#though it does seem to still be smaller things within the bounds of what he knows he can get away with

[goldendivinewrath]

You're not sure when Wolfwood found out your birthday or when he managed to sneak away when he's injured like he is, but someway somehow he has done both. Sure, he's getting better every day after that near-death experience, but he hasn't exactly been walking for more than twenty minutes at a time...

What's worse is that he didn't even leave a note—the window of opportunity was so short that he felt as though he didn't have time to.

And yet, he is bound and determined to find something worthy of being gifted to Vash the Stampede. Something that even partially repays an onze of the debt he owes for being on the floor more often than he is in a fight. He's still self-conscious about that.

A box of donuts isn't good enough. It's good, and he'll probably get some, but it's not good enough. He hopes a stroll through town (an exhausting stroll through town) will spur his inspiration. It has to be unique. Special, Wolfwood thinks, perhaps... overthinking. If he keeps thinking then he'll be out all day, and he's not sure he can get away with that without Vash freaking out. Vash might be freaking out right now, for all he knows.

Think Wolfwood think—what's special and within his budget?!

Wait—

They've never really... established their relationship or anything, have they? Well... that might be... would it make Vash happy? Does he even like his birthday? Ugh... maybe he prefers things ambiguous. Maybe he'd run if he brought it up...

No. He wouldn't.

One store catches his eye; it's a rock and mineral store. Sure, he'll bite. Wolfwood never really considered rocks being anything worth looking at, but he supposes if jewels exist on this barren planet, maybe there are some nice looking rocks.

The first thing he sees walking in is a basket of geodes. Those just look like rocks. Round rocks! But rocks. That's stupid. The store owner greets him, and he greets him in turn. Okay—

That's just some space metal from an old ship—is that worth anything...? Would that be nice or would it traumatize him? Surely he's overcomplicating it. There are some old pieces of tools that the original settlers and survivors created from rocks and metal... before they could get the Plants happy... hmm... Honestly, it's not worth the risk. A piece of debris could make him feel really, really awful. Something else then—

The red stones capture his eye next, so he shuffles over there. Wolfwood picks one up that seems to shimmer in the light, creating holographic patterns of red and black on the surface. Neat. It's kind of like Vash in a way, he thinks. The stone seems to be named "Beast's Eye" and, well, they're both kind of beasts in their own way, right? Then there's some more text that describes the stone as representing... 'determination, strength, and sexual vitality—'

...

The first two meanings are nice, at least. The third one... well... he's not sure either of them really need any help with that. At all.

It's cheesy, but he leaves the store with two matching worm-leather braided bracelets with Beast's Eye woven into them. One larger stone, then several smaller ones around the sides. They drain his wallet more than he'd expected, so he only grabs two donuts on the way back. Suddenly he feels nervous about the gift. Who cares about rocks?! Or symbols?! Ugh...

But he's back now, and it's too late to regret his purchase.

"Vash...?" Wolfwood creaks the door open, hoping that the blond won't chew his ear off for disappearing, "Gotcha somethin'. It's—it's not much, so... don't uh..."

He holds out the neat gift bag that contains the two donuts and the bracelet.

"Happy birthday, Vash. I'm glad you're... I'm glad you're with me. A-and stuff."

@forgivenpunishment (sorry this is so long dsjfjksldf)

From the instant the door opens enough to peer through, it's clear that Vash has been perched on one of the rickety chairs which was normally off to the side, set in the middle of the room and facing the door. Perched, because he doesn't sit in the chair as one's intended, but his feet rest on the seat cushion while he rests on the top rail. If the stiff posture and temporarily unnatural stillness could be considered resting.

His wide eyes take in the sight of Wolfwood, darting quickly to take in every visual detail he can before he relaxes enough to actually slide into the seat like a "normal human being", expression the slightest bit sheepish. Like he ought to apologize for being worried... but he doesn't. He can't find anything to say, isn't sure if there's something he's supposed to say, then Wolfwood starts speaking, hands him something and...

Curiosity overwhelms anything else, making a soft questioning chirp in the back of his throat as he reaches delicately for what's held out to him. He smells the donuts, and of course he's grateful for those even if he does have questions, but it doesn't really make sense until he spots the bracelet. He pulls the object out for inspection, moving more slowly that he usually does.

Vash goes-- Quiet. Really, really quiet. Silent and still again, save for the single flesh and blood thumb that's so very gently, slowly feeling over the stone centerpiece in the bracelet. Smooth to the touch, polished. Cool. Surrounded by well-worked, strong worm-leather. It's a nice texture, but that's not what renders him silent.

It's not what gets the most delicate, minuscule sniff from him, either. Barely a sound, hardly a breath. He should complain about coming back to the room to find Wolfwood gone. More than complain, he ought to-- He doesn't know. For a few more seconds, he keeps looking at the bracelet and steadying his breaths before admitting, "I thought maybe-- Maybe you did what I would have done. If this were... before." He admits, sounding a little bit miserable even if he's smiling. It's a tiny little upturn of lips, but it's real.

Sneaking away, he means. He suspects they both know without him needing to elaborate: sneaking away for the other man's "own good". To "keep him safe". Things he still believes might just be for the best sometimes, frankly, but... he wouldn't, not anymore. He won't. There's... some agreement. There's something there, between them, and now there's... this. A physical something.

Vash needs another couple of seconds to swallow back more emotion before he stands up and leaves the bag with the donuts on the chair. It's not exactly subtle, the way he wraps his arms around Wolfwood and gently acts as a hugging crutch. The man's healing, sure, but that doesn't mean healed.

"Thank you." They're two words. Ultimately simple, barely providing room for more than one concept, let alone the wealth of sincerity and emotion Vash breathes into them, but he does. The bracelet's still in his hand instead of on his wrist, but he doesn't want to let go of it. He doesn't want to let go. "Let's-- You should sit down. We should sit down." He says. And means. And doesn't move, except to rest his cheek against Wolfwood's shoulder. "You can, um. Put it on me..?" He waits. Waits for confirmation or permission or something before he moves them. Before he lets go, even a little.

[enbyboiwonder]

My theory about the referenced third Shinjou brother (whom I’m calling Souma, spelled with 瀧 [waterfall]—to go with the 柊 [holly olive] and 涼 [cool breeze] in Touma’s and Ryouma’s names respectively, both thematically and pronunciation-wise—and the same 真 [truth] as in his brothers’) is that he’s Touma’s twin.

He can’t be older because when you have a child but can’t take care of them (and if Souma and Touma are different ages, then the younger was probably unplanned), you give up the one who was just born, not the one who’s already a year or two old. It would fit with Touma’s being unaware of his existence, but it makes the least sense.

It’s possible he could be younger, then, since their mother says that the one she wanted to keep was Souma. I’m pretty sure you have to be 6 or older to be diagnosed with autism (although, that’s in the U.S.; idk how or if things are different in Japan), but I don’t know how young signs of neurodivergence become apparent, but for Touma to not remember Souma, to not be aware of his existence, he had to have been pretty young, no more than a couple years old, when Souma was born. (Though, well, I don’t think it actually matters whether she knew Touma was different at the time, but more on that in a bit.) It’s certainly not unlikely that Souma’s younger, but I think it’s more likely that they’re twins.

I don’t know if they’re identical (Souma’s definitely also autistic) or fraternal (Souma may or may not also be autistic), but, frankly, it doesn’t matter. Identical twins, particularly when raised together, are extremely similar since they share the same DNA as well as many of the same formative experiences, so it may seem like it would matter, but this is about idealization. This is about their mother idealizing the son she couldn’t have.

I firmly believe that a big part of why their mother hates Touma is that he’s autistic. But they were so young when she gave up Souma that she couldn’t have known then that Touma was different. It’s a case of her idealizing the unknown. At the time, they could only take care of one more child, but she gave birth to twins but she still wanted one and so they had to choose one to give up for adoption, and now, years later, she looks at Touma, who’s different from other children—and from the neurotypical Ryouma—and causes her so much trouble because she doesn’t know how (nor does she want) to deal with him, and thinks, “Ah, things would be different if only I’d kept Souma instead. I wish I had given up Touma back then.” It could be that Souma’s also autistic, and he ended up in a supportive household and he’s more well-adjusted than Touma because he’s actually getting the help and support he needs, and if she met him now it would only reaffirm her wish that she’d kept him instead. But if she had, then it would be the same thing with him, and now she’d be thinking, “Ah, things would be different if only I’d kept Touma instead. I wish I had given up Souma back then.” Because when you get down to it, it’s not really that she wants Souma, it’s that she doesn’t want an autistic child.

But ah, yes, I did say that him being autistic was only “a big part” of why she hates him, not all of it. That’s because what she really wants is a second Ryouma, and Touma’s autism is the most obvious difference between them, the biggest way Touma doesn’t live up to her ideal image of him. If he weren’t, or if Souma isn’t and she’d kept him like she thinks she wishes, I don’t know that it would be “better” per se, but the abuse would look a little different. With how much she’s always comparing him to Ryouma, Souma’s situation would be like Tsubasa’s with his father and older brothers. All three brothers are good at soccer, but since his brothers did it first, Tsubasa being as good as them isn’t good enough for their father. In the same vein, Ryouma is the favored child, and Touma/Souma is living in his shadow, so nothing he does is never going to be good enough for their mother (autistic or not). Souma might not be the autistic child of a parent who views any sign of neurodivergence as undesirable and something to be punished—even as something that he’s doing on purpose specifically to spite her—but he’d still have to deal with never being seen as good enough by a parent who has a specific image of who she wants her child to be and won’t let him be anything else.

[jasontoddiefor]

A gift for @thenegoteator :D

It took a Temple to raise a child, and Mace Windu was very much aware of this. However, it did not explain what Ahsoka Tano was doing at his door in the middle of the night. Ahsoka had deep bags under her eyes, which wasn’t too much of a surprise considering the current living arrangements of her lineage. While little Luke and Leia were relatively well-behaved newborns, they were still only a few weeks old. If their human caretakers didn’t wake up at every single little whimper, then the togruta with the superior hearing certainly would.

“Do you want to come inside?” Mace asked, not letting his confusion show. He was used to people coming to his door at the oddest hours.

“If—if I can?” Ahsoka replied as if only now becoming aware of her actions. In this, she reminded Mace of her Grandmaster and the many nights Mace had found Obi-Wan coming to his doorstep during the first months of Anakin’s stay at the Temple.

“My door is always open, Padawan,” Mace said – and watched her wince.

Ah.

So there was the problem.

“Caleb is currently sleeping in my bed as Depa is away,” Mace explained. “So please keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake him unnecessarily.”

The boy had already had a hellish enough month behind him, he needed all the rest he could get. Even though the war was officially over, enough planets refused to surrender, drawing out the battles until they had nothing but children left to sacrifice. It weighed on Mace’s shoulders, making him wonder whether he wasn’t too old to carry such burdens still.

Ahsoka nodded and followed Mace inside. He couldn’t recall whether Ahsoka had been in his room before, but from the way she eagerly looked around his quarters, taking in the sight of old instruments, books, and holos, he guessed she hadn’t. Well, at one point in their life, every Jedi had set a foot inside Mace’s quarters, so this was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

Ahsoka tore herself away from the sight and looked at him with surprise. “I—yes? That would be nice.”

“Then I will make a cup. Do you have any preferences? I believe I even have Obi-Wan’s favorite blend here.”

Mace had no idea whether he had bought it or if Obi-Wan had just left it here from himself when he came over. Knowing the other man, it was likely that the latter was the case. For a man claiming to be so very polite, Obi-Wan could be a right brat.

Mace’s kitchen was small, with only a few cabinets and one shelf, two cooking tiles, and an oven. He wasn’t much of a cook himself and preferred to eat in the cafeteria with everyone, frequently taste-tasting what the Initiates had prepared. He selected two uneven cups Depa had made for him when she’d been young from the shelf. Why she had decided to pick up pottery of all hobbies was beside him, but he supposed that she found the motion soothing. Devan did enjoy parkouring through the lower levels and Echuu was quite content playing the guitar to calm himself.

Perhaps Mace should focus less on why all three of his Padawans had decided they wouldn’t follow him into theatre so they could continue to make fun of him. Setting the water to boil, Mace searched through his cabinets until he found Obi-Wan’s favorite blend. The fruity tea was far from the blend he preferred, but Mace prided himself on being a good host. While he waited for the tea to finish steeping, Mace enjoyed the quiet of the night. For all that there were few sounds as dear to him as that of people walking, or in the case of some younglings and few selected Knights, running, down their large hallways, Mace could appreciate the quiet when the world came to rest.

With two finished cups in hand, he returned to the living room, where he found Ahsoka curled up on the sofa, no longer studying his quarters for any hidden secrets.

“Thank you,” she said when she accepted the cup from him. She held it in her hands as if to warm them, letting the steam hit her face. She breathed in once, twice, finding her rhythm again. Mace waited until she’d calmed enough to speak up.

“What brings you to my door, Padawan Tano?”

Ahsoka flinched and appeared to make herself even smaller as if attempting to vanish. When it became apparent that it didn’t work, that silence hadn’t been what she had sought him out for, she let out a sigh. “You keep calling that.”

“Calling you what?” Mace asked, his brow raised, playing oblivious.

“… Padawan.”

“Are you not? I was under the impression that you had returned to the Temple.”

“I did, but I still left,” Ahsoka replied. “I left and I was convinced that I had to leave and that it was good that I did. I still think I had to leave the Temple behind.”

“Then why are you torn?”

Ahsoka’s hold on her cup tightened and so, perhaps in wise anticipation, she set it on the table and buried her hands in her robes instead, hiding their twitching from view. Mace could trace all her mannerisms to her teachers and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to purposefully rip all those pieces from yourself when they had become so ingrained in your very being. Even Dooku, who’d fallen so far from their beliefs, had been unable to fully rid himself of Yoda’s lessons. Maybe it was for the best. Hope had become a scarce commodity during the war, yet Mace considered the possibility that in a decade, they wouldn’t be imprisoning a Sith anymore.

“But am I still a Padawan? A member of this Order?” Ahsoka asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she shook like the leaves on the trees in the courtyard.

“Has your Master told you anything different?”

Ahsoka paused. “��. No.”

Seeing that realization was settling within her, Mace nodded. “Then you should not doubt him. You are a Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, and you will remain one as long as you live by our tenets.”

That teased a startled laugh from her. “Compassion for all except people who cheat at push-n-pull?”

As if transported back ten years, hearing Anakin say the same, Mace snorted. “The similarities between you and your Master astonish me every time. Yes, Padawan Tano, compassion for all.”

This seemed to calm the youth as she reached for her cup again and emptied it slowly. “It’s good.”

Mace smiled into his own cup. “I’d be insulted if it wasn’t. Obi-Wan forced me to memorize all the steps for making it.”

The then young Knight had been frazzled, and Mace honestly couldn’t tell what it had been about and had forced Mace to learn how to make this tea until he’d more or less collapsed on Mace’s sofa, completely knocked out until morning when Anakin had picked him up.

“He does do that,” Ahsoka agreed. “I think this is the only thing anyone can make reliably now.”

“Sleep-deprived much?” Mace inquired.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I love Luke and Leia dearly, but they are demanding and need a lot of attention.”

That was honestly kinder than Mace would have described newborns at her age.

“There is a reason why we usually don’t have children this young in the Temple,” Mace said. “They are very handful. Do you get enlisted to help very often?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, Obi-Wan, Skyguy, and Padmé got it covered, and I’m mostly just helping out somewhere else.”

She trailed off a little. This, perhaps, was another issue, but one that could be equally easily dealt with.

“Thank you then for going where you are needed,” Mace told her.

Ahsoka blinked. “Huh?”

“You will grow into a specific role someday, Ahsoka, and that needs time. Do not feel as if you need to earn back your place in the Temple. You don’t need to earn yourself a home you have always had. For now, trust me when I say that everyone you’ve helped is glad that you were there. It is an admirable quality to have a sense of where you are needed. Do not see it as being the odd one out.”

This was the hardest lesson to teach and learn, the fact that there was a path out there for you, but that it took time to see where it would lead. Too many of their Padawans now felt utterly lost without the structure the war had provided them with.

“Oh. I guess if you say so.”

“Yes, I do say so,” Mace agreed. Then, eyeing Ahsoka’s empty cup, he added on, “do you want another?”

“No.” Ahsoka yawned. “I think I might best head back.”

“You can also sleep here if you want, and don’t mind Caleb hogging the blanket. I won’t go to bed tonight anyway.”

Ahsoka squinted at him as if attempting to discern whether he was lying. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really—”

“Ahsoka, go to bed.”

Clearly feeling better already, she saluted and, after Mace showed her his bedroom, made herself comfortable in it. She took off her shoes and tossed her robe over a chair before climbing into the bed. Ahsoka had barely laid down when Caleb already turned around to curl around her, clinging like a little monkey. After a moment’s apprehension, she relaxed and was fast asleep. Stealing one last glance at the two Padawan, Mace returned to his living room, looking through the incoming reports.

Hectic as the aftermath of the war was, as much effort as caring for their children was, Mace wouldn’t trade it for a single thing in the world.

[bokettochild]

The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.​

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

 The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

 The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

 “Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

 “It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

 The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

 “There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

 Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

 The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

  Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

 “But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.  

 “Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

 “I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

 Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

 Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

 “His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

 “But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

 The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

 Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

 It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

 It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

 Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

 But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

 “Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

 “When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

 Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

 Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

 His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

 Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

 Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

 He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.  

 “Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

 “One sec!”

 Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

 “There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”  

 Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

 “Thanks, Ravio!”

 “Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

 “We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

 “Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

 Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

 The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.  

 Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

 He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

 Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

 Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

 It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

 He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

 He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

 Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

 The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

 The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

 He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

 Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

 Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

 It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

 Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

 “He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

 “So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

 Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

 “Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

 He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

 Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

 It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

 “For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

 “But you’re the hero?”

 “A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

 A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

 But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

 Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

 Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

 Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

 It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

 Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

 He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.  

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

 Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

 The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

 Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

 The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

 Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

 Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

 There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

 That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

 The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

 Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

 While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

 Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

 Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

 Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

 The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

 It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

 “And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

 The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

 “I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

 “Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

 “You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

 “What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

 Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

 “Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

 “Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

 Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

 “Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

 Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

 Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

 He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

 “Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

 “Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

 “He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

 Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

 No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

 And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

 The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

 “I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

 Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

 It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

 But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

 He was never going to get one either.

 They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

 Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

 Mr. Hero is shivering.

 Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

 Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

 “Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

 “My what?”

 Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

 “I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

 “But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

 “It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

 He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

 “Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

 Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

 A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

 “Oh shoot!”

[lovesickitalian]

Could I request Yandere Nyo!Ukraine basic headcanons?

(C/W:) general Yandere themes, since he’s rather tame... oh, and choking.

Someone like Dmitri? A yandere? You wouldn’t be able to see it coming. To many who meet him, Dmitri is mostly just a warm-hearted man with motherl- fatherly instincts. There’s also the fact that he is usually a very cowardly person, being prone to tears at even the smallest of inconveniences.

