#this..this common ball knowledge I’m sure

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 11

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

“And you haven’t heard from Bakugou?”

“I haven’t.” Kirishima wrings his hands as you nod and look away, trying to hide your expression. In other circumstances, the sight of such a big man—fiery red hair, sharp teeth, muscles and all—fretting in such a way would’ve been funny. Sweet. But as it is, your worry shadows everything.

The first couple of days after Bakugou falls off the grid, you’re a little annoyed. He couldn’t have spared a minute to reply before leaving? Or at least given you an estimate about when he’d be back? Given you a heads up at all?

But a couple days quickly turn into a week, and you begin to worry. Is this normal? Can you call his agency to ask? Or would that be inappropriate, you butting your head into hero business? 

You don’t know if you’re being irrational or if you’re being overbearing when you and Bakugou are just friends. Unrequited soulmates don’t count. You have no real claim to knowledge regarding his whereabouts, his movements. You’re just friends. 

But friends can worry about their friends. That’s totally normal. So you figure—it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Just one call.

“Hi Aiko. I was just wondering…” You hesitate. “You know how Bakugou—Dynamight is away on a mission right now? Would you happen to know when he’ll be back?”

“I’m sorry.” Even over the phone, her regret comes clear through. “I don’t have high enough clearance to know that info. And even if I did, it’s agency policy not to share that kind of information.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you tell her, forcing a cheerful tone. You gnaw at your lip, feeling a little lost. What now?

“But I’m sure Red Riot would know!” she says, just as you make up your mind to say your goodbyes and hang up. “Would you like to schedule a meeting with him?”

You immediately perk up.

“Yes, please!” 

Kirishima touches your shoulder. He says, “I think Bakugou’s been instructed to go dark for this mission.”

You look up into his earnest eyes.

“None of our friends have heard from him either,” he tells you. 

“Oh.” The ball of anxiety that’s been sitting on your chest like a weight lightens just a little. So it’s not just you. 

But is that a bad thing? No one’s heard from him?

The weight returns. 

“Is it normal for him to take missions like this?” you ask. “You guys are used to it?”

Kirishima frowns, looking conflicted. “No… These longer missions are usually reconnaissance or stealth missions, and Bakugou’s quirk doesn’t really mix well with them. But there might be other reasons for him to go dark.”

“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the ground as frustration swells in you. 

You’re so clueless about the hero profession. You don’t know what’s normal, how you should be feeling. If the relative calm Kirishima’s exuding is something you should mimic or if the calm’s due to his familiarity with situations like this. And it’s your own fault. Because in the months you’ve spent learning Bakugou, you could’ve asked about all this. About what he does and what’s to be expected. But you didn’t. 

“Look, please don’t worry.” Kirishima ducks his head to look you in the eye. “Bakugou’s really, really good at what we do. He wouldn’t want you to stress over him being gone.”

“Right,” you say, summoning a weak smile. 

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” Kirishima promises.

“Thanks Kirishima,” you say. 

“Call me Kiri, if you’re comfortable with it!” he says, grinning. “And send me pics of Mikan and Natsu. Bakugou’s stingy about sharing them.” 

Laughing, you agree. 

You: I finally got Kirishima’s number! Remembered to ask him while stopping by the agency this morning 😌

You send a picture you’d taken—Kirishima grinning in the background with the smoothie you’d gotten him, and you throwing up a peace sign at the camera. 

Smiling a little, you imagine Bakugou’s reaction upon seeing the picture, seeing your message. He has no right calling you squirrely when he’s so weird about you being friendly with Kirishima. You’re not sure, but if you could hazard a guess, you think it’s because he’s uncomfortable with mixing friend groups. Which you can understand—sometimes it just doesn’t work, or it’s awkward to facilitate. But still. 

You admit that it’s fun getting reactions out of Bakugou, that sometimes you do things on purpose. You miss messing with him. 

Your messages finish sending, finally. But just like the other texts you’ve sent over the past few days, there’s no indication that they’ve been delivered. 

Your smile fades. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Your head jerks up from your phone as you meet your friend’s eyes. Feeling strangely guilty, you set it down on the table in front of you as she settles back into her seat. 

Mitsuru raises an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been glued to that thing today. You expecting  to hear from someone?”

“Kind of,” you say, then make a face. “Or, I guess, not really. I’m not sure.” 

“The most convoluted answer,” she says, snorting. “Here, pick something from the dessert menu while I flag down that server. You can tell me what’s up with you while we eat.”

Sighing, you take the menu from her. 

Mitsuru’s sharp as a tack in general, but she’s also known you since middle school. It’s not often you wish you could hide things from her, but this time might be one of them. 

You haven’t told anyone about reconnecting with Bakugou. Not Mitsuru, or any of your other friends. You hadn’t even noticed you’d kept your friendship with Bakugou to yourself until recently. You’re not sure why. It’s not like you’re actively hiding it. It’s just… how it’s turned out. 

Okay, maybe you’ve been hiding it a little from Mitsuru specifically. But it’s because she knows him from your time at Aldera. She’d witnessed how mean he was to you, had gotten into verbal scuffles with him, defending you, until you’d asked her to stop.

So. You know that she doesn’t have a good impression of Bakugou. Even after all these years, when she sees ads or merch of him, she rolls her eyes. 

But you do want to talk to someone about it, about him, if only to get some objectivity about your worry. And Mitsuru, with her frank, realistic outlook on the world, is perfect for the job. 

So you tell her about it—an abbreviated, edited version of it. About this friend you’d gotten to know over the past couple months. The “business trip” he’d gone on with little notice and no heads up about when he’d be back. That’s you’re worried because you haven’t heard from him. 

Hiding details—that it’s Bakugou, that the trip is a hero mission—makes you shift in your seat, a stone in your stomach. But you’re scared of what Mitsuru would say. What she’d think if she knew. She’d only ever seen the cruel child he’d been. 

Mitsuru gives you a look when you finally fall silent. She plays with her nails, painted to look like glass, haloed like cat’s eyes, then lifts a hand to wrap a strand of black hair around her finger. 

“This friend of yours,” she says. “It’s Dynamight, isn’t it.” 

Your eyes widen. You choke on the water you’d been sipping. 

“What? Why would you—”

Mitsuru watches as you stumble over your words, mind racing as you try to figure out what to say. She sighs. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to confirm anything if it’ll get you into trouble or something. But I’ve had my suspicions since I saw those promotional pics he took with those kittens. They’re the ones you’re fostering, right?”

Fuck. You should’ve thought of that. Mitsuru was the first to meet them, all those months ago.

“And then there was that noise on social media about Dynamight at that fancy pet store you were excited to try out a couple months back. Don’t think I wouldn’t recognize the back of your little head,” Mitsuru says, eyes narrowed at you. 

You stare at her for a long moment, scrambling for things to say to deny it. She’s cool, eyes steady.

You cover your face with a hand. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you say, letting your hand fall, and she scoffs. 

“Who do you think I am,” she says. 

“You’re the only one I’ve told about him.” 

Mitsuru raises a brow. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I appreciate you confiding in me, I do, but… I remember that little shit did to you when we were in junior high. What the hell are you thinking?”

You wince. “I know how it sounds. But he really has changed, Mitsuru. He’s not that little kid anymore. That bully. People grow up.”

Mitsuru’s mouth remains downturned, eyes distrustful. 

“We really did meet months ago,” you say. “And within the first five minutes of conversation, he apologized. I wasn’t ready for it then, but… But since then, we’ve spent time together. Gotten to know each other. And he’s only ever been kind to me.” 

You find that your words catch in your throat, an unexpected wave of emotion flowing through you. Fiddling with your fingers, you say quietly, “We’re friends now.”

You raise your eyes to meet Mitsuru’s. 

Her expression has changed, softened a little. She reaches over and rubs your arm up and down briskly.

“Hey,” she says. “You don’t have to justify anything or feel any type of way about being friends with him given your history. I trust your judgement. I’m just worried, is all.”

“I get it,” you say. “He really was an asshole as a kid. But he’s a better person now. Promise.” 

You feel your words with a certainty you didn’t have months ago. The Bakugou you know, who cares deeply for his friends, who’s always honest, who admits his mistakes, who puts so much effort and care into his job, helping people, protecting people—he’s a good person. One of the best people in your life. 

Mitsuru leans back into her chair. She inhales deeply, exhales. She says, “Just one more thing. I… I know you say he’s your soulmate, that you can see his lights—”

Your breath catches. You know she doesn’t mean anything by it. But her doubt hurts. It echoes yours, feeds into an insecurity that’s only just tempered by the reassuring flicker of orange and gold when you see Bakugou.  

“—but I remember how unkind he was when he told you it’s not a mutual thing. I don’t know if you’ve already resolved that with him, but… I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I know.” You tap your foot against hers under the table. “Thank you. Really. And we… haven’t talked about it yet. It hasn’t come up.” 

“Why not?”

You shrug, looking away. Prickles of discomfort race up and down your arms. You should talk about it. But. What if it changes things between you? 

Mitsuru studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “All right. All right. But as your friend, I reserve the right to yell at him the second he fucks up. Just letting you know.” 

You snort, tension releasing. “Yes, yes.”

“And you gotta introduce us. Re-introduce us.” 

“I will!” 

Mitsuru reaches over and pinches you in the arm. You whine.

She grins. “Okay, now tell me how the cats got tangled up in being promotional material for Super Explosion Guy blah blah blah. I can be nosy now that you’ve said something.”

You laugh. “His hero name is one of the funniest things about him, isn’t it? So it started because of that pet shop…”

Natsu, your sweet girl, is finally adopted. The paperwork is finalized, Bakugou’s PR people and the foster organization wrap up all loose ends, and you say goodbye. 

It’s quieter, once she’s gone. Lonelier. She was never a noisy cat, but she would always curl up in your lap whenever you’d read or watch something on the couch. Make biscuits on you when you’d drape a blanket over your legs. She was the cuddliest of the three. 

Mikan’s lost both his playmates, and you try to make up for it with extra play time and mental stimulation via things like treat puzzles. You’re glad you still have him. You don’t know what you’ll do when he leaves you too. He’s so big now. 

To distract yourself, you sign up for a cooking class. It’s just one lesson, two and a half hours. You want to feel out the chef instructor, the vibes of doing something like this, before investing in other packages where more lessons are offered over the course of several weeks. 

It’s surprisingly really fun. You’d gone in worried about your knife skills, about keeping up with the instructor. But you shouldn’t have because everyone is super nice and encouraging. The instructor is attentive, patient. And what you make ends up being surprisingly delicious. 

Mitsuru comes over for dinner the next night and you prepare it for her. It’s a hit. 

“How’s pilates been?” you ask, and Mitsuru groans, reclining further into the couch and patting her belly.

“A nightmare,” she says. “I didn’t think it’d be so tough. You’d think two decades of playing sports and generally being active would help. It does in some ways, but not really. You know, I got the shakes yesterday? We were doing an exercise on the reformer and my leg kept shaking, like I had no control over it. It was so embarrassing, jeez. I was at the front of the room, too.” 

You laugh, imagining it, then shake your head. “If you think it’s hard, there’s no hope for me.”

She turns her head to look at you, eyes brightening. “Are you interested? Forget everything I said. It’s amazing. Life-changing. So fun. Easy, even. Come join.” 

Laughing, you push her away as she smacks your leg in enthusiasm. 

“Have you tried pilates?” you ask Kirishima as he finishes taking a big sip of the smoothie you’d gotten him. He’s just wrapped up a workout, and you’re visiting on your lunch break. 

“No,” he says, tilting his head. “My friend Mina does classes at a studio, though, if you’re interested.” 

“I’m definitely not,” you say. You give him a quick rundown of the conversation you had with Mitsuru, adding, “It just got me thinking about maybe joining a gym or picking up something easy I can do consistently. When I moved to this neighborhood two years ago, I canceled my old membership because of the distance. But with how much I’m chained to my desk at work, I figure I should find a new gym.” 

“If you’re down, I can get you started with a couple workouts here at our agency’s gym until you find something you like,” Kirishima tells you. “I know some gyms in this area, so if you want, I’d be happy to help you look, too!” 

You smile up at him. 

“That’d be great, Kiri, thank you! You sure helping me with workouts won’t interfere with your schedule?” 

“We’ll work it out, don’t worry.” He grins at you, giving you a look as if to say, Did you catch that? Did you get it? 

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m going to ignore that. That’s terrible.” 

“Aww.” Kirishima ducks his head. 

You shake yours. “But really, thank you. For the gym stuff and just for being so nice in general.” 

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? Always happy to help a friend.” 

You smile. You open your mouth, then hesitate.

You like Kirishima, think you can become even better friends with time. Still, you’re conscious that you haven’t known him long. That the topics of your conversations have been everyday, casual ones.

But lately, certain heavier thoughts have been plaguing you. Despite keeping busy at work, indulging your interests, investing in your other relationships, you can’t stop thinking about Bakugou. It’s been two weeks now. 

Before, Bakugou being a pro hero meant that every once in a while you’d see him on the news if a villain altercation was serious enough to get covered. It meant seeing him in uniform on the streets during patrol, discreetly waving at him as you passed by on your way to and from work. 

Now it means struggling with not knowing where he is, when he’ll be back, if he’s safe. When you’ll see him again and if he’s okay.

How do heroes, especially ones who grow up together as classmates like those attending UA or Shiketsu, handle all these feelings? How do their—their friends, their families, and their partners manage the fear and uncertainty? 

You know you’re not doing a good job of it.

Looking up into Kirishima’s friendly face, those bright eyes and comforting smile, you take a little leap. 

“Can I ask you a question? A kind of serious one.” 

“Anything!” Kirishima says. He gestures for you to sit on a nearby bench, taking a seat next to you after you’re settled. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You take a deep breath and decide to just go for it. 

“How do you deal with it? The worry, the… all these terrible feelings when your friends are risking their lives fighting people or going off on these long missions?” You have to stop yourself there, worried that if you keep going, you won’t be able to stop; all of these feelings you’ve been grappling with will just come rushing out. 

Kirishima’s gaze softens, understanding. His mouth sets into a thoughtful line as he considers your question. 

“It never stops being tough,” he says slowly. “Simple patrols can turn into fights, or chases, or rescues all the time. Other heroes with more specialized quirks and jobs can be put into even more danger than us regular heroes, depending. I went to school with people who told us the risks, and we faced them. Even earlier than we should’ve.”  

For a moment, the planes of his face fall into a weariness, a seriousness you’d never seen on him before. That lovely light in his eyes dims, just a little. 

He meets your gaze. “And we still stayed on with the job. For lots of us, helping people, keeping people safe, it’s worth all of it. But for our family, partners, who’re civilians, it’s hard.” 

“So it never gets easy? You just have to live with it?” you ask quietly, that burden settling heavy in your heart.

“I don’t know about easy. But. For me, uh. I don’t know if this’ll be helpful at all, but, um, I try to stay in the present. I used to always be thinking about what ifs or things that hadn’t happened—yet, I thought, and worked myself up. Still do sometimes. But one of my former teachers told me that that’s no way to live your life. Miss out on so much doing that.”

You can relate.

Kirishima tilts his head, thinking for a moment. 

“Oh! And of course there are, like, mental health professionals and support groups I can connect you to. If you want! Lots of heroes see someone regularly, and so do their family members or partners,” he says. 

“I’d like that,” you tell him. 

