#when in fact tangible harm is being done every day despite it being. not. and especially to lgbt people of color specifically black people

[melancholiaenthroned]

the tumblr pirate poll drama going rn is sooo funny but its like. so annoying because its literally the whitest argument u can make like

"we dont live in a perfect world so you cant be critical of racism in tv shows if those shows also have gay people. you cannot afford to be picky when it comes to allies right now so please stop saying mean things about the show i like or else i cant really be an ally with you. the racism in the show would stick out more (to me, a white person) if there was less racism in the world overall. but as there isnt i think its fine actually."

and this is because of a tumblr poll. youre mad a character you put in a tumblr poll won against another character in a tumblr poll.

[theflyindutchwoman]

I'm a cop. I was standing this close to the guy. Okay? Right across from him, and I never saw him coming. But she did, though. She- Some part of her didn't feel right about this whole thing. She hesitated. And I-I pushed her right at him.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.11 - Day of Death

This is such a small scene, easily overshadowed in an episode that is filled with so many great moments… But I love how it provides some insight into Tim's state of mind. He's usually so good at compartmentalising his feelings and emotions to focus on the job… unless it gets too personal, like with Isabel. Or here, when they realise that Lucy has been kidnapped… The way he's growing more desperate and agitated by the minute… He's feeling powerless and working the tip line is not helping at all. If anything, it frustrates him even more. Tim, at his core, is a man of action and this is particularly evident here, where he's itching to kick something. Anything. A sentiment that is all too reminiscent of the time he punched a wall after Isabel's overdose. He manages to rein it in a bit, but barely, thanks to Angela… She's trying so hard to be present for him, to be the voice of reason, but she's also going through her own issues. She can't hide her worry though. For Lucy, of course. And for Tim… It's hard to believe that seeing him like this wouldn't trigger some memories for her, of how he used to be after Isabel's disappearance. But most of all : she knows him. She knows he called her for more than just looking for Lucy, that something is weighing on his mind and that he needs to unburden himself.

The guilt he's feeling is so palpable, so tangible when he's remembering and retelling his last moments with Lucy. The cracks in his voice… The tears in his eyes… It's eating at him. The way he's rewriting history too, feels so real and authentic : guilt can make you reinterpret facts, question every little things you've said and done, and this is what he's doing here. He didn't necessarily push her towards Caleb : his advice to go out and have a drink or two with another human being was actually sound. And Lucy wasn't particularly hesitant either : the reason she wanted to go home was because she was exhausted after the day they had, not because she was suspicious. But that doesn't stop him from feeling responsible.

The way his voice breaks a little when he admits he never saw Caleb coming… I think that's the most unforgivable part for him. That he failed her, as a cop, as her TO, and as a friend. He drilled into her the importance of 'cop eyes', that her default mode should be suspicion… Only he didn't see anything that alarmed him (besides not liking the guy and acting a bit jealous). That's why he's beating himself up so hard : in his mind, he should have seen something… he should have prevented all of this… And what hurts him even more is that he firmly believes that he overrode her instincts. The very ones he helped her hone. He spent months testing her, teaching her to trust herself and stop second-guessing herself. To be more confident. That was the whole point of her Plain Clothes Day. That's what makes it worse for him : that she valued his own opinion over hers and that led to her kidnapping. And that's why it will be so important for Lucy to set the record straight later… why he will be so touched that despite everything, his opinion is the one that matters to her the most. That she never blamed him.

And lastly, it says absolutely everything that Tim's behaviour in this episode has been paralleled later by Wesley and Angela, a married couple. Tim went feral and threatened to pull a guy inside out if he didn't give him an information that could lead to Lucy while Wesley promised to have a guy tortured if he harmed Angela… And here, Tim wanted to kick some doors, refusing to just sit there and do nothing, which is pretty much what Angela said to the Feds when Wesley was taken hostage… It was always more than 'just' guilt driving him...

[uncle-fruity]

And NOT learning, NOT doing the work is (part of) what leads to massive misinformation issues. If you're being pressured to post something just to show that you are "on the right side of history" and you don't have time to learn about or process the events you're posting about, that's how misinformation gets spread. Sure, your favorite tumblrino who you think typically has good takes says that X is true, but do you know that for sure? Are you going to look for sources outside of social media? Are you going to say, "Hey, I need a little extra time to stop and learn about this before I post about it"? And are the people who say that they're on your side going to support that decision? Are you encouraged to seek out facts? Are you encouraged to read different perspectives? Do people trust you to do the work you need to do to understand the issues, or are they just going to tell you that you're a bad Christian activist for not saying the first thing that comes to your mind about complicated topics?

It just isn't how we're supposed to approach these things, if we want to be effective & authentic. These days, I can speak pretty quickly on issues about queerphobia, racism, and ableism because I have a foundation of knowledge that I worked on learning for *years* prior, so I don't need as much time to process what's being said, and I'm familiar with a lot of the typical parties involved in these topics. And even then, I know I have gaps in my knowledge & experience that limit my perspective. Keeping that in mind, there are things that I choose to shut up about because it's just not my place to talk about it, or my voice isn't needed in the conversation, or my energy would be better spent talking to people offline in my community to see what can be done with the limited resources & power we have. Beyond that, there are many subjects that I am not so well-versed on, that I don't have the capacity to research, and it has nothing to do with how much I care about the topic or the humans involved. Sometimes I just don't feel comfortable speaking up when I *know* I don't have anything helpful to say.

Also, there are a LOT of issues in the world and, despite many people having access to the internet, you simply cannot learn and post about them all, and certainly not with the nuance and detail that an expert on the subject should have. This isn't to say you shouldn't learn about something you don't know about, but merely to point out that humans have limits. Limited energy, limited understanding, limited time, limited resources -- you simply Cannot learn about every issue with the dedication it needs for you to be well-informed enough to have an opinion about an issue in a way that matters and moves the conversation along. So many folks choose to focus their efforts in one or two directions, instead of trying to spread themselves so thin they have only a passing understanding of all the topics they've read about. "Jack of all trades, master of none," as the saying goes.

Anyway yeah... y'all wanna do something good that feels like it's making a difference, but posting is possibly the lowest tier of activism you can do. And while I don't want to act like posting and spreading good, factual information doesn't help at all, I do want to encourage people to look beyond what they can do on the internet. The internet is limiting. The work you do outside of the internet is often tangible good. Learning to be around other humans in your community is important. Learning to speak to people outside of your personal bubble is important. Learning what you can do to help the literal people behind the issues in your community is important. It's hard to be bad at everything that activism has to offer offline, so there is likely to be a role that you can fill if you're looking to help. But if you're bad at posting (e.g. constantly spreading misinformation), you can actually do more harm than good. You GOTTA be vigilant about what you post, and sometimes that means not posting at all until you have the facts straight. ESPECIALLY if all you can manage is online activism. If you don't want to take the time to do it right, or you fear the peer pressure from your online community more than you fear misrepresenting a cause, then your online activism isn't helping, and is mostly there to serve your own feelings of doing "important" work and self-fulfillment.

Anyway. Anyone who wants you to rush to prove yourself to them aren't worth the effort. Take your time, post what you want, stop judging people without ever even speaking to them. And if they're so famous/unapproachable that you've never spoken to them directly and never will, then maybe what that person chooses to do with their platform isn't your business to begin with.

Loving the new counterpoint that not only is posting activism, not posting is complicity. Why doesn't everyone with any fame or internet presence immediately release a lengthy but perfectly-worded statement telling us where they stand on every issue? Is it because they're evil??? It must be because they're evil

And then the usual answer is "they don't post online very much". Which is all very suspicious, don't they know everything of importance is done by posts on social media now

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

[funkyfrogwhore]

i think the reason i find myself able to genuinely enjoy the characters of daisy and basira is bc unlike just about every other piece of media with cops as central characters, the magnus archives doesn’t ever attempt to make them into heroes. there’s no glorification of police work, in fact, it’s quite the opposite; they use daisy to discuss the corruption of police. and even in season 4 when they reveal that daisy was an avatar of the hunt, they had the opportunity to absolve her of guilt and frame her crimes as beyond her control. but instead of brushing off her earlier atrocities as supernatural and beyond her control, they double down on their earlier stance. they make sure that it’s known that daisy allowed herself to become an avatar, that becoming an avatar was a choice that she made. it opened the door to the audience to confront that the hunt chose her because she was a cop, that even daisy herself couldn’t identify where she stopped and the hunt began. her corruption wasn’t caused by the hunt but rather worked hand in hand with it. and even basira has to own up to the fact that she was a part of that corruption and that abuse of power, that no matter how good her intentions, she still aided and abetted in very real and tangible harm to many innocent people.

so when myself and other audience members engage with these characters through art, fanfic, etc., we can do so without the moral quandary that comes with inadvertently supporting copaganda. tma doesn’t shy away from condemning not just their actions, but also the justifications for those actions. they condemn their morality too. i and other audience members don’t have to make separate thought pieces condemning them and their actions in order to justify talking about them or creating art surrounding them. the source material already did that.

that being said, we as fandom members have to remember not to undo the work put into canon in condemning them. when we look at these characters we have to remember that despite their arcs, they’re still not good people. there’s a reason jon didn’t forgive daisy. despite all her growth and reflection, she knows she’ll never actually be held accountable, not from a legal standpoint. she still knows that she can’t take back the majority of the harm she’s done. and basira isn’t innocent either. she willfully turned a blind eye to daisy’s crimes and enabled her corruption. we have to remember not to glorify them, not to brush off their atrocities, and remember they are deeply conflicted individuals who represent very real and relevant issues in our modern day society.

[agntofhydra]

Sawbones // TWO

(gif credit) 

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see.

You’re the Resistance’s head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn’t believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don’t agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3! 

part one here!

read on till the end for notes! 

SAWBONES

TWO // PULLED TAUGHT

No.

You hadn’t been avoiding him.

You were busy. Taking inventory, filling out incident reports, stocking, taking care of your patients - which, you noticed, had decreased in number over the last couple days. And you knew why.

Someone must’ve been taking better care of their pilots.

Jasti was released the morning after the whole - for lack of a better term - ordeal. She’d heard your violent retching and had banged on the door, asking if you were okay.

Your vision was white, and after about two rounds you were dry heaving. No fucking way, your mind rattled. The revelation shook you to your core. You were happy being unsuspecting, ignorant of the fact that your soulmate had been pittering around D’Qar for literal months while you sat in your office, pissing off FX-7 and berating their antics in your head. The furrow of his eyebrows, the flicker of concern in his eyes at your sudden change in demeanor when you saw his pinky also had ingrained itself in your mind. Lingered every time you shut your eyes. You must’ve stayed in the refresher for an hour or two, senses numbed to Jasti’s incessant banging on the door.

You also weren’t good with conflict, and a conflict this was indeed.

What were you supposed to do? Tell him? Would he even believe you? Ziff said he didn’t trust the concept anymore, too many girls taking advantage of where he once was soft. Exploited that weakness until it was solid beskar.

So no, you didn’t tell him.