So of course, taking these factors into account; absolutely no one would even suspect this man of having a more...dangerous side within him. Rather, most could see him being the victim of someone’s obsession instead.

But yanderes are almost always the more unsuspecting ones, aren’t they? Those that seem like they wouldn’t even hurt a fly because of how much of a sweetheart they are; but wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of hurting someone if you managed to push the right buttons.

That just made their jobs easier, didn’t they?

— meeting you.

It all started with you strolling through an Ukrainian countryside, taking in the beautiful scenery that you got while standing in a specific spot under a tree, the cool air blowing against your skin.

You didn’t know how you found yourself to be here...previously having gone through the woods to try and find your friend’s cabin, but embarrassingly getting lost after chasing a cute squirrel; but you didn’t really regret it right now. Having found this breath-taking view, and coming across this calming field that would eventually become the place where you first met Dmitri at.

Said man had just finished planting the last few of his seeds, and was about to go back to his house before stopping, his eyes laying themselves upon your breath taking body.

You looked absolutely divine.

He didn’t know what to say— nor to do, so all he could do was simply stare at you for god knows how long before you turned back, spotting the dazed man and waving at him

Oh no! Oh god! You had noticed him!

Dmitri would nervously wave back, probably too fast than what was considered normal; and so his face flushed in embarrassment before he nervously tucked his arm away. You smiled, either due to amusement or...something else that he wasn’t able to tell, before you started walking over to him!

You introduced yourself, giving the man a greeting and even reaching to shake his hand! It took a minute or two before he got out of his trace, quickly introducing himself and shaking your hand more firmly than intended, gaining a chuckle from you.

— feelings.

During your first meeting, you had chatted quite a bit and asked him if you were able to come meet him again, quickly gaining an enthusiastic Dmitri shaking his head ‘yes’ while almost jumping in his spot due to happiness. He got to meet you again! You actually wanted to be with him! He felt beyond happy, receiving the opportunity to see the beautiful person that has taken his heart again.

Yes, you heard (or read?) it right. Dmitri was sure he had fallen in love with you! You were simply so divine, so cute! He was sure it was love at first sight, and the man assumed that you felt the same way towards him.

And you truly did. He was just so sweet, polite and had a huge heart! Perhaps a bit of a cry-baby too, but that was adorable to see in such a big man that almost seemed a bit intimidating at first sight. It was cute how he always seemed to be worried about you, especially since your meeting was...basically caused by you getting lost in a forest. Almost at night.

You were lucky that he was there to take you back to his home.

Dmitri was almost like fatherly- no scratch that- fatherly figure to you, preparing food for you every time you came over, taking care of the things that were too difficult for you and always fretting about whether or not you were taking care of yourself well.

It was a pleasure to have you over. He did have a lot of acquaintances due to being a country, though was never really visited due to others either forgetting about him, or being too busy doing their own stuff. Which he understood...but it became lonely in here.

— stalking.

Ukraine isn’t much of a stalker, since he much prefers actually being around you but he does like to keep some of your belongings often without your consent. He actually has a whole drawer dedicated to things that belong to you— which is safely locked in his room, only for himself too.

Most of these include clothes, and smaller items that you normally wouldn’t notice being gone at first glance; pens, merchandise from your favorite series, perhaps even a shirt or two. Dmitri might even snatch more...inappropriate things, if he gets the chance to.

Coughes— personal items such as bras, panties and questionable CDs/magazines you might own, or some other...interesting stuff. He knows that you’ll never suspect him; seeing that he usually expresses himself to be the more innocent type, while being very far from it. You’ll be too embarrassed to ask him about it, and would merely brush it off as you losing it somewhere in your home.

He would make sure to treat them with great care! And by that he means basically worshiping your items everyday, holding them close to his chest and whispering his admirations towards you. His fingers gently tracing over the object while doing so.

As stated before...Ukraine isn’t much of a stalker, so he just makes sure to observe you intensely while you talk with someone else in his presence. He’ll make himself discreet, and you’ll probably think that he’s still doing something else instead of digging holes with the stranger you were talking to.

Making a move on you is a big no-no, so the Ukrainian will make sure to make up a quick excuse as to why the two of you have to go if they even dare to hit on you- or say something else inappropriate, and cuts off the conversation while walking away with you in his hands. Apologizing to the person while doing so.

"Oh...(y/n), I want to go check something really quick, can you come with me?"

— killing for his darling?

No, nope, немає.

It wasn’t that Dmitri...didn’t want to, lord, he would do anything for his darling if it meant protecting them from something that may harm their relationship, it was just that— he hated the sight of blood and corpses in general. It made him nauseous, and reminded him of everything he and his siblings had to endure in their younger years.

Dmitri hated himself for it. Dmitri hated himself for how cowardly he was.

He used to be a rather violent man as a child, having to protect his family and himself from the many, many dangers that were thrown at them when they were no more than small, clueless countries. So why couldn’t he do it now? What was stopping him? Why did he change?

The only way I could truly see him potentially killing someone is if they were to harm you, or even if they managed to gain your heart instead of himself. He wouldn’t know what came over him— his body would move by itself, and the next thing he knew his hands were tightly wrapped around their neck...the person limp, and not reacting.

Dmitri wouldn’t know what to do, he wouldn’t know how he even did it in the first place— thus, will most likely end up calling his youngest brother for help. Nikolai was used to things like this, right? So he could help, right?

So do refrain from telling him anyone you might be interested in. It might...not really end well.

— kidnapping?

Dmitri didn’t plan on kidnapping you at all... he first wanted to make sure that your relationship with him grew a bit, and that perhaps you would accept being with him forever! But after the events from before, Nikolai insisted on helping his brother. Thus, ended up coming back home one day with an unconscious you in his arms, your limbs bound together by rope and fabric covering your mouth.

Needles to say, seeing that had basically traumatized Dmitri— and he nearly fainted. The Ukrainian was partially grateful, yes, but this wasn’t how he wanted it to go. And who knew what Nikolai could have said or done to you?!

It would take some time for him to fully recover from the shock. Seeing you in that state upset him a lot, and he hated having to chain you up in his room... but his younger sibling insisted on doing it; saying that you would try to escape, or could potentially harm them if they were caught off guard.

But you wouldn’t do something like that, would you?

Dmitri would make sure to treat you with the upmost care during your stay. Giving you three meals a day, making sure you were well rested and clean, etcetera etcetera.It would be hard to start hating him even though he was basically holding you captive. He treated you with such care, that it almost felt like he was scared of breaking you if he did things too roughly. Which may very well be true.

He hates it whenever you ask him to go back home. It breaks his heart, knowing how much you want to get away. Was it something he did? Perhaps you didn’t like him anymore? Didn’t you want to be with him anymore? All these overlapping thoughts would most likely cause a nervous breakdown. He would cling onto you while tearfully sobbing about how much he loves you, and how much he cares about you and how much he worries about you potentially ally getting hurt without him being by your side. You would probably the only one who would manage to calm him down, if that were to happen.

— punishments?

Surprise surprise, his punishments are awfully motherly as well.

It almost felt like he was an actual parent...

Dmitri wasn’t fond of punishing you, but if you were going against him then what else was there to do? He had to discipline you in some way, since it would be rather unpleasant if you kept this up. It was a bit like tough love, wasn’t it?

Spanking would be one of his most used, and frankly his favorite— punishment to use. He chooses this when you disobey him and act like a child. (if you were going to act like one then he was going to treat you as such, he usually says.) this may lead to sex, depending on his mood.

Locking you up. Dmitri doesn’t like using this one as much...he hates being apart from you, and he could only imagine how much you’d miss him! But it was for the better. He prefers this method when you try escaping.

— nsfw.

Dmitri would preferably like to marry you before engaging in any sexual intercourse. However, there might be these moments where he would snap (like he did when killing someone) and simply wouldn’t care anymore, taking you right then and there without a care in the world. He can get a bit rough, so don’t be surprised when you can’t walk for the next few da—

Spanking. He loves seeing the cute reactions you make once receiving the impact on your body. The cute whines, the way your hips would twitch and how red your rear would get. He loved it all.

Daddy kink. He’s rather embarrassed by this one...but he can’t deny the fact that you calling him ‘daddy’ always manages to make him feel warm inside; uncaring if it’s meant to be sexual, or not.

Breeding kink. Is this one actually a surprise? Dmitri would absolutely want to have a family with you, no matter how much he’d have to wait for it.

Cream pie. Mostly due to my previous statement, and the fact that he just loves to so you filled with his love...

After care. This is an absolute REQUIREMENT after having sex with you. He will pamper you with love and kisses, giving water and pain meds if needed too. Dmitri will spoon you in his arms and make sure that you trust him and feel safe enough around him.

— overal,

Dmitri can be an okay yandere...if you watch what you’re doing, and play your cards right. Please don’t upset him too much, and make sure not to anger one of his siblings— since that might very well cause even more problems for you.

[maplecornia]

chapter 30

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.85K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: another yoongles focus lol i just figured out that i really don't have much to say in these things anymore, i might save the a/n's for the end next time

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear | @mangminnie | @pixiekooo | @canarystwin | @cana

This is not exactly how you expected to meet Min Yoongi.

His hand tightens around your wrist as he drags you through the halls of BigHit, and you silently pray that your small legs can keep up.

Looking up at him, you can't help but be a bit confused.

Why is he so angry anyway?

You didn't do anything to him.

Certainly nothing worth yanking your arms off.

Wincing as he turns a corner, your eyes widen as he opens a door and practically shoves you inside a dark room. You stumble a bit, an inner instinct inside of you resurfacing. You find yourself frantically looking for any form of exit, any form of a way out. When you find none, you swallow hard, feeling your hands palpitate with cold sweat and your breathing run short. Turning briskly to where Yoongi stands in front of the door, you step forward, ready to push past him and bolt before you’re hurt, but the look in his eyes stops you.

They’re soft, confused and slightly caught off guard. You wonder if the fear that prickles off of your skin is as evident to him as it is to you. Taking a deep breath, you swallow hard, trying hard not to show your discomfort. Inwardly, you chastise yourself for even considering that Min Yoongi would have any malicious intent towards you, but you can't help it when put into a situation like this...

Dark room.

Blocked exits.

No way of escape.

You can't help but be on your guard.

A bit confused, but choosing not to question it, Yoongi gestures towards a clothing rack to the left. Blinking, you turn towards it, begging yourself to relax. When he advances into the room, however, you flinch and frantically back up, straight into a tray of forgotten makeup and hair products.

He immediately stops at the reaction, and you downcast your eyes shamefully praying he doesn’t realize what you’ve tried so hard to cover up. However, as he takes in your frightened eyes, tense stance, and the shallow breath, he knows that somehow he has triggered a memory.

From the looks of it, even a form of trauma.

Definitely not what I expected.

Taking a deep breath, he turns on the light before turning to you with his hands up in a form of surrender. Almost a peace treaty. "Relax, I'm just trying to get a shirt for you."

You swallow hard, already feeling a bit better with the light on. Chuckling nervously, you straighten and nod, running your hand through your hair.

"O-of course you were. What else would you be doing?" you try to swallow the sudden rise of bile in your throat as you rub your arms violently to ease the chill your memories have brought you.

Yeah.

What else indeed.

Confused, but choosing to leave matters out of his hand alone, Yoongi returns to his task and rummages through the clothes dangling on the coat rack. Once he's found his prize, he turns to you and throws it towards you. Your eyes widening, you hardly catch it before he's already heading out of the door.

"Shirt." He explains bluntly, and you nod, a bit surprised that he used English. You smile inwardly at the sentiment, however. The small taste of home certainly helped you to regain your composure. You give a weak smile and tighten your grip around the shirt, hoping that it would be a better outlet to release the emotions bottled inside.

"Thank you." You murmur, and he nods before turning to leave.

He almost makes it out the door, but when he remembers something, he turns back to you.

"Do you know the way back?"

"Back...?" you mutter, a bit confused, and he rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to smile.

Looks like she's back to normal.

"To the dressing room, you're supposed to help us with the photo shoot today." Your eyes widen at his explanation, and you faintly remember your soiled schedule. Cursing under your breath, you wish you had at least taken a picture of the thing before heading to perform your duties. Maybe then you'd have a backup.

Well, guess that's a good thing to remember next time.

Realizing Yoongi is still waiting for a reply, you snap out of your reverie and smile.

"Oh, yes. I think I can manage." He nods before turning around and finally leaving you alone, the door closing with a few words of encouragement.

"Hurry up."

With that, the door is shut firmly behind him and you let out a small breath.

Well, no need to be so cold.

But then again, it was kind of him to offer you a shirt and not to pry when you had that slight panic attack. If you can even call it that. Sighing, you turn to the mirror and place your hands on the desk, staring deep into your hollow eyes.

It wasn't always this way.

There was a time when these eyes sparkled with life. When they were filled with joy and happiness, not a care in the world. Where you could smile without a weight on your heart dragging you down. Where you could live without feeling guilty of it.

Why do you feel guilty?

He deserved what he got.

He deserved to die for what he did to you.

“But still...he was my father.”

Biting your bottom lip, you hardly notice it as your teeth pierce through your skin and blood begins to trickle down your chin. Only when the taste of iron on your tongue pierces through do you realize. Flinching, you shakily wipe the blood away and lick your bottom lip as though that will erase the pain bound tightly to your heart.

No, nothing can erase this.

I don't think anything ever will.

Swallowing hard, you choose to forget that which is best not to be pondered over. Turning the shirt Yoongi found for you, you slowly unbutton your own, pulling it out of the plaid skirt you've garnered today. You're thankful Yoongi has managed to find you a similar shirt to the one you brought in today. A white button-up that reminds you of the 19th century. Something a high-class man would wear to a gala per se. You smirk at the ruffles at the end of your sleeves and try to avoid your reflection in the mirror as you pull it on over your bra.

The only thing you would see would be another daily dose of self-deprecation and hatred.

You'd rather stop before it started.

Once the shirt is buttoned and tucked safely in your skirt, a few small touches added by you in order to fit your look, you look at your reflection and smile faintly. For a man's shirt, it fits your frame quite snugly. You wonder who exactly it belongs to, but figure you could just ask Yoongi later.

This should do nicely.

Smiling weakly in satisfaction, you turn to the door and open it.

You weren't expecting to see a very fatigued Yoongi leaning against the wall right next to the entrance. So you'd say your reaction was justified.

He would probably think otherwise.

At your shriek, he jumps halfway out of the air before turning to you in surprise.

"What the hell was that?!" He cries, and your eyes widen in ignorance.

"Me?! What about you? I thought you were going back to the dressing room!"

"Well, I--" he breaks off, finding nothing to say, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion. Swallowing hard, he turns his face away from you. "You were taking too long."

Rolling your eyes, you scoff.

Sorry, but I didn't think I was on a time clock.

"Besides, I didn't trust you to get there on your own." He explains, turning back to you with a scowl. You narrow your eyes at him yourself before noticing the slight rosy hue to his cheeks.

Is he...embarrassed?

Clearing his throat, he shakes his head before brushing past you and heading back the way you came.

"Let's go."

You stand there in stunned silence before turning to his retreating figure. Smirking a bit to yourself, you scoff in disbelief before jogging to catch up to him. You want to thank him for his help, but as the two of you head back, you find it hard to start a conversation with him.

Biting the inside of your cheek you turn to him, trying to study his expression.

He definitely has some sort of hidden animosity towards you even though the two of you have never met before now. However, he doesn't seem to hate you. He's been kind to you so far. In his own...weird way. But if he doesn't hate you then what's the reason for his behavior? Sometimes he seems perfectly fine, and then others he seems to be incredibly angry by your presence.

Then again...your presence is sort of foreign to him.

Maybe he just needs time warming up?

"She's hardly qualified."

Or maybe...

He knows you don't belong here.

"Do you need something?"

Jolting back to reality, you blink and find Yoongi to be regarding you with a perplexed gaze. Quickly, you snatch your eyes away and laugh nervously. You hadn't realized you were gawking at him this whole time.

"No, it's nothing..."

His expression changes as soon as you look away, darkens into something nearly unrecognizable. Turning away, he swallows hard, as though holding himself back. You, however, find this as a perfect outlet to start a conversation.

"I was just...wondering...W-why are you doing the shoot here?"

He shrugs, trying to avoid your gaze as much as possible.

"It's more convenient this way. Does the shirt fit?"

"Hm? Oh! Uhm, yes it does. Thank you."

He nods in response.

"Good, that was Enhypen's dressing room. They hardly use it other than the times they visit our company for shoots and such. Sunoo has a smaller build than most in our company so I thought it'd work best for you." He examines the shirt on you, and you can't help but blush, half wondering if you should cover-up. "Hm. It's tight in some areas but definitely better than wearing something like Jimin's."

You blush profusely at the comment and cross your arms around your chest. You have half a mind to smack him right then and there, but as a group of employees pass by you, you're forced to hold back. He smirks in satisfaction at your reaction, and you scowl.

"I see...thank you." You mutter between gritted teeth. He doesn't respond, just continues to smile that smug smile. Turning the corner, you find yourself in another realm of silence, but this time you don't really have the urge to talk to him.

He on the other hand...

"Has BangPD talked to you yet?"

Your ears perk at that and you turn to him, shocked.

How did he...

"I'm sorry?"

"About being a trainee." He replies with that debonair air about him. Swallowing hard, it takes you a while to respond.

“How did you know?” He gives a look at the ambiguous answer, but you meet it as an equally indignant one. You feel as though you have a right to know, and you won’t answer him so easily about something you weren’t aware he even knew about. Sighing when it’s clear you won’t give in as easily as he thought, he answers you.

“BangPD met with us to discuss your training.”

“‘Us?’ You mean...”

“Yes, BTS. He said as shareholders of the company, it was only right for us to know he was considering training you. He wanted our opinion.”

In short, they were deciding your life before you even had a chance to decide.

You don’t know why, but the thought puts a sick feeling in your stomach. The fact that a group of people were discussing whether or not to trust you, to accept you without even half of them getting a chance to know you or your abilities...Who gave them the right to decide that? Who gave them the right to take control of your future?

And what if you say yes? Do they even want you to succeed? What if they do? What if saying no let down their expectations? Why weren’t you told about this? Why weren’t you a part of the conversation?

Was it really too much of a risk?

"So?" He prompts before pausing in front of an elevator door and pressing the up button to the dressing room. "What did you say?"

You give him a look, hoping that will let him know that you don't want to talk about this anymore, but he doesn't seem to care. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't know what to say.

Does he think that this is an easy decision? There are things to consider, your future to think about, people who could be affected...

But really, what is there to consider?

You don't have anything to lose, not really.

And this is your dream.

So why are you hesitating?

You know why.

At the soft ding of the elevator arriving, you break eye contact and turn as the doors open. Stepping inside, you watch the doors slide shut before answering him.

"He told me to think about it."

Yoongi scoffs at the answer, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He knew it'd be like this.