He smiles at you, reaches out to pat your hand. “Talking about it helps. Having community helps me most, personally. Friends who have my back, family who care. So. If you need someone. I’m always here, okay? I got you.”

An open hand, so readily offered. 

A little lump rises in your throat. These people you’ve met—Bakugou, Kiri, Pulsar, Shieldmaiden—really are heroes. They’re such good people. 

“Thanks, Kiri,” you say with a wobbly smile. 

The days continue to pass, and you try to stay balanced, focused. Some days you succeed, and others you don’t. 

A new restaurant near your work opens up, specializing in your favorite cuisine, and you and a coworker head out to try it. 

You’re waiting for the light to change for the crossing, chatting with your coworker, when a flicker of orange catches your eye. 

You raise your head, your coworker’s voice receding into the background as you slowly scan the streets for what’d caught your attention. 

There. That orange and gold is unmistakable. Your breath catches. 

“Bakugou,” you say, and—his name feels like it’s ripped out of you, a compulsion. The vowels and consonants are lost to the bustle of city life, but his name remains, a question on your tongue. 

You nearly start forward, stepping into the street, before remembering yourself. It’s so hard to resist the urge to run after him, cars be damned, what your coworker would think be damned. But you hold yourself still, tense. Eyes locked on the man walking further and further away from you.

It’s him, right? If he wasn’t wearing a hoodie, you’d be able to tell for sure by his hair, his build. But the hoodie obscures the lines of his body. This far away, you can no longer make out any flashes of orange and gold.

The wait for this pedestrian crossing is so fucking long. You’re going to file a complaint to—to someone, to whomever is in charge of this shit. Fuck. 

Biting your lip, you watch as his figure disappears around the corner. 

“What’d you say?” your coworker asks, jostling you. 

You blink, feeling a little out of body, dazed. Your coworker peers into your face, concerned. 

“You good?” 

“I—yeah. I’m fine.” Forget about lunch. You need to check your phone. 

But before you can do so, your coworker grabs your elbow, propelling you forward. “Hey, the light’s changing, c’mon.”

Maybe you imagined it. Maybe it wasn’t him. 

The second you got the chance, you checked your phone. But there were no messages from Bakugou waiting for you, none from Kiri. Just a couple from Mitsuru, one from your mom, another from a coworker asking you to pick something up from the restaurant for them. 

Maybe you’re losing it.

You sigh, stroking down the length of Mikan’s back, eyes watching but not perceiving the show you’d put on. 

He’d text you if he were back in town, right? Kiri would give you a heads up. So it was your wishful thinking earlier, your imagination. 

You miss him. It’s been almost three weeks. You’ve thought about reaching out to the groups Kiri recommended to you, but you always chicken out at the last minute, phone in hand, number undialed. 

Kiri’d said that heroes’ family or partners go to these things. He hadn’t mentioned friends. Would it be weird to show up just as a hero’s friend? Would telling them he’s your soulmate help justify it? 

But no, because. What would you even say? Hi, I’m a hero’s friend. Yeah, just friends. Well, no, technically he’s also my soulmate. What do I mean by technically? Well, he’s mine but I’m not his. So yeah. 

Even the thought of admitting that to strangers makes you nauseous. 

And what if you slip and say his name? You don’t want people to know you’re talking about Bakugou. You’re not sure you’re allowed to say he’s on a mission. You’re still not sure you want people outside your personal lives aware that you know each other, are friends. 

You pick Mikan up, lifting him to eye level, and bury your face in his side. That nice cat smell envelops you for a nice moment. 

He squirms out of your grip, jumping to the floor. Giving you a look, he begins washing his fur with his tongue. 

You slump into the couch, defeated.

Bright and early, the next morning finds you at the agency in workout clothes. 

All night, you’d tossed and turned, mind busy. You’d fallen into a fitful sleep around 2 AM, only to wake up again around 5 AM. At that point, you gave up and decided that maybe if you tired your body out, your mind would shut up and let you rest. At the very least, you’re grateful it’s a Saturday and you don’t have to come in to work. 

Flashing a quick smile and wave to the front desk, you use your access card to head up to the gym. The halls are quiet, and the few people using the gym are people you don’t know. 

You slip on some headphones and get to work. 

Truthfully, you shouldn’t be mooching off Kiri’s—and Bakugou’s—generosity. But you’ve really enjoyed the workouts you’ve had with Kiri this past week. He designed a workout routine for you and demonstrated the exercises you’ve been doing. He’s encouraging, and he knows just how far to push you. He really has a way with people. It’s made you less motivated to seek out your own gym. You’ve been spoiled. 

You’ll look into the gyms Kiri recommended later today, you resolve. After a nap. The workout’s done its job. You clean up the machine you’d been using and head out. 

You’re mid-yawn, eyes squinted and watering, so you don’t catch that someone’s trying to enter the gym at the same time as you’re exiting until it’s too late. 

“Oh, sorry,” you say, quickly wiping at your eyes, embarrassed. When they’re clear, you look up, then freeze. 

“Bakugou!” 

Bakugou grunts. Says your name in greeting. His eyes quickly scan you up and down before coming to rest on your face. 

You’re warm, very aware that you’re still a little sweaty. You hope you don’t smell. You want to hug him so badly, but you’re too nervous. You’re self-conscious, shy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. 

He looks tired, eyes weary. His hair’s grown out a little, longer than you’re used to seeing on him. A bandage rests right below his scar, stark against his skin. 

The little details don’t matter. You’re so happy to see him. You’re smiling, not realizing it. 

When Bakugou doesn’t say anything more, you ask, “When did you get back?”

He hesitates for a second, looks at the wall next to you, then back at you. 

“A couple days ago,” he says shortly. 

You pause. 

“A couple days ago?” you repeat. A feeling you can’t quite name begins to creep up the back of your neck. It’s not a nice feeling. “Oh. Did you, I mean, were there a lot of post-mission things you needed to do?”

“Yeah. A bunch of annoying bullshit.” 

You make a sympathetic sound. There, you tell yourself silently. He had reasons for not giving you a heads up that he’s been back. The world doesn’t revolve around you. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks. 

The gym’s doors open behind you as someone exits, and Bakugou puts a hand on the small of your back, pulling you to the side and out of the way. 

His hand on your back, even through your clothes, is warm. 

It takes you a second to reply. “Kiri said it’d be okay if I use the agency’s gyms until I find my own. I hope that’s okay.”

“S’fine,” he says. 

His hand’s still on your back. He’s standing so close to you, just looking at you. At your face, darting down your body, as if committing you to memory. As if it’s something you won’t notice. You don’t mind at all. You can’t take your eyes off him either. 

But—

“I—sorry, I gotta ask, it’s bothering me,” you say. “I hear that you’ve been busy, but. A quick, ‘Hey I’m back, I’m fine’ message would’ve been appreciated, y’know? If you were allowed. Was it that you weren’t allowed to tell non-heroes that you’re back?”

Bakugou’s hand falls away from you. He exhales deeply and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“No. Just didn’t have time to talk to you.”

Something sharp and unpleasant rises as a slow wave in you. You remind yourself that busy is busy, and some things aren’t in his control. 

But—it’s been days. If it really was him you saw the other day, out in the city, it’s been at least four days. And it looks like he was heading into the gym before you bumped into him.

Frowning, you shift your gym bag to your other hand, bowing your head. “Bakugou. You were gone a long time, and I had no idea what was happening with you. I feel like you could’ve shot me a quick message.”

“I told you I was gonna be on a mission,” he says, furrowing his brows. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t say when you’d be back, or if it’d be dangerous, or anything except just that,” you say, voice rising a little at the end. 

Inhaling deeply, you force yourself to breathe, speak normally. “Neither Kiri nor the agency could tell me anything. It sucked, Bakugou. I just wanna know what’s going on.” 

Bakugou scowls. 

“Look, I told you I’ve been busy,” he says. “I just got back, give me a fucking second. And I can’t always tell you shit just because it’s inconvenient for you not to know.”

The gym doors open once more, another person leaving, and you become hyper aware that you’re having this conversation in public. Suddenly, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore. 

“You’re right,” you say evenly. “Sorry for overstepping. I’ll let you get to your workout.”

You move to get past him, and he steps in front of you. You stop just short of touching, your hands tightening into fists. The strap of your bag digs into the meat of your hand.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says. “You’re not getting it. Stop taking shit personally. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

You look at him. Shaking your head, you say, “You know what? I’m done here. Bye.”

“We’re not done with shit,” Bakugou says.

“Well I’m done, so back off.”

“Not until—”

“Look, Bakugou,” you say, voice trembling. Shit. You don’t want him to think you’re crying, because you’re not. You’re just so mad. “I’m really fucking upset right now. And the shit you’re saying’s just making things worse. Let’s table this. Let me go.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back at him defiantly. 

“Fine,” he growls.

“Great,” you say. 

You turn on your heel and leave.

Your mind is empty the entire train ride home. 

Distantly, you recognize that your back and neck ache from the tension you’re carrying, but it’s impossible to relax. You feel a little separate from your body, like you’re watching yourself move through the actions of getting off at your stop and walking back to your apartment. 

Once you’re home, you throw yourself into a hot shower, hoping to jar yourself out of the mood you’re in. But even after it, you’re still tense, still aching. 

You try to take a nap. But your body only remembers conflict; the normally satisfying ache and tiredness post-workout is nowhere to be found. You’re wide awake. 

The anger rears its head once more. Why doesn’t he get it? That you were worried, that you wanted him to communicate as much as he could, as soon as he could. 

You understand that he can’t tell you certain things because of the nature of his work. You just want him to think of you, of how you’d feel, of how you felt. 

Then it’s like a switch flipping, and you’re just. Sad. What a dumb thing to argue over. Such a small thing. Did you overreact? Did you mess things up because you’re overthinking things?

But how would he feel, if you did the same thing to him? Just—fucked off to some place without telling him where or when you’d be back? And when you did get back, not let him know until it’s been days? 

Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe it’s that you care too much, too much to be right for the relationship you have with him. 

Sleep finds you, eventually. You’re grateful.

Author's Note: And... I'm terrible! Awful! First I left ya'll with a cliffhanger with chapter 10, and now I show up nearly a year later with this angsty chapter... Feel free to yell at me in the replies, I deserve it. 😔

But thank you to all of you who've liked, reblogged, and commented on chapters of this fic since last update! And sent in asks wondering if I'm ever going to update again!! LOL! Knowing that people are still reading and care to know the end of Bakugou and Reader's story motivates me to keep writing. 💖

I do have about 2K of chapter 12 written... Hoping to post that soon, and not after a year has passed lmao. 😅

Alrighty, take care everyone! Hugs and kisses!!!

[groundzerosgirlfriend]

Traits they would want in a partner:

Senku Ishigami

(This unedited so dont @ me)

Firstly. IF you ever manage to get into a relationship with the man known as Senku Ishigami you probably deserve some kind of award for having to deal with this man’s crazed scientist bullshit every day. He literally doesn’t change one bit, he's still the same Senku that’s blunt, mean, hates physical affection and mushy words. The reward for the least romantic boyfriend goes to *drumroll effect* SENKU!

Senku probably prefers someone that’s he known for a really long time I’m talking since he was at least in junior high but the further back the better and if you were in the science club with him back in high school fantastic. Meeting new people is one thing but actually having romantic feelings for them is a whole other ball game. It’s easier and less work when liking someone who already knows him inside out and vice versa instead of having to do the whole cliché ‘get to know each other’ façade over and over again.

Also, I feel like Senku has only had like maybe 2 crushes in his entire lifetime: one was some famous scientist he saw on tv talking at a press conference at the head of the table in a room full of men and the other one was in his first year of junior high when he was bested at a mathlete competition (in his defense he pulled the most brutal all-nighter the night before while working on some insane project and messed up the placement of a decimal point) by a girl who wore the chunkiest pair of glasses known to man. He quickly got over both as he had learned that realistic the possibility of this famous scientist (who was also married) falling in love with a prepubescent boy was damn near impossible (and illegal) and the girl he liked in school ended up coming out as a lesbian when she and another girl were caught kissing each other's cheek during break time.

Senku probably likes individuals that are independent and self-sufficient like Kohaku (girl boss!!) People that are clingy and to needy are not his forte’ and makes his face sneer or deadpan brutally. He doesn’t like physical affection or words of affirmation on most days he’s more of a quality time (slaving over more experiments with you doing physical labor) and gift giving (making you little trinkets from his science experiments). I mean it’s pretty obvious remember that one episode where Senku’s own dad was about to give a long emotional speech on the record but stopped because he knew Senku would ew at it. So if you’re somebody that thrives off of praise and attention then *opens the door* please see yourself out respectfully because this man is not going to give it to you. You'll be like a little dried up cactus begging for attention.

Senku likes cleanliness and organization. Senku himself is very clean and hygienic. People that are not are usually big turn off and and an even bigger *thumbs down* for him. He’s also organized despite how his experiments and projects seem to be all over the place they’re not. He knows exactly where everything is, the exact millimeter of, every beaker, of every pipette, of every pencil. It's called organized chaos. If one thing is moved without his consent or worse, his knowledge the entire room is thrown off and he has a hard time finding anything for the next 12 hours.

Personal opinion here but I feel like Senku has as dislike for bugs. Like sure. Bugs are cool to explore and on a scientific level sure but anything other than that he’s not really cheering for joy about it. I also feel like he despises getting sick, like literally any type of sickness whether it’s the common influenzas virus or even a slight stomach bug. He’s miserable and irritated and it takes a really long time to get better because although the scientist in him tells him he needs to rest the stubborn workaholic in him tells him he’ll be fine to do a few minutes of work (which ends up turning into hours-please make this man rest🙏🙏). So if you’re the type where you’re unhygienic to the point of constantly being sick or attracting like actual bugs then either you’re going to have pick up the slack on your hygiene or leave realll quick.

Senku also likes people that smart either intellectually or when they’re witty and have a sharp mouth. If they can understand and even better add in their own input when he’s going on and on about different types of minerals sharing his excitement when they make a scientific breakthrough in the stone world he thinks if he didn't believe marriage was a social construction he'd get down on one knee with some sparkly rock he *borrowed* from Chrome's rock collection. Now even if his partner isn’t all into the science *blah blah* cells *blah blah* quantum mechanics and Schrodinger's equation a partner who is sharp on his mouth will suffice jussst as well. It's makes him snicker the tiniest bit turning his head away so no one can see the grin covered on his mouth covered by his hands. People who are blunt and not softspoken are a *big thumbs* in Senku’s book why would someone who has something to say not say it? A waste of time in his head.

Senku likes a willingness to learn even if it's just about they like every now and again. He knows that science is a high broad topic that covers from up into the vacuum known as space or as to the deep as the aquatic volcanoes known in the deep blue ocean. And he knows about it all in that gorgeous brain of his. In Senku's mind everything thing revolves around science, walking-the physiology of cells to tissues, tissues to muscles and neurological brain activity to make voluntary commands, art- the primary colors created by the art starting from things like mud, bugs and fruits, oh chemicals- easy it all starts with the period table of elements starting from hydrogen all the way down to Ogganseon. Anything you like any hobby you enjoy has to involve some kind of science and if you ask some him some questions about how it works or at least how it originates he knows that somewhere in you have the curiosity of a scientist.

