep up’ with others by sustaining severe wounds.

She must be messed up to have such ambitions. His bubbling ire spoke for him, letting his care rest underneath all his brash behavior. “When I said you could handle this condition, I was being dead straight serious, dumbass. What I wasn’t expecting was for you to be so insufferable and go tell others that your effort at the battle– your goddamn injuries, should be overlooked.”

“I never–“

He grasped his hair, mentally telling himself to stop, that she was too much light for him to handle. Bakugou didn’t stop – a minimal part of him needed to reach to her, know she was safe, unwavering, like he respected and knew her. He needed to know she was alright and wouldn’t go do something stupid. “You did well, angelface. Just fucking stop giving me so much credit.”

What he said next shook her ground.

“Stop trying to treat me like you treat Deku.” he spat, frowning, livid. “I don’t need praise, I don’t need someone telling me what I did right or not. I know my fucking mistakes, I know my feats.” Uraraka remained speechless. “Why would you even do such a stupid thing?”

“Because you deserve credit when you do well, Bakugou-kun!” yelled Uraraka, fisting her shirt. “I don’t give a damn if you like it or not, but you also deserve to have people know you can actually be a good teammate! Sulk all you want, but I’m just giving back the feedback you gave to me.”

“But I never gave you any sort of damn feedback.”

Uraraka sighed. “You did, Bakugou-kun. Maybe you didn’t word it in the gentlest of ways, but I know you actually think I did good. I can see through you like a wet paper.”

Their proximity dawned on him all of a sudden. Why did she…?

Given how near her face was to his, he could do many things: he could punch her for spluttering such nonsense, knock her into delicious slumber and have her being logical the day after. The other alternative was to cup her face, caress her little infinite scars on her cheeks, whisper sweet insults at her, saying how stupid she was and how crazy her behavior was for even trying to understand a wreck like him, for being so damn insistent on being indestructible. Afterwards, he’d kiss her, crash their mouths together in a mad gesture of respect, some admiration, and a bit of that stupid unsettling feeling in his stomach.

He automatically leaned forward–

Bakugou decided to be sane for once and pushed her back, immediately full of questions as to why the idea of kissing her had even occurred to him. His hands dove into his pockets, and a mad blush dusted his cheeks. He immediately craved to smell her sweet fragrance, again. But above all cheesy feelings, he was damn frustrated. “Why would you even fucking try to understand, you of all damn people…?”

His mutter wasn’t heard. He seemed flustered for some reason, still frowning and seemingly at a loss of what to say next. She wasn’t really sure about this, either. How could she get out of this? Was he mad at her for speaking about him when he didn’t want her to? Is it that Bakugou sought to be praised for his own feats, not petty feedbacks from other people?

“I’m sorry if me trying to give you credit upset you somehow.” sighed she. “I just felt like me having the whole spotlight wasn’t correct, Bakugou-kun.”

“I don’t give a damn about what other people think about me, but next time you open your mouth so freely, watch who you’re speaking about, bitch.” Bakugou looked to his side, avoiding her sweet, round eyes and that stupid smile that she had on her face.

“Then we’re good, right?”

“Actually, I have these for you.”

The explosive teen rummaged through his pockets and eventually took out a pair of vials. He didn’t want to remain in that place any longer, so he shoved them to her chest, uncomfortable for being so intimate with somebody and also alone with her. “The red shithead gave these to me so I could give them to you. Just fucking take them and rest already.”

She blinked at him, shocked at his behavior, and glanced at the vials in her hands. There were bottles full of pills, some of them pigmented in reddish colors. The other vial had transparent pebbles full of liquid, possibly some nutrients to help the injuries close altogether. Uraraka beamed at him. “Thank you very much, Bakugou-kun! I’ll make sure to take them as soon as I finish bandaging my arms!”

His hand rubbed his neck. Changing bandages was always a hassle and a pain to get over with. And they stung like a fucker. “Whatever, just be ready for a good kicking tomorrow.”

She hummed in response, stepped back and closed the door behind her. The weight of Bakugou’s words dawned on her then, left her paralyzed and gasping for air. The vials fell from her dainty hands as her heart’s beating went erratic, and her eyes widened in realization.  She was sure his eyes had screamed the same her mind had, that he had hesitated, that something– something dangerous had snapped, shifted underneath them. Her hands shook, still feeling the warmth of his touch, his tough skin, deft fingers in a caress.

“Why… why did I want to kiss him so badly?”

Next day was a weird day, but it was exponentially better than the previous one. She had raised like a bird in her mother’s wing, fully rested, most injuries closed and a healthy rosy tint back to her cheeks. Uraraka was able to do a proper morning routine after a day of autopiloting and wincing.

As soon as she got to class, she was once again swarmed by a good portion of the class. Iida was, once again, the first one to announce her appearance to the classroom.

“You’re looking much better today, Uraraka-san!” his glasses flashed, and he smiled with relief at his long-time friend. Uraraka instantly felt bad for making him worry. “I’m glad you look unscathed, and less bandaged!”

She waved him off with a blinding smile. “I am indeed feeling better, but there’s no need to make a whole deal out of it, Iida-kun!”

Tsuyu approached her with a gentle smile. Apparently, she had been a bit worried as well. “I was worried to see you so beaten up after the training practice. I was glad to see you in good hands. Bakugou sure took care of you, didn’t he?”

Uraraka’s face went beet red, steaming hot. “A-Ah! We just worked as a team, he did his job and protected me, that’s all there is to it!”

However, her mind was screaming, falling into a pitch black hole. Something was off about her feelings, there was something irrationally wrong in her surroundings and she just couldn’t see what exactly was going on. A corner of her darkest walls was dirty, it was disappearing– breaking. A part of her was changing, somehow.

Ochako Uraraka couldn’t put her finger on it no matter how she racked her head for thoughts, changes, anything relatively important that had happened. Apart from her sparrings with Bakugou, nothing was changing alarmingly fast. Her heart was still fully invested on being a top-tier hero, on following Deku’s example of strength and training with Bakugou to reach her ultimate goal.

But then, why didn’t she get those little heart attacks of hers when she saw Deku waving at her? Why couldn’t she bring herself up to blush like she used to? What was wrong with her? She briefly glanced at Bakugou, who caught her gaze and acknowledged her with a nod, going back to mindless bickering with Kirishima. He remained unchanged, too. Then something had changed not outside, but inside.

The day was going smoothly. Classes were tranquil and distracting, taking her mind off unnecessary wonder and stress. She diligently took notes all day, had peaceful lunch with Deku and Iida, spoke with Mina, Tsuyu, Momo and the others. Before the last period of the day, she approached a heavily bandaged Todoroki, greeting him and apologizing for causing him a potential trauma.

He looked at her small form, a strong container for a small person. Shout waved his hand to dismiss the topic. “It’s ok. I wasn’t expecting any less from you, Uraraka-san.”