"What's there to think about?" At the question, you flinch but refuse to meet his eyes. "It's a yes or no question."

You bite your lip furiously, at war with yourself.

It's not like he's wrong but...

Yoongi glances at her from the corner of his eye and wonders what exactly everyone sees in her. He wonders what makes her so special. From what he's seen, she's incredibly ordinary. Sure she has a beautiful voice, her face is nice, but she can stand to lose a few pounds especially if she wants to be an idol.

Does she even want to be a performer?

There are so many others who have tried their whole life just to be considered for what they're offering here, and what?

It's too hard of a decision?

Animosity growing like a drug, he scoffs turning away.

"I was against it, you know." You turn to him, a bit confused at the statement. He sighs before continuing, a bit piqued at your behavior. "Your contract. I didn't want you to be considered as a trainee."

You should feel surprised. You should feel wronged, angry. But you feel none of those things. Instead, you understand him.

Smiling a bit bitterly, you turn back to the metal doors.

"I see." You reply, and he turns to you in confusion.

"You're not mad?" You shrug before turning to him.

"Why would I be?" He scoffs at the reply.

"Most would feel offended."

"Well, I'm not. In fact, I'm grateful."

Surprised, he turns to you. "Why?"

"At least you didn't lie or cover it up." You explain matter of factly and he shakes his head at you in disbelief as the elevator dings, announcing your arrival.

"It would've been better if I had." He mutters half to himself as the two of you depart, bowing politely to a few employees waiting to board the elevator. You shrug at the statement before glancing his way.

"Well, maybe I don't like people who beat around the bush."

He can't help but feel a bit stunned as he watches you walk a few steps ahead of him. He can't help but feel that he'll always be a few steps behind you. Shaking the feeling away, he peers your way.

"Are you scared?"

"Of what?"

"Debuting."

You swallow hard, not sure how to answer. Biting your bottom lip in concentration you consider the question.

Are you scared to debut?

"Yes."

Who wouldn't be after all? It's scary not knowing if the public will view you positively or immediately cast you aside. It's scary not knowing whether or not your dream will be achieved, whether or not you'll make it.

"Is that why you're hesitating?"

Spying the dressing room a few feet away, you shake your head at his question before replying.

"No."

You can deal with that fear...but what you're even more afraid of is betrayal.

Like what happened last time.

Yoongi stares at you for a moment and watches as you get that faraway look in your eye, the same look that tells him you're not really here. When the two of you reach the dressing room once again, he can't help but pause a few feet away from you. He has the sudden urge just to look at you, maybe then he'd be able to understand.

"You're not what I thought you were." He mutters, not sure if you can hear him, but at your smile, he knows you never stopped listening. You smile at him over your shoulder.

"I guess I don't like beating around the bush either."

𝔞/𝔫: i feel like this offers a lot of background to yen's past...which may be revealed soon

chapter 31 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[escher-room-with-a-view]

elaborating on my autism headcanons!!

- sarah -

her special interests are usually between one and three. once she develops a special interest, it stays with her for years; in fact, some of her interests, like reading and writing, have been with her for as long as she can remember. her other special interests are theatre and arts and crafts; the latter is quite a broad category, but it includes things like sewing, felting, embroidery, watercolor painting, book binding, and making collages. sarah delves further into her interests the more they’re encouraged, but she also uses them as coping mechanisms to feel better about or distract herself from the real world around her. in the cases of acting and crafts, she uses these to express how she feels, whereas reading and writing are used more as forms of escapism. her favorite genre of literature is fantasy, though she doesn’t mind any particular fantasy subgenres and is willing to broaden her knowledge of the genre by reading most of them. meanwhile, she isn’t anywhere near as selective when it comes to theatre. so long as there’s a soundtrack and cast that resonates with her, she doesn’t care if it’s opera or ballet, tragedy or comedy, contemporary or dating back thousands of years. indeed, she doesn’t ever feel like her knowledge of theatre is complete—and while it feels unattainable, she’d like to develop at least a cursory knowledge of every play there is.

sarah stims by talking to herself, chewing on her lips or hair, pacing, doing needlework, doodling, and absentmindedly writing. she also has echolalia, repeating the same word or phrase to herself either out loud or in her head; certain phrases can get stuck in her head for weeks on end. she’s rather quiet when she talks to herself—in fact, most of the time, she just whispers or mutters. furthermore, when pacing, she walks in circles or back and forth. she doesn’t use stim toys very much because they don’t appeal to her, though she does like the idea of making her own stim toys and other objects, such as slime or reversibles.

her relationship with routine is complicated. on the one hand, she doesn’t take change well and has difficulty adapting to new situations, especially those that are unfamiliar and stressful. this means that, to some extent, she prefers it when things stay the same. however, this is more of a general status quo sort of sameness that she likes to maintain. on a smaller level, she’s easily bored by sameness and likes it when at least one novel or interesting thing happens each day. for instance, if sarah has gone to the same school her entire life, she’s going to be upset—even devastated—if circumstances force her to change schools without any sort of preparation or warning. however, if her commute to the school every day is identical, she’ll grow bored of it easily and may one day consider taking a different path there just to see what happens.

sarah tends to struggle with eye contact and, on the rare occasions that she wants to maintain it, has to force herself to do so. it makes her immensely uncomfortable to look someone in the eye for an extended period of time. while irene sometimes mistakes this for her not listening, sarah is trying to explain that it’s not something within her control.

she is hyposensitive to (and indeed fascinated with) colors and lights. however, loud noises bother her and can be painful for her. sarah also prefers not to be touched unless she initiates the contact first. being touched without her permission startles her and makes her immensely uncomfortable, as does being surrounded or cornered; all of these can easily overwhelm her in the right circumstances. she hates haunted houses for this exact reason. her hyposensitivity also extends to texture and physical sensations, albeit not in the same way; rather than being obsessed with or actively seeking out sensations and textures, sarah is so hyposensitive to both of them that she sometimes doesn’t even notice sensory input unless it’s excruciatingly painful or needs constant adjusting. her senses of taste and smell are neither above nor below what’s considered average, though she has a preference for sweets, white meat, and anything crunchy. 

something else that she and jareth have in common is the fact that their living spaces, specifically their rooms, both have to be organized in a very specific way. any alterations in this organization are bothersome and overwhelming to the both of them; this includes rearranging or removing objects, changing the location of the room entirely, or changes in things like how much light or air the room receives. 

- jareth -

he tends to have a lot of special interests at a time, and they change often. his current ones are architecture, illusions, astronomy, fashion, humans/anthropology/sociology, various pseudosciences, and surrealist art. however, in the past he’s been interested in ornithology, geology, romanticism in art and literature, the labyrinth’s prehistory, wordplay and rhetorical/literary devices, cats, different types of governments, letter writing, collecting trinkets and antiques, choreography, and many, many more. living for such a long time has provided him with the opportunity to both develop and engage in a wide variety of passions. in fact, some of these past special interests still remain with him today and simply aren’t considered his “main” ones anymore because they’re not as strong.

his favorite pseudosciences are graphology, phrenology, and astrology. he also likes to try and determine the future via methods like alectromancy, astromancy, augury, scrying, and lithomancy.

he stims using crystals/via contact juggling. this is usually when he’s understimulated, absentminded, or just needs something to occupy himself with. it’s also enjoyable to him. he has other ways of stimming, though, many of which are meant to self-soothe. for instance, feeling nervous or excited might drive him to shake one leg or hand; he also feels compelled to chew on things in such instances. when overwhelmed, he scratches his arms as one would if they had an itch. jareth is trying to stop doing this and is thus looking for alternatives. he views stim toys as some of humanity’s greatest inventions. if he lived aboveground, i imagine he’d have different versions of the same stim toys for different purposes: neutral colors when he needs to prevent overstimulation, bright colors when he’s just stimming because it makes him happy.

he doesn’t mind loud noises, but he is sensitive to bright lights and colors. in fact, he’s so nonchalant toward noise that, when he listens to music, he likes for it to be as loud as possible. in his mind, good music is never quite loud enough. there are certain textures and tastes he doesn’t like, which drives him to be very selective with what he wears and what he eats. with regards to clothing, he likes silk and leather but can’t stand wool, denim, anything baggy or distressed, or velvet. because he conducts magic through his hands, he has sensitive palms; his gloves allow him to touch things without being bothered by them, while also allowing him to use magic undeterred. he’s especially sensitive around food, preferring things that are bland or savory and refusing to eat anything with a consistency that’s too soft. for instance, he finds eggs revolting in most forms.

without a routine, jareth tends to become dejected or burnt out. unfortunately, though, his frequent executive dysfunction makes it difficult for him to plan out and adhere to routines without frequent reminders—which, when they come in the form of goblins, usually annoy him more than anything else. this is why he hasn’t had a proper schedule in years. it’s a bit of a vicious cycle; his unhappiness has led to a lack of motivation, and his difficulty creating something he can stick to has made him even more unhappy. he works best with clear, written instructions that are placed where he can see them. he especially needs specific times to eat and sleep; without them, irritability and physical discomfort set in. in the event that he does have a routine, changes that might seem small to others are often nerve-racking to him.

though he sometimes uses eye contact and close proximity to others to intimidate, he genuinely feels uncomfortable without eye contact and has difficulty remembering to mind others’ personal space most of the time. he can be quite touchy-feely when he cares about someone—even platonically—and isn’t afraid of showing it, but he doesn’t really know when or if to back off unless explicitly told to.

- didymus -

when it comes to special interests, he and sarah have a lot in common. they both love drama and literature; however, didymus has a particular interest in folklore, both that of humans and that of the labyrinth. he only has two special interests: literature (including plays) and history. both of these influenced his desire to become a knight and continue to influence his behavior, as he seeks to emulate the idea of a noble and valiant knight to a T. he has some difficulty responding appropriately to or understanding various social cues. as a result, he spends most of his nights and some of his mornings scripting out how his day is going to go: how he’s going to speak to other people, how they might respond to him, and how he’s going to respond to their responses. whenever didymus makes a new friend, he puts effort into studying their mannerisms and personality so he can adequately pinpoint how they might behave toward him and thus figure out how he’s going to interact with them. furthermore, he speaks and acts like a gallant knight from a fairytale or play because of his constant reading. his consumption of literature provides him with a consistent model of behavior that’s bound by a set of rules, unlike the behavior of people in the real world—which can often be unpredictable, and whose rules are less coherent. as a result, didymus believes that emulating the kinds of characters he admires will make others admire him in turn, and make him easier to understand. 

his favorite earth authors are william shakespeare, miguel de cervantes, and alexandre dumas. he is also especially fond of arthurian legend and various human mythologies, such as norse, celtic, and japanese.

one of his favorite ways to stim is by chasing or wagging his tail. he also stims by absentmindedly practicing swordfighting moves with his cane, scratching behind his ear with a hind paw, pacing, and talking to himself. pacing is the only one out of all of these that doesn’t lift his spirits; rather, he does it when he’s thinking because it helps his ideas flow. didymus is most inclined to chase his tail or scratch his ears when he’s bored, practice his parries when excited, and talk to himself when he’s overwhelmed. in the last case, this is often combined with pacing; together, both stims provide a good release for emotions he has difficulty expressing otherwise. when didymus talks to himself, he is unlike sarah in that he doesn’t do so quietly. his volume remains the same as it usually is in a conversation; when he grows passionate, it raises accordingly. sarah introduced him to stim toys; his favorite ones are the ones that make noise, whether they click or woosh or do something else. he also uses dog toys as substitutes and enjoys the ones that squeak, though he has to keep his own set somewhere where ambrosius won’t find it.

his strongest sense by far is his sense of smell; it isn’t necessarily a lot of scents at once that can be upsetting for him, but rather scents that he finds unpleasant. these include sharp or chemical smells such as vinegar, ammonia, spices, perfume, citrus, alcohol, cleaning products, and herbs. aside from these, there aren’t any smells he can confidently say he doesn’t like. he also has hypersensitive hearing and prefers soft classical music, hymns and chants, or music that dates back thousands of years. he hates the sound of bells chiming, loud drums, or thunder; the last of these especially bothers him, though he would never admit it. he was once bothered by the sound of metal objects clanging together when he was a kit, but he appears to have outgrown that in particular. he has poor color vision, as do most canines, so bright colors don’t affect him at all. he finds flashing lights mildly frightening in some cases and annoying in others.

to didymus, routine is the thief of joy. he craves adventure every day and hates when things are the exact same; even having to do the same task in the same way as he did the day before, for instance, is enough to bore him out of his skull. as a result, he likes to mix up how he does things by placing his daily activities in different orders, doing them with his friends, or replacing some activities with others entirely. for instance, he, hoggle, and ludo take turns with household chores—not only so that they can share responsibilities, but so that didymus can have time to go off and pursue his knightly dreams. much of the time, his friends are willing to accompany him on his adventures so long as he’s able to keep them safe—and so long as they can be home by dinner.

he doesn’t really like eye contact, but he tries to maintain it because he thinks doing so is respectful. he does see one perk to his small stature; he’s too short to meet eyes with most people, so his lack of eye contact usually isn’t judged. it wouldn’t be either way because almost everyone in the labyrinth either is ND or knows someone who is ND, but he really does want to maintain eye contact because the books he reads make him think that it’s the proper thing to do. his friends are trying to convince him that he doesn’t need to make eye contact if it makes him uncomfortable; however, because he seems to believe that it’s a rule, he has difficulty convincing himself not to follow it. in fact, didymus is very much inclined to follow the rules that are provided to him and becomes anxious when encouraged or required to break them. without clear rules, the world becomes nonsensical and unpredictable—and therefore upsetting—to him. it was his idea to propose a set of rules for his friends’ home; they accepted and have worked together to write them down so that guests know how to behave.

he gets along really well with the wiseman; despite his typical impatience, didymus is one of few people who actually have the patience to listen to the wiseman. in fact, didymus isn’t just patient with him; his ramblings actively intrigue didymus, and whenever he has the opportunity he makes his contributions as big as he possibly can. didymus really appreciates it when his friends let him infodump, and he figures it’s only fair that he should let others do the same. in fact, didymus also places a lot of value on fairness; it’s the whole reason he opposes jareth in the first place.

[coexiising]

Fade Into You - Chapter Three

SUMMARY ✦ You learn the truth about Lord Vader & disobey the Council's orders.

WARNING(S) ✦ choking (in a non sexual way)

MASTERLIST ✦ Here.

The cup of tea placed in your hands had long run cold as you still sat in the middle of the ring of Jedi Masters. The Corscuanti sun was starting to peek just along the horizon, illuminating the room more and more with each passing second. It was easy to feel the tension in the room, thick enough to cut with a knife while every single Master kept their eyes on you, the only stop in their gaze was when they blinked.

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for under their watchful gaze, like they thought you were going to spontaneously combust or crack under the pressure. You thought that this was supposed to be the moment they told you everything. It wasn’t hard to notice that they were obviously keeping something big from you. Whoever this person was . . . Vader, he was something (or much rather, a Sith) that they knew about. But why were they keeping it a secret from the rest of the Order? Why would they keep something so dangerous like a new Sith a secret, when it was clear that there was something going on deep within the shadows of the Force.

You almost wanted to say something. Being in this silence was deafening in the worst way imaginable. Luckily, it seemed as though Obi-Wan had taken pity on you, and opened his mouth to say, “Well, should we get on with it?” The man looked tired, obviously having been woken up by your screams not even an hour ago. “She’s shaking.” Which you were, for the record, though you weren’t sure if it was because of their stares or the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep in the past couple of days that you felt as though you were on the verge of collapse.

The droid who gave you the cup earlier came around again and refilled it. You attempted to settle your nerves by taking a sip of the warm drink.

“Keeping secrets, we have,” Master Yoda stated, his small green hand gesturing towards you. He sat within eyesight, so you could see the curiosity in his face. “But this connection . . . See, we did not.”

You looked at him quizzically. “What kind of connection are you talking about?”

“It is certain that the Force has drawn you and this Sith together, for what reason, we do not know,” Master Windu said. “Force wielders always have heightened dreams, but the fact that you are being connected to someone with such a dark power, it is troubling. We have to ask, have you been using the dark side of the Force, Knight Y/N?”

What, were you on trial now? Was this all just an elaborate game to try and get you to confess to something you weren’t even guilty of? You were a Jedi, bound to the light side of the Force and sworn to the Order, why would you ever even think about leaning towards the dark side of the Force? You were almost offended that he was asking, and that all the other Masters were listening intently, as though they were waiting for some kind of confession of guilt. You wished that this would all be over, you wanted things to go back to normal, before Vader, before everything.

“No, I haven’t been using the dark side of the Force, Master,” Your last word digging in rather harshly as your attention moved to the spot Windu sat. “Like I said before, I don’t know why these things are happening to me. I don’t know how I could’ve formed this connection with this ‘Vader.’ I haven’t even met him!” You tried not to scowl, because as much as you wished you could, Master Windu was still your superior.

“What does he say to you in these dreams. Does he ever mention a place?” Master Plo-Koon asks.

Your thoughts take you back to what Vader said about meeting him on Mustafar. If you told them that, then maybe they would send a team there and this would all be over with. Then everything would go back to the way things used to be. And you wanted that, though, you could feel yourself beginning to pull back from the idea. For some reason, it felt wrong for you to tell them what Vader had said, like you would be betraying him in some way. It astonished you, how you were thinking of reasons not to give away the location of a Sith. It was so unlike you, but everything about this was crazy. Which is why you looked down at your cup, your eyes watching a tiny tea leaf dance around in the water as you said, “No. He never said anything like that.”

You were waiting for one of them to catch you in the lie, though when you looked back up at the gazes of the Masters, they all seemed quite relaxed, like they didn’t even notice the quivering in your voice. Lying for a Sith . . . Perhaps it was the dark side after all.

“It took some strength to talk to him. But when I did, he said that he wasn’t influencing anything,” You said.

You heard Master Windu chuckle. “Well, he was certainly lying. How else could it have been formed? That doesn’t even make sense. If it wasn’t you, it had to be him.”

“Master, I don’t think that he was lying,” You told. “He never even tried to harm me-”

“A Sith is not to be trusted, Y/N,” He said. And maybe he was right. You probably sounded crazy trying to defend Vader.

Master Mundi sighed. “Still, we owe you an explanation. We knew that there was a presence of a new Sith for some time now. And with some of our sources in the Outer Rim, we’ve heard whispers of the name Vader. Only, we didn’t want to tell anyone until we were certain that there was something to tell. Now, with the presence of your dreams, it seems like it is now certain that we are dealing with another Sith.”

Another moment of silence fell upon you and the group of Jedi, not knowing what to say. You didn’t know if you were to be angry or to simply let it slide. Instead, you simply said, “Well, what do you think I should do about the dreams?” You would need to sleep at some point, and you didn’t feel like waking up a screaming mess every time that you attempted to get at least a few hours.