Likes athleticism....maybe? Honestly, I'm kind of unsure about this one because on one hand I can see him liking people that are athletic and physically fit not because he thinks that being skinny is better or anything like that but because he can definitely use you like a horse (do yall know like those short mini scenes between the episodes where Senku like dresses up as different jobs imagine him as a farmer with a straw hat on his head in overalls a piece of straw in his mouth and a riding crop in one hand whew😩😩😩) for a lot of physical labor don't worry he'll return your hard work with a treat of your choice but be prepared he will complain about your laziness and wanting to help 'humanity' but on the other hand I could see him liking people that get winded and red faced after walking up stairs or carrying a bucket of water just like he does (extra points if it's a guy like him) because if you're both low stamina and low endurance you can't tease him about his athletic abilities. So a tie maybe.

Lastly, LOVES a strong will and determination he knows that starting the stone world back to modern humanity from scratch is no easy feat hell even he has made a few mistakes while trying to figure himself out. But what he does know is that science is filled with trail and error (mostly error) and it takes a loooot of time before you actually get what you're looking for so if you're the type to give up easily after failing once or twice and turn your back to his goal of turning the world back into the modern society he once had then....I'm sorry to say it probably won't work out for you there's only so many motivational speeches this man can give before he gets annoyed and just lets you give up without any reassurance (don't worry he doesn't take it personal), besides he still has people like Chrome, Sukia, and Kohaku to help.

@instanthideoutsalad I know you said you wanted Soft Boyfriend Head cannons of Senku but I'm so uninspired with those at the moment so please accept my humble offering of this drabble I made🙏🙏🙏🙏. I swear I'll do it soon it soon. 😪😪

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[transformers-spike]

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at��least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding. 

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

[trashogram]

The Traveling Circus AU

(Not a full fic, just rambling thoughts on this Lucifer/F!Reader idea)

Traveling circuses were pretty popular in 1930s America, and apparently they were free to attend — So you swallowed back your trepidation in getting out of your room and attended the newest circus to come to your sleepy little town.

The Romance

I’m so sorry but this has to be the way Lucifer learns of Reader’s existence:

He sees you and is instantly in love. Love at First Sight does exist in this AU because I say so.

You’re “nothing special”, or so you claim. You’re an unwed working woman in the 30s and therefore seen as undesirable. Your biggest privilege is that unlike a lot of ‘spinsters’ that struggle under the weight of meager wages and no family, you’ve avoided homelessness by renting out a room from an old widow. You work as her personal seamstress day and night, so you have damaged, aching hands and have developed mild agoraphobia.

Lucifer has a knack for getting people out of their comfort zone though. You’re charmed by how his showman persona on stage is contradicted by his earnest bumbling as he tries to get to know you. Your fear of other people is somehow swayed enough to allow him to take your hands in his, to let him see the rough, imperfect skin and still call you beautiful.

It’s also heartwarming to see him with his little daughter Charlie, who follows after him like a duckling and takes a shine to you just like her father. Her presence makes it easier to trust this stranger (who unbeknownst to you is the Devil himself).

The other Sins definitely take notice of how shaken and unlike himself Lucifer becomes in the middle of a show and, since they’re all nosy and love drama, they conspire and gossip about what has their Ringmaster in such a funk until the truth comes out.

Other details

Not sure yet if I want Barnum & Bailey to still exist or if Hell’s Circus troupe takes its place — if it’s the latter, that would mean that Lucifer is the P.T. Barnum equivalent here 🥲 but ofc he’s more like TGS’s version and not the actual awful human being

Lucifer and Lilith were never in love/married here. They were close after the Eden incident but it was mostly trauma-based bonding over a common enemy. So I’m also not sure if I wanna inject a little Pinocchio into this and have Charlie be made by Lucifer as a little doll brought to life by his earnest wish or if it’s simply ‘Lilith disappeared way earlier while they were co-parenting and Lucifer became even more of a single dad’ or even ‘Lilith didn’t want the baby so Lucifer kept her’.

Taking from the post I RB’d, here’s the lineup of our Sins and their roles:

Ringmaster - Lucifer

Strongman - Satan

Animal Tamer - Beelzebub

Fire Breather - Asmodeus

Clown - Mammon

Freak show - Leviathan

Magician - Belphegor

The Sins all have unique relationships with each other —

Lucifer and Satan constantly butt heads (although it’s usually Satan’s beef bc he has a chip on his shoulder over not being the leader)

Satan goes to Belphegor to complain, even though she’s mostly spaced out on hookah smoke from her crystal ball (she’s a combined magician and fortune teller) so is only half-listening

Meanwhile, Belphegor has to ration said laced smoke to prevent Bee from asking for more after a few too many benders (many done without Belphie’s permission or even her knowledge) but when Bee takes anything she takes the most she can get of it and doesn’t understand why that’s such a problem

Levi agrees, but goes behind Bee’s back to say otherwise. And Mammon loves to see the backstabbing in real time because while Greed and Gluttony pair well together, he and Bee are separate entities unfortunately and therefore have to split assets.

Mammon hates the fact that he has to share workers with the others, but has no problem taking imps from Satan to be his clown entourage. They make him so much money, why should he be sorry T-T

And Asmodeus may be the closest thing to Bailey in this Barnum & Bailey operation, but he’s also got his shortcomings — those orgies with human attendants can get a little too time-consuming and he’s been late to perform for a general audience more than once

Unlike canon, there is an integral connection between Hell and Earth/Humanity — the Sins thrive on human beings partaking in their namesakes, so this circus is a fun way to encourage that

It also may be Lucifer’s way of doing the job his dear old Dad assigned him and Lucifer is pretty grumpy about it… but he enjoys being a showman putting on performances for his captivated audience

All of the workers that perform with the Sins are hellfolk, many of whom are disguised as humans unless they’re the “freaks” on display. They’re all very chaotic and delight in being tricksters who also thief and murder while fulfilling their respective Sin’s quota.

[yjdrabbles123]

Quiet/Loud Chapter 5

She hopes that Gen will stop now that Lottie has semi-called her out, but she just gets worse.

‘Mari spilled her juice!’

‘Mari lost her keys!’

‘Mari’s sucking her thumb!’

‘No I’m not!’

(She’s not a baby. She doesn’t do that and how did Gen even see, she’d thought the car was dark enough that no one would be able to tell- not that she was sucking her thumb. Obviously. She balls her hands into fists and shoves them into her coat pockets for the rest of the drive home.)

And then the worst one: ‘Mari needs to go to the bathroom!’

‘Shut up, I’m fine-’

The retort flies out so quickly that she doesn’t have time to think about whether or not it’s actually true. Actually she does kind of need to go but she knows they’ll probably be stopping soon so it’s no big deal, she’ll just hold it.

And sure it’s gotten a tiny bit urgent but she’s still fine, obviously- she’s not a baby who’s going to have an accident-, she’s only been needing to squirm a tiny bit and she hadn’t thought anyone would even notice-

Except now everyone’s looking at her and it’s making her face hot and Tai is frowning and pulling into the gross looking gas station ahead, even though they’d all agreed they were going to stop at McDonalds for lunch. 

Although she guesses that if Tai’s stopped for gas, it does make sense that they can use the bathroom too, it’s just common sense, and it doesn’t mean that Tai stopped for her or anything….

Except it’s all wrong because Tai’s pulling over into a regular parking bay, forgoing the gas pumps entirely and no one else is even moving- is she really the only one who needs to go? Not that she does really of course but seriously?

‘Anyone else?’ Tai looks around briefly and then nods towards the bathrooms when she’s greeted with a chorus of Nos.. ‘They’re just over there, do you want me to come with you?’

Great- as if it’s not embarrassing enough that they’re pulling over just for her, Tai’s offering to take her like she’s a baby who needs to be escorted, like she’s Mel who almost always needs someone to go with her and even then doesn’t always make it.

There’s nothing wrong with Mel needing help obviously- everyone’s always saying that….but she’s NOT Mel, she DOESN’T need help.

‘I’m fine,’ she snaps and her face is so hot it’s burning and she can’t meet anyone's eyes. ‘I don’t need to go, so you should just keep driving. I’m hungry.’

Van frowns.

‘Are you sure? The McDonalds won’t be for a bit-’

…. Wait, really? She had assumed it was pretty close…. The thought that she might actually have to hold it even longer than she thought makes her squirm again, even though everyone is looking at her, and part of her wants to just give up and get out of the car, even if Shauna makes fun of her for it later.

Except….now that she’s said she doesn’t need to go, she can’t change her mind now. Then they’ll all know she was lying out of embarrassment and somehow THAT is even MORE embarrassing than being the only one get out of the car.

And if Gen is calling her out now, what’ll she say if Mari gives in and goes? What’ll Shauna say? What if they all laugh about how much of a baby she is while she’s in the bathroom?

No, she can’t let that happen.

It’s fine, she’ll just hold it.

Except….it really is a long way to the McDonalds and it’s so so hard not to wriggle in her seat because she needs to go so so badly but also she can’t let anyone know because that’s embarrassing and she’ll just hold it, she can hold it, she can-

And then a car pulls in too close and Tai has to slam the breaks and suddenly Mari’s lap is getting very warm and no matter how hard she clutches herself and squirms, she can’t stop-

She feels sick. The humiliation of it is burning all over her and she wants this all to be horrible dream except it isn’t, it’s real and the force of the knowledge makes her want to throw up, which would actually be ok with her.

If she throws up, it means she’s really properly sick and you can’t laugh at properly sick people no matter what because anything that happens is just A Symptom-

Except she isn’t sick, she knows she isn’t. She’s just a baby, and her eyes are prickling with tears at how awful this all is-

‘Mar, are you-’ Van’s voice trailing off makes her realise that no one has noticed her accident yet and that’s actually worse because now she’s watching them all turn to look at her, even Tai in the drivers mirror, and even though she tries to cover the wet patch with her hands, she knows they’ve all seen-

Van starts loudly asking everyone what they’re going to order from McDonalds and it’s probably meant to be kind but it also kind of feels like Van is holding up a big flashing sign: Everyone talk about McDonalds because Mari peed her pants.

It does work and everyone looks away from her quickly, but through her teary eyes, she catches Gen’s guilty looking gaze.

 Gen. Who is the reason this has happened.

‘I hate you.’

It’s choked with tears but Gen hears all the same and looks at her with wide sad eyes, mouth starting to open in an apology but Mari doesn’t care.

She turns her face away from everyone, roughly shrugs Lottie off when she tries to touch her, murmuring that it’s all ok and these things happen and there are spare clothes in the trunk and cries silently into her own hands in her wet, cold pants until they pull over, far far too late.

She wishes right now that she didn’t exist at all.

[xxashtonxx]

Friendly reminder at 1am for ALL TUMBLR ARTISTS to watch out for scam bots? I’m sure this is common knowledge to most but for those who don’t know who see this by some random chance, you’ll get a comment on one of your artworks asking “hey do you do commissions, inbox me if so” or something like that and when you go to discuss payment they’ll pull some shit with paypal when the payments don’t go through and you get an email from this fake ass PayPal email saying “oh your acc isnt a business acc theyll have to send 300 dollars for it to work and then you refund them blah blah blah” and legal action will be taken if you dont refund it, some crazy shit. They’re legit just tryna get you to send em 300$ it sucks balls.

Anyway theres my frustrated rant because I totally didn’t just fall for one of these recently (looking at @chromaticentitydragon please watch out for this one in particular)

Don’t fall for dumb shit, draw safe 👍

(PS: I already reported the account we ball)

[sasster]

Details, Details

Uhm! Well. The ball is rolling. Very. Slowly. [doc] —

They were in the Restorer’s study, surrounded by shelves nearly as high as the ceilings that were flooded with books, wooden figures, and the tools that were used to shape them. Cylion did his best to focus on anything other than the artifacts that the old man clearly spent too much of his free time chipping into reality. Something about them made him uncomfortable.

And he had no time to examine those feelings.

Ailzea Roatus was not in attendance this evening, he must have been elsewhere quelling the disquiet that Nymira’s abduction no doubt sewed into his congregation. He’d have liked to see how the elder priest handled such a scene, lords above knew that he’d bungled his own attempt at doing the same.

“No one saw anything,” Archie said, rounding a corner around one of the shelves in his pace of the room from edge to edge. It felt like every second that ticked by without Nymira or answers carved another chunk out of his facade. “She just walked out the front door.”

“In the middle of the day and there was no question about it?” Cylion questioned, irritation plainly visible in his tone.

“They figured she was awake.” Archie shot back.

Of course it wasn’t as though her sleepwalking was known, but the yellow blood had hoped at least her grand saviors would have considered ways they might keep her safe. What would they have done in the event that Father did not acquiesce to his old friend’s demands?

He heaved a sigh. “So we have nothing.”

Archie’s expression turned to stone, as if staring Cylion down with all the venom he could muster would somehow make her materialize right into the tension that lived between them. The terse look was also a question, a silent demand to know what headway he’d been making on his part.

He hated to admit it, but seeing Arkiro Roatus, of all people, take something serious for once was a very brief taste of fresh air. It almost made him sorry that there was no good news to give him.

Almost. Not nearly enough to take the bad taste of the ire he received, much as he earned it, out of his mouth.

“Nothing.” He repeated, because for all of the poking and prodding within his shared network with Persep, very little results were yielded. Even less that was helpful.

Of course Persep wouldn’t just bring her back to the last place anyone saw him, especially not with the damn rock he had conjured.

Cylion swallowed down something that must have been bile at the thought.

There wasn’t a clue left behind in that wretched apartment either. No manifesto, not even a note that said ‘haha try again loser’, or a tripwire that sent the building collapsing in on itself upon entry.

As far as anyone was concerned, Persep Lycaon had vanished off of the face of Alternia. With Nymira in tow. Surely he didn’t have the resources to actually get her off planet. Right?

That concern hung plainly in the air between them. All around, the figurines that decorated the walls looked on with their fixed expressions and quietly judged them for their incompetencies.

Surely not.

“You can drop in.” Archie offered as he tapped two fingers to his own temple. “Get some info.”

Cylion winced first, a quick twitch of the wings and a flaring of his nostrils, uncomfortable with his powers having become common knowledge overnight. Then he relaxed in his seat and averted his gaze to fix them on his neatly manicured nails. “If I go poking around in either of their dreams he’ll be tipped off. That feels counterintuitive.” He protested and sucked his tongue against his teeth for emphasis.

A dumb idea.

“Can’t do nothing, big guy.”

“I’m not saying do nothing. I’m saying I can’t do it how I would normally do it.”

Archie made an inquiring sound and rolled his hand at the wrist, inviting the former prophet to carry on the thought.

Cylion sighed again, this one exasperated, already at the limit of the amount of annoyance he could tolerate in an evening, and knowing deep in his bones that the step they were about to take would double the annoyance as unavoidable as it was.

“Know any good trackers?” He asked, in a last ditch effort to stave it off.

“‘Sides me?” The purple blood asked, irritation momentarily replaced with incredulity. “Nope.”

“Damn. Alright. Neither of us are going to like this.”

[kosmickingdom]

Little fanfic. nil x momo incoming. Their aged up in this BTW.

Pine point was a creepy place, it was the type of town would catch you off guard and make tou go crazy if you weren't accustomed. Like how the signs would at first say something cryptic, but if you looked back it would say somthing completely different, or like how it common knowledge to be in your house before 2:30am. Pine point was a weird ass town.