You’d stayed busy. He was busy, too. Per your objections, Leia had him and his squadrons flying more recon and actually formulating a real operation to investigate the cargo ship orbiting around Kessel. You’d heard that from whispers in the hallway, and you didn’t really want to venture out for any updates.

Turns out, you wouldn’t have to.

As if your thoughts had summoned him, Poe was dragging a pilot from blue squadron into your medbay, one of their arms around his shoulder, one of his around their waist. His eyes were searching, panicked until they met yours as you flew from your office and threw the pilot onto the first open bed.

“What happened?” You asked, immediately checking for vitals. His skin was burning, clammy. FX-7 recorded his temperature and your heart dropped at the number.

“We were flying back, literally leaving hyperdrive when I was notified Blue Three was having trouble, and could barely steer his x-wing through D’Qar’s orbit.” Poe paused. “His skin is on fire.”

“I’m aware,” you tried not to bite back as you threw FX-7 an IV bag. You also did not dwell on the fact that Poe didn’t even know this pilot’s name. “Do we have hadeira serum?”

“You did inventory,” FX-7 duly responded as he inserted a needle into the pilot’s basilic vein. Poe cringed and looked away, eyes focused on you instead.

You hadn’t really done inventory, and you were cursing yourself for it now.

“Wait,” Poe frowned. “Hadeira? You think he’s got bloodburn?”

“He’s been in with a fever before,” you muttered as you rifled through the cabinet on the opposite wall. Poe followed, barking over your shoulder.

“And you didn’t ground him?”

You paused, closing your eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before returning to your search. You really didn’t need Dameron on his high horse right now, questioning your calls.

It was only fair. You had done it to him, you reminded yourself. That didn’t mean you couldn’t whip around and land one in the middle of his chiseled, ridiculously handsome and symmetrical face. You groaned audibly at not only your thoughts, but your inability to locate the literal life-saving serum.

“Back off, Dameron,” you said between your teeth as you all but sprinted back into your office where you kept the more valuable medicines. You unlocked the closet behind your desk with your hand and entered, eyes scanning the shelves. Once again, Poe followed.

“What’s wrong, doc? Don’t like it when people question your authority?”

You finally turned to him, slightly put off by the fact he was less than a meter away. You didn’t let it show.

“You wanna do this right now?” You raised your eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest and the thread around his pinky was directly in your field of vision. You held back the bile that rose in the back of your throat.

“His fever is so high that his blood is boiling right now. Which will kill him. So please, Dameron. If you think this argument is worth more than me finding the serum and saving his life,” you punctuated each word, “keep talking. But I’m not listening.”

Your eyes caught the vials to the right of his head, and he stepped out of the closet and into the expanse of your office as you grabbed the vials and quickly returned to the medbay where FX-7 had started hydrating the pilot. You handed the droid the hadeira serum and FX-7 made quick work of administering.

You let out a long breath. You weren’t totally in the clear, but it was as under control as it could be. Poe gave you a look and you nodded, silently telling him his pilot was okay. For now.

Poe stared at him for a couple moments longer, and once he was satisfied leaving him in the care of FX-7, he kicked your boot lightly.

“Can we talk now?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded and led him back into your office. Poe sat down in one of the stark white chairs that matched the rest of your office as you locked the medicine closet. You turned around to him but kept your distance.

“What’s there to talk about?”

He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep him from grinning. “I don’t bite, y’know.”

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless moved closer to him and sat atop your desk.

The red thread floated between the both of you, moving as if it was being jostled by the air currents in the room. Before you could even think, your left hand went to pluck at the string tied near the base of your finger. To your utmost surprise, the now tangible string pulled back due to your force. You let go in shock. The string vibrated and you watched the movement travel to shake the thread connecting to Poe. He coughed, left hand clenching and unclenching his fingers. You watched the action and met his eyes. Once again, he furrowed his brows.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

It was your turn to furrow your brows, and Poe continued, “Y’know. Looking into space and then turning pale like there’s a rancor in here that I don’t see. And then you look at me like it’s my fault?"

It’s now or never, you told yourself. Come clean.

“It’s nothing.” Coward.

Poe dropped the subject. “Anyways, you must’ve been swamped these last few days because you haven’t checked in to hear any updates on the cargo ship.”

Not trusting your voice, you just shrugged as your eyes rested back on the crimson that connected the two of you. Seeing it was definitely a curse. You tried not to dwell on how different things would be if it was Poe that could see it. What a weight off your shoulders that would be.

Maybe if he could see it, it wouldn’t be you on the other end, the voice in head told you. Poe was still rambling about Kessel and you definitely weren’t listening. You don’t want that, do you? For him to be soulmates with someone else?

It happened all the time though, people ending up with those who they weren’t tethered to. The galaxy was far too huge and vast, many people never having the opportunity to leave their home planet, let alone venture and seek out their soulmate. Some people, Poe included now, saw it as a myth, it was becoming so rare. You’d only ever known one pair of soulmates to meet in the years you’d been alive. Your parents.

Either way, your mind needed to slow down. You didn’t know Poe. From what you’ve seen of him, despite his impeccable physical features, you weren’t really a fan. But...just regarding his physical features? Big fan.

He snapped you out of your reverie. “Stars, you are infuriating.”

You apologized, placing your hands in the front pockets of your medic coat in hopes to ignore the thread, but it stuck out of the material of your pocket instead.

“There’s no harm in collecting more intel,” you told him. “Especially if it saves lives.”

He rubbed his forehead. “There is if it’s time sensitive! The ship could leave Kessel at any moment and then we’ll never know what was on it.”

You snorted. “You said it’s been in your knowledge for a while, been written off until now. I don’t buy it. I don’t know what you’re wanting from me, Dameron, but I won’t apologize. This is how I feel, and General Organa and Vice Admiral Holdo agree with me.”

“I want a common ground,” he said. Your gut twisted. “We met not ten minutes before you blasted me to pieces in that briefing room.”

“I don’t think you’re used to opposition.”

“I’m not.”

“You should always consider every point of view, especially for things like this. Have you heard about the terror running the First Order? You really want to face him in your little x-wing?”

Poe jerked his head. “Do not insult my ship.”

“Stars, Dameron, can you listen to a voice that isn’t your own for five seconds?”

“I was listening, obviously, ‘cause I heard your jab about my ship.” You could force-choke him right now. “But I get where you’re coming from. Where you’re more conservative and safe, I’m intuitive and risky and you hate it,” he said with a smile that met his eyes.

“I would call it impulsive and ill-informed,” you countered. You definitely didn’t hate bantering with him. You noticed subtly that over the course of the conversation, Poe had begun to move closer to you, inching closer and closer to the edge of the chair.

“Astute and adept,” he stood, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes never left yours.

“Reckless and arrogant.” You didn’t want him to come any closer, unsure if you would either retch all over his shoes or bunch up the material of his brown leather jacket in your grip to pull him closer.

As if the stars were listening and answered, FX-7 appeared in the doorway. Your eyes broke from Poe’s, turning your attention to the droid and Poe followed suit.

“Pilot Nunb’s fever has broken,” it said. “He will make it through the night.”

Night? You realized you’d been so consumed the last couple days you’d lost all concept of time.

“Great news,” Poe said, turning from FX-7 back to you. “I need to go tell the rest of blue squadron.” Poe shamelessly looked you up and down.

“‘Till next time, Doc.”

Poe sidestepped the droid in the doorway without another glance at you. You remained on your desk, hands still in your pockets as you watched the thread disappear into the wall as Poe left.

“It is hardly relevant to speak in matters that pertain to humans,” FX-7 began, “let alone ones that concern my superior, but if I may?”

You couldn’t hide your confusion. FX-7 never spoke to you unless it was a medical matter. You nodded for him to go ahead.

“You are consumed with plenty. I caution against adding Commander Dameron to the list.”

You frowned. “FX, do you know about the soulmate thread?” What harm would it be to tell a droid? FX barely talked to you, and chances were zero that the droid would air this to anyone else.

The droid lifted its metal head up and down. “Yes.”

It was the most humanistic the droid had ever been, and you felt mildly miffed. Has FX-7 always been able to not be so robotic? You’d save that thought to be pissed about another time.

“I can see it,” you said quietly. “It’s tied to him.”

FX-7 was silent, motionless for a few moments and it almost seemed like he had powered down. “That is…” he paused. “Inconvenient.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said, hopping down from your desk. Your hands left your pockets to run through your hair as you tried to clear your thoughts and just breathe.

“Is that why you have busied yourself more than usual?”

“Didn’t wanna deal with it,” you nodded. “Still don’t.”

“That will only prove to make things more arduous. You have two options when it comes to Commander Dameron, and you know which I favor. For the good of the Resistance and your work.” FX-7 then left the doorway to your office as promptly as he had arrived.

✗ ✗ ✗

You fell asleep in your office that night, or maybe it was morning by the time you collapsed against your desk. Despite FX-7’s confirmation, you couldn’t let yourself go back to your quarters when the pilot in your medbay was teetering on the cusp of cardiac arrest.

Leia Organa woke you by softly brushing the hair out of your face. Your head lifted instantaneously, a paper stuck to your cheek. You quickly removed it and smoothed down the rest of your hair to at least try and look presentable.

“General,” you regarded her, standing up from your seat. She smiled softly at you.

“Doctor, I apologize for waking you.”

You shook your head and tried not to wince when you peeked at the digital numbers glaring at you upon the wall.

“I needed to be awake, anyways. I’m late for rounds,” you muttered the last part to yourself.

“I came to update you on the operation,” she moved back around your desk and sat down in the seat Poe had occupied only a few hours prior.

“We’ve received intel that the TIE fighters stationed in front of the ship are no longer there, presumably to return to the First Order to refuel or receive maintenance. It’s a narrow window, but Commander Dameron and both Red and Blue squadrons have departed a few hours ago to hopefully investigate that cargo ship.”

You nodded at her words and contained the frown from surfacing on your face. Your stomach knotted, fearing that the absence of First Order protection was all too convenient, and they were falling into a trap.

The First Order was smart, something you had learned first hand. You’d been on their radar for as long as you could remember. The bad guys needed medics, too.

Some of your peers that you had completed medical school with had left to join, and ultimately you couldn’t blame them. The offer was tempting, yet mostly threatening. Most of them joined more out of fear than anything. You had been moments away yourself, but instead you were here. On D’Qar. A vital part of the Resistance. If you were someone who believed in such phenomena, you would swear the galaxy itself had made sure of it.  

“Have you heard anything since they left?” You asked.

Leia shook her head, trying to hide her worried expression. “They’re in good hands. Poe is the best pilot I’ve seen since…” She stopped herself. “He’s the man for this.”

“So I’ve heard,” you said. “I hope he proves me wrong. And also brings every pilot back in one piece.”

“Together, I think you two would make quite the formidable pair.”

“With respect, General,” you tried not to snort at her words. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance. Our stubbornness might tear a rift in the galaxy.”

“Or,” she winked. “It could bring it together.”

You had no response.

“I’ll be back should there be any word from Poe, and - “

Leia’s words were cut off by the familiar screech of a x-wings cutting into the atmosphere and landing on the runway.