She took in his words and smiled at him brilliantly, in her usual demeanor. Both made their way to next class and sat in silence, listening to the last lesson and packing their things before leaving.

Yet, Uraraka didn’t move an inch from her desk. The last fifteen minutes from class had flown around her, wrapping her in a suffocating trail of wonder, doubt and thoughts mashed together in a troubling mess. She stared blankly at the desk. There was something off about that day, that undeniably normal, regular day. After the prior thunderstorm of a painful day, the thought of having such a quiet day was strangely unsettling, it was rattling in her conscience endlessly.

Something had shifted. She had felt it the day before, too. But what had exactly changed? Uraraka wasn’t sure. She was suffocating after her encounter with Bakugou, and driven into dreamless slumber afterwards. However, there was no significant change in her thoughts the day after. Her goals were the same, her admirations, her tasks and her limitations.

Nothing had changed, yet everything had.

So wrapped up in a tempesting turmoil, she didn’t notice Kirishima approaching her with a grim expression.

“Yo, Uravity, come back to Earth.” she immediately snapped out of her daze and blinked. The sky outside was fully clear, orange shining in its whole glory. “Class ended a while ago, where have you gone to?”

Uraraka scratched the back of her head, smiling sheepishly. “Ah, sorry! I was just thinking about stuff, I’m sorry!”

Kirishima laughed while seeing her pack her stuff at lightning speed. “No need to fret, Uraraka-san. I just saw you standing there, unmoving, and got a bit scared.”

She looked up again. “I get carried away easily, but it’s no big deal, Kirishima-kun!” her feet padded their way to the exit, backpack tightly grabbed and a big, reassuring smile on her face. She had one foot out of the classroom. “Let’s get going then!”

Kirishima wasn’t following her, she noticed a second later. His eyes were fixated on the big windows behind them, hand in a pocket and a far-off spark in his eyes. He wasn’t facing her anymore, but thinking about what to say next. Words weren’t easy for him, he needed  to place them in a way that would make Uraraka come to terms with what was happening around her.

Eijirou wasn’t foolish. He was deceivingly naïve and trusting, but not many things escaped his sight. He was one of the many people who had witnessed her gradual change. She was the same cheery Uraraka that everyone loved, but something about her ways during battle had become brash and absurd, to the point of even asking Bakugou for training.

“Ever since we took the hero license exam, something’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?”

The gravity manipulator looked at her friend, getting this sinking feeling that something was not right with her friend’s dejected voice. She took a deep breath and tried to ready herself for whatever Kirishima was going to throw at her. “Well, not really. Not much has changed since then.”

“Are you sure about that, Uraraka-san?”

Her eyes travelled to her feet, unable to say anything and deny his statement. Of course things had changed, and the charade couldn’t be held up for long. Uraraka was trembling, feeling like her world was suddenly being destroyed, little by little. The whole classroom faded away, leaving her and Kirishima in a pitch black reality.

“My mindset has changed a little, but it’s not something even worth mentioning.” and it wasn’t a lie.

Kirishima’s head turned to the side, his face gleaming with orange reflections of dawn. “You have feelings for Deku-kun, don’t you?”

Her breath faltered in her lungs and suddenly disappeared. Her breathing was labored, quick, struggling to fight with the unheard confession. Life had been kicked out of her whole being. No one had warned her about this.

“Ah, well–… yeah, I do.”

So the gig was up, huh? Ochako dared look up to her companion, who had this little knowing smile in his face, as if he knew what was going on inside her head when she didn’t even know herself. What was going on?

“Again, are you sure?” those words brought all kinds of pain to her. It was a good question, why had she answered so breathy, so tired, raspy, and unsure? “You don’t seem as sure as you should be, in my opinion. Only commenting on what I see.”

Her heart screamed for whatever this was to stop. It gave her this empty feeling– a void, a huge void in her existence, like something had been robbed of her. But what so missing that made her feel suddenly miserable? What had been stolen from her and why did it hurt so fucking much?

Her heart clenched and constricted, trying to hold a huge truth behind her unseeing eyes, above of her unsuspecting brain, something that would turn her world upside down. The thread was breaking, one that she had fought so much to keep at bay, something that she had realized a long time ago but was refusing to admit, a fragment of a broken illusion…

Kirishima frowned at her. “Are you sure your feelings haven’t changed?”

No, she wanted to scream, yell, growl– make him realize he was wrong, yet–

“Are you sure you aren’t in denial, Uraraka-san?”

The thread snapped, crushed her, and damped her in a cold feeling of grief, dread, and shock. The floor beneath her feet, all she could see, cracked and sunk from underneath, suffocating and making her feel suddenly cold, empty, and undeniably uncomfortable. Ever since she decided to pin her feelings down, ever since she decided to make her path as a hero out of Deku’s life, ever since she had taken things more seriously– all that time, she was slowly moving on.

Her feelings, all of a sudden, had changed. They were flying away, fluttering away, and landing in the heart of another, a darker soul, the hands of a beast. The very same beast who had done blisters, burns, injuries and all sorts of twists to her body.

She couldn’t let that happen. She gripped the fabric of her shirt, breaking down, and realizing that things were dangerously changing and marching towards a hideous tide. Kirishima watched her ever so slowly shed big, fat tears of heavy realization, her body numb and unsobbing. He ran to her and hugged the small content for a long trail of fuzzy thoughts.

The shadows blended in, all crashing together and blowing her away.

“What’s going on?”

Rain was a bitch to fight in. Bakugou had sworn to his future grave that he’d never make such a foolish attempt to train in a clearly adverse environment like water– yet, there he was: fighting like a sucker because his explosions were damn ridiculous but hey, he could put up a pretty good fight anyway.

“COME AT ME, ANGELFACE!” screamed he from behind, aiming to tackle her with one of his combustions. His feet splashed against the wet soil. “Show me that all your bitching about Gunhead and kicking the half-n-half’s ass paid off!”

For once, she didn’t give in to his provoking. Instead, her hands came into contact with a falling tree. Then, the explosive teenager fired her way, tearing the tree apart. She took the opportunity to take the tree’s momentum and throw it his way. He, again, blew it away, but it wasn’t completely burnt to ashes. After all, his explosions weren’t only made of fire. She was sent a few meters behind along with the makeshift piece of weaponry.

Uraraka landed in the wet mud and pulled away the wet strands of hair, all stuck to her face. Now that she saw it, Bakugou was also pretty drenched himself. He had refused to take the jacket off and the weight of the wet clothing was slowing him down. No matter how much he tried to hide it, it was only restraining him. Seeing her admire his wet tracksuit, he took off the jacket and threw it away, landing somewhere near Uraraka’s.