Despite this, nil  for some reason, decided that he simply can't wait till the next morning to quench his sweet tooth, and decided to head to junkies convenience at 1:00am. Nil was a soda person all together, but he had his favorites, as he swiftly passed the Fanta's and sprite's looking for his dearly beloved coke, he heard a familiar voice.  He slowly turned his head to the right of him, one part of him telling him to just get his coke, while the other was telling him that there is no harm in just taking a quick glance to see if it is really her in the store.

He finished his turn, and yep, it was momo. Why the hell she was out this late was a total mystery, but what would he expect from someone who eats glue and cotton balls? She was asking the cashier a question and he noticed that she had an entire basket full of shit, and was asking him about chocolate chips. Nil checked his watch, it was 1:30am. "DAMN, was I really out that long?" He thought. He wanted to get his soda and go, but something was telling him to just wait a little longer.

Him and momo never really lost contact, pine point was a small town, he couldn't avoid her if he tried. Nil constantly told himself that he couldn't give less of a shit about her, yet as he stood there in his black sweatpants, white tank, and black jacket, he really wanted to ask why she was out this late. He wasn't sure if momo was tough, or just crazy, but it was the blurriness between the two that made her so.... interesting.

Momo was just packing up when nil decided to approach, momo noticed him before he even got that close. "Nilz!" Momo yelled a little too loudly."What are you doing out here? Ya stalking me?" She said in her typical momo way.

"In your dreams. It's almost 2:00 in the morning, what are you doing out here so late?" Nil said with a hint of curiosity.

"I was just getting some ingredients, gonna make cookies tomorrow, or I mean- today, technically. Now that you mention it , it IS getting kinda late, huh. Time for me to get home, BYE." Momo barked as she began to walk away.

Nil didn't like the fact that she was out this late, despite the fact that he himself was out at the exact same time. It's dangerous, she should have more sense. As nil watched momo leave the store and walk on the road, nil had  a sense of dread. Momo lived so much farther than he did from the convenience store, and she didn't even bring a vehicle!? Is she trying to get caught or somthing!? Nil followed her outside and called her name loud enough for her to hear, but also not loud enough to attract any unwanted attention.

"Are you sure you'll get home in time?" He asked.

There was a long silence... and more silence.

"Why? You scared I wont make him home before curfew~" momo purred.

"Damnit, Yes or No?"

" It’s not a SUPER long walk, but...I’m realising now that I should have wore my watch."

Nil quickly checks his watch again  2:40am.

"Alright, that settles it, come."

[ask-egonspengler]

Egon what’s one thing you’ve been wanting to discus but no ones mentioned or brought up? Ball is in your court have fun!

This has been sitting in my inbox for a bit, mostly because I was unsure what I wanted to talk about.

I know now. Bear with me — I’m tired and my back hurts more than usual.

I feel that there’s an imbalance in questions about the team. To my knowledge, I’ve never gotten one about Winston, which is a shame because we wouldn’t be complete without him. So I think I’ll share a few anecdotes about Winston.

He’s the only one of us without a doctorate in parapsychology. He’s the only one who’s ever served in the military. And honestly, he’s the only one who’s actually fit enough to be doing this job.

In many ways, he should’ve been the outsider, but he’s as much a part of our team as any of us.

He challenges Peter in ways that Ray or I don’t even attempt anymore and usually gets through to him. Winston is half the reason that Dana and Peter are still together. He roots for them and gives Peter tips on how to better his relationship.

He and Ray share a love of vintage cars and music, specifically the blues and jazz. The two of them can talk for hours about their common interests over a beer and a Duke Ellington record.

You wouldn’t think that Winston would have much in common with me, but I find that he has a stillness about him that’s appealing. He’s working on his doctorate now and I’ve offered to assist him with assignments or studying in any way I can.

Winston is always asking me to explain our technology to him. He has a sharp mind and is curious about how the tools of our trade work, even if he’ll never have to do maintenance or upgrades on them.

He’s curious about my past, too. He’s told me all about his childhood, his schooling, and his military service. And in turn, he asks me about my time in Sweden, what my post-grad experience was like, etc.

Winston has faced some racism lately. Something from a bystander about “a spook busting spooks”. He had to hold me back from pummeling the bigot in question. I just flew into a blind rage without thinking, demanding that the man watch his mouth. According to Winston, the guy called me an antisemitic slur. I was so livid that I didn’t hear.

After we removed ourselves from the situation with Peter and Ray’s help, Winston pulled me aside and told me he appreciated the gesture but he was pretty sure the guy would’ve flattened me had he not held me back. That hadn’t occurred to me, but he’s right.

All of this to say Winston doesn’t get nearly enough recognition from people outside the team, which is a damn shame because he deserves so much more.

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: This is really old... have fun with this I guess lol banner art isn't mine!! The one on the left belongs to the amazing @cat-terpillar Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): Female reader, reader is a lumberjack, 3rd to 2nd reader, slight misogyny if you squint (not from Alex), kisses on the cheek

Pairing(s): Alex x Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ 10:00 ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

It was the day of the Stardew Valley Fair. Alex cracks his joints, groaning as he sits up from his cocoon of warm sheets and blankets. It was common knowledge that he was presumably the strongest in his town, as he held the highest score for the Smashing Stone at the fair. And he was determined to keep it that way.

Getting out of bed, he shuffles to his closet, to put his shirt on and change into his favorite pair of jeans.

Once he was ready, he looks at himself in the mirror, grimacing at his tousled hair. He didn’t particularly like it, it was a major distraction when it came to working out, sweat causing it to stick to his forehead and cover his vision whenever he did push ups, pull ups, etc. But it made him popular with the other bachelorettes around town. (Haley wouldn’t leave him alone whenever he worked shifts at the ice-cream stand. He didn’t mind though). Hopefully he could be married soon and leave his home. Sure he loved his grandparents, but he needed to feel independent!

Sighing, he ruffles his mane of brown hair, styling it until it looked presentable enough to go out, but good enough that it wouldn’t bother him. For now.

It was on 7:30; the fair started at 9:00, so he walked out of his room and see what was for breakfast. Evelyn, his grandmother, bless her, made him a hearty breakfast, complete with Pancakes, hash-browns, and fried eggs. Alex could almost taste it. He hugged Evelyn happily, before sitting down and indulging in the food. He practically inhaled the meal, but tried his best to savor it. No matter how good the food was, he was to stay on diet. 

After a few minutes of painfully slow chewing, he finished his meal. He grins, noticing the time was 8:10. Perfect.

He trudged outside, as he watches the booths and grange display boxes being set up. Walking over to the dog house, he greets Dusty, rubbing the canine’s fur behind his ear and smiles. 

“I’m going to be the best, you hear me? I’m going to demolish that strength booth.” Alex says cockily.

Dusty barks in affirmation, wagging his tail. In all honesty, he just wanted food.

They sat there, under the tree, lightly playing fetch with Alex’s grid-ball, before be noticed the time. 8:50 already? Time sure felt a lot faster in the valley. But he didn’t mind. 

The clock struck 9, and he raced to town square, leaving poor Dusty behind. Rushing past the grange display, he reaches the Smashing Stone, greeting the burly man that watched over it.

Hefting the mallet that he handed him, he heaved it, testing out the balance before swinging it, the hammer hitting the metal with a resounding riiiingg.

He smirked, content with the score that flashed in front of his eyes. Beat that.

After the strength booth, he decided to look around, seeing the grange displays being set up. Marnie’s was especially mouthwatering.

After that, he went to go find Haley. She was over by the booth where you buy star tokens, and she smiled upon greeting.

“Hey! Are you excited for another year of being the top?” She grinned.

Alex smirked confidently. “Of course. I’m the strongest person in the village.” He rolls his eyes.

Haley coughs, making a sound that suspiciously sounded like the word arrogant.

Alex was about to question her when a sound rang out throughout the town square.

“WINNER!!” The sound came from the Smashing Stone. Alex’s blood ran cold. There, at the booth was the last person he expected, and the only person to defeat his score.

A local lumberjack stood there, triumphant, her smile stretching from ear to ear. That lumberjack was you. Alex surveyed you from afar. He had heard about you, you were a local farmer in the village, but you made your profit by selling sums of wood, hardwood, tree sap, acorns, pinecones etc. Watching your proud expression, he felt an unusually emotion from his core. He didn’t feel jealous, surprisingly. Just…intrigued. Alex itched, wanting to talk to you, and find out more, but he glanced at his grandfather, George in his peripherals. George…was, old-fashioned, to say in the least. He frowned upon any modern ideals, which included women indulging in what he believed to be masculinity, including the lumber industry. Alex wasn’t against it, in fact, he was fascinated by your sheer strength, noticing the defined muscles in your biceps. 

Haley coughed obnoxiously, breaking Alex out of his reverie and rolling her eyes. “If you want to talk to her so badly, just walk over to her cottage later after the festival.”

Alex nodded, a little embarrassed that he was caught, but glad that he had someone like Haley to help him think straight. You walked away from the Smashing Stone after a while, after having a lighthearted conversation with the bodybuilder there, and you left to examine the grange displays. 

Mayor Lewis announced Pierre won, as he did every year, and after a few hours of more games and prizes, the fair came to a close.

Alex didn’t realized how quickly time had passed, his watch reading 10:00pm. The lamp posts were his only form of light as he made his way across town, quietly passing 1 Willow Lane before entering the Cindersap Forest. 

He knew it was a bit of a stretch to go to such lengths to talk to someone he’s never met, but it was in only chance, given how watchful his grandfather way. Silently, he crept through the all the trees, seeing how there wasn’t many. You must’ve been doing a good job, because the ground was littered with saplings. The sound of metal hitting bark echoed throughout the night, signaling that you were here.

Wiping a bead of sweat, you sighed, exhausted. It was late, but you only needed this last tree to fulfill your quota for the day, ensuring you got your daily profit. Setting your iron axe down, you rest your hand onto the tree bark, leaning your back against it for some time, feeling a little tension leave your sore muscles. 

Suddenly, a twig snaps somewhere around you, pulling you out of your reverie to see Alex of all people entering your vision.

“Wha…Alex? What are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. He was the last person you expected to be here. Yet, it excited you. You had admired him for his strength, as well as his personality. His ambition, confidence, and occasional sweetness made you more fascinated with the man.

The man in question looked embarrassed before looking at you. “I uh, wanted to talk to you. I saw you at the fair. You beat my score.”

You couldn’t tell if he was upset or fascinated. His voice was monotone and his face was still mostly shrouded by shadows. 

“Uh yeah, I guess I did.”  You say, unsure of what to do.

It was painfully silent between the two of you before he spoke up, stepping towards you. “Look-”

“Watch out!” You yelps, before a stray stone sends him tumbling in your direction. 

He tripped, as he lost his footing, and he fumbled to brace himself against the tree, ultimately pinning you down, sandwiching you between the bark and him. 

You’re pretty sure you felt your face turn every shade of red there was. Alex looked just as flustered. You were about to apologize when you noticed something in his eyes. A connection of sorts. Sure, you only really acknowledged each other around town, but you both knew that you both shared something, deep down.

You felt Alex’s breath warm your next, noticing the definition of muscles that showed through his shirt. Then you realized you were staring for too long. 

Staring back up into his eyes, some magnetic force instinctively told you to lean in, and you did. Alex reciprocated, his lidded eyes never leaving you.  

Then as you were only inches apart, your noses lightly grazing each other, a creak from a door make you two scramble away from each other. There, in her robe, was Marnie, with what seemed to be…hot peppers? You quirked an eyebrow. Lewis loves those. Marnie’s face was bright red, and her eyes were wide as she noticed both of you, mere fractions apart. 

Everything was silent, all you could hear was crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.

Marnie was the first to speak up, hiding the peppers behind her. “No one should ever hear about this.”

The two of you nod, and she takes her leave, going to where you both assumed was Lewis’s house. 

It was quiet again. And then you turned to Alex, seeing as the moment was ruined. But maybe not all was lost. Taking a deep breath,  you stood on your toes, and pecked his cheek. 

“Goodnight Alex. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Giving a small smile and a wave, you heft your axe, and your wood, before leaving to turn back home.

This was definitely a night you wouldn’t forget.

[gonelike-ach00]

ꜱɪx - jaemin

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summary:

They weren't aware of it but they were beginning to write their future as the days finally welcomed their youth. Now, as the sun begins to rise and the cold days of childhood leave them, they are welcomed into the warm—sometimes too hot—hug of youth.This was their start--the first taste of the warmth of youth.

Jaemin and Naeun have nothing in common except their common friends, until he starts working for her family's restaurant and they shared a lot more things in common than they thought.

genre:

fluff, angst, slice of life, high school romance, recurring anthology

word count : 2.3k

pairing: high school! jaemin x high school! female character

ꜱɪx - jaemin

“Would you like to introduce yourself to the crew?” Jaemin stands in front of an odd group of people. He was sure that two of them were university students, he wasn’t sure but they were older than he was. Not to mention that they oddly remind him of someone. Besides Jaemin was a manager a bit older than a university student, but someone who wasn’t in their 30’s. The family-owned small business had a management team of family members and he predicts that this manager of his is probably fresh out of the military with that buzz cut of his.

“Hi!” He bows his head towards those who are older than him. “I’m Jaemin.”

“I’m Lee Seungho,” the taller one of the university students points to himself and then puts his arm around the other university student next to him, “This is my twin Seungmin.”

“Twins?” Jaemin’s words come out as more of a question.

“They’re fraternal, which is why they don’t look alike.” His manager, who he found out was named Lee Hajoon, answers the question he never fully formed.

It takes him a moment of realization to finally understand why the two of them looked rather familiar. His head doesn’t hide as he compares how the twins, Seungho and Seungmin, looked and how the manager shared the same familiar look as the twins. This was why Jaemin thought they felt a little more familiar than usual. Of course, the family business employed their kids as their employees instead of hiring outside.

“You’re a bit slow, aren’t you?” Hajoon pats Jaemin’s back. “Don’t worry, you’re lucky we’ve dwindled in size over the years.” 

“There’s more of you?” Jaemin had no intention of sounding rude, but his mouth spoke before he could process anything he just said.

Hajoon, Seungho, and Seungmin laugh at his comment. “Imagine this, Jaemin,” Seungho puts his arms around the high schooler, “we can go up against each other in basketball with two full teams.”

The analogy was great, because it was easy to count that there were always five people on a basketball court, but the analogy wasn’t really for someone like Jaemin who had no knowledge about basketball except that you have to throw a boucy ball into a basket that was really high up in the air.

“How many is that exactly?” Jaemin shyly asks.

Seungho doesn’t answer as he drags him over to the cashier where a family portrait sat. Amidst the chaos of plaques, celebrity pictures and signatures, there was a picture that sat on a pretty wooden frame. It stood out as nothing like the laminated signatures and pictures on the wall. There he stood staring at a twelve-person photo. In the middle, there was a couple carrying two small babies in their arms, the smaller child looked like a newborn, while the other could sit upright. Then on their right two boys of the same age stood there with the goofiest smiles on their faces—it was hard to miss that they were the twins, Seungmin and Seungho.

Then on the left stood a boy that looked like a small Hajoon, except he wasn’t entirely sure about it himself. Then behind them were five more boys that varied in age of pre-teen to late teens.

“For the longest time, we were an all-male household. A living nightmare for our mother.” Seungho then points his finger at the newborn in the mother’s arms. “Until the sweaty little angel came along. The first girl—”

“The only girl.” Seungmin corrects Seungho.

Seungho nods his head. “Mom’s pregnancy was risky, aside from only having given birth to Minjae,” he points at the other baby in their father’s arms, “not even a full year before she came along.” 