Wordlessly, the two of you all but sprinted from the medical wing out into the open, expansive area that was the runway. Countless others were surfacing outside, watching the ships land and be courted off into the hangars for repairs. From what you could tell, they all looked fine. No exposed wires or blaster burns. For the most part, the squadrons looked untouched. The last ship to land was Poe’s black and orange T-70.

The second the x-wing was stopped, Poe all but threw himself from the cockpit, shucking his helmet off and chucking it at the ground. BB-8’s body blurred as the droid tried to keep up with his long, quick strides. His eyes met Leia’s first, immediately spurning his feet to turn in her direction. When he eventually realized you were also next to her, his eyes all but physically set you on fire.

You held your breath as he crossed the runway. Poe looked downright dangerous, he was so angry. Leia noticed this too, but did not change her demeanor as she waited patiently for him to come to her, hands clasped behind her back.

“Mission report, Commander Dameron,” she said.

“Can we discuss this somewhere else?” Poe asked as he stopped walking, finally reaching his destination. BB-8 rolled up a second later. His eyes flicked to yours.

“We can, but the Doctor will be there regardless.”

Poe wanted to scream.

“The mission went as smoothly as expected. We were met with no First Order resistance or ambush as we docked and investigated the cargo ship.”

“And what did you find?”

Poe took a deep breath, calming his heartbeat that was deafening in his ears. His fists clenched and unclenched, and unfortunately the thread was still there. Except this time, it was pulled taught between your bodies when it usually sagged with slack.

“We found spice, General.”

Oh.

Maybe you did believe in some higher power. There had to be someone pulling the strings behind this scenario. You wanted to laugh, point your finger and tell him ‘told you so’. But you didn’t, because the tension and anger in Poe’s body was so apparent that it looked like he was a chain pulled so tight it wasn’t a matter of if, but when he would snap.

So you settled for pursing your lips very tightly.

“Nothing else to report?” Leia questioned.

Poe shook his head.

“I’m glad you all made it back safe,” she said, putting her hand on Poe’s shoulder. “It was one mission, Poe. There will be other opportunities.”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes as Leia took her leave. The two of you stood in intolerable silence and you weren’t sure why Poe didn’t immediately sprint off as soon as Leia left.

“I’m glad everyone made it back safely,” you spoke slowly, offering a metaphorical olive branch.

Poe cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he met yours. You braced yourself, waiting for him to maybe pull out his blaster and take you out on the spot.

“Save it,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold the venom you expected. “Do you want me to tell you that you were right?”

You shrugged. “Not required, but I’m not against it.”

He did not accept your poor attempt at lightening the mood. Instead, he sighed deeply and dragged a hand down his face.

“I look like a complete joke . Making such a big deal out of this whole operation, only to be completely and utterly wrong.” He laughed dryly, and you tried not to wince.

“But you know who was right? A fucking medic. The holier-than-thou doctor who doesn’t ever leave her medbay, but the one time she does she completely undermines everything.”

Of course, it was your fault. Poe didn’t want to face the fact that his lack of patience and impulsiveness had forced him and his whole squadron to investigate a cargo ship full of spice. Against your better judgement, you let him continue his diatribe. He continued, berating your position, your lack of expertise and inability to, how did he put it? Stay out of matters that don’t pertain to you. He seemed to have forgotten the minute detail that Holdo had asked for you to be there, even though you reminded him of that fact last night.

After a ridiculous amount of time, Poe eventually stopped to catch his breath. As soon has he did, he tried to continue.

“Not to mention - “

You cut him off. “Are you done?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I could go on all day.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m sure you could. Because you absolutely have the right to completely tear me down when we met for the first time a couple days ago.”

“I’ve heard enough about you,” Poe countered.

“As have I,” you clenched your jaw. “Your reputation precedes your rank, Dameron. You really think you’re going to earn respect and trust around the base when you’re running through every female here? You think that speaks well of your character? You think that’s Commander behavior?”

Poe interlaced his hands on the top of his head as he laughed at you incredulously.

“I can’t even stand to breathe the same air as you right now,” Poe said.

How fucking immature. You narrowed your eyes. “Then stop breathing.”

At your words, the red thread tightened around your finger painfully. So tight, it felt as though it was about to cut through and remove the finger entirely. Your other hand rubbed at your finger -  desperately, futilely trying to loosen the string.

Poe watched your action, and then sucked in a breath through his teeth as he grasped as his own pinky in pain. He noticed his movements mirrored yours.

“Wha-” he paused. “Wait - “ Two pieces clicked in Poe’s brain.

But it didn’t matter, because you were already retreating, your steps quick and purposeful. You were fleeing back to the medbay and away from whatever was about to come out of Poe’s mouth. You couldn’t deal with it, not now and probably not ever.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes watched your hands before watching his own, his forehead creasing with confusion, then what you hoped wasn’t realization. You didn’t think your actions obvious, but if he felt the same pain you did, it was impossible not to notice.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, your mind spiraled. Poe called your name, your actual name, but you were too far gone and nothing short of the force would make you go back to him.

This time, your interaction with Poe Dameron didn’t end with emptying your guts in the refresher, but by entering your office and locking it.

Small victories.

_ 

thank you all so so so much for all the positive feedback and support!! i love it!!! i’ve gotten a couple requests for a tag list so if you’d like to me to create one / be added to it just send me a message! also, if i made a playlist for this, would y’all be interested? lmk! xoxo. 

[lazyliars]

/rp

I think a lot of division over c!Dream is by design.

By that I don’t mean that he’s manipulating both Tommy and the viewer’s emotions (- although I personally believe that he is doing that as well -) but that whether or not Dream is a fundamentally evil character is currently up for debate.

This being portrayed through the fact that Dream never streams - something pointed out by others numerous times.

No character on the SMP can be rightfully called 100% evil. They can do awful things, with awful consequences that hurt many people, but we also see why. The way they justify themself outwardly, and the actual reasons for their actions are often in stark contrast to one-another. That doesn’t justify or excuse their actions, but it helps us empathize.

We can see this in many characters treading the waters of grey morality. Niki and Jack’s single-minded quest for vengeance against Tommy. Fundy’s self-destructive aim to unite people against him. Even more clear-cut ‘heroic’ characters - Tommy’s tendency towards causing pain when he tortured Fundy and Conner. Tubbo inventing horrifically destructive nuclear weapons to protect what he cares about. Hell-- Eret, someone who right now is doing their best to spread hope and positivity on the SMP, coined the phrase that might have just caused the most pain of all.

And likewise, even the villains have their reasons;

Wilbur - he hurt many, many people when he blew up L’manberg, and by the end of his life he was undeniably a villain. But we could see his slow descent, his fall from a leader who cared about his friends to a shadow of himself, twisted by betrayal and self-loathing.

Schlatt - we see next to none of his reasoning, his ethos, his actual intentions, and yet - the end of his life permeated with a morbid pity; a tragic loneliness as he screams at everyone he drove away. We don’t forgive Schlatt for a second, and most of the characters and viewers reveled in his death, but we can still see that he was person with feelings. It was human being behind those cruelties.

They may still be villains, but to say that villains are the only thing they could’ve ever been is untrue.

But Dream.

Like Schlatt, we see little of Dream’s inner thoughts - arguably none. We only see his actions, and the way he justifies those actions to the other characters, which is then further muddled by layers of lies and manipulation.

But unlike Schlatt, Dream never has that moment of humanity, where you can see the pain that his worldview has caused his heart. We only see the way it hurts him physically - as he is defeated by the very bonds he scorned.

But we get no indication that he felt regret. Or even that he felt sadness. Maybe fear, and fear is pitiable, but it doesn’t breed empathy, not the same way Wilbur and Schatt’s deaths do.

And so we have to ask ourselves; “Is that all there is to it?”

Taking Dream’s intentions at face value, he is irredeemable. He is a horrific, abusive monster that deserves every punishment laid at his feet. And that isn’t even taking into account his actions, which are by far more telling.

I want preface this next part by saying that nothing justifies what c!Dream did to c!Tommy in exile. It could’ve been the only way to save the whole server and it would still never, ever be okay. It was about as close to true evil as you can get.

There is no question that Dream has done awful, awful things. That he has damaged some, if not all of his relationships beyond any hope of repair. In no world should anyone on the smp ever be expected to forgive him, trust him or even want to see him again.

He is a villain, by all accounts, no matter what his intentions were

But what were those intentions?

That is the question I believe we will be asking ourselves over the next several weeks. In the title of one of the books Tommy left Dream to write: “Why”

Why did Dream do this? Why did he decide to cut out his friends? Why did he want control over everyone? Why was any of this necessary?

Why did he go from a friendly enemy, to an amalgamation of suffering?

Because that’s what he was, once. He was an enemy and antagonist to L’manberg. He was a leader to the Dream SMP. He was a friend to Sapnap and George.

So what changed?

What about the enigmatic, somewhat violent leader of the Dream SMP, who made a memorial to his dead horse, who laughed until he cried at his friend’s stupid jokes, who accepted two worthless vanity items in exchange for an entire nation’s independence?

Was that person just a lie?

And, if the answer is yes, well. That makes sense. All of the above happened when Dream had the entire SMP firmly under his thumb. He was never threatened with a loss of control during those early days, until L’manberg. And he crushed their pathetic rebellion and killed Tommy when the kid made a last ditch effort to secure freedom.

But what about the discs?

Tommy went face to face with Dream, and despite everything, despite losing and losing and losing again, he offered to lose even more - a trade. His discs, for L’manberg.

And Dream said yes.

And you can spin it easily, as Dream seeing the power of the discs even then, and I do think that’s true. But I don’t know if that’s all of it.

What is Dream? He’s not human. A lot of the fandom, myself included, refer to him as a God. He fits the bill, after all - Power Unmatched, fickle, and most of all, mysterious.

We have to wonder if caring about things is natural for him at all. If selflessness, if kindness, if love is something he is even able to feel.

Because from his own words, the answer would be “No.” A case of Evil cannot Comprehend Good. He can only understand the practical aspects of attachments - that they are useful tools to control people, and harmful weaknesses to have. He collects them up in a disgusting museum, where he can leverage them against everyone on his server.

But why? Why does he want control?

Is it control for control’s sake? Is it in his nature to seek absolute domination over others? Is it fascination - a desire to have what others like Tommy have; that connection, that love, that belief instilled into worthless objects.

Is Dream aware that what he’s doing is evil? Because he seems invested in telling Tommy that it’s not, or at the very least that it’s only his point of view. That Dream sees Tommy as evil just like Tommy sees Dream.

And it’s not just a one-time thing. There are multiple instances where Dream asserts that he is not evil, both during Tommy’s exile and during the Finale. We have to wonder if he actually believes that, or if it’s just another manipulation tactic.

Because it could be. This is not a case for Dream’s humanity. This is the facts as I, a viewer, understand them, and an attempt at piecing together the puzzle.

Dream is nearly impossible to understand - everything he does and says is layered in manipulation and ulterior motives, and I don’t think we’ve seen him truly stripped down to his most vulnerable, yet.