He took advantage of the moment and blew her off with a huge blast that lit up the whole area for a second before dimming under the rain. The wave threw her away like a discarded tissue, her feet and hands hitting the creamy disgusting mixture of soil, sand and little worms. She was kneeling– suddenly, standing again, hand removing excess of sweat and water from her cheeks, and she spit nearby. There was a metallic taste to her mouth after so many hits from her hunter.

“What the fuck, Uraraka! Still standing?” the aforementioned stood proud in the middle of his way, already positioned to fight. She brushed a trail of blood from the corner of her mouth. Ouch, something broken in there. Despite the searing pain, she still aimed at him. He chuckled. “Too much for an angelface!”

His explosions never reached its aim, as she hovered over him for a few seconds before landing safely behind her. Her stomach lurched. She had been doing that little thing for way too long. If she strained herself too much she’d collapse sooner than expected. Of course, Bakugou wouldn’t fall for the jump trap again– he was actually firing at her with all he got, and burning away all her barriers.

However, – she brushed away more sweat from her forehead, panting – his hand muscles would soon give in to tenderness and pain. His quirk would be rendered useless in a few minutes if he continued firing at her at this rate. Uraraka heard him let out a loud chuckle, then start laughing, hysterically.

“I see… I see what you’re aiming for, sneaky bitch.” snarled he after a while. “Trying to wear me off, ain’t you?”

Her silence was enough for him to know that she was being utterly stupid. Uraraka supported herself with a big rock in her surroundings. “I’m not the only one trying to do so, right? You have only landed a pair of hits on me so far, y’know.” her smirk was overly confident, even though her insides were painfully twisting in hurtful nausea. “I can still put up a much better fight that what you’re offering me. Rain is ruining your quirk!”

She lunged at him with all she got, and watched him ready to unleash the greatest of his explosions to show her that he was no softie, that he would make her regret the day she was born. After a few days of training with her, he had learnt that she had these ways to start a fight, those other tactics up her sleeve, that she hid tons of weapons in hidden places– she was no fool. At the same time, he also learnt how to fire at her, how to be careful enough not to destroy her like he did the first time. It’d ruin the fun and secret excitement for another fight – now, he knew when to stop.

The explosion never reached her – she had stepped back, and from the smoke came a rock at full speed, hitting him square in the chest and throwing him to the ground. Blowing the rock away would have been a futile attempt, since his hands were burning, muscles at the brink of breaking. Bakugou grunted, and watched her step out of the smoke. She was panting as well, and seemed to be ready to throw the very same rock at him again, shaking all the way and panting heavily. This was her last card in the deck.

As days had passed, Uraraka changed. While she would have been scared to the bone to land a destroying hit on him the first day, she didn’t even think about it twice now. She was trying to chase him away, trying to push those silly feelings aside, being brutal, giving it her best. Days passed and Bakugou realized that she was slowly starting to lose the line in the sand– how she was wearing herself to the point of unconsciousness, how she was driven to extremes.

She needed to drive those feelings away– needed them to be futile, a mere illusion.

She had grown. But with a severe frown, he lunched forward. It had been enough.

He seized her and threw her to the ground, tackled her, just tried to immobilize her so she’d stop it– stop wanting to go to extremes, stop fighting. After a moment of struggle, she gave up, and the rock dropped to the mud below. Bakugou’s body gave up beneath him, the rain falling hard on them. He lay down somewhere next to her, watching the rain fall and soak them to the bone.

“Why…” his fist hit the mud, splashing his fingers. “Why are you trying so hard, Uraraka!? Why are you being so suicidal, so fucking stupid! Why are you behaving like this, GODDAMMIT.”

She held herself on her elbows, wincing at a rock piercing the joint. “I’m training to become the best of best. I thought it was clear–“

He supported himself with one of his elbows, facing her. His scowl, the gritted teeth, a shadow on his face and his throat constricting in anger, his casual face that he wore everywhere he went– except this time, it was more real, as if his face, his animalistic face actually showed his internal storm, how he was really feeling. “That’s not what I fucking mean, and you know it damn well!”

In that moment, with his hair weighed down, clothes sticking to his skin and dirt all over him… the beast inside him was letting his claws show. Yet, she couldn’t help but see him so beautifully scarred, so angry, and so alive.

He really was something, that psychopath, wasn’t he? She wanted to laugh, but her weak state wouldn’t let her do so. It came out as weak humorless chuckles. “What the fuck are you laughing at, Uraraka!? WHY IS THIS SO GODDAMN FUNNY TO YOU!”

“It…” she smiled painfully at the sky. The rain wouldn’t let up. It was then when she finally understood. “It really isn’t, Bakugou. Trust me– it’s anything but.”

He crawled his way to her side. They were scarce meters away, now. “The answer me already! What the fuck is wrong with you, with Deku, with you two! Why are you constantly trying to shrug things off– things like this, that you’re in damn hell pain, but be all smiley and positive about it!?”

She sat now, her palms holding her whole weight behind her. Her elbows wavered under the pressure. “Because it would never help to cry over a damn bruise, over a damn scar, or a sore limb! So instead, we try to be positive and still fight, because…” she made a weak attempt to reach him, and hit him as hard as possible on the ribs.

“I am fine, Bakugou. And when I say fine, I mean I could be crawling back, but I’m not. I’m standing and I can walk, I can breathe.”

He frowned. “That’s bullshit, Uraraka.”

She fell down shortly after, face dirty with mud and water. He never saw her even bulge– she remained there, grasping the slime. “…it’s what heroes do, isn’t it?” finished he. He brushed some hair away from his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard that fucking thing so many times, it’s annoying bullshit that Deku is constantly spluttering.”

Upon hearing his venomous words, Uraraka instantly sat up and readied her fist. “Shut UP!”

However, he was quick to stop her punch with a single hand, even laying on the ground and grabbing his side after her kick. Bakugou could have easily called in a explosion, make her fly away and just forget about him, about this. Still, he watched her tremble, quiver under the rain. She had never looked so alive to him than now.

The explosive teen threw her whole weight tumbling back. He still crawled back to her, to continue firing at her, trying to understand. “Why, Uraraka.”

She lay there, motionless.

“WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS FOLLOWING DEKU AROUND, URARAKA?” he spit, his fangs clashing and blood spilling out of his injuries, of all the cuts she had rightfully given him. “WHY ARE YOU SO FOCUSED ON BEING LIKE HIM!? WHAT’S THE GODDAMN POINT OF ALL OF THIS?”

He panted hard, struggling to keep his shit together. He saw her finally move, try to turn around and face her like the goddamn warrior he regarded her as. Bakugou needed answers, needed to know why, why of all people, she was following Deku like a moth attracted to a candle.