“Couldn’t exactly tell you how nervous everyone felt—I was a bit too young—but, from their stories.” Seungho shakes his head and takes his arm off of Jaemin. “It was a rough time.”

Seungmin stands there with his arms crossed over his chest and shakes his head. “We should be teaching him about what to do, not the family history.” 

Seungho turns to look at Seungmin and mocks him by pretending to mimic him. His head was bobbing side to side more than usual. After a few more exaggerated movements, Seungho turns his attention back to Jaemin. “Right, we should get you changed into the uniform.”

“We don’t have a uniform,” Hajoon calls out.

Seungho looked at his older brother then down onto the apron he was wearing and then back towards Hajoon, who had long gone into the kitchen. “Then what have I been wearing all along?”

This is where Jaemin finds out that Hajoon didn’t really understand that the apron he was asking the servers to wear was a form of uniform to distinguish themselves from the crowd that ate in their family restaurant. In the midst of the siblings bickering back and forth, he finds himself sitting at the edge of the dinner with the apron over his body. Sitting by the counter, he figured that they didn’t have a lot of customers around 4 p.m. There were barely any customers. ‘Barely’ would even be considered a stretch, the family restaurant was empty.

Until he hears the door of the restaurant finally slide open and he stands up from his seat ready to greet his first customer.

“Welcome!”

She stopped midway and looked up at whoever it was that greeted her. Once she raised her confused expression, Na Jaemin knew exactly who she was. The side braid she was known for and her pastel pink bag that he was sure was larger than her were hard to miss when he walked home and caught a glimpse of her. 

“Jaemin?” Lee Naeun’s voice called out his name as she realized he was standing in the middle of her family restaurant. 

“Jaemin?” Another voice pops out from behind Naeun. His bright eyes greet Jaemin with a sense of familiarity and confusion. “What are you doing here?”

In rare cases, the group has played with a few older boys in the field after lunch. That group of older boys included Lee Minhyun, who Jaemin knew was Naeun’s older brother. Standing in the middle of the empty dinner, he realizes that Minhyun is the youngest son to eight older brothers, and Naeun is the youngest girl of nine brothers.

It smells like a nightmare to the only child Jaemin.

“Right,” Seungmin’s head pops out from the kitchen, “forgot that you all go to the same school.”

“When I heard about the new part-timer, I didn’t think it would be you.” Minhyun walked up to Jaemin to give him a brief side hug. “My brother’s have been raving about getting some time off from the restaurant thing.”

Naeun walked up to Jaemin and Minhyun. “You were looking forward to it too.” 

Minhyun nods his head in embarrassment. He rubs behind his neck and nods his head. “Ever since, Kiyoung left for the military there just aren’t enough hands to go around.” 

Jaemin nodded his head as he was situated between two siblings with Seungho standing by the counter watching them. Sure, he has his group of friends, but this was the first time he was situated between siblings bantering, talking, and interacting. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what he needed to do.

When they all returned to the locker room, he finally had the time to think to himself—to hear his thoughts. Jaemin finds himself sitting down on the chair by the counter as he waits for someone to enter the shop. Until he hears the locker door open and he was preparing himself mentally to hear everyone’s voices interlap with each other’s again.

Jaemin turns his body around to check on who is making their way towards him. Instead of seeing five out of the ten siblings, he sees Naeun walk out first. She changed out of her uniform into something more casual—a white tee and denim pants. Her hair was now placed into a ponytail as she wore the same apron Jaemin was wearing where the print ‘10 siblings’ were now beginning to fade.

“I thought my brother’s just scared you off with how loud they were.” She admits walking up to the counter Jaemin was sitting beside.

Jaemin shakes his head.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so surprised. Only children get a little overwhelmed with my family,” she was checking something on the touch screen computer. “I remember the first time I brought Eunji home—she looked so pale from being so overstimulated by my brothers’ yapping.” 

Jaemin nods his head completely understanding where Eunji is coming from. “I’m friends with people who are the same.”

Naeun snickers at the comment. “Well, that’s great practice for the family.”

“I just—didn’t expect such a large crowd for a family restaurant.”

Naeun stops whatever she is doing and slowly turns towards Jaemin. “You do know, that’s barely half of them.” 

The moment of realization hits Jaemin’s face.

“My older brothers already have families of their own. So, there’s even more of them now.”

Staring at Naeun, he finally understood why she was so eager to become part of the library committee (the only one there). She has been surrounded by a lot of louder people in her life. The thought of living with nine older brothers sort of even overwhelms him—and Jaemin was only thinking about them. He couldn’t imagine living through it himself.

“I should warn you about the dinner rush.” 

“Dinner rush?”

Naeun sighs and turns her attention back to the screen. “Just prepare.”

This was her last warning before he hears the ruckus of the five older guys. Little did Jaemin know that this would be nothing compared to the dinner rush that Naeun had just warned him about.

No one told him that he would not catch a break from the orders to be taken, orders to be delivered, and the tables to be cleaned. After a certain amount of orders taken, orders delivered, and tables cleaned, it was like he was acting on autopilot. There was now way he would think about what he was doing at a certain part in hour two. By the third hour, Jaemin’s feet were beginning to swell from the pain. As his feet began to swell the amount of people were beginning to finally subside.

Jaemin finally sits down on the chair by the counter as he stares at the hall with chairs on top of the tables after cleaning beneath the tables. He sits there blankly staring at the once full-to-the-brim restaurant, which is now empty and cleaned out.

“For someone’s first time, you did a good job.” Naeun appears right behind him and pulls a chair for herself. 

“The warning wasn’t enough.” He complains and shakes his head.

Naeun snickers at the paler Jaemin, who is catching his breath.

There was nothing particular about how Jaemin caught his breath, but something about it was catching hers. He had pushed his hair out of his face earlier in the night and was sitting there with his hair slicked back and his forehead exposed. She caught a glimpse of the face so adored by the rest of their school. His bright eyes, tall nose bridge, and soft kissable lips were always the topic of various female friend groups. He was hard to miss when he walked down the hallways.

She understood exactly why he was always talked about.

“Hope you don’t quit too soon.” Naeun stopped staring at him and turned her attention back to what she was supposed to do, which was to double-check the tabs.

“Aside from the absolute hell hole of work—your brothers are nice.”

Naeun snickers. “Nice to you.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

This comment physically makes her freeze. Then a look of absolute disbelief was all over her face.

“I mean, I have cousins—”

“Brother, Jaemin, brothers. Imagine if your cousins would throw you around just because they can. Oh my god,” she throws her hand in the air, “think of it like this, what do you do when you’re bored?”

“I think of something else to do—”

“You can’t do that. No, because if you’re bored, they’re bored and they would find it fun to bother you instead of looking for something else to do. Bothering you is that something else. Now, normally people only have one other sibling with them, but imagine it multiplied by nine. There is no silence in the house.”

Jaemin sits there as Naeun is now completely facing him with absolute passion. She was even catching her breath by the end of it. She stands there with her passionate residue still calming down with her realization that she just absolutely broke it all off when he didn’t understand what it was like to have siblings. 

“Sorry about that.” Naeun turns around and runs her hand through her messy pony tail.

Jaemin shakes his head with a smile planted on his face. “No, its fine.”

Naeun stands there completely taken aback by his response. There was an air that she wasn’t sure what it was, an air she wasn’t exactly familiar with. Bona was someone she would rely on when it came to matters like this, she was just better at understanding these kinds of things. Yet, she stands here in absolute confusion of the sudden shift in the air with a simple word he said.

Naeun shakes her head. “You tend to flatter people around you, don’t you?”

“What?” Jaemin doesn’t catch on.

“You’re a bit—”

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” Hajoon walks out of the kitchen completely satisfied with his handywork in cleaning the kitchen for the evening.

Naeun didn’t really realize that she was standing a little too close to Jaemin at that moment. Maybe in her monologue, she had taken a step towards him and stood a little too close for comfort. When Hajoon announces his presence, she takes a step back and looks away.

“What just—”

“Nothing.”

previous | masterlist | next

[graysedai]

This show!! oh my god this show....

Interviewer: “Were you a fan of the books, familiar with them? Did you have to do an intensive deep dive into them? You can be honest.” Ayla Ruby: “All 15 books.” Brian Shows (s02 vfx producer): “I read all of them 19 times. No, I was not involved with the books prior. Andy has more knowledge on that from the historic perspective. My part when I got into it was to watch season one just prior to starting, and then obviously we get into the scripts, and then we get into the video with the different professionals who really know the books. We were using them as resources right, it’s a great tool. But I wasn’t involved prior.” source

Interviewer: “Again, being in your position, you hear stories about like, oh, guys that like to hide Easter eggs or calls to certain things. Do you ever sneak any stuff in there for you?” Brian Shows: “He [Andy Scrase] does. But he really does pay attention to the books as much as we can. We definitely find things and we add things to it to give people and fans something to look for. So yeah, he definitely does. I’m not sure he’ll say exactly what he puts in but he definitely does.” Interviewer: “We’ll pry it out of him, it’s fine.” Brian Shows: “By all means. Good luck.” source

(interviewer) Ayla Ruby: “It’s funny you said Lanfear because there’s such a passion for that character with the fans. Did you guys anticipate that that people would be-” (executive producer) Marigo Kehoe: “Yes.” Ayla Ruby: “You knew?” Marigo Kehoe: “Yeah, yeah. Yeah. We knew. We knew. And Natasha’s just playing her so brilliantly. I hope you agree. I mean, I just think… And she’s having such a ball playing her, that the enthusiasm is… I just love the way she kind of… It’s kind of she… Which, again, we talked with visual effects earnestly about how she uses the One Power. And she’s so wonderfully dismissive and it’s great.” source

(s02 vfx supervisor) Andy Scrase: "“But I’m really, really lucky in the fact that there’s just so many different creative challenges in the show that it’s certainly not boring. It’s probably one of the most satisfying projects I’ve ever worked on.” source

Andy Scrase: “I knew of the books, I had not read the books. However, obviously, I’m working my way through the books. And I think the size and scope of Wheel of Time hit home with me almost instantaneously when I had the audiobook and saw that it ran for something like 26 hours or something like this. So I knew there was obviously going to be a lot of material there, and there certainly is. Robert Jordan goes into a lot of description and it’s a really interesting story to look at, this repeating of ages and things like the Age of Legends and stuff like this.” source

Interviewer: “You said you joined in season two, how does it feel to join a team that was already working together, and try to bring your own flare to something that was already being done? You had to maintain what was done season one, but also…” (vfx producer) Brian Shows: “Yeah, I think Andy will speak to that too, more in-depth, but it’s a very welcoming team and I think that starts with Rafe [Judkins], all the way down. It’s a very collaborative team, so I don’t think there was any issue stepping in and helping out when we got to the ground. So from Rafe, to the producers, to the cast, to all the department heads, it was very easy, easy to jump into. It’s probably the best project I’ve ever worked on, in that type of environment. It really is a good group of people, a quality group of people, which is not so common.” “Well, not just that, but industry-wise, when you have it from the top down where it’s just a really great environment, you just want to keep doing it. So that’s why we did season two and we’re actually doing season three too.” source

Brian Shows: “Honestly, I never actually looked at any feedback in 27 years. Just because typically there’s people who are going to love it and there’s people who are not going to like it. As long as you know that you put your best foot forward with the time and budget that you could possibly do, put out the best quality product, then to me that’s all that really matters. But this time I heard so much about the fans, I was intrigued. So I did watch and read, and I watched some of the shows, and I did read some of the Twitterverse out there, and most of it was pretty good with respect to our part. So it’s good.” Interviewer: “That has to be difficult hearing feedback from people who don’t quite understand what your job is.” Brian Shows: “Some of the feedback is fun because I like how the fans will go down these rabbit holes of, ‘This is what they meant by…’ And they zoom in and you see the smallest thing, and you’re like, ‘Well that had nothing to do with it. But I love the fact that you read into it that far, right, amazing.'” “And then they go through and then they take the blur off to see what was in the background. Like, ‘I saw those boots once before.’ You’re like, ‘Okay, you did.'” source

(so2 vfx supervisor) Andy Scrase: “[Channeling is] such an important and unique magic system to the show. And I had certain challenges where there was a certain look established for season one. And when I joined the show, that was kind of one of my first priorities was the channeling and what I could do to improve that. There’s a big expectation on it. There’s a lot of intricacies. We’re taking threads and weaving them and things like this. So I think that where I am with the channeling is kind of a very good starting point and everyone seems to have reacted quite positively with it, with this idea. Because as I’ve said, I’ve been very literal with the interpretation of threads of power, but the colors, bringing those in was a really important decision I felt because, it’s a way of describing the different elements that they use, especially in weaves.” “It’s very important to the fan base, as I found out from doing my early research, and then just talking about it to Rafe [Judkins], we came to the decision that we could do it. But I think we always needed to be a little bit careful that it didn’t become too overbearing and too saturated. And I think even in the books, it’s described as being tinged with color. So I think there isn’t anything I’d say that I haven’t done before, it’s in the books. But it’s more a case of working what we have now even closer towards how some things are described. And I think the channeling is one of those. I’m really excited about how we go on and develop that and bring more nuances to it and more levels of detail and subtlety. Yeah.” source

It's a good place to work. They read the books. They adjust what they put into the show based on book fan and show fan feedback. ahhhhhhh my heart

[dinoplantsghost]

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: mentions of WW2, teenage behavior: drama and language, mention of assault

word count: ~4.6k

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- Tchaikovsky Winter is here and in full swing despite it being late Autumn

Chapter List

Yule Break in France [9]

After exam week, Abraxas became fiendishly impatient. He wanted to leave, to get away from all the studying and the papers and the constant ticking of the large clock that stared him down in the Great Hall throughout the entire week. The night before the weekend rolled around, the boy dragged Saoirse to the Slytherin dorms to help her pack. However, when she told the Knights she barely had any clothes outside from her uniforms, all Hell broke loose. 

Eloise, being the group’s fashionista other than Miles, was devastated. “What do you mean you don’t own at least a dress or two?” He circled Saoirse, his red hair in disarray and his hands tugging at the girl’s black robes. “You seriously don’t have anything else other than this?”

“We never wore dresses, and there was no reason to,” Saoirse argued. “I’ve never been to a ‘ball’ before, Avery!” 

“Saoirse, you’ll be fine,” Miles said. “We can walk to the town that’s not far from the main manor. Besides, you have that dress from that Gryffindor girl.” 

Apparently, it was also common for old families to have multiple manors, or châteaux, as they called them. Most, if not all, of the Knights were French, or at least descended from another European country. English was already difficult for the average Japanese speaker; French, however, could crash and burn for all Saoirse cared. 

“Oh, you know, I’ve been hearing a lot about that girl,” Avery gasped. “What’s her name—de la Rosa? I heard some rumors about her and that Hufflepuff bloke. According to Walburga, Griffin tried to force himself onto her or something. Apparently he was complaining about the girl to his friends and people came to that conclusion. I always thought he looked like a weird goblin, to be honest. It’s surprising since I always see him walking with a random girl for a few months before hopping to another one.” 

“Don’t talk about Ava-Lynn like that, it’s rude.” Saoirse frowned. “That’s none of our business; drop it. Black’s cousin isn’t a good source, anyways.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “But honestly? Even I know not to do anything like that; I know when to cut my losses. Are you sure you can hang out with Mayfield? It’s not like he’s dropped the guy, you know, even with the knowledge of what he may or may not have done to her.” 