There is every chance that what we’re seeing now --Tommy and Tubbo, the server coming together, the prison-- That that is all part of Dream’s master plan. That everything has been calculated, all the pain and fear and hope and triumph, have been calculated moves made to further an end that we don’t yet understand. Dream could’ve known full well that he would be the one to end up in the prison when he had Sam build it. Or, it could’ve been a blunder made by a being that cannot comprehend why people would care about each other.    We just don’t know.

I’ll bring up the discs for consideration one last time - They are a catalyst to Tommy’s development, but also to Dream’s. We see Dream tempted with them, enough to give up control over L’manberg. This seems to be the event that set the server’s collective fascination with attachments and leverage and meaning. The idea that the things you love have tangible value. Sentimentality as a Currency was started with the Discs.

But it was Dream who gave them that value. Dream who accepted the trade - L’manberg for the Discs. Was it attachment? Was it curiosity? Was it a Chessmaster’s scheme, a move made months ago to set into motion ends we’ve yet to see?

Does Dream know why he wanted them in the first place?

[arigatouiris]

an inconvenient crush // kenma kozume x reader (1/2)

Author’s Note: A new story?? SO SOON?? Thank you for all the love for my previous Kuroo story, it meant the world to me. I write for myself primarily, yes, but it brings me SO MUCH JOY to know that my words reach you. It helps with the motivation to put them out more often. Thank you. This story is very close to my heart because I’m a gamer, although I don’t stream. I’m more like Kenma though, personality wise. Haha.

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma's secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma's second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r O n e : puddinghead0

Kozume Kenma suddenly turned existential when his eyes shifted to his phone screen for the 12th time in ten minutes.

Was he always doing this? Was he always obsessed with his phone to a point where he'd constantly check for notifications? Did this mean he was deeply lonely on the inside and wanted approval from people on a virtual platform, which meant that the approval was also virtual and none of it was real? Did it mean that he craved to nullify the growing void in his chest by distracting himself with a black mirror that showcased light that could permanently impair his sight?

He let out a breath and forced himself not to look at his phone. He didn't care. It didn't matter. That's what he always said.

    "Hey!" His classmate/room-mate screamed from the entrance to his flat, "Are you watching her stream? Posted two minutes ago!"

His phone was definitely slow. He had been checking his phone but there was no notification. Letting out a breath, and giving himself a mental reason to actually check his phone, Kenma opened the notifications tab to see the one notification he had kept his eye out for had been buried under ridiculous facebook notifs.

An inconvenient crush, that's what he told himself whenever he looked at you. You were a streamer, a bit different from what he did on YouTube because you were primarily on Twitch. There were reaction videos of you on YouTube, which was where he found you, but damn—how could one be pretty while rage-quitting a game? It was abnormal. Nothing about you was normal; college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, game reviewer for Sony, and you were insanely cute.

    "She's getting to that part," his roommate commented from behind Kenma's back, while Kenma really just wanted to watch the video in peace, "Shit, she's gonna cry."

You did cry, quite a few times, and too easily if he could add. You cried at the ending of God of War, you cried to The Last of Us (which made sense, but you were perhaps just bawling throughout the entire game), you cried in a game called Detroit: Become Human, you cried far too easily, but you never really quit. He loved how passionate you were about games, and it was the sort of passion he could completely understand.

    "Oh shit," You said in the video, your eyes scanning all over the game screen, "What's happening? What's happening?"

Kenma chuckled at how cute you were, god, you were killing him. You looked worried, and he could visibly see a sweat drop on your forehead, but you were so focused that it didn't matter. Suddenly, there was a screaming sound from the game you were playing, and your eyes popped open as wide as they possibly could and you just sat there, unmoving. He loved how you never squealed or made any loud reactions, except when you were in a fight with a difficult boss, but whenever something traumatic happened, you just froze and sunk it all in. You were currently playing the second part of The Last of Us, and a traumatic scene was definitely happening. Kenma had just finished playing it the night before, so every scene you were playing was familiar.

    "I officially hate this game," You said, your voice breaking and he desperately wanted to hold you, "Fucking hell."

    "God, she's amazing." Kenma's roommate said, eyes turning into literal hearts.

    "Hm." Yeah, she is, Kenma thought, but could never really say.

As a YouTuber himself who streams games, he was aware that you were not as popular, and it was a fact that he really didn't like. Sure, you were on a less popular platform, but Twitch was incredibly popular by itself as well. He also understood the bias that came with being a female gamer, and while it sounded ridiculous to him, Kenma was one of those people who believed gaming required no gender.

He adored your content, and he secretly adored the hell out of you, so seeing you soar would only make him happy.

    "I... I can practically feel what pain she's feeling right now," You spoke about the game, a lone tear threatening to leak out of your eye, "But! We shall persevere. I've been waiting 7 years for this game, so I won't let... won't let something like this halt my interest. Let's see if this has a point to it all."

God, he adored you. But, Kenma considered it an inconvenient crush because of course, the world was small. The first big crush he has on someone and he hoped it would remain over the internet, but it just had to become something more tangible, something that could make him weak in the knees.

You, a college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, a game reviewer for Sony, insanely cute, and also happened to be one of his YouTube channel's biggest fans.

He had only recently discovered your personal twitter handle, and dear lord, you were simping after him with no remorse. It wasn't as if he was all you talked about, but he had also noticed the trajectory of the games you were playing were on par with his own timeline. Kenma had finished his final stream for The Last of Us II just the night before and you had now started playing it. Right before that, it was Bloodborne, and before that, it was Final Fantasy VII Remake. However, your public handle was a lot more professional and despite knowing that it was there, he hadn't sent you a follow request because well, Kenma called himself an introvert in every matter but Kuroo just said he was shy.

While he knew that he could easily approach you and have you know he knew of your existence, Kenma preferred not to get into such detail. It was comfortable admiring you from afar, and it was comfortable being where he was—he had his company to work hard over, he was also a computer student and a YouTuber. Sure, he had his hands full especially after calling you abnormal for something that he himself was doing, but he never really fit into a bracket anyway. Kenma's latent obsession with you was something he wasn't particularly proud of and this wasn't because it had anything to do with you, but simply because he didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Change, in many ways, scared him. And by changing the structure or dynamics of him admiring you in secret, while you admired him not so secretly, Kenma was certain that it might not lead where he may have wanted it to go.

Surely, Kuroo was against this sort of caution, calling it cowardly and saying it lacked passion; but Kenma knew it was just a crush. There was no way he could deduce the kind of person you were based on how you gamed or reacted to games, based on the little tid-bits of information you gave out while playing those games, or even how you openly spoke about how much you admired 'puddinghead0's videos. Kenma hated Kuroo for giving him that name, but he was too lazy to come up with a new one.

    "Also," You sprung up in the final two minutes of your latest video, "I'm on Patreon, now! I honestly have no idea how it works, but if you really like the content I make and want to support me, you can become a patron and wish me luck!"

Kenma waited for his stupid roommate to go out of his room before he could open Patreon and find your link, which was thankfully in the description. Without a second thought, he donated to your profile but cussed instantly when he realized what he had done.

He had sent you a donation as himself, as 'puddinghead0's Patreon.

Without a second thought, Kenma called Kuroo and explained what had happened.

    "That is why, Kenma, you need to check a thousand times and not let blind love navigate your actions—"

    "If I knew you were going to spout such nonsense I wouldn't have called you."

He could hear Kuroo snicker while he ran a hand through his hair. Kenma groaned before Kuroo said, "How bad is this, Kenma? She'll be happy. Of course, this means she'll know you watch her content, but how bad can this be?"

    "I didn't want her to know."

    "And leave her devoid of the happiness of having her idol appreciate her content? You're cold, Kenma."

    "You don't understand. What if... What if she tries to contact me?"

    "You, my friend, have not even shared your personal account anywhere. The only way she can contact you is by commenting on your videos, which I am sure you check constantly to see if she did comment, or Tweeting, which she does every three days."

Kenma blushed at the accusation because it was true.

    "She won't know who you are. Besides, there's no harm if she even does contact you! Just tell her casually that yeah, you like her contact. I don't see what the big deal is."

    "Of course you don't—"

    "Oh, she's tweeted something."

Kenma's entire body froze. Leaving Kuroo on the call, Kenma opened Twitter on his laptop and there it was, your latest tweet.

I am trying NOT to freak out over puddinghead sending me a donation on Patreon, pls save my soul, I am dead.

Kenma groaned before hearing Kuroo laugh once more, "She's adorable!"

I know that, Kenma thought before feeling his entire face flash up. Ending Kuroo's call, Kenma looked at your public profile before then moving to your personal one. He wasn't following that one either, but he wanted to see your tweets, he wanted to know more about you—he wouldn't deny any of these facts, but Kenma believed it was far too idiotic to dream of getting to know you through a virtual media. He wasn't even the sort of person to become close to people he met in real life, how could he allow himself a virtual friendship?

The thought staggered him, and the idea behind it was what kept him at bay. Kenma wanted to know about you, talk to you, learn about who you were and what you were doing, but he felt the media that connected you was what separated you.

It wasn't cowardice at all if he was just sticking to the facts and being real.

*

The next day, Kenma walked to his class by himself, listening to the latest podcast by Joe Rogan. While the external sound wasn't entirely muted, Kenma could discern sounds of people talking, cars moving around, and other noises even though he was playing the podcast on full sound. However, there was one sound in particular that stood out. Kenma paused before turning to his right, noticing a crowd of people had gathered there, with some sort of event going on. He didn't pay attention to half the events that his college conducted, his mind was obviously quite busy elsewhere, but when the announcer moved around in a weird Joker cosplaying outfit, Kenma was a tad bit intrigued.

Was it gaming related?

He slowly moved toward the crowd before finally being able to hear what the anchor was saying.

    "We've got prizes for the top three best performers, and one of the participants is the one and only (s/n) (y/n), streamer from Twitch!"

Kenma froze, half-minded to run the hell away from there. But, it seemed as if his feet were stuck to the ground. How had he not known this? Didn't you always announce the events you go to? Why were you suddenly here? A second later, he spotted you, hair put up in an updo, a plain black tee, and regular jeans. You were smiling, but some part of that smile seemed a bit hesitant.

    "We will be playing a bit differently today! Instead of the usual Fortnite battles or Apex Legends, we'll be going went and battling out on Red Dead Online! And of course, if you beat (y/n) here you earn bragging rights!"

He noticed you shift in your position a little bit, clearly uncomfortable with the attention you were getting; it didn't even look like you wanted to be there. Kenma could feel his chest hurt, and his palms were sweating now. That's all it is, he told himself. An inconvenient crush, an inconvenient crush, that's all.

Kenma sighed before noticing how he barely knew anyone there and was almost thankful for that fact; but before he could thank his stars, a hand threw itself around his neck and sprung him forward, earning the attention of not just everyone there, but especially you.

    "We have our first participant," It was his goddamn roommate, "Kenma's a brilliant gamer!"