She eventually sat again, and got to sit on her knees, unable to stand on her feet. “I wanna grow up, Bakugou-kun. It’s been my aspiration ever since I entered this forsaken academy and it’ll be until my last breath. Deku is, is my anchor, Bakugou-kun. He’s all I want to be: a strong, kind-hearted hero that will be brave without wavering.” she was breathing hard, the rain making it harder for her to keep pace of her labored breathing. “I want to be like him, like my role model. And I’ll take all hits necessary to build myself up, and catch up to him!”

Bakugou’s air was knocked out of him in sudden eerie realization . Oh. So that was why…

Still, she gritted her teeth, and looked at the mud under her. There were small patches of water around her. “Why wouldn’t I stick to him when all he’s done is give me affection, give me encouragement, a person to hold onto when the lights die…” Bakugou easily realized how she wasn’t speaking to him anymore. “Why? Why wouldn’t I be by his side when he’s stayed by mine all along!?”

She made his way to him, an unrecognizable expression of frustration, anger and torment written on her features. She was flinching, wincing, crawling to him. She stopped halfway. “Give me a reason not to stick to him!”

Suddenly, her fist was flying to his face once again, and it did hit square on his cheek this time. Bakugou landed on his side, grunting. He spit. “What the actual fuck, Uraraka.” he cleaned some dirt off his cheek. “What fucking nonsense are you talking about, you dumbass!?”

He kicked her on the stomach, making her retreat and hit the mud. “Who the fuck actually told you to get yourself a fucking model!?” his arms crawled to her side, again, and again. “Who told you to also become a damn shadow of your model! You don’t deserve to be his shadow, angelface! You have enough backbone to actually fight him and give him a good beating, to stand by his side and not be always looking up to that nerd, dammit!”

Uraraka struggled to get up this time, and coughed a pair of times. She faced him on all fours, one arm around her stomach. Her eyes were blown wide, mud all over her and the rain soaking her clean. “What are you talking about, B-Bakugou-kun?”

“You know what I’m talking about, dumbass!” the ashen blonde growled, tired of her being so clueless, so stupid, and so underrated. “I’m fucking tired of having others telling me about Deku, a good for nothing, a quirkless bastard– but have Kirishima underestimating you, Kaminari spluttering bullshit about you being fragile, when everyone should know you are not!”

He attempted to punch the living lights out of her, but air left his lungs and his fist fell to her side. Bakugou lay on the mud, hitting the soft surface over and over in frustration. Seeing him so worked up was somehow angering her; she was not a sideckick, a follower, a shadow!

Uraraka kicked him on the ribs again, sending him rolling a meter further. “You’re the one who is being hysterical and a jerk and spitting rubbish! Stop calling me a bystander, stop saying such mean things about Deku-kun, you–“

He coughed loudly and cursed under his breath. His eyes on her still held the glint of an animal killing its innocent prey, a sadistic fuck wanting to wreck her upside down. “See, even though you supposedly have moved on from that bastard, you’re still gonna kill anybody who dares insult him.”

Uraraka looked at him in disbelief. “How did you–“

“Kirishima told me everything, Uraraka.” she gasped loudly. “Mostly because I actually sent him to talk with you, because I wanted– I needed to know what the fuck was going through your mind, what was going on that got you so damn stuck to that loser.”

She suddenly needed to run away, leave, just drop the subject, but her limbs were far from useful right now. She had been reduced to a sputtering mess. “And I don’t give a damn about your feelings towards the bastard. You can go marry him for all I care.” that was an evident blatant lie. His voice cracked. “But don’t be a shadow, don’t fucking reduce your worth to being a follower, don’t aspire to be him, dumbass.”

She gritted her teeth. Her voice came strained. “Stop! Stop this, Bakugou-kun!”

“You’re the one who has to stop being like this, Uraraka– stop being a follower,” Bakugou growled at her, mad at her lack of vision, at her whole self for being so damn stupid and careless. “and go down your own path! What fucking good will it be to become like him when you have so much potential!? Why reduce yourself to a shadow when you can be much more than that!”

“I SAID–“

Her punch was again stopped in time with a grim expression. Instead, he took her wrist and pinned her to the ground, hair fanning into the mud. The fall hurt them both, sore muscles aching for the sudden movement. “No, you are the one who has to stop this, Uraraka.” his nails dug into her dirty skin. “You ain’t going to get shit done like this, Uraraka. Throwing yourself to danger as if taking hits and barely making it through was the way to build up resistance.”

He shook his head, his face clenched in a frustrated scowl. “Stop trying to get yourself into a fucking coma, stop being so reckless to be a shadow, Uraraka. I won’t be training with a follower– not if I know you can kick ass on your own. You are strong enough for everyone, Uraraka– strong enough for me.”

Droplets of rain fell down his flattened spikes and down her cheeks, while he stared at her waiting for a goddamn answer, a sign that she would look after herself, that she’d be careful, that she’d look up to her future self. Apparently, Uraraka read through his irises – her eyes gleamed, widened, and then closed tightly. The reality he was presenting her wasn’t pleasant at all, but nor was seeing her following a nerd like Deku.

“You are right.”

He looked at her again, blinking and willing to listen to whatever she wanted to say.

“Deep inside, I knew that my goals aren’t ideal, that thriving under the shadow of somebody else wasn’t right.” her eyes softened and she managed to smile despite the emotional and physical pain. “Though, I’m not training to fill in a follower slot. I always wanted to be more than that.”

Her next words shocked him. This time, she wasn’t biting her words back.

“That’s why I chose to train with you, and not Deku.” her smile was a bit bigger this time. “I wanted to taste the pain, to know what it feels like to be beaten to your feet, to feel the blood out of your veins. Deku wouldn’t have been as hardcore as you have been all along, Bakugou-kun.” he let go of her hands. Uraraka cleaned some falling blood from her chin. “That’s why, in the end, I chose you– because you gave me the pain that I was searching for.”

Bakugou stared at what Kaminari had described as frail; what Kirishima had called small, cute; what Deku probably saw as somebody to be protected and kept secure in a cage. Instead of all of that, he saw a strong girl, struggling with her own insecurities but still smiling every day. This was the strength she talked about before: being able to keep her problems to herself, to fight nonetheless. She had willingly sought for a beating, knowing she’d very probably lose, endured the pain, tried to heal for herself, but still put up a fight and smile while doing so.

He couldn’t see a corner of her being weak, fragile, or anything akin to such blasphemy. Because she kept coming at him, and he hadn’t realized how much of an effort that must have been. Was this the real Uraraka that nobody saw? Was this woman the real deal?

“You’re fucking insane, Uraraka.” whispered he, more in appreciation than disdain. Yes, he had been harboring admiration towards her ever since the Sports Festival, and it kept growing every time people spoke of her feats at Gunhead– that’s why he actually had decided to train with her in the first place.