“I’m sure it’s more complicated, we can’t assume anything. Tracy badmouths Griffin any time he gets.” 

Eloise made a noise of sarcasm, a concept Saoirse caught wind of quickly when she first learned English from Merrythought.

The door slammed open, and Abraxas stomped through with his hair pushed back with a headband. “Enough gossip, we need to be packed by lunchtime so we can leave for France.”

“Don’t say that,” the red head whined. “We always have time for gossip, it’s what we do!” 

“Well, we’ll have time for more gossip if you hurry up!”

He opened his mouth, finger pointing to the blond before he considered his friend’s words. “I don’t like that you’re right.” 

Saoirse dragged her hand across her face, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She drowned out the noise with her thoughts, mentally going over their plans one more time. 

While they wanted to goof off and show Saoirse what France had to offer, the Knights needed to focus on figuring out Riddle’s dilemmas for him. Exams had drowned the group in studies and they had no time to find anything about the Chamber of Secrets before the break. If the main Malfoy Manor in France did not have anything, the blond heir said that was another, smaller manor six hours south near the Spanish border. But with the Muggle War, it would be a risky move; the whole trip to France was entirely dangerous within itself.

With a snap, Saoirse closed her suitcase, its fresh leather and gold locks shiny. France already sounded troublesome before stepping foot on its land.

───────────

Saturday, December 19th

The Knights of Walpurgis left Hogwarts midday, carrying their luggage through Hogsmeade to a comically small carriage pulled by Unicorns. Abraxas made it his personal mission to push Saoirse into the carriage first to avoid familiar mishaps the first time she encountered the horned creatures. 

The trip to France took about three hours. The sun had begun to fall when the carriage settled at the front of the manor. The girl had never seen so much snow until now. France was covered head to toe in a thick blanket of white, all while snowflakes continued to pour throughout each hour. Being so used to the weather in Iwo Jima, which was further south from Japan, Saoirse was starting to miss the humidity. 

Stepping out of the carriage, Saoirse knew deep in her heart something was wrong. The moment her feet crunched on the path of sand and gravel, a sinking feeling in her stomach kept her from moving forward. It wasn’t until Patrick took her hand that she distanced herself from the wagon. 

The French manor of the Malfoy family was extremely large, rivaling the space Hogwarts took up in Scotland. The pillows of snow surrounding the castle reflected back, shining in Saoirse’s eyes and illuminating the navy blue roofs sitting high on the sixteenth-century architecture. As the group walked along the pathway, two muddy figures could be seen near the towering doors of the chateau. 

Abraxas immediately abandoned his luggage to greet them, the most comforting smile Saoirse had seen from the boy. “This is my mother and father, Lady Ayla and Lord Henry of the great House of Malfoy.” 

The boy was a splitting image of his mother. Both had the same polite smile, the same broad nose that arched sharply, and the same desire for diplomacy. His father, however, had a much kinder disposition. It was clear as day who Abraxas got his hair from, as well as his steel blue eyes. 

Avery ran up to the adults in a familiar fashion, squeezing both into a hug. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” he laughed. “It’s great to see you two!” 

The other Knights followed suit, each giving Henry a firm handshake and a brief hug, while Ayla received either a kiss to the cheek or the back of her hand. Henry and Ayla had the most favorable reactions when approached by Riddle, however. The man greeted Tom like an old colleague, going out of his way to pat the boy on the back while Mrs. Malfoy greeted him as if he were her son. 

“I’m so glad you decided to join us again this year, sweetheart,” she gushed. “Every time you visit I can’t help but feel for you, Tom, I wish we could take you in.” 

With a polite laugh and smile, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “You have done more than enough these past few years, Mrs. Malfoy; I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“Please, Tom, my mother and father would kill to take you in,” scoffed Abraxas. “Sometimes I think they love you more than me and my brother.” 

When Ayla moved to hit her son on the arm, she noticed the smaller figure behind the group of boys, her hands shivering next to her ashed and dry lips in an attempt to warm her skin. “Oh, and who are you, darling? You’re absolutely freezing.” She pushed the boys away, forcing all the attention onto the girl as she wrapped her shawl around Saoirse. “Let’s get you inside, dear. Richy,” a house elf popped in their view, “could you take this girl’s luggage? Thank you.” 

The large doors of wood heaved, swinging open to allow the teenagers inside the manor. The foyer extended far and wide, a sharp and shiny chandelier dangling from the ceiling as feet walked along the red carpet. Past the numerous moving paintings and the glamorous objects that were sure to be centuries old, Mrs. Malfoy sat Saoirse down on the leather couch in the middle of the parlor decorated in green foliage. 

“Now, what’s your name, sweetie,” Ayla smiled. “You must be the new exchange student at Hogwarts. Abraxas had mentioned you a few times in his letters home.” 

“Has he?” Saoirse mused. “I hope it’s nothing that ruins my image, ma’am. I would hate to leave this beautiful architecture behind.” 

The lady laughed behind her palm, taking a seat next to the girl. “Nonsense! This is the first time our son’s brought home a young lady. I would never want to see you out, dear.” 

“Mum,” Abraxas blushed. “It’s not like that! I’m supposed to marry that Torsia girl, remember?” 

“Oh, yes, son; how could I forget?” 

Lord Henry rested in his loveseat, fingers gripping his mug of coffee. “Say, girl,” he started. “You look awfully familiar. What did you say your name was?” 

“I didn’t, sir; my name is Saoirse.” 

“Really? I apologize, but that’s an interesting name to have considering your ethnicity. What’s your surname?”

“My family name is Watanabe. I highly doubt you would know anyone from my family, though, as it’s a fairly common surname.” 

The man nodded, a solemn look falling on his features. “I see. It’s just…Ayla and I have invited a business partner from Japan, and they just lost their daughter a few months ago. I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on that.” 

Flames from the fire flickered, warmth spreading through the parlor as attentive ears fell on Saoirse’s silence. “I knew of her,” she muttered. “Himiko was her name, Himiko Itohata. According to the rumors, the staff at Mahoutokoro found the girl tied to the wall of her dorm. To say she looked nothing like herself would be an understatement.” 

“Merlin,” Mrs. Malfoy gasped. “I couldn’t possibly imagine losing one of our sons like that…It makes me nauseous to even think about it.” 

Abraxas frowned, leaning forward on the back of the couch. “Surely, they brought the girl to justice, yes?” 

Saoirse nodded. “Her murderer was beheaded, supposedly.”

“Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts—because of her death?” 

“No, I was a problem child. I’ve grown a considerable amount ever since I came to Hogwarts, and I’m extremely grateful.” 

Maybe it was the rush of exams, or the rush to enjoy their Yule break, but a veil of quaint awkwardness was pulled off the girl’s visage and character. The Knights were very much aware of Saoirse’s capabilities as she easily rose in the school’s ranks just below Tom as their year’s salutatorian. She was on par with the Slytherin descendant, the constant reminder of her skill permanent on the boy’s skin. But since the Knight’s first meeting, all caution was thrown out the window. Saoirse was a friend, a comrade, and a Knight just like they were. She was one of them, part of their nightly debates and their weekly cloud watchings by the Black Lake. 

Abraxas hoped he was wrong, so painfully wrong. But with his previous theories coming to fruition, optimism was quickly drained like a vampire with their victims.

───────────

The Knights were crammed into Abraxas’ room, Eloise making divots in the carpet as he paced back and forth with his hands in his red hair. “I can’t wrap my head around it,” he wheezed. “Saoirse wouldn’t do that—would she?”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Patrick reasoned. “Besides, you heard what she said; she hardly knew the girl.” 

“She could have easily lied, Patrick,” said Orion. 

“But why? Why would she lie to us?” 

“Patrick, we understand that you have feelings for her, but this is no time to be biased.” Tom said. He crossed his legs in his seat, his forefinger fiddling with the stick of glorified death, a cigarette, in his hand. “Let this be a wakeup call—to all of you. Need I remind you of what she did to me?” 

The boys were silenced, jaws tense and snapped shut. In retrospect, it was easy to forget what they had initially thought of Saoirse. She was always quiet, the very few words she decided to let fall from her lips sticking to their ears for as long as they could. The more she spent with them, the louder her voice would be, the more confident she was. Saoirse always argued with Eloise, Cassius, and Miles, entertaining the rest whenever she would give up in a fit of passion and resort to her hands to get her point across. In short, they had grown attached, as if she had been in the group for as long as they could remember. 

That was not to say that they had any problem with her actions; it was just baffling to think of the girl digging her hands in the bowels of someone the same age as them. Tom had murdered people before, so it should not be any different, right? But deep down, they knew; it was drastically different to kill for the sake of curiosity than to kill for the sake of revenge and pride. Tom had killed the only blood relatives he had while Saoirse killed a girl that used to roam the halls of the very respectable school that was Mahoutokoro.

Tom took a drag from his cigarette before continuing his monologue, his tone sardonically light. “You said it yourself, Nott; once we’re done with the girl, we kill her. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now. Let us put it this way: if we do not kill her, we have no reason to think she would attack or betray any of us, regardless of what she did to me previously. So, if you—and the rest of the Knights, are seriously putting her on some pedestal, then fine; we won’t kill her. However, don’t think for a second that I would hesitate to take action if she decides to do something stupid.” A stub of ash fell from his Lucky Strike. “She would be foolish to even try, anyways.” 

A knock hit the door, followed by the click of the doorknob to reveal the topic of discussion peeking her head through the crack. “I had a hard time finding where you all were,” she huffed. “I had to ask one of the house elves and I don’t think they like me.” Oblivious to the shared looks around the room, Saoirse slipped inside to lean against the round table. “So, when are we going to the library?”

“Right,” Abraxas exhaled. “We were planning to head there soon since dinner is going to take a while. After that, we can look inside the study rooms if we have the time.” 

“You look constipated,” Saoirse laughed. “In fact, all of you look tense. Are you okay?” 

Sweat pooled on the boy’s lips, his gaze looking anywhere but in Saoirse’s eyes of concern. 

“We were having a boy talk, Saoirse, you wouldn’t get it,” Cassius said, waving a hand of reassurance. “In fact, we had a man talk. About manly things.” 

After snuffing out his cigarette, Tom stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Alright,” he sighed. “Take us to the library, Abraxas.”

───────────

While the others seemed to have these forced opinions of the foreigner, Tom held onto his instincts. He was far from dumb, but so was Saoirse. It shouldn’t take a genius to figure the girl out; she laid everything on a silver platter. Well, most things. Tom was positive Saoirse had killed that Himiko girl, no matter how hard his Knights tried to deny it. However, she was lying about one thing, but it was difficult to navigate through her vague and aloof demeanor towards her past. He was very familiar with the tactic, though, having fabricated his own background with half-truths. 

Tom did not know what to make of her, truly; she was a big, red question mark that stuck out from his plans to greatness. When the girl was not Hell-bent on being annoying, she was an airhead. The boy’s thoughts were only confirmed as the group walked through the long halls of the manor, Saoirse’s head swiveling on her neck with a few loose screws. She was as loud as she was quiet, a walking contradiction insistent on being a creeping nodule of irritation.

Abraxas, once they found the library, heaved the doors open to reveal a tall void covered in books and pockets of knowledge from wall to wall. A labyrinth of curiosity and power is what Tom could describe it as. 

“I’ve always hated the way books smell,” coughed Eloise. “It reeks of nerd.” 

As Saoirse walked past the red head, she couldn’t help but comment: “It really explains your scores, though, Avery.”

For a moment, a breeze of laughter reflected the way deep orange sunlight filtered through the giant windows, revealing each speck of dust. 

Tom, in all of his joyful cheer, pushed through his lackeys in stride, his mind set on ending the day with his nose buried in aged tree pulp. The air simmered in favor of silence, the occasional whisper or rebuttal here and there filtering through pages flipping and hard leather slamming against thin tables. 

Soon enough, it was difficult for the fifteen-year-old to be pulled from his flow state. With each word his brain drank up, he felt like a boy driven by naïvety once more. The dust in the library felt familiar as it clung on to the fabric of his white polo, a painfully warm reminder of his upbringings on creaky, moldy floors of wood. Books were always his escape, a way to breathe through the ostracism powered by weak beliefs. He never wanted to be harmful; never once did he ever think to maim little Billy’s rabbit until his fatty of an owner decided to get on his last nerves that day. He never wanted to live in that orphanage any more than Miss Cole wanted to take care of him, or any of those kids for that matter. It wasn’t his fault his poor excuse for a mother birthed him on the same dirty, disease-ridden floors he read on; it shouldn’t be his fault. 

“You’ve been stuck on that page for a long time,” said a voice. “Maybe you need glasses, Riddle.” 

Riddle. What a horrible, hair-raising surname of his. He pressed a forefinger between the pages before closing the book, begrudgingly lifting his head to meet Saoirse’s eyes. “I find it odd that you would stare at me long enough to figure that out.” 

The girl rolled her eyes. “I just came over to tell you that Patrick might have found what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is. I’ve been calling your name for about a minute now.” 

That is certainly one way to catch his attention. Tom pushed the book in his hand back in its proper place on the shelf. “Speaking of Nott,” he sang glibly. “How have you two been? Surely he’s made better advancements in courtship by now.” 

As the two walked side by side, Saoirse recoiled. “Don’t act like you’re interested in our lives all of a sudden. If you really wanted to know, you would hang out with the boys more.” 

“Why would I? I socialize with them enough.” 

“Honestly,” she sighed. “With that attitude, it’s difficult to think you want more respect from them. They only reflect your own efforts for a connection—which are very feeble, by the way.” Before they turned the corner between two rows of shelves, she frowned at Tom. “Haven’t you ever wanted friends? Those are more loyal than any posse or follower, even for the most powerful figures in history.”

“How naïve you are, Saoirse.”

The girl did not bother to reply, making her place next to Patrick. The Austrian boy pushed the large tome in the middle of the table for all to see, the crinkles on the faded pages making its age archaic. 

“It has to be a Basilisk.” Patrick said. “If Salazar wanted to make an impact, he would have housed this in the Chamber of Secrets.” 

“That thing is huge, though,” argued Abraxas. “How would it navigate through the castle?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s no other answer; this has to be it.” 

The table creaked under the weight of Cassius leaning forward to read the cracked script. “‘A Basilisk will be birthed through the process of incubating a chicken egg under a toad for up to three months.’ That’s ridiculous! The Basilisk would be dead by now!”

“Salazar Slytherin would be smart enough to prolong its death, Mulciber,” said Tom. “It’s perfectly reasonable to assume the Basilisk is the monster in the Chamber. The problems that present themself to us now are the creature’s way of navigation and the location of the Chamber.” 

“If the Slytherin common room is below the castle in the dungeons,” Saoirse suggested. “Is it possible the Chamber would be built in a similar fashion?”

Abraxas shrugged. “Maybe. The only thing I can think of the Basilisk moving from place to place would be the pipes. My father has shown me the plumbing plans for this property before, and if Hogwarts is anything like this manor, then the pipes should be large enough to fit a snake like that.” 

“So, what?” Louis frowned. “The Basilisk just makes its way through the pipes? That would imply that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets would be…” 

None of them wanted to say it, let alone think of the possibilities. There was no way in Hell a group of aristocratic boys would spend their spring semester lounging around lavatories and toilets.

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

“I still can’t believe you’ve never celebrated Christmas before. Don’t tell me you would spend weeks studying for finals at Mahoutokoro.” Said Miles.