And the Masters all started talking, though not to you, amongst themselves. You could scream at the sheer annoyance of all of it, how they always did that. They always talked like you weren’t in the room with them, like you didn’t get a say on whatever they thought was right. Of course you understood that there was a hierarchy here, but it didn’t stop you from getting angry that these people had authority over you sometimes. It felt like an eternity of them talking, you silent and attention drifting off to other points in the room, then suddenly they all seemed to come to some type of conclusion.

You raised your eyebrow to say ‘well, what is it, then?’

“We want you to stay as far away from this Sith as possible. Obviously we cannot have control over your dreams, but do not engage him. And you will be staying at the Temple where you are safe. We do not know if this Sith will try and get you with him,” Master Obi-Wan told you. You looked at the ground, realizing that this meant you wouldn’t be allowed to go on any missions. It wasn’t ideal, especially with the Clone Wars raging on. You wanted to be where you were best: Bringing peace to the Galaxy. Though there was no arguing with the Council. They had made their decision and you had to live with it.

A few other words were passed until you were being ushered out of the room towards the elevator that led you back down to the center of the Temple. It was still early in the morning, there was no one in the hall when you stepped out into it and you could still feel the Force Signatures of several sleeping Jedi. You stopped in the middle of the hallway. To your left was your room, where you had been instructed to go to meditate before you started your day like usual. But to your right was the way to the hangar, where you could easily get onto a ship and get to the bottom of things on your own terms, knowing the exact location where the Sith was.

No. You had been specifically told to not engage the Sith at all. And that had been just in your dreams . . . It would be far worse if you were actually in the same place as him. But as much as you wanted to turn and go towards your room, it was as though the Force was pushing you the other way. It wanted you to go see him, as though you were both magnets trying to connect. You should be more scared at the fact that the Force, something unknown and completely under researched by even the most powerful of Jedi, was trying to get you to meet such a mysterious powerful man. Still, you felt a sense of calm wash over you thinking about going to Mustafar to see him. Maybe that was what you needed to do, maybe the second you met with him all of this could get figured out.

At least, you hoped.

So you started towards the right, making your way down the large hallways still huddled over in your large brown blanket. You made inventory in your head, knowing that there would be supplies of food rations and anything else needed for basic survival, and you already had your lightsaber clipped to your utility belt that you carried everywhere. In no time you were walking into the hangar, lines of different models of ships awaited you, and there were only a few clone workers that you knew wouldn’t even question as to why you were here.

You settled for a smaller ship, one you had worked with before that was fairly easy to pilot. After all, Coruscant was situated near the Deep Core of the Galaxy, where Mustafar was in the Outer Rim. The quality of your ship's hyperdrive engine was in good condition, so hopefully you would get far enough away before any suspicions of where you had gone arose. Though, thinking back to what information you gave away to the Council, they didn’t even know where you were headed.

You hopped on the ship and started the engine. No one even batted an eye.

~

It was a long journey before you were in the atmosphere of Mustafar, looking for a place to land your ship where it wouldn’t be enveloped in the lava. It was all too familiar of your dreamworld, meaning that this had to be the place that Vader and you had met, only, you didn’t see the building built of obsidian. Your bottom lip was situated between your teeth, eyes scanning the area for any sign of life or structures of some kind. You knew that there had to be something, Mustafar used to be an old mining colony of the Republic before the lava got too dangerous. It was considered abandoned, which seemed like the perfect place for a Sith to take residence in.

Just as you were about to call it quits, go on your way back to Coruscant and make up some excuse to the Council on where you have been all this time, you saw a black building in the distance. It was not much a building and more of a castle, standing tall on the top of a mountain, smoldering lava pooling at the bottom like a moat. There. That’s where he had to be. You could feel it.

It was a swift landing and soon enough you were on your feet again, making your way towards the large stairs that went up from the landing platform. Your heel touched the first one and you heard footsteps behind you. Unsheathing your lightsaber and igniting it, you turned swinging, your blade clashing with a dark red beam that could only belong to one person.

“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

His voice was smooth like molasses but dark, making your heartrate pick up when you were certain that it was Vader standing before you, real this time. You weren’t protected by parsecs between you two anymore. He walked backwards, lightsaber still pointed at you just as you were doing to him. Now that you could see the Sith with your own two eyes, you realized that he was even more breathtaking in person. Vader’s honeyed locks were something to marvel at in itself, curling on his forehead and at the nape of his neck, if you didn’t know any better you would’ve liked to run your fingers through it. His golden Sith eyes were intimating in person, but you almost felt a sense of comfort in them. Overall, you felt calm despite being at the end of a red lightsaber.

“You’re not a friend, Sith,” You spoke, keeping your guard up. “I’m only here to know why we’re connected. The Council seems to think that you’re lying to me.”

Vader laughed. “Your Council is useless. Why would I feel the need to connect myself with a Jedi. I have more important things to attend to.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you do. What could you possibly be doing on a planet like this?” You rolled your eyes, not falling for that for a second. “It could be valuable to be connected to someone who is in the Order. Then you could gain the upper hand in anything the Republic does.”

“Enough with the bravado, why do you think that you’re that important?” Vader asked, eyebrow raising up. You stood there dumbfounded, not knowing how to answer such a question. “They let you come here, didn’t they? Into the hands of a Sith? Maybe they don’t care about you at all, they’re too wrapped up in their silly little war.”

“I came on my own accord,” You said.

His eyes widened, a smirk coming on his face. “So you went against the wishes of your precious Council? How strange . . .” You watched his gaze go from your face to your body, as if he was sizing you up. You stiffened, not knowing how to act under his watchful eyes, shivering at the way he licked his lips. “That means they don’t know where you are, am I correct?”

You nodded, knowing that there was no reason to lie. “I seem to remember you saying that I could trust you, Sith-”

“Vader.” He interjected.

“Sith.” You pressed on.

“Lord Vader.”

You laughed at his insistence, wondering how he thought that you would ever call him such a thing. He took a step forward and you took one back, continuing this until you could feel hard rock press into your back. You were cornered by him, the only thing separating the two of you was your lightsaber which you didn’t dare move. “You said that I could trust you,” You told him. “Put down your weapon so we can get to the bottom of this and I’ll be on my way.”

A tiny chuckle fell past his lips. “What makes you think that you have the upper hand in this?”

You didn’t respond, your eyes darting from his golden ones to his saber, waiting for him to do as you asked. Tentatively, he set his lightsaber on the ground, and you watched as the red hue of it went back into the hilt. You did the same, unlighting it and dropping it to the ground near his. Neither of you made a move and you didn’t dare say anything, knowing that the smallest thing may set him off.

For a moment you almost thought that this could work, that you two could work together in peace. That was until you felt a Force pull you towards him, one of Vader’s gloved hands finding its way to your neck, keeping you in his grasp. His fingers pressed against the side of your throat, restricting some of the air you attempted to suck in. You kicked and punched, trying to get him to let you go, but he didn’t. Instead he walked forward and backed you into the wall again, this time his hand still around your throat and the other was placed firmly on the wall near your face.

The world around you almost disappeared, stars appearing in your eyes as you tried to grasp onto any air that would come into your airway. Vader’s face came to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hair brush against your cheek as his lips came to the shell of your ear. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine as he whispered:

“Never trust a Sith.”

Your vision went black.

[deermouth]

1. Is it winter again, is it cold again, didn't Frank just slip on the ice, didn't he heal, weren't the spring seeds planted didn't the night end, didn't the melting ice flood the narrow gutters wasn't my body rescued, wasn't it safe didn't the scar form, invisible above the injury terror and cold, didn't they just end, wasn't the back garden harrowed and planted— I remember how the earth felt, red and dense, in stiff rows, weren't the seeds planted, didn't vines climb the south wall I can't hear your voice for the wind's cries, whistling over the bare ground I no longer care what sound it makes when was I silenced, when did it first seem pointless to describe that sound what it sounds like can't change what it is— didn't the night end, wasn't the earth safe when it was planted didn't we plant the seeds, weren't we necessary to the earth, the vines, were they harvested? 2. Summer after summer has ended, balm after violence: it does me no good to be good to me now; violence has changed me. Daybreak. The low hills shine ochre and fire, even the fields shine. I know what I see; sun that could be the August sun, returning everything that was taken away— You hear this voice? This is my mind’s voice; you can’t touch my body now. It has changed once, it has hardened, don’t ask it to respond again. A day like a day in summer. Exceptionally still. The long shadows of the maples nearly mauve on the gravel paths. And in the evening, warmth. Night like a night in summer. It does me no good; violence has changed me. My body has grown cold like the stripped fields; now there is only my mind, cautious and wary, with the sense it is being tested. Once more, the sun rises as it rose in summer; bounty, balm after violence. Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields have been harvested and turned. Tell me this is the future, I won’t believe you. Tell me I’m living, I won’t believe you. 3. Snow had fallen. I remember music from an open window. Come to me, said the world. This is not to say it spoke in exact sentences but that I perceived beauty in this manner. Sunrise. A film of moisture on each living thing. Pools of cold light formed in the gutters. I stood at the doorway, ridiculous as it now seems. What others found in art, I found in nature. What others found in human love, I found in nature. Very simple. But there was no voice there. Winter was over. In the thawed dirt, bits of green were showing. Come to me, said the world. I was standing in my wool coat at a kind of bright portal— I can finally say long ago; it gives me considerable pleasure. Beauty the healer, the teacher— death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life. 4. The light has changed; middle C is tuned darker now. And the songs of morning sound over-rehearsed. This is the light of autumn, not the light of spring. The light of autumn: you will not be spared. The songs have changed; the unspeakable has entered them. This is the light of autumn, not the light that says I am reborn. Not the spring dawn: I strained, I suffered, I was delivered. This is the present, an allegory of waste. So much has changed. And still, you are fortunate: the ideal burns in you like a fever. Or not like a fever, like a second heart. The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful. They have been concentrated in a smaller space, the space of the mind. They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish. And yet the notes recur. They hover oddly in anticipation of silence. The ear gets used to them. The eye gets used to disappearances. You will not be spared, nor will what you love be spared. A wind has come and gone, taking apart the mind; it has left in its wake a strange lucidity. How privileged you are, to be passionately clinging to what you love; the forfeit of hope has not destroyed you. Maestoso, doloroso: This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us. Surely it is a privilege to approach the end still believing in something. 5. It is true there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use. I am at work, though I am silent. The bland misery of the world bounds us on either side, an alley lined with trees; we are companions here, not speaking, each with his own thoughts; behind the trees, iron gates of the private houses, the shuttered rooms somehow deserted, abandoned, as though it were the artist’s duty to create hope, but out of what? what? the word itself false, a device to refute perception— At the intersection, ornamental lights of the season. I was young here. Riding the subway with my small book as though to defend myself against the same world: you are not alone, the poem said, in the dark tunnel. 6. The brightness of the day becomes the brightness of the night; the fire becomes the mirror. My friend the earth is bitter; I think sunlight has failed her. Bitter or weary, it is hard to say. Between herself and the sun, something has ended. She wants, now, to be left alone; I think we must give up turning to her for affirmation. Above the fields, above the roofs of the village houses, the brilliance that made all life possible becomes the cold stars. Lie still and watch: they give nothing but ask nothing. From within the earth’s bitter disgrace, coldness and barrenness my friend the moon rises: she is beautiful tonight, but when is she not beautiful?

October

Louise Glück

[tehrevving]

Stop and Stall What’s Safe

When a stray bullet ricochets, Dante doesn't know how to save you. With a last ditch effort, he remembers how the bruises on your skin used to heal after sex, and just prays that it works.

Dante x Reader (Reader is neutral but can get pregnant), Gunshot wounds, Angst, Masturbation.

I had a little bit to drink, and was in mood. So this is like, angst but with a crack premise.

I don't know what to say about this apart from that Reader gets shot, Dante doesn't know what to do and ejaculates on the wound to try and heal it. That's it, That's the premise. Enjoy lol.

Dante’s heart is still racing, even though it’s been hours. You’ve been asleep on his chest for a while now and even though you’re breathing and warm and alive, his head just won’t stop spinning. It had been his fault. He’d almost lost you because he was too fucking stupid to think about the consequences of his own actions. He was terrified, lost in his own thoughts with no idea how to go about not making the same mistake again.

He’d never liked involving you in his line of work, even though of course sometimes he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like he could always keep his lives separate. Dangerous creatures often decided to try and invade his home that he shared with you, though luckily they never seemed to attack while he was away. They would always wait for him to appear before they made their move, he was never sure why, but he was thankful for it. 

In general though, in a fight, you knew what to do. You would hang back, away from the battle, arming yourself with one of the numerous weapons that were stored underneath his desk, or under your desk, or behind some of the artwork. So when a bunch of low tier fucking assholes decided to disturb the peace today, it had all gone according to plan. To start with anyway. 

He’d been fighting them, dispatching the weak ones easily. They were never a match for him anyway, but especially not when he was showing off for his mate. It had been easy, he hadn’t been concerned, or worried at all, until a Chaos had sauntered its way into the office. 

Dante knew that they were fast, far faster than you as a plain old human would be able to handle. So he’d focused his attention on it, trusting you to dispatch any of the small fry if they managed to get close. He’d tried the usual strategy, shoot to stun, and then tear it limb from limb once those sharp spikes were no longer a factor. 

He’d never had to consider the enclosed space before though, while fighting something so fast, so high powered. He’d aimed properly, got it in his sights right in between the eyes. He’d waited until he’d thought the timing had been perfect, but even though he liked to think so, Dante wasn’t perfect. 

He hadn’t been able to anticipate the way that the creature had moved, the way that it had shifted slightly and thrown his marksmanship off. That the piece of shit would shift slightly, throw off his aim, that the thing would start rolling, moving its spines so fast that no bullet would have a hope of reaching it. He never expected the angle at which his bullet would ricochet off it’s shining carapace at full speed. Dante never fucking anticpated that any devil hell bent on destroying him would be smart enough to deflect his weapons straight into your god damn body. 

He’d watched it happen in slow motion, the bullet deflect and start to turn in your direction. He’d seen your eyes widen, but he’d not been fast enough to do anything. Dante had watched as you crumpled to the floor as his stray bullet hit you, he’d watched it part your flesh, and embed itself deep within your abdomen. 

Fuck, he’d been overtaken by an all consuming rage, he’d never felt anything like it before. It was like he wasn’t himself anymore, like his subconscious was moving without permission from his physical body. The entire world around him slowed down as he lost control. He wouldn’t have been able to recall exactly what he had done if you’d asked him, but every single damn devil in the building had been destroyed by his hand within an instant. 

The Chaos was the last to go down, the ultimate subject of his rage. He moved faster than it could react to, his claws ripping it to absolute shreds. It didn’t even get a chance to shriek before it hit the ground, dead, and his entire focus shifted to you.

Dante was by your side seconds after you’d taken his deflected bullet, surrounded by the shrieks of dying devils around him. He grabbed your body before you hit the ground, lying you down carefully onto your back. You had looked up at him, with shock and horror and fear in your eyes, before immediately pressing your hand to the blood pouring from your abdomen. He’d expected to see disgust, or hatred, because he was the one that did this to you, but instead, you’d just been terrified. 

He hadn’t known what to do, he’d just panicked, his entire mind wiped blank. You’d started speaking, throwing him out of the haze that had threatened to overwhelm all of his senses. “Bandage,” you’d said to him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Dante. Pressure on the wound.”

So he had torn the shirt he was wearing to pieces, the fabric didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d ripped the material from his front, wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t know how much pressure to use, how much pressure humans needed, so when he pressed the fabric against your slick abdomen, it didn’t seem to do anymore. 

“Harder,” you’d barked at him, and so he pressed down with the sort of pressure that might have bruised you on a normal day. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel your blood pouring out from the wound, even through the layer of fabric bound around his palm. 

You were surprisingly calm, or maybe you were just in shock. He didn’t know how being in shock felt, or what this much pain might actually feel like. He could be cut in half and recover from it a trace of a scar of course, do he had no frame of reference. “Is it bad?” you had asked him, and he hadn’t known how to reply. 

“Did it hit any organs? I can’t feel anything,” you’d asked him, and in the moment he had ignored the way that a small amount of blood had bubbled up from your throat to your lips while you’d spoken, but now that it’s all over, he can’t help but imagine the whole fucking thing in vivid detail.

He’d tried to think. He knows when his own organs are compromised, it’s a slightly different feeling, but as he’d looked down at you, he’d realised he doesn’t know how to map his own experiences to your body. You’re so much smaller than he is, and you have more organs in your abdomen than he does, don’t you? “I don’t know,” is what he finally manages to say, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. 

“Call an ambulance,” is what you’d said next, but as he’d looked around the shop, and at the carnage his own enraged demon had caused, he knew there was no way anyone would be able to get to you. 

“I can’t. Fuck. I can carry you. I can fly,” he’d said, panicked, desperate. He’d tried to move you, but you had screamed in pain, a sound that he’d never heard before, a sound that tore him in half all the way down to his soul. He’d immediately put you back down, but even then, your screaming hadn’t stopped. 

His entire hand had been wet, your blood welling up around his crappy shirt. He was going to lose you, because he didn’t fucking know human first aid, because he hadn’t fucking thought about his actions and shot a firearm in an enclosed space, against something that could easily deflect bullets at insane speeds. “What do I do?” he’d asked you desperately, but you hadn’t replied. You’d been in shock, and Dante doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pale your face was. He’d started crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t known what to do. 

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” He’d been distraught. He knows the basics, but not how to save you. The pitiful fabric of his shirt had been dyed completely red, and he knows it’s not absorbing your blood anymore, there’s just too much of it. 

He’d pulled his hand away, just to get a look at your wound. It had been bad. The blood wasn’t stopping, and he could see your insides, his bullets are much more powerful than a normal calibre, even a ricochet. He’d willed himself to think as he’d felt your breathing start to slow, and felt your life starting to drift away. Fuck. He wasn’t going to let that happen. 

His brain for some reason, had decided to fixate on when you’re first gotten together. When he hadn’t been able to control himself, and he’d left bruises on your skin. He’d noticed the bruises, felt guilty about them, but then suddenly they’d started disappearing once the two of you had decided to become exclusive, and stopped using condoms, and started pulling out and spilling himself on your belly instead. He remembered the bruises returning though, once you’d confirmed that birth control would still work on his half devil spunk, and he stopped pulling out. 

It had been stupid, and a fucking long shot. But he hadn’t known what else to do, and your lips had been turning blue right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t know how the fuck he’d planned to manage it, but as he’d pressed down on your abdomen with slick fingers, he’d started struggling to undo his fly with the other. 

It had felt wrong, so fucking wrong, as he’d pulled out his cock. He hadn’t been hard, but there had been no other options. He’d started stroking himself, and of course nothing had happened, arousal had been the last damn thing that his panicked mind was expecting. 

He couldn’t keep looking at you, watching the life drain from your face. He’d shut his eyes, imagined you teasing and encouraging him. He’d imagined the way you would bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes while egging him on.  