Everything had come crashing down in the span of a week or so: all her doubts about Midoriya, his admiration towards her, everything. What he didn’t know was that this little girl would survive the suffocation of so many realities thrown at her at once, and still be able to fight battles with such enthusiasm. How had she come so far?

He took her hand to help her sit. She brushed some bangs aside, the rain still pouring hard on them. “Thank you, Bakugou.” Uraraka showed him a small smile. “Thank you for opening my eyes. I’ll be soon meeting Deku power-wise like I wanted all along, but I won’t be behind him anymore– I’ll train further and walk by everyone’s side.”

She had chosen him as her enemy to grow beyond her own expectations, to meet Midoriya in power– but her newfound friend had somehow made her realize that maybe, she was worth a bigger league than being a shadow of her best friend. Deep inside, she was seeking more recognition, and being able to stand on her own.

He chuckled, smirking. “That’s why you chose me and not that nerd, didn’t you?”

She let out a silly giggle, brushing a smudge of mud from her cheek. “Yeah, that’s why.”

Bakugou flushed pink at the endearing image, frowning. “C’mere, dumbass.”

He held her in his arms, her small body trapped between his knees and his strong arms. His chin rested on top of her muddy hair, blushing at her proximity but not really giving a damn about being sensitive for once. She deserved some comfort, and he’d be damned if he didn’t let her have this moment after all the turmoil she went through. His deft fingers dig through her hair as she grasped his shirt and laughed– finally fucking returned to her old self after so much bullshit.

“Thank you, Bakugou-kun.” her small voice was muffled by his chest. Her touch felt like little sparks and it made something hit hard, real hard in his heart. “For everything.” this time she wasn’t afraid of speaking the whole truth.

Something hit hard in her heart, too. She felt the claws of the feared beast hold her a bit closer, letting all his admiration pour on her, while silently starting to put the pieces together. “Ever since the Sports Festival…” he eyed her with a frown. “that little thing has been growing into this mess, huh.”

As he felt her meld into his body – the very first time someone ever came so near to him, to his heart. He cursed curtly. “Fuck.”

Her dainty arms hugged him tighter, feeling him– him, and nothing else around her; not the rain, the confusion of giving up on a love in favor of somebody else, and the struggle to be strong enough. The silly smile on her face couldn’t be helped.

“And that’s why, in the end, I chose you.”

 When he saw her crashing down, her whole body falling to the concrete with no apparent signs of being concious or even fucking alive, he felt his heart bungee jumping through his stomach, dread drenching his whole being. His breath wavered and he just wanted to run to her side.

He had warned her, told her that he was fucking alright, that the hit had been nothing.

However, she still decided to torture him. As soon as he had blocked the hit and got himself knocked out, Uraraka had shrieked his name and come to his side. She took his body near a pile of rubble and held him to her chest, trembling with fear. He felt her in shambles, whispering his name in slowburn whimpers.

Bakugou wanted to yell at her, make her shut up, tell her he was fine. The shadows of the night, the light of the fire and the broken glass around them– it only enhanced her increasing mental breakdown upon seeing him reduced to a mess of parts.

Somehow, seeing her so broken hurt him more than the actual scorching wound on his torso. The thought had never even occurred to him that his heart would break from seeing somebody cry over him. He could faintly hear her heart, her erratic heart– it was marathoning for him, just for his sake. He grasped the sound, tried to slow it down with the strength he had left, use it as an anchor. Bakugou glanced at Uraraka, and also noticed that there were a few civilians and students taking refuge somewhere near them.

“You stupid, asshole, jerk, and insufferable idiot.” stammered she, hands trembling on his head. She tore one of her bandages off  from her injured arm with her teeth and started the handiwork. Fireballs were destroying the debris protecting them and the enemy would soon clear the way to them; she had to be quick. “What do you think you are doing, being an ass to your whole class and then suddenly being heroic during our final battle– idiot, stupid…”

He growled at her. No matter how much he wanted to normalize the situation, to make her stop babbling incoherencies and be quiet, be normal, stop the pounding headache that so many explosions was giving him. “Who are you calling an ass, you b-bitch...” snarled he.

She wrapped the long bandage across his torn uniform, trying with all her might to stop the bleeding. “You knew it was dangerous, you knew you can die because of this. Yet you went out of your way to– to protect me, when you know I could have dodged it.”

The fire behind the debris was getting blurrier, and the sound of havoc was getting further away from the pair. Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavier, his eyes dry, and his muscles numb. He… didn’t feel that much pain, anymore. The edges of his reality were burning and fading away. Darkness was closing in, lurking and tearing at his consciousness. Uraraka… “Is she still… here?”

There was a big quake under them, cracked the concrete road. Uraraka held tighter onto him, protecting his body from any extra harm coming on their way. He opened his eyes again, and felt her smell, her heartbeat abandon him– his anchor, the only thing tying him to reality. He lay on his front now, barely being able to stand with his arms.

However, when he saw all the debris around them gathering, parts of a destroyed skyscraper– his heart stopped. His mind went blank, the only thing existing– not the civilians, the students, but her trembling figure, his hero, taking the pieces and putting them together in a colossal shield. She was wavering, her knees struggling to hold the whole weight.

And Bakugou was afraid, scared, terrified of losing the only person who could read him despite being an ass, who would hang on to him no matter how many times he pushed her away. Suddenly, his constant, the worst of his pains but also the best of the cures was hanging by a thread.

That was what made her worth loving. That was what made her worth it all. And it was now when he realized that–

“Uraraka…” he grasped the little pebbles of rubble underneath his torn palms. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

When she turned around, the chaos around her still floated, but the tears still fell down her face. Yet again, she knew what she was going against. And yet again, she was still facing the danger as if it were nothing. Uraraka looked at the man she secretly loved with a heartbreaking smile. “Don’t you understand, Bakugou-kun?”

He briefly glanced at the amount of stuff around them and shivered. His eyes started to sting as he slowly realized, with shrunk heart and faltering breathing, dread drenching his body, all of him feeling the reality hit, and at the same time dying– this was her end.

She was going high past her weight limit– something she could barely hold afloat for so long, a burden too heavy for her to lift. As soon as the debris fell down, she’d be no more than a corpse, the pressure of her quirk snapping inside her body in a flash and instantly killing her. Everything was happening so fast, he couldn’t recollect his thoughts, his strength, to give back all the support she had given him all along. He was going to lose her.

And Katsuki Bakugou couldn’t have it.

The debris stood proud in mid-air while the enemy prepared its shot. “I’m not a shadow anymore!” yelled she, earnestly happy. “I’ve become an ally, someone to trust in battle– and you were the ass to make me realize my worth all along. Don’t you understand?”

He gawked at her, speechless, still crawling his way to her to make her stop– stop this madness, make it all stop spinning, stop the ride, make her go to a safe zone and just fucking survive. “Uraraka, stop!”