Saoirse shrugged. “The High Priestess found Christmas to be redundant, and it’s a western holiday anyways; she saw no point in it.”

The Yule Ball was set for December 25, otherwise known as Christmas. Having solved their problems as Knights, the Slytherin boys were more than happy to finally relax and enjoy the season. They had woken Saoirse early to get a head start in the day. Since the girl did not have any dresses appropriate for the upcoming occasion, they did their best to provide Saoirse with the best shopping experience Val de Loire had to offer. 

Miles and Louis hooked arms with Saoirse, the girl unable to stop a grin from crawling on her face as they skipped through the little town a few ways from the Malfoy Manor. The snowy breeze was cold on her cheeks, but she never felt so warm before in her life. 

“Now, since France is a bit occupied by Germany,” the Lestrange boy muttered. “The fashion is a bit…stuck in time. My personal favorite, and I think the period you fit the most, is Edwardian fashion from a couple decades ago. The shops here should have some dresses like that in stock. If not, I’ll have my mother owl you a few for the time being.” 

“‘Brax’s mum would lend some, too,” Louis said. “She looked so happy to meet you yesterday.” 

The group eventually stopped in the middle of the town. Miles and Louis begged the other boys to drag Saoirse and “shop-hop” as they called it, but Abraxas and Patrick were firm in their wishes to stay together. 

“We can’t afford to split up,” Nott sighed. “I want Saoirse to have a good time too, but an air raid could happen at any moment.” 

“Well, let Tom follow us,” Miles whined. “If something happens, we’ll be fine. The Ministry couldn’t possibly do anything if we use magic to save ourselves, right?” 

“And what makes you think I want to be part of your senseless gallivanting?” Tom challenged. 

Miles gasped. “You take that back! It’s never senseless if it’s a girl’s first dress. This is her entry into womanhood, Tom!”

“I got my first dress from Ava-Lynn…” Saoirse muttered. 

“Well—that doesn’t count.” 

Without another word, Lestrange tugged the girl along, Louis following as he hung from her other arm. They ignored the words Patrick, Orion, and Abraxas were yelling; Miles was too busy complaining that his dark complexion looked dead in the winter season. He was much more of a warm summer tone. 

Patrick turned to Tom. “Please go follow them,” he frowned. “It’s the least you could do for us—for her.” 

“This will cost you a packet,” Tom uttered, taking a cigarette from the metal container in his pocket. He shuffled over to a corner to cup his tobacco stick, using his magic to discreetly light the end. The boy made strides to catch up with Saoirse, Miles, and Louis, his hair moving with the chilling wind. He would have put gel in this morning, but he always saved the product for school and special occasions.

The small group had walked in and out of three shops due to Miles’ expensive taste and sharp eye. In the final shop, Louis stood by Tom as Miles helped Saoirse pick out her last dress, carrying the rest of her options in his arms. After some shuffling and not-so-subtle cursing, Saoirse stepped out of the changing booth in apprehension. 

“I don’t think this is my color,” she pouted. “I think purple makes me look sickly.”

When they first entered the shop, Saoirse was adamant on avoiding pink and yellow. Blues looked fine on her, since her hair was already cerulean, and brown complimented that as well as her jade green eyes. 

“I think the lavender looks nice on you, though,” Louis argued. “It puts a bit more pink in your cheeks. Actually, that might just be the weather instead. Whoops.” 

Miles nodded, taking a closer look at Saoirse’s skin. “I can see the vision, Louis. What do you think, Tom?” 

“It just looks purple to me.” He clicked, tapping off the ash from his Lucky Strike.

Saoirse frowned. “Don’t ask him, he’s such a Gloomy Gus about everything.” She looked at Miles expectedly, a hint of hope in her eyes as she stared at the boy. “Did I use that phrase right?” 

Ignoring the high-five Miles gave Saoirse, Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe I have my reasons to be pessimistic.” 

“Forget about him, Saoirse, get the dress.” Lestrange smirked. “Besides, the only opinion you really should be worried about is Patrick’s.” 

“Nott would not know a single thing about color,” Tom nipped. “He’s colorblind.” 

“Well, he doesn’t have to choose by the color, necessarily. Every dress has a different design.” 

“If Nott is anything like me, then he wouldn’t know a thing about women’s clothing.” 

“Florian has a mother, a sister, and two cousins; what makes you think he doesn’t know how to distinguish dresses? The only person who doesn’t know a thing is you, Riddle.” 

Tom lit another cigarette, his heartstrings tugging at the thought wasting another in a fit of stress and annoyance. “What I do know is that purple doesn’t look good on her.” He sassed. “Saoirse was right when she said she looked like a corpse.” He pushed himself off the pillar he was leaning on, pressing his rough hands into his coat. “There’s no use in purchasing the other dresses, the only one she should wear is the brown one. She clearly looked most comfortable in that.” 

Stares burned into his black hair as he turned to leave the shop. The bell dangled against the door as he stepped out, only for the familiar ring of sirens to blare into his ears. 

The town turned into a cloud of black and gray, ears now ringing and bleeding at the shock of sizable bullets hitting the ground, glass, and any surface death could touch.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Yuu can do it!

Part 64

First - Previous - Masterlist - Next

Ito woke up on the floor.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t particularly surprising. The only thing that was even slightly different from normal was the ceiling — it wasn’t made of rotting wood, as they were used to, but instead of adobe, painted with swirling patterns that threatened to give them a headache.

Or maybe that was just the caffeine withdrawal…

Their eyes flicked to the side, briefly, and they found Kuroki leaning over the side of the bed, his lips pursed into a thin frown. Checking to make sure they weren’t dead, as usual.

But, the moment he realized they had ‘caught’ him, he flushed red and disappeared again.

Cute, they thought, absently.

And then they groaned and rolled under the bed, curling up into a tight ball.

“Ito…” Enma sighed. They felt a finger prod one of their calves. “Come out.”

“I’m nonbinary.”

“... gasp,” said Enma, flatly. “I’m so shocked.”

“You shouldn’t be. You should have expected this.”

“... get out from under the bed,” he said, sounding oh-so-very tired. Maybe he should join them under the bed for a second nap.

Ito told him this.

Enma retaliated by grabbing them by the foot and dragging them out from under the bed. Like a monster in a horror movie.

But instead of killing them, he threw a set of clothes into their lap. The clothes were blue, so Ito would honestly prefer being killed. Blue was not their color.

They glanced at Enma and Kuroki.

Enma had gotten orange. It washed out his skin, making him look just a hair strange, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much.

At least Enma, too, was being forced to deal with Fashion Crimes.

Kuroki, however, got red?! Bullshit.

Sure, it technically fit their personalities better, if Ito got a calm blue to show they were ‘easygoing’ or whatever and Kuroki got red because he was an angry lil dude… and the quality was nice, they were pretty sure this was real silk, which was so cool… but consider: no.

Ito threw their clothes at Kuroki. “Here. It’ll be a bit big on you, but you like that, anyway.”

Kuroki lit up.

~

Kuroki threw a bottle of sunscreen at the side of Ito’s head.

Ito opened said bottle and squirting as much of it into their hand as they could.

They slapped the cold sunscreen onto the back of Kuroki’s neck, giggling when he screeched, rubbing frantically at the new cold spot on his skin.

It was, perhaps, not the best way to apply sunscreen, but sunscreen applied in strange ways would always be better than no sunscreen at all.

Ito absently rubbed some of the excesses into their cheeks.

Kuroki looked at them like they had grown a second head. “You’re taking care of yourself? Willingly?”

Ito raised an eyebrow. “What, were you guys preparing to hold me down to put sunscreen on me or something?”

Their friends were silent. Which didn’t bode particularly well.

They crossed their arms over their chest. “Of course I’m going to wear sunscreen in the desert. I could get wrinkles!”

“Or skin cancer,” Enma said, faintly.

“I feel like I could beat skin cancer. But what can you do about wrinkles? Cry?”

Kuroki looked like he was debating replying to the ‘cancer doesn’t mean shit to me’ comment, but then he just shook his head to himself and said, “I dunno. You could get Botox.”

Enma cuffed Kuroki over the back of his head. “Don’t give them ideas! They’re willing to wear sunscreen! Who cares about the ‘why’ if it works?”

Ito felt a smile threaten to pull at their lips despite their mild annoyance. “It’s fine, Enma, I wouldn’t get a Botox injection, anyway. The Botox expands under your skin over time and, after a while, you start looking weird.”

Enma and Kuroki blinked at them, shocked.

Oh, right, they were from 2020 and 2025-ish respectively. It hadn’t started becoming common knowledge until somewhere in the late 2020s.

Or, maybe, the teen boys just hadn’t thought to care about the long-term effects of Botox. Honestly, both options were equally likely.

Oh well. Ito went back to making sure they didn’t get any premature wrinkles.

~

“Hey, do we have to put sunscreen on Grim?” Kuroki said.

They looked at the monster under their care, snoring away peacefully. He didn’t have fur anymore, because Azul was evil, so applying sunscreen to the monster wouldn’t be as difficult as it would have been a week ago.

But the ‘difficulty’ wasn’t why they were hesitating.

“... I dunno…” Ito said, scratching their head. “Look up whether… I don’t know. Seals? Is that what his texture is closest to, now? Check to see if seals can get skin cancer.”

Unfortunately – but not unsurprisingly – there was nothing on the internet about whether the sun ever gave seals skin cancer.

They decided that they would rather err on the side of caution.

Grim, to his credit, didn’t seem to mind. Ito wasn’t sure if Grim was aware that the Yuus weren’t simply petting him for the sake of petting him, but they certainly weren’t going to break the news to the monster.

“You should wake me up like this more often,” Grim said, his voice barely audible over his own purrs.

Ito pouted playfully. “No, that’s not fair. I can’t be the only person that gets kicked out of bed all the time.”

“You don’t have veto power,” Enma said, grinning.

“I veto that statement,” Ito said.

Kuroki snickered, before falling against Enma’s shoulder, tucking his face out of sight, as if he were in mourning. “Fuck, why didn’t we think of that? Now they have all the power.”

“It’s okay, I promise I’ll only use it for evil sometimes.”

Enma snickered. “Well, I guess, if it’s only sometimes…”

~

John’s face screwed up in a confused expression when he opened the door and set his eyes on Ito and Kuroki. “Uh… I’m not sure… aren’t you two supposed to be swapped?”

Ito and Kuroki blinked back at him, entirely innocent. As if they had no clue what he was saying. Because, had they truly been innocent, they really wouldn’t know what he was trying to tell them.

“Like… your clothes are wrong…?”

Ito and Kuroki looked at each other. Feigned surprise.

“Oh, you know what, that makes so much more sense,” said Ito. “I did think the shoulders were kind of tight on this…”

“Should we change real quick?” Kuroki said, his hands fluttering around nervously. “Do we have time to?”

John glanced at his phone for the time and grimaced. There was not, in fact, enough time, unless they wanted to risk the wrath of the unstable Scarabia Housewarden. Which they already knew John was not willing to do.

All of this was, of course, a coincidence. Ito just took a long time to wake up in the mornings – doubly so when they didn’t have caffeine. Really, it couldn’t be helped.

(Please ignore the way that Ito and Kuroki’s expressions sharpened into smirks the moment John turned around. It meant nothing.)

~

Ito felt like they had been fried and served.

The sand beneath their feet shifted with every step, threatening to send them to the ground. Part of them was tempted to allow this – they were so tired.

The only reason they didn’t was that the sand was even hotter than the air. Somehow.

Their mouth was dry. Their throat clicked with every swallow.

It was all too much. And not the kind that allowed them to simply slip out of their mind, no, they were kept, frustratingly, present. They had never felt as tethered to their own body as they were in that exact moment.

The too-warm monster in their arms wasn’t helping. But said monster was just a baby – a toddler, they were pretty sure – so Ito wasn’t intent on making him brave the elements on his own.

Besides, they couldn’t really complain, not when Enma had been tasked with carrying Kuroki. Kuroki was unathletic at the best of times. He had only barely made it to the top of the stairs. Neither Ito nor Enma wanted to watch the guy keel over from heat stroke after being forced to walk for miles through the desert.

Kalim was shouting at them, ordering them to stay in formation. The megaphone he was yelling into making his voice sound robotic, ringing with a coldness that only made the desert heat sting more.

If Ito’s arms weren’t so full of Monster, they might have flipped him off.

Jamil hung close to them, visibly fretting. “Can’t you guys just… listen to him?” he asked, almost pleading.

“Kill yourself,” Kuroki said, bluntly.

“Sorry, orders from our Housewarden trump anything your Housewarden tells us to do,” Enma said, as if he had ever listened to anything Kuroki told him to do.

Kuroki, wisely, opted not to point this out.

Whether or not Jamil knew they were lying to his face, the point had been made clear: they weren’t budging on this.

Jamil worried his lip.

Ito hesitated, their eyes flicking over the crowd of Scarabia students, marching steadily onward. None of them were talking – they were too tired to. This didn’t mean that none of them were listening. And, if the dorm lived up to its reputation, then…

They looked at Jamil. “Kuroki has asthma.”

Kuroki’s face flushed in embarrassment, but Ito was going to pretend that his face was just red from the heat.

They had more important priorities, after all: they didn’t care if he was embarrassed, so long as he was alive.

A few nearby Scarabia students glanced at each other. But they looked confused.

Shit, the people of the Scalding Sands spoke a different language. Did they not know the word ‘asthma’ in Common?

It seemed like the answer was ‘no’, because Jamil’s lips tugged into a frown. Clearly, he knew it was a problem, because his eyes had widened briefly after Ito had told him that Kuroki had a condition, but as for what the condition was…

“Asthma…” Jamil mumbled, struggling to place to word. “As… thma… oh! الربو !”

The nearby Scarabia students immediately went tense, whispering among themselves.

Ito watched the rumor creep, slowly, along the group of marching students. It hopped from person to person.

Until it reached the front.

Kalim froze mid-shout.

He nearly dropped his megaphone in his surprise, fumbling with it for a moment. Everyone groaned as the machine released a high-pitched whine. A couple of yajugen’s ears flicked backward, their fur bristling in irritation.

And then Kalim brought it back to his lips. “Hang in there, everyone! The oasis isn’t that far away!”

Jamil lifted a hand to rub one of his temples. “Aaaaand now he’s back to normal,” he muttered, more under his breath than anything.

Ito’s eyes flicked to him.

Jamil raised an eyebrow at them.

Ito flashed a smile. “Thanks for your help, senpai.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ito’s smile didn’t waver in the slightest.

He’s a liar, they thought, their gaze returning to the front.

~

The oasis was pitiful, really. The trees were alight with life, a vibrant green, but they had stolen almost all of the water from the nearby pond. Now, there was barely enough water for people to dip their feet in.

Not that Ito was all that eager to take off their shoes and enjoy it. The sand beneath their feet was strange – rock hard. Not quite wet, but it certainly had been recently.

At least they weren’t in danger of slipping anymore.

Ito watched a couple of Scarabia students rush to the water, trying to make the most of what was there.

The Yuus were a little sick of playing in the water, after all of the stuff with Octavinelle.

So, instead of lying face down in the shallow water like John, they instead opted to collapse under the shade of a tree in a heap of sweaty limbs. It was extremely uncomfortable, and probably not the best for cooling down, but none of them moved to rectify this.

Kalim hopped down from his high horse (sorry, elephant) and rushed over to them, his eyes wide. “Are you four okay?!”