Kenma's eyes immediately found yours, and you were looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Although this was set in the open and the atmosphere was quite cold, Kenma felt nothing but warmth radiating all over his body at the mere sight of you; you were just a few feet away, and you were giving him a rather sympathetic expression, and god, you looked so fucking pretty—

    "That's great! Sign up, ya'll! Winner will be winning a brand new DualShock 4!"

Oh fuck, Kenma thought before he felt his heart beginning to pound. He was now seated beside you, and he could practically shrink into non-existence. You were unmoving, and you weren't looking at him, but would you have looked at him if you knew he was puddinghead? Insecurity swarmed his being and he could practically feel steam escaping his ears but a moment later, he thought he'd die.

    "This was so last minute," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "The anchor's my cousin and she's so demanding."

    "Oh," Kenma said, feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, "I see."

    "Yeah! I mean," You giggled now, "I'm not even good at Red Dead Online!"

Kenma smirked, knowing the fact already. You struggled with Red Dead Redemption not because you were bad, but because you couldn't progress with a plot so divisive. You wanted to explore more, and since the game was so vast, you barely bothered with the Online version. You turned to him now and tilted your head.

    "You're a gamer, I heard? Kozume-kun, right?"

Fuck, she knows my name, "Y-Yeah. I game when I'm free."

    "Do you have a Twitch or YouTube?"

There's no fucking way I'll answer that, "No—"

    "Ah, you must really be having a great time then."

Kenma blinked before turning to you with confusion. What did you mean?

    "Don't you enjoy streaming?"

    "Ah, no, no," You flailed your hands shyly, and Kenma believed he could combust, "It's not like that. I just think, after a point, streaming becomes more for the fans than for yourself. I used to do it for me, but now... I'm needed in places like this for promotion, and I need to have a Patreon if I'm popular or it'll look weird, I don't know... Too many restrictions. I just love gaming, you know?"

Kenma found himself smiling, "Yeah, I know. I've seen your videos."

    "Oh?"

Kenma's eyes widened. He wanted to slap himself on his forehead.

    "I—I mean, y-you're popular."

    "Thanks! You're really sweet, Kozume-kun!"

Fucking hell, Kenma placed a hand on his forehead, She's too cute.

    "Say," you said, a sly tone to your voice, "Do you want to get out of here?"

    "I'd do anything." Kenma honestly agreed.

But, you couldn't just up and leave. You were called here as Twitch streamer (s/n) (y/n), and that meant your behavior was restricted. As much as you seemed to hate said restriction, Kenma was certain that you wouldn't go against it. It could take a big blow against your viewership, and you wouldn't take that chance.

A second later, your hand gripped his wrist before you shot him a wink. Kenma's heart jumped to the skies before you pulled him away from the crowd, with participants lining the entrance to enter their names. Sure, you were doing something bad—your cousin wanted you there, but not once had she even asked if you wanted to be a part of this event. Just as Kenma was pulled in without his consent. You weren't a competitive gamer, and you were not going to be, even if it was for someone else. After running away a fair distance, Kenma felt the part of his wrist burn right where you were touching him.

    "I think I need to run more in real life and not just as Ellie." You said, and Kenma chuckled.

    "Running's good."

    "I used to run track," You said, turning to him. "Now I run in games and that's it."

You have no right being that cute, he thought before clearing his throat. He slowly pulled away from you, which made your eyes widen before shooting him an apologetic smile. He was a bit confused as to what you had done, did this mean you didn't care about losing followers?

    "You might think that I've committed career suicide," You scoffed, "Honestly, this is the bravest I've been in so long."

    "What do you mean?"

You shrugged, "Ever since I became a bit popular by streaming, I've just... I could feel myself change with the way my viewers wanted me to be? I don't blame them or anything, I just think that the love I get from them makes me yearn for more. And that yearning leaves me... inept to be myself. It's the downside of wanting to remain popular, I guess."

    "It's not like you can't be yourself and still be popular." Kenma added.

    "Yeah I know," You said, "I mean, just look at puddinghead0, we don't even know what he looks like, and wow. I adore his content."

Kenma froze once more. Was this being recorded? Did Kuroo finally tip you off and was this being filmed for his reaction? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to reveal to you now.

    "Y-Yeah, I think he just doesn't care."

    "I wish I was more like that because I end up caring. I like the comments and the views and the love. Agh, it's such a weird complex moral question. Don't even get me started."

Kenma laughed at your reaction before you turned to him and stuck a tongue out. Kenma rolled his eyes before waving a hand at you.

    "If anything," Kenma said, looking at the ground, "You didn't lose this follower today."

Your eyes widened at his statement. You smiled before nodding, and let out a chuckle.

    "Thank you, Kozume-kun."

*

Locking the door to his room, Kenma began to edit for his latest video. He was making a review for The Last of Us 2, but his mind was elsewhere. He still hadn't told Kuroo that he had met you, which would only cause the black-haired man to tease him relentlessly. Letting out a sigh, he felt sleep douse his eyelids as he continued the edit, right before a notification popped up on his phone.

It was you.

He narrowed his eyes before checking the date and time; it was unusual for you to stream live on random days. He'd learned your pattern by now. You'd been doing this for a couple of months, and it was quite easy for him to know just when and what time you'd begin. However, the screen for The Last of Us 2 was open and you looked like you had just stopped crying. His heart broke at the sight, and he instantly closed the tabs to his own edit, before opening your video on his monitor. You were taking deep breaths before chuckling.

    "Hello to everyone that's still with me," You sounded so broken, Kenma felt helpless as he continued staring at you, "You might be wondering why I'm... yeah. So, I did something and I guess I got punished for it? I was forced into a game contest and I think walking out of it made some of my followers mad. I even spoke to this other person about walking out and honestly, it didn't hit me then that what puddinghead's doing takes a lot of courage."

    "Ah, fuck, (y/n)," Kenma groaned.

    "I guess even when I expected to lose followers, I didn't expect the hate? Some of the comments were just... nasty. I..." You sniffed, "...I didn't expect that you would hate on someone for making a personal choice? And I didn't do it to offend anyone, I seriously don't know how the internet works. Oh, oh wow—" You looked troubled and Kenma could see why. "—losing out on viewers now, great. 'Don't be a whiny bitch', 'This is why girls shouldn't game'..."

You took a deep breath before calming down and saying the few words Kenma feared you might eventually come around to say.

    "This is (y/n), signing off to a world where gaming is appreciated and is not filled with a community of hate. Hope to see you there."

And the stream ended.

Kenma sighed before leaning back, no thought in his head. He knew for a fact that his room-mate must have seen the stream as well, and Kuroo would be calling him about the entire ordeal just to ensure he had something to say about it. Kenma, on the other hand, felt like he had practically pushed you to make this decision and partly felt like taking the blame, despite the common sense telling him that he had nothing to do with it. You weren't the sort of person who would jump at something without a second thought, and even if he didn't know you personally, he had been following you and your streams for months now. It felt like he knew that part of you quite well.

Kuroo was the first to call. Kenma stared at the phone for a bit before letting out a breath and getting back to editing his video. He only had to add commentary, and his mind was already circling on what to say.

Uploading the video took him exactly two more hours, after having missed three calls from Kuroo and twelve messages. At one point, Kuroo had even stopped contacting Kenma, thinking he was busy with something, and he was spot on. Kuroo's eyes wandered on the new notification about his friend's YouTube channel, which was weird considering it was not yet time for him to post something. He knew quite well that Kenma might have definitely seen (y/n)'s stream, and wanted to desperately talk to him about it, but without a clue of what the boy was thinking, Kuroo simply clicked on the notification and let the video play out.

It was the review for the game, The Last of Us 2, and Kuroo knew while giving the review, which was around 8-9 minutes, Kenma would speak his thoughts that were a tad bit uncensored toward the end. He'd talk about the drama surrounding the game, he would even bring up the entire hate that this game was receiving, but instead—Kenma had a rather strange dialogue instead.

    "One thing I don't understand is how toxic the gaming community can be, at times," Kuroo paused, narrowing his eyes at his friend's words, "While we welcome new gamers to the entire journey of learning and discovering the joy of gaming, we also tend to put them down if they didn't adhere to a certain trend. I came across one such incident happening to (s/n) (y/n)'s Twitch channel."

    "Holy shit!" Kuroo sat up straight, eyes wide as saucers at the bold move his friend made.

    "I'm part of this community and I think I have the right to call out how toxic we are in general," 

Kenma's voice didn't even waver, but after knowing him his entire life, Kuroo could deduce that the boy was a bit angry, 

"(y/n) didn't particularly do anything wrong, and she's received some nasty comments about being a female gamer, and I think that's...just disgusting. She has all the right to either attend or ditch a gaming event, and no one has to be forced to do something they don't want to do. We all have games we don't like despite being gamers, we don't have to do it all. I support (y/n), and I'll admit, I'm saddened by how her fans have treated her. Her content is great and I have immense respect for her. I hope she decides to come back and stream more. That being said, I think The Last of Us 2 is..."

As he got around to talk more about the game, Kuroo knew that this was a huge step for Kenma, and he had no idea what suddenly made the boy rethink his entire decision on never bringing her up. Now that he had, he's indirectly initiated a conversation with her, she'd definitely try and reach out now—in any way she possibly could, just to thank him at least.

Kuroo noticed his phone ringing a second later and a grin made its way to his lips.

    "What just happened?"

    "I met her, Kuroo," Kuroo almost had the wind knocked out of him, "She was at my college campus. I was walking back to my room since classes were canceled. There was some sort of gaming event. She didn't want to be a part of it, and neither did I, and we ditched. It was—"

    "You like her more now, don't you?"

When Kuroo received nothing more than silence from Kenma's end, he was certain. His precious, introverted, best boy had fallen for someone. It was a proud moment, almost.

    "You have to tell her—"

    "Kuroo, this... this is all I want to do."

    "That's bullshit, and even you know that."

    "What? You want me to open up to her and tell her I'm the YouTuber she's been gushing about for so long and I was the one who kind of pushed her into doing what she did, and so that she can hate me afterward for hiding the truth because I wouldn't be losing out on anything and she—"

    "Whoa there, Kenma. I'm just saying go talk to her as her favorite YouTuber. You're overthinking this."

    "No, you're underthinking this. I did what I had to do. It was... hard to see her like that."

Kuroo let out a sigh but before he could say anything, Kenma had already ended the call. That boy needs to grow a pair, he thought, a bit annoyed at Kenma's nature of avoiding his feelings. While Kenma believed it was for the best, he knew he was simply running away from it. Kuroo knew his friend adored (y/n), but the boy couldn't categorize that as real feelings because he's met her just once. Finding something real virtually scared him more than finding something real in real life, and while Kuroo wanted to understand that, it only annoyed him because Kenma wasn't even trying.

When you watched puddinghead0's recent video, you were jaw-dropped in awe and absolute admiration. Tears filled your eyes, but what was more was how his voice now seemed a tad bit familiar, though you didn't pay any heed to it since you've been following this channel for an entire year now. It moved you to know someone you've been admiring has been watching your content, but at the same time, he was speaking up for you? You wanted to thank him, you wanted to send him a message and say you were incredibly grateful for what he's done and the only way you knew you could say something was on Twitter.