The tears fell freely, damping the concrete below, but her smile never wavered. “In the end… I chose you, Bakugou-kun. And in the end, I decided that fighting without you with my side… that’s not an option! Living without you...” she shook her head. “Living without you will never be an option, and that’s why I’m choosing you again, Bakugou-kun!”

“NO!” he was too far away, too late to stop her. In the end, the top student of his class hadn’t been strong enough.

He faintly heard the pitch of the massive gun prepared to shot. And all of a sudden, there was a gust of wind, white noise he never registered and something shaking under his weak, defeated being. The only thing he saw was an explosion in front of them, the love of his life standing proud and smiling before being consumed by the contact of the shot– fire encircled her weak form, and the debris shattered into piles of rubble and everything near them exploded into pieces.

Her form faltered on her feet but still stood, and he thought she was fine, alright, she’d survive and fuck, he was relieved because he’d get to see her one more day after this hell was over– his dream suddenly bursted.

Uraraka stumbled, fell to her knees and her body met the hard, broken concrete. When he saw her crashing down, her whole body falling to the concrete with no apparent signs of being conscious or even fucking alive, he felt his heart bungee jumping through his stomach, dread drenching his whole being in a whole new level. His breath wavered and he just wanted to run to her side– hold her in his arms, scream at her like he used to do, caress her burnt locks.

The only thing he could do was scream, his face scrunched in utter disbelief and anger at the scene in front of his eyes, his expression broken beyond repair. He couldn’t understand, why she, of all people, why… why?

“URARAKAAAAAAA!”

She didn’t move no matter how much he barked or moved closer– the world never stopped after her break, nothing changed excepting the fact that his world did stop for a second, his heart fell out of his body and all that was left was the carcass of a broken man. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, stung like motherfuckers, but seeing her not fighting back…

He had sworn he’d never see that scene unfold ever again. Yet, it did.

All he could do was call her name a thousand times more in broken hurls before his brain decided to free him from this hell, from the misery of losing somebody to the hands of her own stubbornness to make him feel proud.

“Didn’t you know, Uraraka?”

His eyes closed shut and the world continued its painful course.

“Deep down, it was always you, angelface.”

In the end, Uraraka was stubborn enough to fight her way through surgery and medication and eventually wake up, immobilized and chained down to a hospital bed. Her eyes fluttered open to the white ceiling of the Recovery Wing, light washing over her bed and form.

Her head instinctively turned to the window. Birds chirped outside and, after a lifetime of pain and hell, she allowed herself to smile. It seemed like they had won after all. The sound of the world outside seemed like a far-off dimension, casting her aside like a corpse and rendering her almost deaf. It was alright though, she could do without hearing that sharply for a pair of days.

That made her wonder… how long had she been out? Uraraka sat up on her bed, already feeling the wires constricting all movement of her arms and back. She removed some bangs from her face – her hair was slightly longer than she’d like – and rubbed her forehead, trying to make ends meet in her mind. There was no calendar around, no way to know where she was temporally speaking.

Also, her throat was clogged and dry as a desert. Her eyes tried to make out her condition, but her arms were heavily chained to several machines by her left side, so it was a bit painful to move. She could feel her legs and move them a bit, so that was something. After such rash move during their final fight, she had expected to be knocked into a coma, but–

She stopped breathing. “Bakugou-kun, Mina-san, Deku-kun, everyone!”

Uraraka was instantly pushing the nurse button like a madwoman – fuck the pain in her arms –until the very own Recovery Girl made her way to her patient, notepad in hand. She had a big smile sketched on her wrinkled face, one that Uraraka needed to imitate because fuck it, she was alive and what else mattered now?

“Good morning, young lady.” the old woman grinned and noted down this newfound condition on her sheet. The gravity manipulator heard busy chatter nearby, but only paid heed to her nurse. “I’m glad to see you finally wake. You sure had a good slumber, didn’t you?”

Uraraka started sweating, scratching her neck. “Actually, I’m not exactly sure about how long I’ve been here, so…”

Recovery Girl left out a good-natured laugh. It seems like Uraraka’s little handiwork during the last fight hadn’t angered the woman at all. After all, she was always getting worked up over Deku’s lack of self-control, and trust her it was noticeable. “You’ve been here for a pair of weeks, and the last one to wake up from all those hospitalized during the battle. That green kid…”

Uraraka was immensely relieved that everyone was apparently okay. Considering that she had blacked out during the last part of the fight, when Deku and most of the rest were giving it their all, so she didn’t expect anybody to be dead or anything mildly severe. If anything, Deku had been hospitalized for the same reason as her: quirk overuse.

“Now, young lady, I have to make some fast checks on you, then, I’ll let you sleep for a while more.” the amount of sedatives on a plastic bag, travelling down a transparent wire increased a bit to help her sleep easily. “We have to check on your condition now and after this. We reckon you need some sleep, don’t you?”

She had always considered that sleeping after such critical conditions wasn’t the best of options, but Recovery Girl was in charge, so she guessed it was alright. “So… a pair of weeks, huh? I hope everyone’s alright.”

Uraraka heard the door of the room close. While Recovery Girl ran a few tests on her heartbeat and the intake of vitamins, the gravity manipulator couldn’t help but ask about her neighbor at the other side of the curtain, whose voice she hadn’t picked up fairly well due to her temporal bad hearing.

The old lady hummed. “Oh, there’s this noisy and sassy kid that won’t stop fidgeting and demanding answers, utmost rude and so moody. You’re an angel compared to him, young lady.” her eyes widened like saucers. “Wait, I’ll present him to you.”

“Wait, there’s no need to–!”

The woman opened the curtain and the morning light beams washed over her neighbor’s body, who jumped at the sudden sunshine and scowled, cursed loudly and glared at his right– then his eyes widened more than she had ever seen them, still as red as she remembered them and god, she suddenly felt euphoric because Bakugou was alive, he was alright.

He gripped the bars of the hospital bar. His irises trembled in disbelief. “Uraraka…?”

Recovery Girl gasped. “Oh, so this is the girl you were so adamant about, little boy?”

Bakugou immediately snapped and blushed in a lovely shade of red. Uraraka’s cheeks were a bit pink, as well. “What the hell, old hag? Who said I was expecting anything, huh? Don’t go around spreading bullshit about me!”

The nurse frowned and started pounding his head with the notepad, making her patient wince repeatedly.

Uraraka took the chance to analyze him: he seemed mostly fine, excepting some band-aids on his right cheek, a bandage around his head, plenty around his hands, and another around his left forearm. Glancing at him more closely and the lack of wires stuck to him, he had woken up long time ago, but was still doing muscular recovery. And it seems like he wasn’t aware of her presence until now, even though he supposedly had asked about her before.