Ito lifted their head just slightly to squint at him.

It was like he had two completely separate personalities… and Ito would, normally, assume that it was some kind of Multiple Personalities situation, because that was the natural conclusion… but natural conclusions were always wrong in this world, so they had their doubts.

It was, probably, magic-related.

Too bad they had never been all that interested in the magical aspects of this place.

They glanced at their two friends. Enma was glaring at Kalim, his arms still wrapped around Kuroki, smothering the boy, tugging him so close to his chest that Kuroki was in danger of suffocating. Not that Kuroki minded, the little parts of his face that Ito could see were lax, he looked content to the point of possibly falling asleep.

Ito sent Kalim a smile. “We’ll be fine, I think. Some water would be nice, though.”

Kalim’s eyes widened. “Water? You need water?”

“My throat’s as dry as a bone,” Grim complained. “I’m not a dog. Bones suck, you know!”

Kalim, with fumbling hands, pulled his wand from one of his pockets and pointed it at the sky, his smile brighter than the sun. “Then water you shall have! I'll make sure it’s cool and refreshing for you, ‘kay? Respite in the Scalding Sands, a neverending party – dance! Sing! Oasis Maker!”

A drop of water landed on top of Ito’s head.

And then it was quickly joined by another. And another.

The previously painfully cloudless sky was shrouded in rain clouds, water pouring down in sloughs.

Honestly, it should have hurt. Rain this thick and intense usually felt like a hundred tiny punches, beating down on their head, threatening to knock umbrellas out of the unwary’s hands.

Instead, it was soothing. A cool balm for otherwise feverish skin.

The Yuus breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Kuroki pulled away from Enma, briefly, to cup his hands, smiling when water gathered in his palms. He brought his hands to his lips.

Grim tipped his head back to try to catch some water on his tongue. It was much less successful than Kuroki’s attempts, but it is what it is.

Enma frowned. “Guys… don’t drink rainwater, you don’t know what could be in it!”

Ito wasn’t quite as worried. In many places, rainwater was safer to drink than tap water. Not that they particularly wanted to drink rain or tap water themself. They barely even drank bottled water if they could help it.

“Oh! Don’t worry! Magical water is extremely pure!” Kalim said, the gem in his wand still glowing faintly. “And I can make as much of it as you need!”

“If you’re really freaking out about it, try some!” Grim said, nudging Enma’s hand with his paw. “It's basically the perfect temperature. Not too cold to drink, but not lukewarm, either. And it goes down all nice 'n smooth, like fresh spring water!”

Enma looked doubtful, but he did lick his lips briefly to test the water that had inevitably gathered there.

“It’s… nice,” Enma said, sounding mildly upset to find that he was wrong.

Ito giggled.

Enma sent them an exasperated look in return. He flicked their shoulder. “You should drink some.”

Ito hesitated.

They would still prefer bottled water, but a glance at the animals that they paraded through the desert showed that they hadn’t been carrying anything of use. Just flashy ‘outfits’. So, this was their only option.

They tipped their head back and joined Grim in trying to catch water in their mouth.

It was extremely ineffective.

But they still grinned widely as they did it, fighting back laughter at the mildly exasperated expressions Kuroki and Enma sported.

“You’re such a child,” Enma said.

“You’re just jealous that you’re all old and wrinkly.”

“Wrinkly?!” Enma gasped.

“They’re right, you’re going to get forehead wrinkles any day now,” Kuroki said, nodding along.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Ito said, poking Kuroki’s forehead and watching it immediately scrunch up.

“Hey! I’m on your side!”

Ito stuck their tongue out at him. “Bold of you to assume I’m on a side at all.”

Kuroki narrowed his eyes, and then flung himself at Ito, wrapping around them, clinging like a limpet that would die if he was parted from their side. “I’m making a side for us, then! Right here, right now!”

Ito snickered. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m also on their side!” Enma joined in, dragging them both into his lap so he could hug them more comfortably.

Kuroki huffed. “That’s not how it works!”

“That’s my line!” Ito said.

They managed to pout for a solid five seconds before they broke, leaning against Enma, sliding their arms around Kuroki.

Something in the back of their mind settled. Being this close to Kuroki and Enma felt right.

It wasn’t, they knew, but it certainly felt like it was.

It seemed nice, like the path of least resistance. Ito liked sailing calm waters. It would be easy to give in and love Enma and Kuroki, to let the memories of their family fade into just that – fond memories – and move on. No one would blame them, after all, it wasn’t like they were getting much choice in the matter.

Unfortunately, Ito feared that the calm waters that they sometimes wanted to sail only appeared that way. That they would get swept away by a hidden current beneath the waves and find themself drowning, even more helpless than before and even less capable of doing something about it.

This world was dangerous.

“I’m glad you all seem okay,” Kalim cut in.

The three Yuus jumped, their heads spinning to look at Kalim.

Ito was mildly surprised the guy had stuck around – Ito, certainly, would have left out of sheer awkwardness if they had been fourth-wheeling a scene like this.

But, no, Kalim seemed ecstatic.

… no, actually, that was slightly off. He was energetic, sure, and smiling widely, but his hands were once again fluttering around nervously as he said:

“Is – is this really all you need? I’m not sure what we brought, but there has to be something more I can do to help you all!”

Ito frowned just slightly.

This was getting to be a bit much.

Even coming from Kalim, who had always insisted on rectifying all perceived wrongs to the point where it was somewhat funny, this was excessive. Usually, he backed off when he felt satisfied that things would be fine, and providing them water like this should have sated him, but he was still hovering, something strangely intense in his gaze whenever it settled on Kuroki. As if he was expecting the boy to drop dead any moment.

Kuroki had asthma, yes, and asthma can be fatal in fringe cases, but this level of care wasn’t necessary. Especially not when Kuroki wasn’t even actively having an asthma attack.

It seemed Ito had gotten more than they bargained for. They had expected a reaction, of course, when they had told Kalim, however indirectly, about Kuroki’s condition. They had thought Kalim would feel bad and stop yelling at them.

This was more than they had ever expected.

But maybe they should have set their expectations here, in the first place.

They thought back to their allergy to hedgehogs. Everyone had freaked out. Even when it had just been the smell of hedgehogs lingering on Ace and Deuce’s clothes that very first day, so faint that it had only barely irritated their nose… they had run away as soon as they possibly could.

And Ito was pretty sure that they had never seen anyone here get sick, either.

In a world with potions and magic spells and advanced tech and people made of stronger constitutions… what did people think of people with chronic conditions?

Ito had already assumed most of the people here would think of the Yuus as essentially disabled on account of their magiclessness – they had already proven as such, treating them with far more care during fights than they really needed to. Now, they wondered if, in this world, Ito and Kuroki really were disabled.

It wasn’t a particularly fun thought to have.

But it could be useful, so they mentally pocketed the information, and then turned to Jamil, who was slinking his way over slowly, his hood up to keep the rain at bay.

“Kalim, let it go,” Jamil sighed. “We should start heading back to the dorm.”

Kalim blinked up at him. And then his face screwed up in a truly childish pout. “Already? A little more time to catch our breath wouldn’t hurt any!”

“The sun will rise higher if we take too long. The hotter it gets, the worse our trip back will be.”

“You've got a point…” Kalim pushed himself to his feet, and then turned to the dorm at large, beaming. “Okay, guys! Let's get back to the dorm and have breakfast! Back to marching!”

~

The Yuus had been allowed to ride back on the elephant with Kalim. Kuroki had made friends with the elephant, somehow, and Grim had sulked jealously for all of five seconds before Ito and Enma had started attacking the monster with pets to make up for Kuroki’s temporary ‘infidelity’.

~

“– this is getting insane,” a student whispered.

“I really never thought Kalim-senpai would do something like that…” another said.

“And to a kid with الربو of all things,” said a third. “That guy could have died.”

“I mean, Kalim-senpai didn’t know,” the second hedged. “Once he did, he let all four of them ride the elephant with him!”

The first voice scoffed. “The fact that he made them walk at all was cruel.”

Ito popped one of the kunefe cookies they had pilfered from the kitchen into their mouth, grinning. 

Different world, same politics.

The cookie crunched between their teeth, and they rounded the corner.

The Scarabia students didn’t look as surprised to see Ito as they should have. They were surprised, yes, but only that Ito had revealed themself so easily – they had known that Ito was within earshot, why else would they speak in Common instead of in the language of the Scalding Sands?

That conversation had been for Ito’s benefit.

But why? What was their goal?

Ito’s shoes clicked a merry tune into the floors as they rushed to the guest room they were technically being held prisoner in.

And yet. They were having the time of their life.

They had been so worried that their Winter Break would be boring, after all. Why shouldn’t they be happy to learn that they had been wrong?

[goldlightwriting]

Thoughts and Feelings on Hyper Sonic

Power-ups are a fairly common trope these days. They’re often treated as a sort of deus-ex-machina that allow heroes to overcome otherwise impossible odds, be it a transformation or a completely new ability. Power-ups are usually a pretty hype affair the first time they’re introduced, though some series tend to go a bit overboard with them. Today, I want to look at one of the most iconic power-ups in gaming, even though it hasn’t actually been used in over a decade. I want to look at Hyper Sonic.

Hyper Sonic’s first and only (questionably) canon appearance happened all the way back in 1994 in Sonic 3 & Knuckles, and existed primarily as a bonus reward for players who went out of their way to get the seven Super Emeralds. Like Super Sonic, this form was faster and nearly invincible, but brought extra perks such as increased jumping and the ability to breath underwater. Honestly, the Game Apologist has a pretty good breakdown of Hyper Sonic’s history that I’d highly recommend if you’re curious. That’s not quite what I’m here to talk about today, though.

Since the days of the Megadrive, fans have been clamoring to see Hyper Sonic return in some capacity, and I understand why. Simply put: it’s a cool form. It’s Super Sonic but flashier and even stronger, and I can’t deny that I’d be curious to see how this form might look in a modern 3D entry… Provided they could do it in a way that doesn’t induce seizures. Of course, that’s not the reason why Hyper Sonic has been absent for so many years.

Takashi Iizuka, one of the head designers and writers for the Sonic franchise, has stated that the primary reason they don’t bring Hyper Sonic back is because they don’t want to risk hitting the same level of power creep as Dragon Ball. It’s common knowledge that Goku’s Super Saiyan transformation was a heavy inspiration for Super Sonic, but as I’m sure anyone with even passing familiarity with the DB franchise can tell you… Super Saiyans are EXTREMELY overplayed.

Every new threat that appears in every new arc sees Goku (or sometimes one of the other Saiyans) unlocking a new Super Form that’s basically just “Super Saiyan again but better.” Look, this isn’t me dunking on Dragon Ball, but even fans of the series generally agree that that Toriyama’s method of artificially raising the stakes and then introducing a new gimmick form to match gets rather repetitive. It especially doesn’t help that the power scaling is kind of impossibly to really show. Like, a city-wide blast from Super Saiyan 3 might not be enough to take out a big bad, but a city-wide blast from Super Saiyan God that looks almost identical is TOTALLY strong enough to do the job.

Moving back to Sonic, it’s easy to see why Sega is iffy on bringing back the Hyper Form. If handled incorrectly, it would be VERY easy to fall into the same trap as Super Saiyans. I mean, what’s stopping them from going up another tier and introducing Ultra Sonic after that? It doesn’t help that Hyper Sonic is achieved by using the Super Emeralds, which are another plot point that can be iffy to touch on given Sonic’s infamously convoluted continuity.

Now, there have been arguments made for Hyper Sonic’s inclusion that I’d like to address. The first of these is that many fans want the form brought back purely for the hype or nostalgia factors. Putting everything else aside, most argue that it’s just a really cool form and would be epic to see. Honestly, I can’t deny that. From a purely Rule of Cool standpoint, yeah, it would be rad to see again.

Another argument I often hear is that Sonic has dabbled in other forms and transformations in the past. There’s Dark Sonic from the anime, though that’s an entirely separate canon. More relevant to the games are Darkspine Sonic and Excalibur Sonic from the storybook entries. I… Have my own thoughts and feelings on those transformations, but the thing that needs to be acknowledged is that those aren’t necessarily “stronger” forms of Super Sonic. They’re circumstantial powers that Sonic acquired while he was in the worlds of the Arabian Knights and Arthurian Legend. These forms are meant to be more thematically appropriate end-game transformations that fit the themes of the story, even though I think Excalibur Sonic handled that a lot more gracefully.

The big point that a lot of people come back to, though, is that Hyper Sonic doesn’t have to be a mainstay. It’s something that could be reserved for threats that are simply too powerful for Super Sonic to handle; a rare power brought out in absolute worst-case scenarios against exceptionally powerful antagonists. My counter question to that is: what would such a threat even look like?

Super Sonic regularly fights beings that are on-par with gods; forces of nature made manifest or entities that can bend the flow of time and space to their whim. Many of these foes are capable of undoing the entire world or even the universe itself. I mean, Sonic Frontiers has the living embody of entropy as the final boss! At this point, I’m not sure anything short of a multiversal threat would be enough to warrant Hyper Sonic, and that is a VERY complicated can of worms to open up.

Even beyond that though, there’s something else that I think a lot of fans tend to overlook. They say that Hyper Sonic would be warranted by a threat that “Super Sonic can’t handle alone.” The thing is, many of those god-like entities that I mentioned earlier already fall under that category. Super Sonic has already fought threats that he can’t handle by himself… So he doesn’t.

Against Final Hazard, he had the aid of Super Shadow. Solaris? Super Shadow AND Super Silver. Eggman and Eggman Nega? Burning Blaze showed up. Dark Gaia? He had Light Gaia giving him a hand. And of course, we all know that he overcame Metal Overlord through “The Real Super Power of Teamwork.” As cheesy as that line is, though, I kind of love that the Sonic franchise embraces it. I mean, even The End fight has Sage piloting the Supreme Titan to lend a hand.

Guys, you wanna know what happens when Sonic faces a threat that his Super Form isn’t strong enough to handle? He calls on his friends for help. That’s kind of been a running theme with Sonic for the last few decades, even if it sometimes get buried under camp and cliches… And frankly, I much prefer that. If anything, I wish the series leaned into it more. People demand the 3D debut of Hyper Sonic, but honestly, I’d be way more hyped to see the return of Super Tails, Super Knuckles, or even a proper iteration of Super Amy that got introduced in Sonic Origins.

Imagine swapping between different Super characters, all with their own unique power sets. That, to me at least, would be way more epic than just giving Sonic literally all the power and letting him solo the problem. A lot of modern Sonic games have the unfortunate tendency to sideline most of the supporting cast for the majority of the runtime, seldom allowing them to be much more than glorified cheerleaders despite being extremely capable in their own right. It’s only recently that Sega has allowed the rest of Sonic’s mainstay allies to start being more proactive again, but we can do better.

My sincere hope is that Frontiers will set a precedent going forward for Sonic’s friends to be more active in the story and not just relegated to background characters for most of the runtime. Maybe, in time, we can even let them stand on the same pedestal as Super Sonic again, rather than raise Sonic even higher. I’m not saying that Hyper should NEVER come back or that it’s impossible to make it work, but I’d personally rather see the whole cast get to shine again before introducing literal God-Mode.

But that’s just my take on the matter. What do you guys think? Do you still want Hyper Sonic back, or would you prefer to see the return of other Super forms first? Leave your thoughts and comments down below, and I’ll see you all next time.