It had started to work eventually, but he was so worried it wasn’t fast enough. His dick had started to rise and for the first time in his life, as a virile and overeager half devil, he’d wondered if he could ejaculate at half mast.

He’d pulled out all the fucking stops, because he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d pressed down on your wound with one hand, trying to block out the feeling of your heartbeat starting to slow while he stroked himself.

He’d twisted his hand on the tip of his dick, stroking loosely and then putting pressure on the base, before moving back up. Of course he knows how to get off, but it’s completely different under pressure. 

It had been a struggle, but the longer that he had kept his eyes closed and pretended, the easier that it had gotten. It had become easier to convince his penis that this wasn’t a life or death situation, that he was just casually jerking off and not using it as a last ditch attempt to save your life. 

He’d gotten there eventually, though all of his progress had almost been ruined when he had to lift his sticky palm from your flesh. The wet sound had broken his heart. He hated the way that he could hear your laboured breathing start to bubble up from your lungs when he released the pressure. 

He’d just hoped that this would fucking work. 

Dante had taken his dick in hand, lined himself up, and with a terribly reluctant moan, shot his seed all over your wound. He’d tried his best to hold back tears as he watched the white settle over the red staining your skin, watching with bated breath, wishing for anything to happen. 

He’d been able to see it right in front of his damn eyes, that his cum was slowly disappearing, sinking into your wound and reducing the amount of red. He’d watched as the bleeding had gradually stopped, and as your skin began to knit itself back together. 

He’d waited with baited breath, watching as every trace of what had just happened disappeared from your skin, within moments there wasn’t even a scar on your abdomen. The only evidence remaining being your blood staining your skin, and his hands and the floor, and the tears streaming down his face. 

He’d pulled you to his chest, begging for you to wake up, wiping his eyes on your hair. The office had been a disgrace, was still a disgrace. There was blood everywhere, sticky stains from where he’d ripped the damn devils apart, and of course your own life essence, staining the floorboards by his desk. 

Eventually you had stirred though, eyes disorientated and unfocused. You had been in no state to do anything for yourself, but he didn’t care. He’d carried you against his chest, washed the blood off of your now healed skin, and off his own and then gotten you into bed. 

You’d been exhausted and incoherent, immediately curling up against his chest and falling asleep, but his mind couldn’t stop racing. He’d been so fucking close to losing you and he hadn’t even known what to do to give you a fighting chance. 

His last ditch effort had been disgusting, even though it had worked, and he’s horrified with himself. Repulsed by the fact that he’d even considered it, but horrified by the fact that he’d actually been able to get off to you dying. It makes him reconsider everything. 

Dante knows that he won’t sleep at all tonight, but that’s okay. He had to watch over you, and make sure that you don’t stop breathing, that nothing else happens to you. He cries again, his face pressed to the pillow to try and muffle the sounds so that he doesn’t wake you. He vows that he’s going to be better, that he’s going to learn how to save your goddamn life next time, no matter what it takes, and that he’s not going to let anything like this happen again.

[spinchip]

i mean. the prompt I've got in my head is like. a lil bit zangsty but, zane being rebuilt post s4 make me wonder if he can like. actually remember stuff about what happened early on. maybe the og four are reminiscing about some of their early days, and zane can't relate because zane can't remember? like. all those memories were p much lost for good after s3... makes me think

A/n: 1150 words. this was fun!

“Hey.” Kai says, knocking on Zanes door. It’d been open, the invitation extended to anyone who wished to see him, but Kai still lingers in the doorway.

Zane blinks up from where he's been sitting on top of his bed, bookmarking the page he’s been on and setting the book he’d been flipping through aside, “Hello, Kai.” He smiles, though faintly, as he registers the expression on his face, “Is something wrong?” he sits up a little straighter, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Kai hesitates, shaking his head, “No- well, it’s just… I’m really glad you’re back.” He admits, stepping into the rooms.

“Oh.” Zane says faintly, instantly forcing down the Overlord's memory before it can snap to the front of his mind, “I’m glad to be back as well.”

Kai sits heavily on the edge of the bed, close enough for their legs to touch, “I… had a lot of time to think about things, after…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, licking his lips.

“What were you thinking about?” Zane carefully avoids any mention of his death.

“About when the Monastery burned down.” He admits, “The things I said… I just kept thinking about how I never said sorry. I know you said I didn’t need to, but I think you deserve it. From me.” He takes a deep breath, straightens up and squares his shoulders, and speaks with the most conviction he can muster, “I’m really sorry about what I said, Zane… and I’m sorry about the way I treated you. You’re one of my best friends.” He says earnestly.

Zane nods, taking the weight of Kais words. He smiles gently, reaching out to squeeze Kais shoulder reassuringly, “I forgive you, my friend.”

With the apology passed on, Kai seems lighter, smiling brilliantly at his teammate before throwing his arm around him in a tight side-hug. “You’re the best, Zane!”

“I know.” Zane smiles, returning the embrace.

Kai sighs easy, and as the silence stretches he seems to grow a bit more awkward, “Well, I didn't mean to interrupt! I’ll leave you to your book.” he nods to the leather bound book Zane had been studying, standing up with a clap of his hands, “I’ll see you around lunch, yeah?”

“I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches.” Zane confirms, Kai fist pumps as he heads out the door.

Zane hums, sitting back on his bed once again. He picks up his fathers journal and scans the pages slowly, letting his fathers looping handwriting and intricately scribbled doodles fill in the gaps in his mind, memories contextualizing in his head, and tries not to let it bother him.

It was easy for Zane to forgive Kai for whatever rash words he’d thrown against him.

He... didn’t ever remember that happening, anyway.

_______________

He remembers most things, it’s not all been lost when he died. He remembers meeting Master Wu for the first time, he remembers dressing in all black and ambushing Kai that night, he remembers giving Pixal his heart. There’s a lot of little memories in between, smaller things, the day-to-day that still makes its home in his head. He barely remembers his father, those memories damaged long before the overlord, unable to survive past that trauma.

He finds, quite unexpectedly, that he has no memory of the first time he met Jay Walker.

He has the memory of before, Walking up those endless stair with Master Wu (who had been trying to hide how he was looking at Zane, impressed at how he didn’t even seem winded on their way up) and after, When Jay had led him over to the living room to introduce him to Cole. the time between was blank, a record-skip in his mind, the scene transitioning sharply past the moment he first laid eyes on his future friend.

Once he discovers it’s missing, he thinks about it a lot. He wonders what Jay had said to him, what he had said to Jay? Would the boy have commented on his lack of belongings? Would Zane have explained why?

Zane consults another memory. Jay didn’t know he was an orphan. Then what would he have said, when they first met? Jay was anything but unmemorable, how could Zane forget?

He thinks about asking sometimes, or prodding and picking delicately until Jay volunteers the information himself, or even waiting for it to come up in conversation naturally. It never does, really, not in a way that would satisfy the burning itch.

He doesn’t tell him because it would hurt his feelings to know Zane had forgotten him, probably.

He doesn’t really know Jay all that well. Or maybe he did. Was supposed to?

(how many memories is he missing?)

_______________

He’d accepted on Chen's island he wasn’t the white ninja, he’s conquered that fear. He was the titanium ninja, and that was fine, really. He was still Zane, probably, just a different version. He doesn’t want to drag on this existential crisis any longer, so he shuts the door on it and washes his hands of it. He is who he is, Pixal helped him figure that out.

And Cole, too, but Zane would never tell him that.

It’s just that, when he’d been all alone down there in that dungeon, and Pixal had coaxed the shattered and splintered pieces of himself back together, his memory had been… it had been damaged beyond repair long before then, really, he could accept this now. Things had been lost for good. He knew lots of stuff abstractly, that he was a ninja, that he lived in Birchwood Forest at some point, that he had lots of friends and lots of enemies- but there was a disconnect he couldn’t describe, a distance he never told Pixal about.

A chasm made all the more apparent when Cole peeked through those bars and Zane... didn’t recognize him.

But the thing that settles the spiraling, unsettling identity crisis in his chest is that Cole recognizes him.

“You’re alive!” Cole says so confidently that Zane instantly believes it’s true, that there’s no way he couldn’t be the man Cole recognizes, “And you’re silver?”

He can match the face and the voice, he can understand that it’s Cole and commit that to memory, but he didn’t understand who he was looking at the moment he saw him based on the hole riddled, damaged program he’d been working off of now.

“Titanium.” He corrects, and there’s a dissonance with the face in his files and the one before him, “Cole, you look white.” He comments, and Cole just smiles and laughs and says a lot of things about getting Zane home.

The distance in his head closes when Cole calls him lug nut, and the memories are suddenly his again, within his grasp, Cole the one piece of the puzzle he needed to kick-start his code back into working order. His life snapping back into reality instead of a nebulous, intangible thing shaped around him.

This is his secret, not even Pixal had realized what happened, and she’d been in his head. He doesn’t want anyone to know.

It’s fine now, anyway. He can always make more memories.

_______________

“Hey, Zane, do you remember when-”

Probably not.

[ao3bronte]

Butter

I have been utterly enchanted by the spoiler images Zag keeps posting of Chat Noir and Ladybug's rooftop dinner date in the movie and I simply had to write about it for Christmas because it's so darn romantic! I've also been honing my food writing skills, which I hope you'll enjoy as well! This story is part of the @mlsecretsanta​ exchange and I was paired up with a Tumblr user named @yuki-sukinomoto​. I hope they like what I have put together for them. Also on AO3.

Like many people around the world, Adrien has a special place in his heart for Disney films. He and his mother had enjoyed many a fireworks celebration at Disneyland Paris, not to mention the mini-vacation he'd taken with her at Disneyland Hong Kong while they were there for Father's flagship store opening. Even now, he regularly enjoys flipping through the archives of Disney+ just as frequently as he does his other streaming services; there's nothing like a rewatch of a favourite film to get his mind off the bigger shadows lording over his life.

He's halfway through his last year of lycée when it occurs to him that he hasn't watched Ratatouille in ages. There are only a few animated films set in Paris that he can think of off the top of his head and he's always enjoyed the romance of Un Monstre en Paris more than the trials and tribulations of a rodent gourmand. It warrants a look though, especially since he's got nothing better to do; the glacial December rain is no place for Paris’ favourite cat.

“Anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great.”

Something about that statement resonates within him, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally slotting into place. Adrien gawks at the screen, then down at his fingers.

“I’m pretty much fearless,” he murmurs, the cogs of his brain suddenly propelling into motion. “And if that Linguini guy can learn how to cook, then so can I!”

~

That evening, Sous Chef Maurice humours the youngest Agreste when he strides into the kitchen and affably demands to be taught how to cook. The spritely blond’s attitude has always been world’s away from his boss’ brusque, frigid demeanor and Sous Chef Maurice welcomes the change of pace, if only to lighten up the evening as the snowy skies grow dim.

“So, where do we start?”

“With the basics, of course,” Sous Chef Maurice responds, tapping away at the mounted iPad on the wall nearest to the pass. “Watch this video and familiarize yourself with the classical knife cuts of French cuisine. Once you’re finished, bring three large carrots and two bulbs of fennel from the garde manger to my station to practice.”

“Yes, Chef!”

And so, with all of the flagrant gusto of an Agreste on a mission, Adrien watches the videos and does exactly as he’s asked. Wielding the chef’s knife is a bit of a task but he manages not to amputate any fingers, much to Sous Chef Maurice’s relief. All in all, he ends up with a fairly decently sliced pile of carrot batonnets on one side of the cutting board and half a julienned fennel bulb on the other.

“That’s all? There are several other techniques you’ll be required to master if you want to learn to cook.” Sous Chef Maurice frowns beneath his wiry moustache. “Cut a medium and small dice from the batonnets. And as for the fennel, slice the rest of the bulb into wedges. Monsieur Agreste requested it braised this evening.”

Adrien’s tongue wriggles out between his lips as he hacks the carrots into even smaller pieces. “What’s braising?”

“A cooking technique,” Sous Chef Maurice replies, “One you’re about to learn in a moment. Now chop.”

“Yes, Chef!” Adrien flashes his million watt smile before diving head first back into the task that was given and quickly catches on. He’s no Guy Savoy, of course, but he manages well enough with the careful precision of a boy who secretly destroys things for a living. Once he’s finished, he watches as Sous Chef Maurice crafts the rest of the evening’s dinner beneath the copper hooded hearth, stirring and seasoning every dish. Spreads of freshly baked bread and Saucisson Sec jostle for space on the platter, nestled in among wedges of Crottin de Chavignol and small jars of stone fruit jam that remind him of summer. On the burner, Sous Chef Maurice reverently sautées tomatoes in a magnificent French oven until buttery tender.

“Why, exactly, have you decided to learn how to cook all of the sudden?” Sous Chef Maurice asks as he sprinkles a fragrant chiffonade of basil over the tomatoes. “Don’t you have enough on your plate, so to speak?”

Adrien shrugs. “I was watching a movie and realized that I don’t know how to cook anything.”

“And now you suddenly have the inspiration to become a chef?”

“Not exactly,” Adrien says, passing him the pepper mill. “Cooking is...daring. You have to be fearless to be a great chef!”

Sous Chef Maurice begins to chuckle. “You’re doing this to impress a girl, aren’t you?”

“I…” Adrien’s jaw practically drops to the floor. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Ladybug wouldn’t be able to resist his Chat Noir charm if he could pull off the ultimate homemade dinner for Christmas! She’s always appreciated his do-it-yourself gifts over the ones he’s bought her over the years...he could ask about her favourite foods and create a holiday masterpiece for her to devour as the perfect Christmas present, just for the two of them! “Yes! How did you know?”

“I was a young man once too,” Sous Chef Maurice points out, shaking his head with mirth as he turns his attention back to the hearth. He pulls the olive oil braised fennel from the oven and slathers a huge spoonful of buttery fava bean purée onto the serving platter, smearing it across the china like a streak of bright green paint. Then, he artfully stacks the braised vegetables over the pur��e and drizzles the juices from the pan in haphazard circles from a height, dressing the dish like Father would a high fashion model. Adrien can hardly believe his eyes as Sous Chef Maurice sprinkles Maldon sea salt on top and places it onto the pass, ready for service.

“Like modelling, cooking is an art. It requires patience and mastery,” Sous Chef Maurice explains, turning towards the youngest Agreste with a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “If you’re serious about learning how to cook, I suggest you start studying the books of Paul Bocuse.”

“Do you think Father will let me?”

“I heard you discussing your latest school project with Mme Sancoeur just yesterday in the dining room. Perhaps you can change the focus of your study to better suit your interests.”

The lightbulb above Adrien’s head suddenly flickers to life. “Yes! Thank you so much! You’re the best!”

As Adrien races from the kitchen to the dining room in a frenzy of inspiration, Sous Chef Maurice simply wipes down his knives and smiles.

~

Cooking, as it turns out, is easier said than done.

The first task on Adrien’s check list is to find out what Ladybug likes to eat. She doesn’t really know what to make of Chat Noir’s sudden barrage of questions about what her favourite meat is or what types of soft cheese she likes to spread on freshly baked baguettes. But she’s spent years by his side at this point — his chaotic behaviour always seems to stem from some haywire plan to prove his worth — so she goes along with it as he goes along with her crazy ideas; trust has always been integral between the two of them.

The second task is to watch as many cooking TV shows as he possibly can. Adrien stays up into the wee hours of the morning bingeing Masterchef and soaking up every detail he can memorize. Always salt the boiling water before cooking pasta; add acid to bring out the flavours of your food; season, season, season! Instant coffee powder accentuates the subtleties of chocolate; toast the spices to release their full potential! Adrien writes it all down and figures that it can’t be that hard to break down a whole chicken for roasting — the judges make it look so easy!

“Merde! I am so sick of this stupid—Plagg, transforme-moi!” Adrien growls that very afternoon after mistaking the back of the chicken for the breast...again, “Cataclysme!”

(Sous Chef Maurice finds the smoking pile of chicken soot in the bin later that evening and doesn’t have the heart to ask.)

~

There are two weeks left until the beginning of his school’s winter holidays and Adrien is bound and determined to host an evening that Ladybug will never forget. Anaïs gives Chat Noir permission to use one of the transparent bubble tents on his restaurant’s rooftop patio as a favour after de-akumatizing him back in September; Le Cochon Joufflu gives him a live edge cheese board to use in exchange for getting his beloved kitten down from the chestnut tree hanging over the patio. Ladybug mentions that she loves strawberries the most out of all of the fruits and Chat makes sure to stop by the Dupain Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie to order a Frasier for pickup in two weeks time.

It’s all coming together...kind of.

The cooking bit is still an issue. Adrien has figured out the difference between the top and the bottom of the chicken (after an embarrassingly long time, though he’ll never admit it). Yesterday, Sous Chef Maurice taught him how to put the mirepoix on the bottom of the roasting pan first, then settle the chicken on top.

Seems simple, right?

Except how much of what goes into the mirepoix? What’s the ratio again? Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose and tries desperately to remember on his own, especially after Sous Chef Maurice nagged him for looking things up too often on the iPad. Cooking is supposed to be about instincts and...well, Adrien’s aren’t proving to be very reliable. Is it two parts celery to one part onion and carrot? Or does he have it all mixed up again?

“I have a secret to share with you,” Sous Chef Maurice says, standing alongside Adrien as they peel potatoes together. “It’s the secret ingredient to make a woman fall in love with you, even when you’ve made a mistake...what do you think it is?”

“Is it...love? Like, when you’re cooking from your heart?”

“That helps, certainly, but it’s not what I had in mind,” Sous Chef Maurice reaches into the wash basket for another potato, “Let me give you a hint. It’s as quintessentially French as it gets.”

“...camembert?”

“I—” Sous Chef Maurice takes a weary breath. “...no. It’s butter. All French cooking tastes better with butter. In fact, no meal is complete without it.”

“Don’t tell Father that,” Adrien says with a grimace.

“What Monsieur Agreste doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sous Chef Maurice raises his brows conspiratorially. “Besides, it makes a world of difference. It’s delicious. It’s decadent. It’s a chef’s little secret. And if you want this girl to fall in love with you, there’s no better way than with butter.”

“Really? She’ll fall in love with me right away?”

“I promise. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed.” Sous Chef Maurice plops a package of Charentes-style butter in front of him. “No woman can resist a homemade meal made with French butter. Just a little makes a world of difference to the richness of the taste and tonight, I’m going to show you how.”

To Adrien’s unlimited delight, Sous Chef Maurice teaches him how to make the creamiest, silkiest mashed potatoes to ever grace his palette. His knees weaken at the thought of Ladybug sliding a spoonful of his mashed potatoes past her lips...he can imagine the way she’d groan just like he had when Adrien had finished whipping what felt like an entire block of butter into the spuds. His body burns and tingles with the notion of her enjoying his creations and he doubles down in the kitchen, taking it upon himself to slather the skin of his chicken with an obscene amount of butter before popping it into the oven and hoping for the best.