Above all, Bakugou was still a dumbass, but he was healthy. Just then did she remember about what she had done to get her stuck in there, and how she had been willing to die for his wellbeing (even though there had been other people there, but she had mainly thought about Bakugou)– and turned around, focusing on the birds flying around.

After giving the boy the time of his life, the nurse giggled and stepped aside. “I assume you have things to talk about. I’ll come back in a few hours – try to behave, kids.”

The door clicked shut, leaving the pair alone. Each of them sat on their respective beds, but Uraraka could mentally feel him right beside her, his glare piercing the back of her bruised neck. She clenched the blankets around her, trying for all she had left not to look at him – because if she did, she probably would never make it out of that hospital bed.

Uraraka heard Bakugou snarl and cough from behind her. Her spine went stiff.

“Oi, Uraraka.” called he, voice raspy and low. Uraraka closed her eyes tightly, flinching at his aggressiveness. It felt like it had been so long since they had seen each other– touched, fought, spoken, that he felt like he was an alien. Still, she was sure that his eyes still remained red like blood, that his skin was still smooth and hard, and that he was still frowning like she last remembered him.

So, instead of facing him like she had always done, instead of being brave, she remained silent. He had a reason to hate her– she had tried to abandon him after they had made so much progress, and even tried to make it look like it was nothing when she was breaking his heart. Her teeth clenched – she was a terrible person.

“Fuck, Uraraka, answer me– look at me, goddammit.”

Yet her back faced him. He sighed, then grunted in response. “Well then, fine!”

Uraraka heard rattling from behind her. Curious, she turned around to peek at him– her mind exploded, and steam came out of her ears. He was dragging, pushing his bed towards hers with a fearsome disapproving look, groaning as he rolled the bed towards her. She squealed and rolled her bed backwards, running away from him. Fuck her arm wires, she was out of there. “Stop fucking ignoring me, angelface!”

Bakugou reached out, pushed, and the curtain partition wheeled to the end of the room, crashed on the wall, making way for him to approach her. He still continued, trying to grab the bars of her bed to join them together. However, the little girl was having none of that much needed disclosure today, so she still drove her bed backwards.

Seeing Ochako run away was starting to piss him off badly. “What the hell are you doing, dumbass? C’mere!”

Her bed wheels hit the wall, slamming her head against the window pane in the process. Bakugou then, – finally, he thought – curled two fingers around the side bars of her bed and he pushed her towards him, both beds crashing and shaking. Bakugou seized her jaw and his red eyes pierced hers like a knife, teeth gritted and his nails digging deep into her skin.

This was the very first time she was afraid of whatever he had to say, and it gave her this sinking feeling of remorse. His claws were craving his name on his heart, making tears attempt to spill because now– just now she realized that he was a monster again, that she was his prey, but she wouldn’t have him any other way than this beautiful package of rage and fire, crowned with disheveled golden spikes.

She was damned from the start. “Bakugou-kun–“

His grip tightened, nearing his face to hers so she’d see how fucking messed up he was, both inside and outside. “Don’t you fucking dare say that you’re sorry, Uraraka– don’t you even try to run away again–“

“Bakugou-kun, I’m–!”

His lips landed on hers harshly, crushing her smooth mouth under his chapped lips, brow furrowed in concentration because damn, that woman was crazy, she wouldn’t shut up, and god forbid this boy from holding back any longer. Her eyes opened wide, sensing the danger of his violent antics, and tried to pull him away to take a little breath. Her palms tugged on his shirt, gasping for air– but he suddenly broke away for a moment to kiss her again, seal her protests in a slower kiss, aware of her tired condition, and drunk from her presence.

His hands flew to the nape of her neck, angling her face in a better angle, while she finally closed her eyes and gave in to him, to his whole self– the anger, the hurry, the swears, his violence. Her fingernails brushed his neck tenderly and grabbed his shoulders. It was a shame they were in different beds and their bodies weren’t fully touching, but Uraraka was fine with that– not like she could actually feel much more than his lips on hers, his tongue caressing her deepest corners, and his hands – those made to exterminate whole countries, holding her in place.

A few seconds later, he pulled away, both panting. His right hand still held her head near his. “Don’t you ever fucking dare do that again, Uraraka.” he finally let her go, letting her finally breathe because jesus, that was a ground shaker. “Not when we have stuff to talk about, not making it seem like it’s fucking nothing–“

Uraraka frowned, worried about what he was about to say. “Bakugou-kun–“

“It’s not about me, damn it!” he grasped the neck of her shirt, like he always did when he was struggling to make words work. “Think about your fucking self for once! Why would you go and do such a reckless thing, you stupid, mindless brat!”

Her shoulders shook, lips drawn into a thin line. Her hand flew to grab his arm, stopping his frantic shaking. “I did it for you, I already told you why!”

“I don’t give a fuck about that, Uraraka! All I know is that you were willing to throw your life away again– you were willing to, again, serve as a shitty battle casualty when we had stated you’re more than a sacrifice!” he let her go and tore at the sheets on him. “You were willing to throw all your work away for me, who has done nothing but give you burns, injuries–“

Uraraka wasted no time on slapping him. Hard. His eyes widened at the notion. “How can you speak about such thing so lightly when you had been willing to the exact same thing moments before, you jerk!?” now it was her who was grasping his shirt like a maniac, processing the words as they flew out of her mouth. “How can you be berating me when you used yourself as a shield to– to just…”

The dam broke down, tears freely cascading down her face. It was the first time he saw her acting on her feelings in public, showing how messed up she really was. His eyes widened, brows knit in shock. Her shoulders trembled, looking at him in despair. That was the moment when she realized how far things had been twisted, how he had meant something at the beginning, with their first fight, to just mean everything now.

How could she have fallen for him so fast? The experience of almost losing him was overwhelming her.

His teeth gritted. “No measures are enough when an ally is in danger, you dumbass. I acted on instinct, I saw you in the middle of the line and–  I snapped, Uraraka.”

“Then why are my reasons bullshit!? Why do I get all this shit when I was also looking after an ally!?”

He removed her hands from his shirt and grimaced. “Because of your last words, you ass!” her eyes widened and shivered at the cold realization. She could still remember them... “Remember what you said? All about not being able to live by our side, by my side, and then just fucking bursting into flames? REMEMBER THAT I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STOP?”

His shoulders trembled, the weight of losing her suffocating his poor heart. She stared at him sitting still, flabbergasted, trying to understand what he meant. His words came ushered, embarrassed. “Didn’t it cross your damn mind that for me, fighting without you would be hell as well? Didn’t you think about what others would feel?”

She gasped. “But Bakugou-kun–“

“Let me finish!” he took her jaw again, and she feared he’d kiss her again while being livid. “You said that living without us wasn’t an option, that living without me wasn’t an option– and then give up your life for my sake? What the fuck is wrong with you, angelface?” screamed Bakugou, fully aware of other patients in nearby rooms. “Didn’t you realize that maybe I would have a problem with you leaving me? After all I told you about stopping being a mere relief and considering yourself worthy, you go and throw it all away?”