So you mentioned him on a tweet and poured your heart out within character limit. You wondered if he would notice your tweet since you've mentioned him countless times before, but even if he didn't, even if he paid you no heed after all of this, you were still grateful. However, a second later, you received a new follower. You blinked upon noticing that it was Kozume-kun from the other day. A soft smile fell on your lips at the soft recollection of running away from a gaming event, after which everything spiraled, but you didn't in any way blame him. Your mind again drifted back to puddinghead0 and you sighed.

I'd kill to see him, man, you thought, eyeing your tweet of him dreamily.

A second later, there was a notification. You almost spat out your heart at the mere words: puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

    "Oh my god—" You choked on air. However, a second later, you found it difficult to remain sitting on your bed.

Don't thank me, I hope you're feeling better. You didn't deserve any of that.

Is that a—

...deserve any of that. <3

Fuck me.

Kenma almost dozed off in class right before it ended. It wasn't like it was school where the teacher would wake him up after noticing him asleep, no one really bothered. Kenma was pushed awake by the momentum of the class once it was over and he leaned back before gathering his things. Tightening his hair tie, he casually walked out of class and got to the campus. He spotted the event area, where the gaming event had occurred and instantly spotted his room-mate and a bunch of people gathered there. Rolling his eyes, he walked away from there, not wanting to gather any attention.

    "Kenma!"

He had failed. Kenma froze to his spot before turning to spot his room-mate dashing over to him, a wide grin plastered on his features. Wrapping a hand over Kenma's shoulders, his roommate brought him to the others he was talking to, before releasing him.

    "You're that guy (y/n) ran away with during that event, right?" One of them asked, and Kenma didn't bother to respond.

    "Why did she run though? I mean, it doesn't make sense for her to just up and leave."

    "I've been telling you," The same guy said, "She's not the one playing those games. She's just the face."

Kenma frowned. What is this dick talking about?

    "Man, I think that's harsh," His roommate said, "I just think she's too chicken to play in front of people—"

    "She's literally a streamer." Kenma said, rolling his eyes.

    "Yeah, but why did she—"

    "If you can't understand that she doesn't owe you shit, then there's no helping it. She didn't want to play at that event, and she didn't. I don't see why you aren't calling me a fake gamer for running too." Kenma snapped.

The others shrugged, "That's because we've seen you play—"

    "It's bullshit." Kenma said before walking away. You all are bullshit, he thought before the frown on his face settled into an uncharacteristic glare, directed at what who knows what.

A moment later, he felt his phone buzz with a notification. Kenma opened his phone and saw that he had a message from you, but what confused him was—

The message was directed to Kenma and not puddinghead. His heart jumped as his fingers roamed over the notification, wanting to open it only when he was in the comfortable confines of his room. Swallowing the bubbling anxiety, Kenma fought the urge to smile as he continued walking back, unaware of what the Twitter message could be. It would normally take him around 12 minutes to get to his apartment from campus, but that day, Kenma merely took 7.

On reaching his room, he finally allowed himself to open your message.

(y/n): Hey! I've taken a break from streaming for now, just wanted to let you know. I don't know why I'm sending you this message, but talking to you that day made me realize that I don't really need to seek approval constantly. Also, puddinghead liked my tweet and I'm a bit too happy so I needed to gush, don't @ me

Kenma chuckled, feeling his heart jump at every word you'd said. He knew you didn't realize that you were gushing about him to him, but that didn't matter. He wanted to gush about you too. He felt a stone stuck at his throat at how real all of this felt, despite having only seen you once.

Kenma Kozume: I think he's the sort of guy who isn't too loud about the things he likes. And I think a break is a good idea, (s/n).

(y/n): Call me (y/n), came the immediate response. Kenma's eyes widened at the fact that you were online, and that the two of you were currently exchanging messages live.

(y/n): Yeah, I got the feeling from his videos that he's perhaps a private person. I'm still really glad that he supported me, I can't thank him enough. I'm feeling much better already!

Kenma smiled, I'm glad that you are.

(y/n): Also

He blinked.

(y/n): Do you want to co-op at Bloodborne? I'm trying to get a platinum, haha.

    "Fuck," He let out a breath before chuckling uncharacteristically. "You can't be serious."

(y/n): I'll send you my PSN, and you can add me as a party member. Only if you're up to it, I mean.

Kenma Kozume: Sure, sounds like fun. Also

Kenma gulped. He felt like this was showing off, but he didn't care. He was going to say it.

Kenma Kozume: I already have platinum in Bloodborne. :)

(y/n): Ah, screw you.

Kenma chuckled. He wouldn't admit it, but his heart was hammering against his chest and his palms were sweating. Soon, he'd be connected to you via the DualShock and the two of you would be co-oping in a game that was designed to make players fail. He wasn't too sure how much more his heart was going to take, and while he knew he had to tell someone, for some reason, Kenma wanted to keep this a secret. It wasn't because he was ashamed or he didn't want anyone to find out.

It was simply because it was too good to be true, and he didn't want to lose out on a chance to get to know you more. Because, if this kept up...

If this kept up, Kenma was surely going to fall in love with you.

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

To Die For {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: This has been in the works for months and I made sure I’d have it done for Blasty’s birthday 💥 After all, what better way to celebrate than with like, 9.1k of dad-to-be Bakugo? So ayyy happy birthday Katsuki, 4/20 explode it 💥💥💥

"Who would be stupid enough to come after us? We're the Bakugo's!"

He wished she had never said it, even if it was a joke at the time. He wished the thought had never even crossed her mind. The stupid woman was too optimistic for her own damn good and of course the universe had decided to give a huge middle finger to their little family in the worst way.

It was somewhat astounding that it had taken that long for something terrible to happen, really. Seven years together, three of them married, but the eighth month of pregnancy was the tipping point. Of-fucking-course.

Any other time in their lives she would be able to protect herself, no doubt in his mind, but now? She couldn’t use her quirk because there was no telling if the life energy it drew from to create her weapons and shield would harm the baby and neither of them were willing to risk that in any way. Her quirk, Ki, allowed her to harness her own life energy and transfer it into the shape of tangible objects, bursts of offense, or to another person for energy restoration; it was as useful as it was dangerous.

With a huge stomach she couldn’t just rely on her physical strength alone, and a miniscule part of him wondered if she thought it was the only way, would she use her quirk to try and fight back if the only other option was death? No, the overwhelmingly large part of him knew, she wouldn’t. She would fight physically without her quirk as a last resort but she wouldn’t endanger the tiny life inside of her in such an unknown way. She had been out of action of damn near a year now, her quirk dormant since the day they made their decision to start their own family. The doctor’s assessment of how her quirk could affect pregnancy was horrifying and she had resolved not to use her quirk from that moment until after their child was swaddled safely in Katsuki’s arms and at least ten meters away.

Her dedication to having a family was what made everything worse in his opinion. She had taken time off from hero work to get pregnant, be pregnant, and would take even more time off for the beginning of their daughter’s life. The highest ranking she had held was 22nd and it was just as she had announced her leave from active duty as a pro, and realistically both she and Katsuki knew that ranking would never recover; it couldn’t once she took her pre-planned schedule of reduced patrols and days on call for villain attacks.

Everything had been planned and there were backups to backup plans because they knew that not everything could go according to their plans despite how well-thought out they were but this was just sickening.

He had been on desk duty at the agency with both Kirishima and Sero which meant it was more relaxed, and even Bakugo could appreciate that every once in a while now that he wasn’t foaming at the mouth to prove himself as a hero. He was ranked 4th and it was the highest he had ever been, but he was the youngest person in the Top Five, just behind the old, aging bastard Endeavor, the still annoyingly plucky Hawks, and his personal favorite of those ahead of him, Mirko. Despite his pride in his current position, he was still determined to make it to Number One, and he knew he would, especially when he would have a little one all his own to inspire; “I did this for you,” a phrase he had at the ready for the day that ranking would be announced.

Desk duty was a part of that journey to the top whether he liked it or not. The good part about desk duty days, especially with Kirishima, were that lunch could truly be an hour long and spent at the ramen bar a block away from the agency. Their spicy miso ramen was his favorite and it made the jabs at his palate worth listening to as his mouth watered at the visible heat that could be seen rising from his bowl.

It was after lunch that he and the others were pulled aside into one of the affectionately named war rooms, all three expecting to be told to suit up and head out to respond to a call for backup. The last thing they could have ever predicted, though, was to be greeted by a solemn-looking man in a uniform with a corrections logo on his lapel.

The man stumbled through apologies and excuses as he explained that three high risk villains being transported from their correctional facility to a higher security institution had managed to disarm and disorient their escorts which allowed them to escape. A folder with profiles on each of them was slid in front of the three heroes.

Metal Morph – Quirk: Steel Claws – Retractable steel claws extend from his cuticles at will.

Harpy – Quirk: Avian – Has the beak, talons, and wingspan of a bird while maintaining some physically human characteristics.

Star – Quirk: Drain – By touching another living thing with all five fingers, he can drain their energy to whatever degree he wants, ranging from sleepy exhaustion to death.

Bakugo recognized them immediately from the takedown roughly two months prior. He had been the one to work out their plan of attack since the ringleader Star’s quirk acted similar to his wife’s whose own weaknesses he understood well. All in all it had been a quick and efficient job, the usual threats spewing from the defeated thugs as they were led away in quirk cancelling handcuffs. Generally those threats didn’t bother him, and at the time they hadn’t. “I’ll get you for this, Ground Zero, just you wait,” was pretty standard, but breaking out of custody was not and that’s what had him internally panicking.

Getting him back didn’t necessitate harm to him directly, not when it was a well-known fact that he was married to a fellow hero who had publicly announced her plans to step away from hero work to start a family.

Midway through the more in-depth recounting of the escape, he abruptly stood up. “I have to make a phone call.”

Several of the suits in the room began to protest when Kirishima snapped, “Three villains who threatened to get back at him just escaped and his wife is eight months pregnant, I think he has the right to make a damn call to see if she’s alright.

Bakugo heard him as he continued out the door and into the hallway, grateful that he didn’t have to dignify the idiots with his breath. He was too wound up, his heart pounding as he first texted Jiro to go to his apartment; his old classmate lived in the same complex and he knew she was home that day, so having her go as backup for his wife was only logical. Then he called his wife’s phone, every fiber of his being on edge as he waited for her usual greeting, a playful threat to get back to work that never came.

Pure unfiltered panic coursed through him when he pulled the phone from his ear to hang up only to find a text from Jiro asking why she should be going to his empty apartment. When he called her, she explained that she’d stopped by ten minutes earlier with no answer, assumed his wife had set out to satisfy a lunchtime craving, and gone back to her own apartment. He explained what had happened with the villains and she went back to his apartment, her spare key in hand. She didn’t even get a chance to finish her sentence when she told him of the broken balcony window and his wife’s cell phone still on the kotatsu before he ended the call and ran back into the conference room.

They knew, just based on his expression, that the worst possible scenario had already begun to unfold.