It comes out perfectly.

~

“Happy early Christmas!” Chat Noir delights, opening the little door to their plastic bubble tent for Ladybug. “I know we promised to exchange gifts on the 23rd but I...I just really couldn’t wait any longer!”

“Why am I not surprised, Kitty?” Ladybug rolls her eyes and bops him on the nose. “Did Anaïs give you permission to use this?”

“Of course he did,” Chat responds, pressing his hand to his chest in mock-insult, “I am a cat of honour! I don’t just go stealing things without permission.”

“Mmhmm,” Ladybug teases him, tapping his bell as she climbs inside. The supporting structure of the transparent dome is decked out with sparkling fairy lights, adding a warm ambiance to the table and chairs set for two. “Is that a bottle of wine?”

“Yup,” Chat confirms, latching the door behind him and scurrying around her to pop the cork. “It’s a 2001 vintage. I picked it myself.”

“Fancy!” Ladybug’s smirking tone falters for a moment as she takes in the elaborate spread. “Did you...is Anaïs picking up the tab for dinner too?”

“Not exactly.” Chat pulls Ladybug’s chair out from the lip of the table and gently drapes her serviette across her lap once she sits down. “I made you dinner tonight.”

“Uh oh.” Ladybug starts laughing. “Is there an ambulance parked outside?”

Chat sticks out his tongue and sits down across from her. “I took lessons! And I had a little help from a professional.”

“So it’s safe to eat? Should I call the hospital just in case?”

“Very funny. And no. Everything here is edible. I know because I tried it.”

“Just because it’s good enough for an alley cat—”

“—hey now, I have a very sophisticat-ed palette!”

Ladybug’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Come on then, Kitty. Show me what you’ve got.”

“As you wish, M’Lady.” Chat bows his head and pulls the aluminium foil off of the dishes with a flourish. “May I present to you your dinner this evening. It’s roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and a frisée and endive salad.”

Ladybug’s eyes bug out of her skull, much to Chat Noir’s delight. “You made all this yourself?”

“I did!”

“And you made this...for me?”

Chat practically preens with delight. “It’s all homemade. I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Wow…” Ladybug trails off, her stare bouncing from dish to dish. “I’m...I’m speechless, Chat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Chat whoops, jumping up to serve her. He carefully places a chicken thigh onto her plate and scoops a dollop of mashed potatoes beside it. “These are the best mashed potatoes you’ll ever eat, by the way.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ladybug responds, her voice wavering a little as he spoons out the salad. “They smell good though.”

“That’s because they are good!”

“...I’m still skeptical.”

“Buuuug!”

The conversation between them flows like the wine from their bottle, leaving them both a little lightheaded and enchanted by it all. It’s warm in their garden igloo, an Eden of good company and beating hearts cocooned against the December chill and the gently falling snow cascading from the heavens. Chat wishes he could spend the rest of his life like this, laughing and joking with Ladybug over a homemade Christmas dinner made just for the two of them.

“Well?” Chat asks as Ladybug takes a dainty bite of his roast chicken. “What do you think?”

“It’s...it’s actually pretty good.” Ladybug chews thoughtfully, her cheeks flushing pink.

“Yes!” Chat narrowly keeps himself from pumping his fists into the sky. “Try the potatoes!”

Ladybug leans forwards to dip the tines of her fork into the exquisitely satiny spuds and Chat holds his breath as she brings them to her lips.

This is the moment she’s going to fall in love with him!

thump thump

Tentatively, Ladybug opens her mouth.

thump thump

She slips the fork between her lips.

thump thump

Chat can hardly breathe as her eyes flutter closed.

“Oh wow.” Ladybug moans, driving her fork into the potatoes and shoveling an enormous helping into her mouth. “Thish ish so goo!”

Chat truly can’t help himself and starts giggling with glee, every nerve ending in his body firing as his heart nearly bursts in his chest. “I knew you’d like them!”

“I love them,” she gushes around another mouthful. “You have to teach me how to make them.”

“Or I could just make them for you again.” Chat grips the edge of the table so firmly that the wood creaks beneath his fingers. “You know, next time I make you dinner.”

To his absolute elated delight, she doesn’t even sass him. “Deal. But bring your own bowl next time, this one’s all mine.”

Their Christmas dinner lasts long into the evening, their teasing and laughing comments as breezy as the winds coming off the Seine. It’s safe here, just the two of them together, tucked away from prying eyes and miscreant moths looking for trouble. Through it all, she talks and tastes and laughs like an indefatigable hybrid of Brigitte Bardot and Aphrodite. There’s no doubt she looks at him differently now, the stars reflecting in her eyes no longer just the reflection of the fairy lights in their snowy igloo. His heart beats a thousand times a minute as she snags him by the wrist while he tidies their empty plates, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Dinner was amazing,” Ladybug says, still seated beneath him. “I can’t believe you made this all yourself.”

“Anything for you, M’Lady,” Chat breathes, his voice shaking from the heat of her touch.

“I’m not sure how to thank you.” Her eyes trail away for a moment and glance outside at the falling snow pooling around their dome. “Actually, I think I do.”

With a small, tentative smile, Ladybug tugs him down to her level and ruffles his hair when his jaw drops open at the sudden proximity. He’s helpless when she gets into his space and she knows it; it’s why she’s always got the upper hand whenever they’re together. He turns to jelly as her expression turns mischievous — he knows she’s up to something, but what? What could she possibly be thinking? Chat glances down at her lips before catching himself, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers once again.

“L-Ladybug?” Chat’s voice cracks, pitching up into the stratosphere. She giggles and he feels like dying and flying all at once.

“I think you deserve a well done kiss after all that hard work.” Ladybug tips her head to the side and grins as he begins to stammer and splutter all over himself. “But where? On your cheek? On your forehead?”

Gently, she wraps her fingers around his bell and steadies him, fully aware that he might just come crashing down on top of her. She hovers a hair’s breadth away and hesitates only for a moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It only lasts for a fleeting moment but Chat swears the world grinds to a halt on its axis, stealing the ground from his feet and the air in his lungs. She kissed him. She kissed him! She honest-to-goodness kissed him — by her own volition! On the lips! She kissed him on the lips with her mouth! Her lips touched his lips! They kissed! They kissed!! They kissed!!!

“Not that your reaction isn’t sweet enough,” Ladybug teases, bopping him on the nose to shake him out of his reverie, “But what’s for dessert, Kitty Cat?”

Chat Noir may be Paris’ number one cat hero, but tonight he’s nothing but a puddle in the wake of her smile. “One Christmas Frasier, coming right up!”