His head hung low, the grip loosening until he was the one gripping his own face in frustration. “Damn it, Uraraka– just don’t do that ever again. Don’t scare me like that ever again…”

“He was…” her breath got stuck in her throat. “… this scared?”

Bakugou was still shaking. “Just stay– stay with us. And I’ll never complain despite you being a pain in the ass.”

Uraraka brushed a silly tear away from her face, trying to smile for him to show that she was fine, that she would make it through any hell destiny threw at her, and all by his side. “Alright.”

“Fucking promise me, angelface.” scowled he. “No shit like that will suffice right now.”

She was instantly frowning.”I’ll only promise you,” sigh. “if you promise me to be careful, to stop swinging yourself to danger so easily– I know you can take it, and I’m glad you’re willing to go against anyone who hurts our comrades and that you have such high hopes to become the best of heroes, but...”

He coughed. “Fair enough.”

When the gravity manipulator looked up, he was evidently blushing, not even trying to keep it hidden. Reflexively, she blushed as well. “Well, if you’re willing to be less of a pain and you’ve been with me despite… well, despite me being fucking me, I can have that compromise with you.”

Compromise. The word itself spoke volumes to her about what he was feeling right now, and made her aware that, despite having positive feelings about her– ones she also held as well, but ones she wasn’t ready to fully show yet – he wasn’t able to give her much more than that, either. They hadn’t been with each other for that long, only something akin to affection beating in their hearts.

They’d cross the bridge when they arrived to it. For now, this was more than enough. “Then I’ll never swing myself into danger so easily, Bakugou-kun. At least, I’ll try to control it.”

He scratched the back of his head and sighed. His scowl was softer now. “Whatever. Just survive– and if I tell you to run, you–“

Without wanting to, a yawn escaped her lips. She immediately slammed her hands on her mouth. “I-I’m so sorry, Bakugou-kun!”

His frown deepened again, slightly pouting. “What the hell, are you sleepy?” he briefly glanced at the dropper by her bed, and remembered how he had been put to sleep soon after he had woken up. “Oh, right.”

She rubbed her eyes with a sheepish smile. “It’s ok, I can hold on for a few minutes.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. Uraraka was going to be the end of him. Couldn’t she see that she needed to go to sleep? Damn her and damn this school. “Fucking to sleep, woman. We can talk when you wake up… or something.”

“Bakugou-kun?”

He observed Uraraka bury herself in blankets with a small smile. “What do you want now?”

She giggled. “Sleep next to me– each in our beds, please?”

Things had gotten to a point that he couldn’t deny her anything without struggling. It was irritating as hell. “I’m not your damn plushie, Uraraka.”

He still lay down and looked at her close her eyes, also trying to fall asleep himself so he’d avoid the embarrassment of explaining to the Recovery staff why the room looked like a mess, why their beds were pushed together and why some blankets were torn. Just the picture itself was worth gold.

He also had something else to tell her. “Uraraka,” her eyes blinked open, and looked at him in silent question. “just to set things clear, you know that I…”

She giggled. “Yeah, I know.” he blushed in that pink hue that she adored in his face. “And you know that I do, too, right?”

Bakugou flashed her a sincere smile, lacking any kind of ill intentions, no sarcasm, or cruelty behind. “Yeah, I know it damn well, you reckless bitch.”

Her laugh vibrated all the way to his heart. Too much for a tough guy like him. “You know,” muttered Uraraka, her hair around her, tangled, and smiling. She looked at his eyes, that everlasting shade of red that could kill millions but only shone like that for her, only her. “even if I had died during the battle, if you had died– in our next life, among a crowd full of faces, I’d still choose you.”

Bakugou would have spit on her before for saying such cheesy stuff. Now though, he only frowned– he just didn’t know what to say. Uraraka knew about this and grinned. “And I know you can’t say much right now but… I’ll wait for you. Until you can tell me what you’re feeling with clear words.”

He smirked, this time determination showing through every fiber of his being. Maybe it was her, just paranoia or illusion– but his eyes shone brighter than ever, fire clearly burning its way to her and taking her in. He drowned in her chocolate irises, allowing himself to breath in her presence, drink in her sweetness, and then speak.

“Just you wait, roundface.” spoke he, showing his fangs. “I’ll be beating you hard to the ground again.”

Her hand reached out to grasp his in a gentle touch. Also feeling a bit woozy, he let himself be touched so. “I can’t wait… Bakugou-kun.”

Her eyelids fell slowly, submerging her in a deep slumber while he stared at that precious thing– that little pain that was willing to stand on lava, make it back to him, and still smile until her cheeks hurt. This time though, he’d make sure that smile reached her eyes every time they met.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face and felt his heart squeeze at the sole notion. He was so deep in already and they weren’t even dating. Bakugou allowed himself a little sigh after so much tension. His eyes twinkled at the woman by his side, a small smile still on his lips.

“Yeah… I can’t wait either.”

A few hours after the reunion, when the sun was rolling down and inking the sky with pink, the whole 1-A class stood before the beds, a bunch of roses for Uraraka in Kaminari’s hands that everyone had bought to her, many crutches shaking upon the sight before them and Kirishima stifling a good laugh.

“What the– are Bakugou-kun and Uraraka-san holding hands?”

Tsuyu didn’t seem impressed at all, and glanced at Deku, who blinked an alarming amount of times. “Did you know anything about this?”

“This is outrageous!” stated Iida, wiping his glasses clean. “Uraraka isn’t even wearing a decent amount of clothes, yet our fellow classmate is too intimate with her!”

All boys titled their head for a better angle, not seeing anything out of place – much to their disappointment.

“I can’t believe Bakugou-kun made a move on her and I wasn’t present.” sighed Kirishima, kicking his best friend’s bed with his crutch. “What a lucky motherfucker.”

“How long have they been an item, though?” wondered Mina, fawning over the pair with little hearts in her eyes.

“Not long enough, I’d say.”

“Well who cares, they just look super-duper cute together, I had never even thought about it!”

“It’s a bizarre pair at best.”

“Todoroki-kun!”

“Bakugou-kun better not hurt my baby, or he’ll be rotten meat!”

“Tsuyu,” Deku still processing the image in front of him, tapped her shoulder. “what’s happening?”

“I bet they had an incredibly romantic reencounter!”

The boys made gagging noises.

“Yeah, and who says they haven’t, like right here, in the spur of a meeting, had se–“

“WHAT THE FUCK, AOYAMA.”

 Author’s note: I’m sorry this probably didn’t live up to the hype *hiccups* I’M SO SORRY *dies*

BONUS:

and @ everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, I love you & i KNOW WHO YOU ARE FAM.