As soon as the briefing was over, Bakugo went into his office and sat down at his desk. His first instinct was to go in blasting anything that moved but he had to think it through, this wasn’t the time to go in and rain explosions without thinking. His wife and his daughter were at stake, and he had to be rational or it could mean that they wouldn’t…

The open-ended thought alone had him grabbing the small wastepaper bin and shoving his head into it so he could vomit his meal back up.

Panting hard, he made the decision to fight. He didn’t trust anyone but himself to head a rescue operation but that would take time to coordinate and he didn’t have time, he had a wife and unborn child being held hostage by villains with quirks that could do nothing but harm to the both of them. He’d taken out more than three villains on his own before and with the addition of who he was fighting for he knew he could sure as hell do it again.

He gathered the last pieces of his hero costume and shoved it into its carrying case that had been its travelling home since UA. Desk days meant being on call so he was dressed in a decent portion of his costume already, needing only his knee pads, gauntlets, mask, and neck piece to be ready for action. Pulling a hoodie over his head, he drew the strings tight and slid a pair of sunglasses on.

Ignoring the shouts of his friends and other agency members he breezed out of the building with his phone in one hand and his costume case in the other. He headed towards the train station, his destination only a thirty-minute trip.

Sitting in a deserted section of the train car, he kept his eyes glued to the open tracking app on his screen, his own orange dot updating coordinates every few seconds as he rocketed across several neighborhoods. The other dot, his wife’s, was stationary.  

When they were married, they agreed that given the nature of their hero work there would be times where they could potentially be held hostage or transported via quirk to different locations. Neither of them wanted any sort of repeat of Katsuki’s experience during the training camp of first year; they hadn’t been together at the time, but it was hard on both of them nonetheless. So it was decided that their wedding rings would hold tracking devices so small that no one but them knew they were there. It linked up to an app that showed their locations to one another and could then be used for rescue and extraction.

In the three years since their wedding it had only been used by him to tease her about how often she went to the bakery four blocks west of their apartment building on her days off. Now he was thanking every star in the sky that they had decided on the small backup plan.

When the stop came he moved quickly to follow the tracker towards the dot that hadn’t moved since he left the agency. The coordinates led him towards a more suburban area that tapered off for two blocks before a large billboard advertising a new housing development came into view—move in date for next spring, applications being accepted now.

At the billboard is where he added the last pieces of his costume, the case and his civilian clothes set aside like so many times before; they always made their way back to him. Tightening his mask, he heard footsteps approaching him and he whipped around, palms crackling as he readied for a fight.

“Hell of a hello for someone here to help,” Kirishima laughed through hardened features, well aware of his partner’s potential reaction. He was dressed in his full hero costume looking every bit as ready for a fight as the blonde.

Bakugo relaxed his stance, a hard look set on his face. “How did you find me? I disabled the location on my comm when I got on the train.”

Kirishima held up his phone as his hardening retreated, his features back to normal. “Your wife gave me the tracking info for both of you. Great idea, honestly. Backup is coming too, we’ll probably just need to send out the exact info once we find where they are in this development.”

“The fuck you follow me for?”

“To have your back like I always have. And just like I always have before too, I’m ignoring you telling me that you don’t need me. So tell me your plan so I don’t get in your way.”

“I blast them to hell, you get her out,” he said simply. “Don’t let them touch her.”

“You can count on me,” he assured him, and Bakugo knew that he could. He knew that if anyone was going to come after him and watch his back, it would be Kirishima. He knew the redhead would sooner die than let him down, especially with a mission like this. To die for his best friend’s family would be a manly way to go—a hero’s way.

“Let’s move.”

They continued follow the tracking app deeper into the housing development, the wooden signs staked in the front yards bearing the lot numbers. It was eerie almost, the cookie cutter western style homes looking like something out of an American teen movie but still and quiet, no traffic noise or general sounds of habitation.

It was at lot number nineteen that placed Bakugo’s dot almost directly over his wife’s, and he tilted the phone screen towards Kirishima, nodding towards the door of the house. Moving closer, there were still no sounds from inside, and the quiet continued when they entered the building, quickly and methodically clearing each room one by one. When they found nothing in the general living spaces they descended into the basement, and still they didn’t find her.

Seeing Bakugo’s growing frustration and panic, Kirishima leaned a hand against the stone wall of the small basement, the cool, rough texture grounding him enough to try and think of what they may have missed. Until he felt it shift.

Eyes wide, he caught Bakugo’s attention and pressed harder on the wall to move it even more. He realized it was a door, the break in the walls not visible in the limited light, and it led to a small corridor towards what had to be an offshoot.

“Me first,” Bakugo told him lowly, a hand on his shoulder as he passed him. “Stay out of sight until I attack, then do everything you can to get her the fuck out.”

He nodded, determined. “They won’t touch her.”

Voices could be heard on the other side of the short corridor, the angry feminine one bringing relief like no other to the both of them. She was alive and she was pissed by the sound of it, insults flying from her mouth like bullets from a gun.

Kirishima hung back in the shadows just beyond where the dim lights of the other room could reach as Bakugo entered, completely visible to two of the villains standing around his angry wife across the room had they not been watching her. The ringleader only a few steps to his right had yet to notice his presence either.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, a grimace on his lips.

“And guess where the fuck she learned it from, shithead.”

All eyes turned to him, his wife’s looking relieved as a hand raised to push her hair out of her eyes.

“Well look who found us,” Star said airily.

Bakugo snarled, provoked by the indifferent tone, and prepared to strike. A body knocked into him as he moved to rush the cocky son of a bitch, sending him into the wall hard. He could taste iron on his lip but his resolve to kick the shit out of the one responsible for taking away his wife and daughter was stronger than a little bit of blood.

“None of you are walking away from this,” he said, spitting to the side as he regained his footing. “I’ll blow each and every one of ya straight to hell.”

With a shake of his head, Star met his gaze. "I'm going to make your life hell, Ground Zero."

The pro hero chuckled, thumbing at the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"There's only one person allowed to make my life hell and she's gotten pretty good at it over the past seven years. You've got no chance, asshole."

The villain hummed sinisterly. “It’s going to be so satisfying watching your face as I drain the life out of her and that little leech in her stomach. I can drag it out, too. It’s usually more fun for me that way.”

Bakugo’s lips curled into a sneer, and he launched himself straight at Star with a quick burst from his palms. He’d have to be careful to avoid full contact with five fingers but he was versatile in battle, his attacks varied enough to be suitable for any range. He’d keep close but just out of reach, his midrange moves likely to be more than enough to blow the asshole away.

His issue came in the form of the bird one, Harpy, that was running interference to keep him away from Star who had no offense other than close range. Fine, he could keep two of them at bay.

Across the open area Kirishima was now in the room, entering into a stare down with the villain called Metal Morph, the blue haired man ready to keep him away from Bakugo’s wife who sat back against the stone wall, hands wrapped protectively around her stomach.

“If you surrender now, you can walk away unharmed,” Kirishima offered the villain. “No matter what you choose, you’ll be taken into custody. Make it easy on yourself.”

With a chuckle as the only response, the villain leapt towards him with steel claws drawn. He hardened his upper body easily and crossed his arms to block the slashes, digging his heels into the packed earth floor to stay balanced from the blow. He then charged Metal Morph, his arms taking on his Unbreakable form, having managed to master the move to the point where he could harness it in certain areas instead of his whole body.

Each of them being close range fighters, they were fairly even in terms of intensity, but Kirishima’s skill was unmatched. Within moments he was able to subdue him after a hard hit with an Unbreakable fist sent him flying into a wall, knocking him out as his head bashed against the stone and his body slid down to slump onto his left side.

Releasing his quirk, Kirishima turned to Bakugo’s wife and held out a hand to her, helping her up from her place on the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Is the baby okay?”

“We’re okay,” she said hoarsely. “They’ve barely even touched me aside from when they took me from the apartment. No hits, no falls. I’ve played nice to make sure nothing happened.”

“Good, that’s good,” he murmured. “I’m gonna take you out of here, backup shouldn’t be far out. Bakugo can handle those two. Do you mind if I pick you up? It’s probably faster, no offence.”

She nodded with a grin. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

He smiled as he scooped her up, careful to hold her steady but not too tight. Turning to the corridor he started towards it, glancing to Bakugo who was flung backwards, and he was fighting himself not to hesitate. He had his orders, he had to get her out—

The villain Harpy crashed into him and made him stumble, but he kept his hold on her and regained his footing. He couldn’t harden his entire body without cutting her with the way he held her and if he let her down the villain could take her. His mind raced with his next move as he felt her shift her legs off of his arm and to the ground, freeing his left side as his right kept her shielded.

Kirishima swung his arm back as he felt the shift in the air from Harpy flying towards him again, hoping to knock him away or off balance. He managed to hit the birdlike man in the temple which caused him to crumple to the ground, but not before he had sunk his talons over his shoulder and dug them in deep.

Pain exploded in his shoulder and he cried out, his hold around her waist dropping as he doubled over to clutch at his shoulder. His knees gave out and he sank to the ground, shock creeping across his skin as blood flowed from the cuts with each beat of his heart.

She knelt down next to him, guiding his head onto her lap. Basic first aid wasn’t much to wounds like this but it could slow the bleeding and buy them time until backup arrived. She just hoped it would be enough.

"Shit, Kirishima, you gotta be okay," she said, ripping the bottom of her dress to create a bandage to help stop the bleeding. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

She wound the ripped pieces of cloth around his left side, his eyes hazy and unfocused. Little whimpers of pain escaped his lips as she pulled the fabric tight against the wound and pressed down firmly.

“Baby girl B,” he breathed out, wincing as he registered the pressure against his shredded shoulder. “Are you both…?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “We’re okay, Kirishima, we’re okay. You took the hit, and they never even touched us.”

He swallowed, nodding as his face scrunched in pain, his eyes closed. Sharp teeth bit into his bottom lip and his right hand balled into a fist.

Bakugo, who had seen the hit, froze at the sight of all the blood on his partner from where he had landed from Harpy’s last attack. It took only a beat for him to see his wife go to the redhead and begin tending to him, but it was a beat too long for him to have lost focus.

Five chilled fingers pressed against his exposed bicep and immediately his entire being felt like lead, his body leaning heavily against the wall. With all his strength he turned his head to see Star’s hand dropping from his arm, a self-satisfied smirk painted across his face. He stepped a few paces back, head cocked as if admiring his handiwork, and Bakugo decided in that moment what had to be done to end this.

“Real shame about Red Riot,” Star said in mock sadness. “Willing to die for his partner’s little whore wife to be saved only for her, the parasite you put in her, and him all to die right in front of your eyes.”

Bakugo’s heart picked up speed, his blood pumping the anger through his veins as he slowly uncurled his right palm and turned it out towards the monologuing villain. It never failed to get them into trouble, fuckin’ amateur.

“I won’t kill you, though, Ground Zero,” Star continued, “no, I’m going to make you watch them die. The three people you care about the most all dead and it’ll be on you.”

“None of them are dying today,” he ground out, palm heating.