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

Sunrise With You Too

I’m unoriginal and this is two weeks later than when I wanted to post it. I got in the habit of procrastinating when there are things I really wanna be doing. Also please forgive my lack of creativity but this is the addendum to the first sunrise with you but with a smaller roster this time around to just try and lessen the workload when it comes to projects like this and there have also been characters I’ve been drawn to as of late. Regardless I hope you all enjoy my sappy renditions of these small snippets!

~~~

Sunrise with You (Peace)

~With the endless game finally at an end, and the past behind you everything felt… fresh. Everyone in your life was no longer bound by the rules of any game and could live as they wanted. Even the wall that closed you all in no longer stood in your way. Weirdly enough you couldn’t sleep so you had stayed awake staying off at the night horizon. The Tokyo skyline seemed to go on forever with no boundaries to hold you. Just what did lie out there in the world? It was all so exciting. But then, the door to the roof opened and you turned to find…

Sunrise with You (part 2)

Yasuyori

~“There you are, Summoner.” Yasuyori calls out to you as he stands to attention by your side. “A lovely night, isn’t it?” You agreed with him and asked if Yasuyori came to get some air too. “Yeah. I was also curious where you ran off to once your friends had all claimed you wandered off on your own.” So he was looking for you. “Y-Yes…” The therian admitted bashfully. The blush becoming readily apparent through his fur. “I just wanted to spend a bit more time together. That’s all…” What did he mean by that exactly? It felt as though he wanted to say more but stopped himself ahead of time. “Let’s not… focus on those sorts of topics.” You and Yasuyori were engaged in small talk for quite some time. Yasuyori just seemed relieved all the fighting can be over and done with and you were glad that cycle was over and done with.

~“I’m just glad we can go where we want now. Uh…” Yasuyori averted his gaze away from you and fixated on the ground below. “This isn’t exactly easy for me to say but… once I graduate I plan to take some time to travel.” Is that why he’s been fidgety? “You noticed…” He seemed disheartened that you saw him in a more vulnerable light. His expression was more solemn when he turned to face you as a result. With a deep breath he continued, “I… I want to know what a life without conflict was like. What was it for all those going on outside these walls? What was happening after all this time? I want to understand that better.” You definitely thought it was a valiant effort and made note of all those excited to leave the city. You did have some concern about Yasuyori leaving so suddenly. He seemed taken aback by this. “I-It’s not like I won’t come back! I’ve still got to make sure that fool Ashigara keeps himself in check after all. And…” He blushed and scratched himself nervously. “Y-You’d still…” The Therian gave a low growl and looked back to the ground. “Nothing. You’re still you…” You took a moment to process what he was trying to say before asking something of him. A… promise of sorts. “Y-Yes? No matter the request I’ll do my best to fulfill it while I’m still here!” You took his hand in both of yours with the intent of making a promise to him.

~At first Yasuyori was speechless. When he finally spoke up “That’s… that’s a ring!” He brought the ring to eye level to confirm that it indeed was a ring. “You… this isn’t some stunt you’re trying to pull on me, right? T-This isn’t some cheap ploy to make me stay, right!?” After freaking out for another moment he got a grip over himself and sighed. “No, of course not. That’s not you.” You asked Yasuyori that when you graduate, that he’ll come back for you and you both can experience the world together. Maybe even show you all the things he’s learned while he was gone. With the ring now on his finger his hands interlocked with yours and the two of you stared into each others eyes as the sun began to rise… “I swear on my heart that I will come back for you and more. I also promise to call often and take proper care of myself. I…” He hesitated, gulping his words before continuing. “I promise once I come back to officially make you mine. Just as you’ve promised me. I-I love you.”

Ziz

~“Oh thank goodness. This is where you were.” You were surprised to see Ziz and asked what she was doing here. “I was only concerned about where you had wandered off to. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You told her it was fine- you were just shocked. “Oh! I didn’t mean to startle.” You once again reaffirmed everything was fine. You asked if she wanted to spend some time watching the sky together and just… talking. You could really use some company, you figured. “Oh, I’d love to! It’s a shame I didn’t prepare any snacks beforehand…” You and Ziz spent a moment together just resting on the roof top under the gaze of the stars at peace with yourselves…

~You and Ziz spent that time in relative silence. You weren’t quite sure how to break the ice with each her so asking how she was feeling was the best you could come up with. “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. Is everything alright with you?” Aside from being tired after feeling a heavy burden lifted from your shoulders, you were… unsure. You opened up a bit about not knowing what was gonna come next. “I see… you wouldn’t be the only one.” Ziz admits. “You may not want to hear it, but I’ve always worried about today. There’s simply so much out there I don’t understand. It does scare me knowing I won’t be able to protect those I care about from all the dangers from within Tokyo- let alone outside…” You expressed concern for Ziz now with her concerns and finally realizing the size of the world you knew against the world you didn’t know. It was intimidating. You proposed that maybe there was a way to face each day somehow. “W-What?”

~You held out your ring to Ziz and claimed you always want to be side by side. She gasped unsure of what to say. “B-But…!” Ziz stammered. “I’m your- This isn’t-! Oh goodness…” You made a comment about how cute she was when flustered. “I-It’s not polite to tease your teachers like this!” You both laughed together as it turned to daybreak. “Oh… the sunrise is especially beautiful today…” Ziz commented. You agreed and said how glad you were to see this with her. “You know… what you asked isn’t such a bad thought. We could watch plenty more sunrises together… side by side like we are now.” The two of you inched closer and closer to one another until finally your head was resting on her shoulder. “I’ll consider what you’ve asked me today. There’s still so much I want to see and experience. When I have you I feel I can do those things. I just hope you can look out for me all the times I can be rather careless… okay?”

Shennong

~Shennong let out a sigh as he was relieved to find you. “I figured you’d have a hard time sleeping…” Surprised and concerned, you asked Shennong if he had spent a long time looking for you. “Of course not. I was just making sure you kept yourself out of trouble for at least one night.” The bull gave a chuckle as he scratched the back of his head. You denied being a troublemaker while bashfully chuckling with him. “You really expect me to believe that? You’re always the one in everyone else’s problems by choice or chance- you really can’t help yourself.” Your school’s doctor cooed and doted on you in that teasing manner as you tried to deny being as much of a troublemaker as he was painting you out to be.

~It was then Shennong realized something was off about you. “Hey, you’re not sick or anything right? Nothing out of the ordinary?” You felt perfectly normal. In fact, you felt even better with him around to keep you company. “I see… that’s good.” He winked. “I can’t have you getting ill on me now. Or… well, that doesn’t matter.” Suddenly he looked gloomy. As if he was recalling something unwelcome. You said his name out of concern. That snapped him out of his stupor and he laughed awkwardly again. “Concerned for me, are you? You’ll make me blush if you keep doing that.” You took his hand in yours and told him not to hide things on his mind from you. “You’re really sweet… I… don’t want you running off again and putting yourself in more danger. I need you to stay healthy, otherwise… I wouldn’t know what I’d do with myself to let you get hurt again…” You squeezed Shennong’s fuzzy hand as you offered one way he could keep you safe. “Huh?” Without hesitating any longer you showed Shennong the ring.

~“Ah!” He was stunned. “Wait a second here!” Do you have any idea how serious this is!? You’ve made plenty of dumb jokes before but something like this…! This isn’t a game!” You agreed and replied that it wasn’t a game to you. You’ve never been more serious before about anything until now. Shennong makes you feel… safe. After a moment to collect himself, Shennong sighs. “What am I going to do with you?” Rather than just take the ring from you the bull pulls you in for a hug and your eyes lock as light shines over the roof thanks to the sun. “I hope you know what you’re getting into. I can be quite stubborn and overprotective…” You both smile at each other.

Gyumao

~“Ah, there you are my esteemed partner! What are you doing up here? The celebrations are still going on downstairs!” Gyumao claimed with joy as he immediately approached you while on the roof. You said you just wanted to take a break and came out for some air and noticed how nice the stars were tonight. Gyumao looked up right alongside you. “They certainly are a lovely thing. It’s important to slow down and enjoy the smaller things- I’m glad you remembered something as important as that. Mind if I join you?” You told him you would appreciate the company and the two of you shared thoughts about the future.

~“So… that’s it, hmm?” The Therian sighed suddenly. “Once tomorrow comes it’s back to work for me… actually scratch that- It’ll be more than work. It’ll be full on duty to ensure Public Relations with the outside businesses go smoothly, ensuring that the company expansion is well tempered and all sorts of other things. Nothing we can’t handle, right?” You asked him what he meant by that. “Well, I’m going to need my business partner after all. I do depend on you…” He stopped as he realized this was his chance. “Say, what were your plans for the future again?” You told him you were open to a lot of different possibilities so you weren’t quite sure yourself. Gyumao laughed. “An open ended answer for an open ended person!” His laughter quickly shifted to a more serious and passionate tone however. He looked at you with a gentle expression of yearning. You noticed this. “If you don’t mind, I have a… proposition for you.” Oh?

~Gyumao presented a ring box as he got down on one knee. He opened the box to reveal an engraved ring. “I… I would like to ask you to be more than my business partner one day. Of course, that’s only if-” You stopped him right there. As your answer you revealed your ring for him. The bull was taken aback at first, but quickly got onto his feet and was grinning from ear to ear. “That’s my partner for you! I swear I’ll never know what you’ll do next!” The two of you slipped the rings onto each others’ fingers. “A perfect fit…” He sighed with relief. Gyumao wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gave you a wink as the sun began to rise. “When the time comes you and I will spend the rest of our lives together. I swear with all that time you’ll be happier than you’ve ever thought possible. I just know thinking about spending a lifetime with you… that gets me all sorts of excited. Let’s reach greater heights of happiness than ever before!”

Benten

~“So this is where you ran off to.” Benten teased. “What are you even doing out so late? I thought you said you were too tired from all the fighting.” You just told her you couldn’t sleep and wanted some air. What about her? She pulled her weight the last couple of days and then some after putting on a show for everyone. “I, uh… look don’t sweat the small stuff, kay? I wanted to take some selfies under the stars! Yeah, some night sky pics for my medias! That’s all!” You tried to raise the argument it was dark but you immediately stopped once you realized she was glaring right at you. You felt as though her gaze was going to burn a hole right through you so you stepped out of her way and let her do her thing.

~You tried to shift topics in the meantime while she fussed over getting the perfect selfie to start the next stage in her life. You asked what she wanted to do now since the walls are down. “I’m taking my internet fame to the next level. Duh!” Benten said confidently. “I’m thinking of doing a world tour or something when I finally graduate. I’ll be amassing followers if I do that, yeah?” It was always about followers with her, wasn’t it? “You say it like it’s a bad thing. There’s plenty of career potential being an online celeb! I figured a… a normie like yourself wouldn’t understand.” A… normie? Benten blushed. “Ugh, geez. Don’t go asking me things like that! It’s way too cu- wah… waaaah! Not cute! Definitely wasn’t about to say that!” She suddenly snapped defiantly. “I’ll become an internet star! You’ll see!” You had no doubt about that since she already won you over a long time ago. “Wh-What…!?” You presented your ring for her and said you hope to be her Number 1 follower. Benten was speechless for a moment before she couldn’t hold it back and started snickering.

~“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” She belted out through laughter. “Geez, what kind of cringey soaps have you been watching lately? Totally going in the cringe comps later!” She guffawed even harder, making you incredibly red in the face and a bit frustrated you weren’t being taken seriously. Benten just laughed in your face after expressing your feelings. However her tune quickly changed when she noticed your tears forming thanks to the rising sun. “You’re…” She became red herself and a look of shame washed over her expression. It was then she realized something. “Uh, hey! I think I found the perfect spot for that picture!” Benten awkwardly took a place next to you and locked your arm with hers. She held the camera of her phone out while using the dawn’s light as her light source. You were a bit confused. “I just… don’t ever wanna be forgotten. And I also don’t wanna forget all the times we had together. It would suck if I forgot the person I lo- ah, hmmm…” She faked a cough. “The person I stan.” You were just confused about her sporadic behavior. “Look, I just… don’t wanna let you go. Not yet anyway…” She seemed upset about saying something a bit cliché but held her tongue back. “Just promise you won’t forget either. Otherwise I’ll make you remember…” She took the photo when you promised not to.

Typhon

~“There you are, my master~!” Typhon greeted you gleefully. “What’s a cutie like you doing so far out from the rest of the party huh?” He wrapped an arm around you as you asked why he left the party so soon. “Well the cutest one in the room went off somewhere, duh! Glad I found you.” The shark therian winked. “You’re the life of the party!” You blushed at all his compliments noting that they were more frequent than any other instance. “Well…” Typhon blushed and scratched the back of his head. “You are the ‘hero’ of Tokyo after all. Can’t let the good you did go unrewarded…” You and Typhon laughed a bit about calling you a hero.

~You asked him if he had any plans now that you all were no longer locked within the confines of the city. “Hmm, maybe take a vacation?” He suggested. “I’ll level with ya, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Sure it’s exciting but… I like the idea of just finding a partner and just settling down. Then again, the world must be full of beautiful babes so I’ve got time~.” You were a little disheartened he would treat love so casually. You felt it was something that he really should stop messing around with. “I-I know… It’s not easy to find your soulmate ya know. Things like that take time and effort.” You pondered aloud that maybe your soulmates were with you right from the start. “Hmm, what do you mean by that?” You admitted that you had been worried for a while that he might disappear so suddenly again. The thought of losing him scared you for some reason. “R-Really!? Master, I’m sorry for worrying you all the time like that!” Suddenly Typhon pulled you into a tight embrace. You were shocked as he pressed you into his large frame. “See, I’m here now! You don’t gotta cry about me anymore! I-I’m not going anywhere anytime soon!” You gasped saying you couldn’t breathe despite how elated you were to be hugged by him. “Ah- Sorry!” He loosened his grip enough so you two can look at each other. You noticed the distraught look over Typhon’s face and apologized for making him feel that way. “N-No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should never have scared you like that.” You both processed each others apologies before slipping into conjoined laughter. “Of course we wouldn’t leave each other for so long!” He was right, but… you had to get the burning question off your chest.

~You presented Typhon with a ring that really didn’t seem like it’d fit on his finger, but suggested it’d make for a great necklace one day. “Is… Is this why you were asking all that stuff before?” Typhon’s face turned deep red as he stared at your smaller hands with the ring. “You know I can’t say no, Master!” Typhon’s smiled gently. This time Typhon knelt down and delicately placed his hand on your back as he whispered. “For a long time, I knew we were soulmates. I was just too afraid to admit you were the one…”

Tetsuya

~“Seriously, this is how you’re spending your last night as a free bird?” Tetsuya scoffed as he came up to you and stared down at the city. He got comfortable and leaned against the edge which made you a bit nervous about two things. Tetsuya has rarely been the one to initiate conversation and you’re often the one striking it up. “Everyone was making a fuss over you, so they sent me to look for you. I figured you’d be doing something out there like stargazing.” There wasn’t anything wrong with wanting to gaze at the stars in the night sky you elaborate. You also made a bit of a remark about how he’s looking down all the time which seemed to have irked him. “Cheeky tonight, aren’t you?” Tetsuya grumbled and took a deep breath. It was always awkward to try and talk to him after getting on his bad side, but still something was bothering you. Tetsuya seemed… despondent almost.

~So in order to try and get him to open up a bit you asked if he had any plans at all now that the city was freed. “Well, I was hoping to sleep in since I’ve got my shift tomorrow night. I was lucky enough to get tonight off-” You denied that those were real plans. “The hell are you talking about? Of course they are.” Sure, but no aspirations for the future? The whole world is out there and he’s gonna act like nothing’s different? “For folks like you, yeah. Things are different.” He said while still staring at the city. “For someone like me the red light district is where I belong. Trying to fantasize about a future that can’t come true is just cruel.” You countered that it was more cruel to deny a dream outright because it seemed impossible. You instinctively moved closer until you were side by side with Tetsuya. You looked down at the city and commented on how the street lights way down there were almost like the stars in the sky in there own way. He sighed and actively looked away from you. “Do you always gotta come up with some corny shit to say?” Silently, you put a hand to his back and asked him what his dream would be. He can be as extravagant or as absurd as he wants. There was no need to hold back. “Whatever I want, huh?” His voice quivered. He coughed to readjust his voice. “Fine. I want…” Tetsuya pondered for a moment about what he would want.

~“A big mansion and a lotta cash. That way I could live the easy life and never have to lift a finger ever again unless I wanted to.” You admitted that was something easier said than done, but also pressed to hear more about this fantasy. “You’re just actively trying to annoy me today, aren’t you? Okay then.” Tetsuya turns to face you face you finally with a scowl on his face. “I wouldn’t be all alone in that mansion. I… I’d need butlers and maids to weight on my every whim of course.” You both laughed. “And… someone to share it with.” Tetsuya sighed. “There, ya happy?” You told him you were very happy when you scooted next to him and wrapped your arms around his. “H-Hey!” You told him there was one dream you had ever since coming to Tokyo. It was to find someone to be with to fend off the loneliness. “H-Hold on!” Tetsuya shot up. “What the hell are you even talking about right now!?” It was time when you decided the jig was up and revealed the ring. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious right away, but a promise for right now to have each other’s backs. “T-This isn’t just some off color partnership… this is…” Tetsuya glared at you as his face burned bright red in the rising light of the sun. “You’re a real piece of work, ya know?” You said that you wanted to be the one he would share his riches with. “You… You could have anyone… so why…?” Rather than reject you any longer, all Tetsuya wanted to do was wonder why. Why would you choose someone as garish as him? All you said was that you cared about him, and no amount of circumstances was gonna change that.

Tadatomo

~At first you were convinced you were imagining someone coming to check on you, but then you noticed a familiar sensation of being watched. You laughed and called out to Tadatomo to stop hiding. From beside you, he spoke “You’re noticing me a lot more now. Good.” You jumped a bit as how suddenly he appeared besides you. “Of course I’ll come to your side. Just say the word and I’ll be right here.” You asked if that meant all the time or when he wasn’t busy seeking revenge. “Ah… right. Forgive me, I’ve lied to you once again… The culprits responsible are still out there. I can’t simply leave it be. However…” He stopped mid sentence and you tried to get him to talk about it again. “I’ve… had a change of heart as of late.”

~A… change of heart? “I refuse to give up my pursuit of them. What they did to my father and old master is unforgivable and a disgrace to my family as a whole. I intend to make them suffer a slow and cruel death through and through and I still look forward to the day I can relish in their agony.” Tadatomo grinned almost devilishly as he no doubt fantasized about one day gutting the people responsible. Nervously, you asked what’s changed. “Well… I thought about it more and… I don’t want them doing something like this to anyone ever again. My time with you and the other warriors helped me realize that I still have a sense of justice…” You really asked him if you inspired him that much? “In a sense.” You were still a little lost but you understood that he was no longer seeking retribution for himself, but rather to protect the weak. You really admired him for that…

~Tadatomo realized how long the two of you had been standing outside. He apologized. “I must be off.” You stopped him before he could melt back into the shadows and asked him for something important. “I’ll do anything for you, you’re aware of that.” You asked him to come back in one piece. Revenge or not, he was still someone who won you over in the end. You place in his hand the ring you were entrusted with. You asked Tadatomo to swear to come back alive, no matter if he accomplishes his goals or not. If you had lost him… “Please, don’t cry for my sake…” The therian took the ring and placed it on his finger, then grabbed your hands. When the sunlight finally reached the roof you could see the smile across Tadatomo’s face and the tears that were brimmed on his eyes. He took notice of your forlorn expression as well. “I promise to return here. Though it pains me to leave now, I swear to you I will come back. I won’t let my… my love down ever again.”

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

The race continues! Let’s see how everyone else gets past the first obstacle.

[No. 25 - In Their Own Quirky Ways]

Yamada is vibrating in excitement as he announces that the first event is an obstacle race - a lap around the stadium, made just for that day. Which again points to the events themselves being non-randomized, which I think we all already knew. Wonder what would happen if said ‘randomizer’ got hacked… ah, well, the staff are probably prepared for that?

Also, I love Aizawa’s gruff little ‘hey’ in response to Yamada’s excitement, like. You can tell he’s telling his friend to dial back without any further context. 

As we go back to the students fighting the robots, Yamada continues his explanation: Anything’s fair game so long as the contestants stay in bounds, making the whole race a harsh game of chicken. And all the action is brought to the audience by the camera robots at each location! Aizawa wryly notes that Yamada doesn’t even really need him there. And pfft, I love how the camera robots are cheering on their larger brethren, telling them to aim for the humans’ legs and to smash the humans. 

The other zero-pointers still loom menacingly over the students, with the collapsed robots acting as a barrier to progress as well. Some of them are particularly nervous, one commenting on how there are kids pinned under the collapsed zero-pointers, while another says the crushed students have to be dead, and that they didn’t know the students could be killed during this event. 

(Seriously, though, what would have happened if students died during this? I have a strong feeling that wouldn’t have been good for PR…)

The metal of the robots starts to deform from underneath with several bangs, culminating in a hardened Kirishima bursting out from underneath, scoffing at the idea of his death. Yamada helpfully announces how Kirishima had been crushed. Kirishima’s quirk fades as he grumbles about Todoroki being a bastard for timing their fall like that, and that he’d be dead if he wasn’t him. We then get a helpful little quirk blurb from the narrative: Hardening turns his body hard as a rock - it’s the ultimate offense and defense!

Another part of the robot bangs from underneath, with a metallic-looking Tetsutetsu bursting up from underneath, complaining about 1a being full of jerks and that he’d be dead if he wasn’t him. Kirishima recognizes him as the guy from class 1b, while Yamada notes how Tetsutetsu had also been flattened. As if to continue to emphasize how similar their quirks are, we then get a narrative blurb: Steel turns his body hard as a rock - it’s the ultimate offense and defense!

Yes, they are written exactly the same way. Yes, Kirishima does realize how similar their quirks are. He dashes ahead with tears in his eyes, calling Tetsutetsu a copycat and that he fells generic enough as it is. 

(Insert a ‘B-baka!’ joke in here somewhere.)

Kaminari calls the two lucky for being able to just smash through without worrying about being crushed. Rin of 1b (with a scale quirk, not mentioned yet), shouts at Kaminari, or I guess the other students in general, that they should team up so they can carve a path through. 

Meanwhile, Katsuki is blasting himself up and over the zero pointers, telling himself he can’t let Shouto get ahead. As he flies up and over the top of the robots, Yamada complements Katsuki’s strategy of taking the high road, calling it ‘clever’. However, he’s not the only one to do so - Sero and Tokoyami are right behind him, much to his shock. Sero says that with his personality, he expected Katsuki to bust his way through, but that he avoided the potential fight. Tokoyami’s greeting is more simple, just stating that he’s happening to follow the same path.

The narration gives us brief overviews of their quirks as well - Sero’s Tape is shot from his elbows, and can be used to wrap things up, and can also be detached to lay down traps. Tokoyami’s quirk Dark Shadow is a shadow beast within him that can materialize and morph at will.

We briefly head over to the stands where Toshinori and some of the other school staff (Thirteen, Snipe, and Cementoss specifically) are watching on. Yamada announces how the current leaders of the pack are overwhelmingly from class A. Toshinori notes that Class B and the others aren’t bad, it’s just… And as if picking up on the same thought, Aizawa finishes that Class A knows there’s no time to hesitate. 

We get to see this in brief flashes to some of the 1a kids: Tenya is kicking one of the smaller robots, Kaminari is using his electricity like a taser, and Jirou is using her earjacks to disable yet more robots. Kirishima is sprinting as fast as he can, Ochako seems to be making use of her quirk, and Ojiro’s looking pretty cool while taking out a robot with his tail. 

Aizawa (and I suppose Toshinori, in his own way) continue their thoughts and explanations for Class 1a’s heightened performance: they’ve been exposed to the outside world, and up close. They’re had that fear planted in them, and they’re endured and overcome it. Each has grown from that experience, and forgotten how to hesitate. 

As if to emphasize this, we see Izuku ducking under the attack of a robot, dashing past it to grab a piece of (apparently heavy) armor plating from the zero-pointer Shouto knocked down. He notes how the contest has just begun, so he can’t rely on One For All just yet. As he keeps moving, he notices that the same robot is still locked onto him and chasing, thinking of how UA made them pretty tenacious. He comes to a stop and turns with the plate, noting that with how fast it’s moving, it can’t break quickly - a flaw he takes advantage of by spinning with the plate in hand, the momentum tearing through the thinner arms and neck of the robot. He tells himself he has to keep moving, while also acknowledging how handy the sheet is and that it can function as a shield as well.

Meanwhile, Momo our goddess blasts away the competition - almost literally.

Like, Momo. I cannot even begin to describe how cool that is. Abet I dunno if making something that big was the best idea for her reserves… ah well, I mean, part of this early part of the manga is the kids making mistakes and learning their limits and pushing themselves, so. At least it looks cool! Izuku’s impressed with how easily she beat a zero pointer, without acknowledging his own success in doing so just a few months before this.

(Then again, neither she nor Shouto broke most of their bodies to do so, so shrugs.)

Snipe notes how most people are better off dodging the zero pointers in the exam (guessing the entrance exam is what he meant here), while then acknowledging that they’re really just slow hunks of metal if you try to take them down - so long as you find a weak point. Toshinori is distracted by Izuku’s actions being on the big screen (or at least one screen). His thoughts acknowledge how Izuku has to know how crazy this is, but he keeps busting through. He then thinks that by the skin of his teeth is fine, so long as he keeps going.

And with that, we’re through the first obstacle, and onto the second… next update. I need to close my eyes for a moment because headache, bleh.

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - iii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The reader confronts King Steven. 

Warnings: nothing really... just really wordy. pretty uneventful. 

Word Count: 2.1k

Note: This originally had 4K+ (+ because i’m still writing) but I opted to cut this chapter in half because it felt overloaded. Forgive me.

I hope you enjoy!

Bring Me Light Masterlist

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Tensions quickly rose after that night. Even those without eyes could see that you steadily avoided the king. Any time King Steven entered a room you previously occupied, you found a reason to leave.

Rumors had begun to swirl.

Some told the tale of how you were displeased with the king – displeased with the arranged marriage. You were seen as the fiery princess of York, defiant and headstrong like your king father who was at war with their nation years ago. You were unwilling to settle down even if it meant you would be queen to a respected nation and the wife to a revered king. Your actions proved to be a rejection – a rejection of Brooken, of their king – and the people began to resent you even before you took your place at Steven’s side.

Some spun a story that further supported the rumors you heard in York and even in Brooken itself. Some said you saw the king’s cruelty firsthand and have plans to flee. Perhaps you ignoring the king was a ploy to get him to dismiss you, send you back to York, so that you did not marry him. Some said that the king would kill you for your defiance and instead of giving their king a son, you would give him another widow.

You heard the rumors. Every whisper, every mutter, every side eye and glance – you saw and heard it all. But you paid it no mind. As you did the king, you simply ignored the rumors. It did you no good to entertain them.

The king’s words still hung in the air every time you managed to look at him. The threat still as vibrant. It frightened you. Who was the man that smiled with you, entertained you, commissioned you a bow, and called you my love? Was he the same man in the dungeon – ordering the torture of a prisoner?

You hoped they were different people. That the king was not cruel as the rumors painted him out to be. Were you just naïve?

Visitors have started pouring into the castle. Nobles, royalty alike ready to bear witness to your marriage. It was a promising union. The north finally putting aside their years of discord and hostility to unite for peace – to unite against the Mad King who continued to claim more land. It was a treaty between York and Brooken that was symbolized by rings wrapped around yours and King Steven’s fingers.

You stared on as the servants brought in your throne. “Pivot!”, “Up!  Up!”, “To the right! The other right, you imbecile!” the man in charge ordered around. You chuckled to yourself at the man’s frustrations.

In York, your father’s throne stood tall and proud with intricate designs of red and gold – your house colors displayed proudly. Your mother’s had the same overall aesthetic and elegance but was much smaller – “dainty,” she called it, “as a queen, as a lady should be.” It was a decorative piece made to compliment the king’s seat like how a queen was to compliment a king.

It didn’t seem as if Brooken shared the same ideal. You didn’t know this, but King Steven believed that a queen isn’t just an accessory or a figurehead or a birther of heirs. He liked to believe that a queen was an equal to a king – that they were partners working together to make their kingdom great.

And it was made visual by the elegant bronze thrones whose heights were equal. They were tall and daunting. Terrifyingly beautiful.

“Do you like it?” You nearly jumped out of your own skin. Steven had snuck up behind you while you were lost in your admiration. You made an attempt to walk away, but he grabbed your upper arm gently and prevented you from fleeing. He leaned in and whispered, “we need to welcome our guests.”

“I believe that is your duty as king.” You simply responded. You tugged your arm out of his grip and with servants, lords, and other witnesses around you both, he let you go without struggle.

“I believe as Brooken’s future queen, it is your duty as well.” His voice was low. You couldn’t quite make out where his tone was. Was he angry? Was he teasing? You weren’t sure. It seemed as if Steven had a hidden talent for acting. One second he was charming, kind, and laughing with you the next he would probably snap at you, send you away to the dungeon to get your teeth ripped out. “And I’ll introduce you to the nobles you do not know. Acquaint yourself with your people.”

You wanted to retort that Brooken’s people were his people not yours – that York was your home and its people were your people. But you decided to remain silent and nod because he was right. As Brooken’s future queen, it didn’t matter where you were born or where you grew up or what blood ran through your veins. Upon your marriage, Brooken’s people will become your people too.

»————-　⚜　————-««

As the last of the guests left, Steven ordered everyone in the throne room to leave. Everyone slowly started to file out and you were making your way through the doors as well when he grabbed your hand and asked you to stay. You glanced over at Natasha, whom you confided in of what you heard in the dungeon, who gave you a reassuring nod.

“I know what you heard.” He muttered as soon as the doors shut. You glanced around the room. You were completely alone with the king. You felt a chill go through you. You didn’t like his tone, but you weren’t a pushover. You were a Stark.

So, you stared at his eyes, your voice strong like you, and said, “Does the man still have his teeth?” You cocked your head to the side. That caught him off guard.

He assumed you would deny it. He prepared for the confrontation. He imagined you’d argue that rose was a popular scent among women because of literature that described their heroines with that very scent. He’d counter and tell you that servants admitted to seeing you flee. He wasn’t prepared for you to come clean.

Steven raised his brows at you, amused. “This isn’t a joke, Steven. What does that man know that you need to? And would it kill you to show compassion to someone whom you’ve already imprisoned? He begged water and you denied him that. Perhaps if you listened to his needs, he’d provide you with the intel you’re desperate to know. Perhaps if you showed a little restraint instead of playing a power card like a king and listened like a good man would, then others wouldn’t paint you with such cruelty.”

“He’s a traitor. I needed him to tell me who else in my court, in my country that plot for my downfall.” You weren’t expecting that… Of course, you knew that others plotted against their monarchs. It’s how King Thanos gathered support and was able to infiltrate countries in the rate he does.

The king seized your hands, catching you off guard. His thumb gently grazed the finger where your wedding ring would be placed in two days. “I want to wash the toxicity away from my country, my court. I want to quash the unrest. I really do. I want my kingdom to be happy, stable, to flourish. I want to do it with you by my side. I trust you. And I understand this marriage isn’t what you may have wanted, but I want us to grow to tolerate one another, to find happiness in one another. I apologize if I frightened you. I understand my reputation on the battlefield is rather… unwelcoming.”

“It’s frightening, yes,” you agreed with a nod and swallowed. “I think I do need to stop listening to servant gossip. I apologize for my part in our current unhappiness. I do want that though. I may be of York and a Stark, but I do want Brooken to be successful, to be great. I want happiness and I want love. Two things I thought that I will not get in this marriage.”

“We might not be at the current position to love each other. We have only met nearly weeks ago.” He agreed.

“But perhaps, we can grow to it. We will be bound together for eternity soon after all.” You offered him a smile, one that he returned.

He was relieved to hear you say that you two were on the same page. It was refreshing. Steven glanced down at your lips. Your smile as enchanting and beautiful as you. He wasn’t sure if it was an overstep, but the glint in your eyes told him it might not be. So, he took the chance and pulled you closer to him.

You gasped as you lost your footing and crashed against the king, but he held you up and flush against his body. You stared up at him in surprise. His smile was still there. You wondered if the reason why he never smiled in his portraits was because the artist would be distracted. His smile was hypnotizing. You could stare at him forever.

And slowly, he leaned in. You remembered how he was with a bow and arrow. Quick, precise, confident. The man leaning down towards you was unsure – his movements slow but deliberate. He was so close that you felt his breath on your face. You held yours in.

“What are you waiting for?” You whispered.

He smirked. Outspoken and amusing. He would never get tired of you. Steven leaned in, closing the gap between your lips. Your eyes fluttered close, as did his, as you both moved in unison.

You found your footing again, balancing yourself and melting into him. A bit shy and inexperienced – this was your first kiss after all – you tried to pull away, but Steven’s hands gently cupped your cheeks and held you in place. He grew intoxicated by your scent of roses, quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your lips. He felt a fire igniting within himself, the embers spelling out your name. You both got lost in the passion that neither of you expected to be there.

Suddenly, a cough caused you two to quickly separate. Wide eyed, you turned and saw your father’s entertained smirk. You blushed and looked down, curtsying to your king father.

“Tony.” Steven greeted. He wiped his lips as subtly as he could, but the older king saw it as did the queen at his side with a similar expression with her eyebrows raised. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I grew impatient. Made our driver go faster.” Your father smirked as he turned to you. You bit on your lower lip as your eyes wandered around the room. “Did we interrupt something?”

“No.” You and Steven said in unison.

Your father had a knowing smirk on his face. “Daughter, you look lovely. I take it you’re enjoying your time in Brooken?”

“Yes, father,” you nodded. You nearly rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“My love, stop teasing.” Your mother chastised, slapping his shoulder. She opened her arms for you and you gave her a smile as you accepted her hug. “I told you.” She muttered in your ear low enough so only you heard it. You blushed even more as you pulled away from her and stood at Steven’s side.

“I’m sure the journey was tiresome. Shall I call for a servant to escort you to your rooms?” You asked, forcing a courteous smile. Your mother smiled and nodded. “Mother, is Morgan and Harvey with you?” You were eager to see your younger siblings – and honestly quite relieved that they hadn’t witnessed yours and Steven’s moment.

Her smile quickly faded as she glanced to your father, wordlessly asking him to help. The York King simply waved his hand and shook his head. “Morgan’s far too young to be traveling right now.” You found that odd. Your mother wouldn’t have simply left her months old infant in the care of the nannies. She would’ve wanted to supervise and micromanage them as she did with Harvey and undoubtedly with you. “And Harvey’s …” He paused for a moment. “Your brother’s exhausted from his constant training. We decided it was best if we left the children in our castle.”

“Of course.” Steven nodded. “Please,” he smiled and motioned for the doors. He offered you his arm which you smiled and took as you both led your parents out of the throne room and into the corridors. You asked one of the servants who passed by to escort the other pair to their chambers. After your parents left you two once again, Steven took your hand and brought it to his lips. “Two days.”

“Two days.” You agreed with a nod.

[plusultrachaos]

Chaos ensues when Kirishima and Izuku get hit with a quirk that causes them to keep swapping bodies over the course of a day. 1-A is confused, and maybe the two boys end up realizing there is more than just friendship feelings between them. (Idk if this makes sense, I’m tired but I thought of it and think it’s great lol)

okay so. this turned out way longer than i had anticipated it would, remy. like. wow. anyway. um i did end this a little early, so i may end up postina part two of this at some point, but this ended up to be 3.2k. this was not a drabble like i had hoped. um so have this. it was really fun to write.

The feeling is unlike anything else. It's an odd sort of out of body thing where Eijirou can feel something change. His body doesn't feel like his anymore. He can tell something is different.  His quirk doesn't feel the same—there is an energy flowing through him that is different than the regular feeling of Hardening. 

His view of the villain is different and he can't see Midoriya anymore. It's like he shifted to the left just a bit more than normal and shrank a few inches. Everything shifting to fit his new view point. 

That's when he looks to his right and sees him. He can see himself, face curled in confusion as he looks over at...him. He really needs to touch up his roots when he gets… back in his own body. 

He looks down at the body that's not his and sees the familiar costume of Midoriya's and suddenly he realizes what happens and he shoots his eyes at the villain again who is watching the two with a maniacal grin. He hopes Midoriya has caught up to what's going on so he's not just uselessly sprinting toward someone who switched their bodies and could probably do more damage to them. 

Or he was sprinting. Because he's now facing the ground after tripping, not used to the way that Midoriya's body moves and tripping within the first few steps. If he wasn't in the middle of a fight, he'd find it funny, but his natural clumsiness loses hilarity in times like these. He climbs back up to his feet and starts running again, charging toward the villain. He chances a look back and sees that Midoriya still hasn't moved from the spot he's standing in, Eijirou's body stuck in place and not moving. 

All in all, he doesn't expect the body he's in to keep moving, but he should have because he ends up running full force and tackling the villain to the ground. Despite the surprise, he still knows how to engage muscles and hold the villain to the ground until someone else is coming to help. 

As he's getting used to Midoriya's body and holding the villain down, he feels the same feeling from earlier. That same out of body feeling and suddenly he's back in his own body and sprinting in a familiar way toward Midoriya to help, finishing the job he'd started in the other body. 

"Midoriya, bud. We need to get this villain to Detective Tsukauchi. We can figure out what's going on with our bodies once we-" He doesn't finish his sentence because for the third time in five minutes he leaves the body he occupies. He's back to being in Midoriya's body and Midoriya in his. Eijirou looks up at Midoriya and together they apprehend the villain. They go back and forth a few times on the way to where the police are stationed. Aizawa waits for them there. 

They switch again and approach their teacher in their own bodies. Eijirou lets Midoriya explain, lets him ramble away about what is going on until they switch again, and Midoriya continues from Eijirou's mouth. The speaking pattern is enough for Aizawa to understand that it's still Midoriya speaking, just coming from Eijirou's body. 

Aizawa sighs, this probably just adding to the stress that he has to deal with. "The only thing we can do until we get back to the resources of the school is to wait. And even then, the quirk probably wears off with time." He raises a hand to wipe down his face, looking exhausted. With his other hand, Aizawa points to a clearing filled with a lot of their other classmates, all in varying degrees of issues. 

From where they are, Eijirou can clearly see Kaminari bothering an annoyed Bakugou who is holding an ice pack to his shoulder. Momo is going around offering a blanket to Todoroki who looks like he is facing quirk exhaustion, ice crystalizing on his right side. The rest of the class wanders around the area in similar, but varying situations. Eijirou is tempted to go over to Bakugou and their group of friends that surround him, and he can tell Midoriya is in the same boat, but the weightless feeling us back before he's in Midoriya's smaller body again. He can't go over to Bakugou as Midoriya without getting Midoriya's ass handed to him, and he would rather not be beaten up until he can protect himself against it. 

So he stops Midoriya before they get any closer. "Please tell me you are already trying to come up with something to tell the class, cause I have nothing." Eijirou can hear the panic that clearly shows in Midoriya's voice that isn't normally shown in his own. It's very weird to hear someone else's voice speak when he us, but it's not something he can't get used to. 

Midoriya worries his lip with his teeth before shooting a look to his own group of friends. Eijirou can tell he takes a moment to think and in that moment, Eijirou is sending his own gaze to his group and watching as Sero and Kaminari mess with Bakugou who looks seconds from exploding. Eijirou sighs, knowing it would probably be useless to send Midoriya over to solve that. 

Eijirou's voice startles him from his thoughts, Midoriya starting to ramble. "Well we could just go to the respective groups as is and explain—which could lead to an explosion of sorts on its own, but it might be the one with the least drawbacks." Eijirou listens intently, even as they switch again, Midoriya's voice going back to his own. "Or now that we've switched again, we could just go and be with our friends and if we keep, like, swapping bodies, we could just try to fill in? The first one seems the best, the second one might be easier though, just because we wouldn't have to deal with explaining."

Eijirou doesn't really have to think, so he blurts out the second option, just wanting the general comfort of his friends, even if they don't know what's going on. Midoriya cringes a bit but nods anyway. They both turn and run off in the different directions. Neither of them are ready to swap seconds before getting to the groups. 

Eijirou isn't quite used to the smaller body or the sudden swaps yet, and he trips again, landing right in front of Todoroki,  who stares at him for a few seconds before offering a hand and helping him up, albeit a little confused. Todoroki’s hand is freezing still, so Eijirou pulls Midoriya's hand away fast, not ignoring the way that Uraraka and Iida send each other lost looks. "Thank you, Todoroki." He nods with gratitude and looks at the others who send him looks that ask "what the fuck are you doing?" 

Eijirou is so confused, but he can't mention anything. Not without having to do a full explanation.  And looking back, maybe the first option might have gone down smoother, but it's not like he can really do anything now. He can't just run away. He's gotta face this situation head-on, like a man! 

"How'd everything go with you guys?" It's small talk and Eijirou is trying to break the tension that has built up, but he can't do it like he normally does so it feels awkward. He doesn't know how Midoriya usually does. The group around him just looks at each other before Uraraka shrugs and starts talking about the situation that her and Koda had found themselves in. 

Halfway through her telling, he's back in his body, shivering slightly at the change in temperatures—from Midoriya's fully covering costume back to his own revealing costume. It's mostly odd because he goes from a calm group where he heard yelling far in the distance to being right next to the yelling. 

Kaminari is freaking out about something that Midoriya had said while acting as Eijirou and Eijirou can't decipher the yelling so he just watches and laughs as Kami keeps freaking out. 

Instead of reacting to the things going on, Bakugou is watching Eijirou, squinting at him. Eijirou knows that look. It's his "I am going to glare until I understand" look and Eijirou panics for a moment before sending a smile at him. If anyone is bound to figure it out, it's Bakugou. He looks back at Kaminari who just zapped Mina's horns to see if he could get electricity to flow between them, and then past them to watch Midoriya's group. 

They were all talking about something, Midoriya's expression going wild. Eijirou worried for a second that Midoriya was telling what happened to them to his group for a second before realizing that Midoriya wouldn't do something like that. Not when he left the final decision in Eijirou's hands. Midoriya wasn't like that. 

Eijirou zoned back into what was going on, laughing at the way that Mina's hair looks and at the same tried to think of something to continue whatever story that Midoriya was telling. He knew that it was only going to be a small amount of time that they would be able to get away with this before the rest of the groups found out. 

Bakugou showed up next to him and Eijirou shot him a sweet smile and went to him. "Hey Bakubro. Thought I'd bring the treat to you. Since you're staring so much." And Bakugou shakes his head and looks at him. Like directly at him and it seems that however this quirk works, it hates him because right after he finishes the sentence, he is sent out of his body and is suddenly confronted by the Dekusquad staring at him, waiting for Midoroya to continue whatever story he was telling. 

Todoroki was staring the most intensely and almost felt gross to send the red and white haired boy the same grin he'd just given Bakugou, just with Midoriya's smile. 

"I um… I forgot where I was…" He said, smiling even wider in Todoroki’s direction. Eijirou could tell something was up between Midoriya and Todoroki. He was going to do his best to be a good wingman and he hoped that Midoriya got the same message about him and Bakugou. If not, that was fine, he just hoped that Modoroya was a good bro about this. 

After someone gave some clarifying clues to where Midoriya had left off in the story, Eijirou tried to continue the best he could. It was difficult, thenstory feeling patchy and he knew that Midorita friends weren't dumb, so they could see and hear a difference between the storytelling. He was glad when he was back to sitting next to Bakugou, blinking softly before smiling. 

It seemed like Midoriya, in place of Eijirou, was able to get Bakugou talking about some dish that sounded amazing. He listened with his full attention, growing hungry with every detailed sentence about how the dosh was supposed to taste. He admired the tiny smile that showed up on Bakugou's face. 

"You're going to make it for us one day, right, Bakubro? Like fuck, dude. That sounds so good." Eijirou leans against Bakugou just a little bit, nudging him gently.

There's a small thing of relief that peaks into Bakugou's eyes that only Eijirou would be able to pick out. "Okay, good. It’s you, Shitty Hair. What the fuck is going on with you and fucking Deku?" His voice is quiet, but Eijirou looks around them anyway, making sure that nobody was really listening. 

"Got hit with a quirk. We told Aizawa, but we didn't want to panic any-" Has Eijirou mentioned that he fucking hates this stupid quirk? Because it swaps them at the worst moment, and he knows that Bakugou won't take the half-explanation that he got. He's put into Midoriya's body when it seems that Iida is scolding Midoriya about something and he cringes a bit. 

He waits a little bit, the swap sending him back to his body and back to his friends. He notices Bakugou staring at him again and nods, Bakugou's eyes linger a little longer than necessary and he blushes. 

The switching happens all the way back to the dorms. Everybody is still shaky from the attack, quieter than the ride up, but there is still the restless energy of twenty teens. 

Eijirou and Midoriya sat together on the bus, not wanting to end up in the same position as before. Eijirou was a little surprised to find out that they had more in common than they first thought. Determined to be heroes to become like their idols, to save people when people can't save themselves. That and they both have crushes on their best friends. Midoriya's crush on Todoroki is deep, deep enough that he rambles most of the trip about the other boy.

And Midoriya hears more about Eijirou's thirst for Bakugou that he ever needed to hear about his childhood friend. 

By the time they get to the dorms, Eijirou has heard enough about Midoriya’s love for todoroki to be set on being Midoriya’s secret wingman. The body swapping may not be totally ideal, but until they know how to deal with it, why not make the most of the situation? 

Plus now, if they weren't before, they've both got a new friend. Midoriya is nice and though the rambling isn't something that Eijirou has had to grow used to happening all the time, it's something that he can get used to. Midoriya is a strong person and Eijirou is sure they'll make great friends.  

Midoriya is also extremely caring and kind and so driven. Eijirou can almost feel a crush forming, but he knows that Midoriya is set on fire and ice. That and Eijirou might develop crushes all the time, but they fade fairly quick, drowned out by the friendship between them. So he doesn't spend too much time thinking about what could be and starts planning how he could land Midoriya a boyfriend. 

He knows Todoroki’s personality, but he doesn’t know how Midoriya and Todoroki interact as friends, so he plans as well as one who knows nothing can.

Simple.

The next time that their bodies are switched, Eijirou starts with small flirts, a way to gauge how far he can get. It seems fairly successful with Todoroki’s left side lighting up with a blush, the smell of light smoldering filling the lounge of the dorms. 

He meets Midoriya’s—his own—gaze from across the lounge. Eijirou can see himchaking his head and getting ready to get up before Midoriya sends his own glance to Bakugou. And fuck. He can practically see Midoriya’s own plan form in his eyes. 

It's almost as if there is a challenge set between them after that, Midoriya doing anything he can to involve Bakugou while also complimenting him endlessly in a surprisingly similar way to how Eijirou does it. Somehow Eijirou finds himself flirting with Todoroki in ways that he didn't even think about when he had his own crush on him (let him live, Todoroki is incredibly manly and very powerful. Most of 1A has a crush on him). 

By the end of this “challenge”, they can both tell that the quirk is already starting to wear out. Eijirou assumes because of a time constraint, but when he mentions this to Midoriya, he can tell that Midoriya already has a different hypothesis to why it's already wearing off on the first day. 

“It feeds on our energy. This quirk works on how much energy the affected has. I assume it usually wears off within the first day, but with the criminal’s luck, the quirk would work better with someone like Kaminari, who will stay up due to too much energy flowing through his system. It’s downfall would be someone like Aizawa or Shinsou, people who can sleep all they want, but because of their own quirks, they never have actual energy to expend. It's pretty interesting.” The ramble is only a few seconds but it has Eijirou spinning in the same kind of way that one of Bakugou’s lectures would have him. 

“So…. we are back to just being in our own bodies tomorrow?” He doesn’t admit that he is confused right out, but he thinks that the small turn of his head and the furrow of his brows gives him away. He does try to figure out what Midoriya means and he gets somewhere, but nowhere all at the same time.

Midoriya nods, his face splitting into a small smile. Eijirou also nods. “Does that mean that we should try and do something that will, like, use up whatever energy we have-” He's broken off of his own sentence with a big yawn followed by the familiar feeling of them swapping again. This time it feels like all of his energy is sapped from him, draining him down like a phone on 30%. 

He yawns again and they switch bodies once again, robbing him of even more energy. He can feel his body moving sluggishly. There is a moment of panic that comes from the draining of energy, the knowledge that this quirk is making both of them incredibly tired and knowing that he can’t get to anyone safe enough to actually feel okay falling asleep so suddenly.  

So he can tell that he looks terrified the moment he and Midoriya pass out in the middle of the hallway. His body feels like an anvil dropping, only a tool for physics to abuse. Eijirou feels so bone deep tired, he can't even activate his quirk to save the landing from hurting him. 

He can't tell if what follows is a dream or not, the days events playing back at him. He can't tell because Midoriya is looking at him with big, panicked eyes that feel too real to be in a dream, screaming at him that something not normal is going on. The only thing that tells him it's not real is the fact that he can't say anything, his mouth opening with words he wants to yell, but nothing actually moving or leaving his throat. 

Instead of switching bodies, not being limited to his own being, he's now trapped forever, nothing of his reaching the outer world. He watches as his hands fade, the texture and feeling blending solidly into his skin tone. He watches as his legs transform into a plastic replica of themselves. 

Maybe the dream is another effect of the quirk. Maybe it's trying to tell him something, but he doesn't care if it is. He just wants out of it. He wants to be back to his life. He wants to hug Bakugou again and be forced off of him. He wants to be himself. 

He feels a sharp nudge in his arm. It's not much, just a small elbow jab, but it's enough for the color to be slammed back onto him. To start spreading over his skin. 

Soon enough, everything is back to how it was. He fits inside his body again. And he closes his eyes for one of the briefest moments before he's opening them to a dark room. A dark room that isn't his, but it feels safe.