Star smirked. “You heroes are all too—”

An explosive stream burst from his palm—a smaller version of his AP Shot designed to work like a blowtorch—and hit the villain in front of him in the thighs causing his knees to buckle, pitching him forward onto his hands and knees in front of Bakugo.

“You villains are all so fucking stupid.”

He shakily raised his right arm, fatigue crawling over his bones and his muscles screaming at the weight of his gauntlet.

“You came into my home, kidnapped my pregnant wife, made your cronies injure my partner, and had plans to kill the three most important people in my life—the three people who make up my fucking family.”

He opened his extended palm, aiming for the now pleading villain in front of him.

"You come after me and I'll kill ya," Bakugo breathed, his left forefinger hooking into the pin of the gauntlet, "but you come after my family and I'll fuckin' destroy you."

On his final word, he pulled the pin.

A massive explosion rocked the open space, the heat being felt on her cheeks as she turned away from the blast, curling herself around Kirishima to shield him from debris without taking the pressure off of his wounds. It would do no good for Katsuki to win the fight but lose his best friend.

Her ears were still ringing when the smoke around them began to clear, and she leaned harder into Kirishima’s shoulder. He gave a soft grunt at the pressure and his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. His eyes were still closed, and she could feel the tight coil of his body relaxing, panic running through her at the realization that he was slipping into unconsciousness.

From across the room she heard a shout of her name, “Are you injured? Is the baby okay? What about Kirishima—"

"I’m fine Katsuki, but how far out is backup?" she replied, hands slipping against bloodied skin. "He's in a bad way, Katsuki. I... I don't know how much more blood he can lose!"

His eyes widened as he finished snapping the capture cuffs onto Star, abandoning the crumpled villain and sprinting the short distance to her, dropping down to his knees beside her.

“Fuck! My comm was wrecked when I first came in, where’s his? He usually keeps it in these stupid gears,” he rambled, opening the compartment of his shoulder piece, careful not to jostle him or bump her hands.

Practically on cue, Kirishima's communication device radioed that teams were arriving at that moment and needed a pinpointed location. Bakugo grabbed it from within the compartment and brought it up to relay the info, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed the button to speak.

"This is Ground Zero, current location is an offshoot of the sub-basement of lot number nineteen. Red Riot's down and needs medics fucking stat, he's lost a lot of blood. The villains have been handled with use of potentially deadly force to protect all parties. Hostage is safe and unharmed."

She looked toward him, panic evident in her eyes as Kirishima's head lolled to his right, breath shortened to small puffs against her thigh.

"C'mon, Shitty Hair, don't do this," he muttered, gloved hands cradling the redhead's face. "You don't get to die today."

She continued the pressure on the wound, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

"You listen to me and you listen good, Kirishima," her husband continued, his teeth gritted, "I'll be fucking damned if you bleed out on my wife and don't get to meet my daughter. The hell am I supposed to tell her, huh? That you saved her and her mother but your stupid ass got killed doing it?"

"Katsuki," she whispered, eyes starting to sting as the sound of reinforcements arriving began to grow louder.

He glanced up at her, eyes wild and desperate. "No! He needs to know he's an idiot if he dies!" He looked back down to the redhead. "The day I got married you were so excited to be my best man and there's more I need you to do, you asshole! You gotta be here to-to be Uncle Ei for my baby girl! And I want you to be her godfather! I don't fucking trust anyone else to take care of my kid if something happens to us!"

Tears tracked down her cheeks as she watched his head bow, blonde hair obscuring his masked face further.

"You gotta fight," he murmured so softly she almost didn't hear amidst the shouting beyond the corridor. "You got me back at Kamino. You got my wife and daughter back now. You gotta fight so my daughter can meet the best friend I've ever had. C'mon, Ei. Just fight."

His words faded into the air between them, still for only a moment before the first responders appeared around the rubble and broke into smaller groups to tend to both Kirishima and the villains. Two others approached the couple once they moved back from their friend, Bakugo’s arms wrapped securely around her and hugging her close to him.

“I’m fine,” she started as one of them opened their mouth to begin a verbal assessment. “My forearm is a little scraped up so that will need tended to but other than that I’m unharmed. I just want to make sure the stress hasn’t had any adverse effects on the baby.”

They nodded, pulling out supplies to start treating the scrape and asking some follow up questions. Their partner turned to Bakugo and was also cut off before they even began.

“Cuts and scrapes. Gonna have a few bruises. They can patch me up at the hospital,” he said, tone final. As far as he was concerned, his wife, daughter, and best friend were much more important to be tended to.

His eyes slid over the responder’s shoulder to where a small crowd was around Kirishima, four men and one woman. The men were assessing him and applying more pressure to the wound, muttering flowing between them. The woman was calm in comparison, rigging up what Bakugo recognized as a small, portable transfusion apparatus to her own arm before working on fastening the other end to Kirishima’s.

“Blood type?” she prompted as she worked.

“O,” one of the men responded. It was common practice to send all relevant medical information to the responders heading towards a scene where pros were involved, a useful trove of information that allowed quick, informed decisions to be made when there were serious injuries.

“He’s high risk with this sort of trauma as a type O,” the woman informed them before finishing the setup in his arm, “but you know I’m not the type to lose a cute redhead.”

Bakugo wanted to snap at her to do her damn job, not flirt with his unconscious, possibly fucking dying if he was so damn high-risk partner, but a squeeze to his hand brought him back to the fact that he had his two girls to look after.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she assured him with a steady voice.

“He sure as fuck better be,” he grunted, fingers intertwining with hers as they were approached to provide statements. Neither of them were eager to stay back for them despite only needing ten minutes max between the two, but they both knew that Kirishima needed to be taken immediately and it would be easier in the long run for him if they provided everything they could now.

So as the redhead was taken out through the corridor and to the local medical facility, they ran through their accounts quickly, her abduction, hours held captive, and the fight between the heroes and villains that had one in critical condition pouring out as clinical and thorough as possible. With promises of a formal report once Kirishima was released from the hospital, Bakugo began to lead her out of the area, frustrated that they weren’t with Kirishima and afraid that something could be wrong with the baby despite his wife assuring him that nothing had physically happened to cause damage.

The fear didn’t melt away until they were at the hospital in an exam room with the strong, steady heartbeat of his daughter echoing through the small space. It calmed him down exponentially to hear the doctor tell them that everything was alright, that mom and baby were both just as they should be. So with that knowledge and the fact that Kirishima was in surgery to repair his shoulder and ensure there was no further damage, he allowed himself to be treated, the few cuts and scrapes he had sustained cleaned and bandaged.

Once he was finished, they headed towards the private recovery area to wait for Kirishima to be out of surgery, Bakugo’s knee bouncing for the entirety of the half hour leading up to a doctor asking if they were there for Eijirou Kirishima. They were told that he was stable and would recover just fine, but physical therapy would likely be necessary. The scarring he mentioned with a grimace made the couple snort—Kirishima had always thought that scars from hero work were “the manliest badge of honor a guy could receive!”

They were granted permission to wait in his room for him to wake up, something the doctor said could take a while based on how much blood he had lost. The immediate transfusion at the scene had definitely helped, but his body needed time to heal from what it had gone through.

While Bakugo understood that, he was still anxious when two hours later Kirishima’s eyes remained closed and his breathing even.

"He should've woken up by now," he muttered, arms crossed tight over his chest as he stared at his unmoving partner.

"Katsuki, he lost a lot of blood. His body's been through a lot, so I think it's okay that he's still out. The doctor said he's stable."

"Until he's awake and giving us that dumbass smile of his, I won't be happy."

"You know, I think Kirishima would prefer you focus on other important things while he's lying here in stable condition."

He fixed her with a hard stare. "What in the fuck could be more important than my best friend and partner not waking up after almost bleeding out in your lap?"

She shrugged. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm in labor so I figured you may want to deal with that."

"What the hell did you just say?" he whispered, voice soft.

"I started having contractions when they came to tell us he was out of surgery," she admitted. “They weren’t that close together and I knew you’d want to try and wait for him to wake up, so I didn’t mention it. But now, I think it would be best to get me admitted because they’re way more intense and have been slowly getting closer together for about half an hour now.”

Bakugo closed his eyes for a moment and blew out a breath. “With the amount of pure fucking chaos today has been, I’m not even surprised.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Babe, I don’t think I have any room for anger in me right now with all the fucking worry,” he chuckled darkly. “But I’m the one who needs the least amount of attention. C’mon, you need a room and one of those baby heartbeat belt things, right? Let’s go.”

She watched him stand up and head for the door, throwing a glance back at Kirishima’s unconscious form one last time, and stood to join him, her hands clasped beneath her belly as she reached him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her through the off-white hallways. His calm demeanor was surprising, but more helpful than she could imagine.

As she was set up in the maternity room he stood by her side waiting for instruction from either her or the doctor, very unsure of what he was supposed to be doing at this stage. All the parenting books and articles he had (secretly) read just advised to do as he was asked but no one had asked him to do anything. He hoped that over the course of her labor he would be given a task, something to do to feel useful.

And they did, the tasks asked of him over the next few hours being small: calling friends and family, helping her into and out of bed as she walked around the room, fetching her cold compresses, massaging her sore legs. Whatever made it easier on her, he would do.

Her contractions had built in intensity throughout the night and into the early morning hours, her whimpers of pain tearing at his heart, but she continued to grit her teeth and keep calm. He was relieved when she was able to sleep even if it was only for an hour or two. It was at least some time where her discomfort wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. It also allowed him some time to begin outlining the report on the previous day’s events, a task he had no desire to complete but one he would rather finish as soon as possible if it meant he could begin his paternity leave quickly.

By noon she was dilated eight centimeters, in an intense amount of pain, and practically foaming at the mouth with the desire to start pushing. He tried to comfort her, reassuring her that it would soon be time to start pushing and they would meet their daughter which she found endearing more than anything; it wasn’t often that he was the one trying to calm her down.

To keep the time passing and her attention focused on him instead of the pain and waiting he talked to her about anything he could think of. He talked about the lunch he had with Kirishima and Sero the previous day and brought up memories of their days at UA when they were younger and dumber but not blind to the evils of the world. At one point they discussed names for the baby, a topic that up until then had been volatile at best. The same conclusion was drawn every time: “I have to see her to know what her name should be.”

Finally, at almost three o’clock in the afternoon, it was time for her to begin pushing.

For over an hour she pushed, her refusal for any help with pain something she resolved to revisit for any future children. Katsuki didn’t leave her side, his hand clasped tightly in hers and giving her all the encouragement she could ever need with curse words peppered in just as expected. She would’ve been disappointed if his coaching was anything else.

And suddenly it was over, her body belonging only to her again for the first time in nearly a year. It was over and another Bakugo had entered the world, her volume easily betraying her heritage as Katsuki cut the cord with a dazed expression on his face. He was speechless, watching as the little girl was taken to the other side of the room to be cleaned and weighed and swaddled while his wife continued with the delivery of placenta and receiving her stitches. While he didn’t leave her side, his eyes remained on the small baby as if he was afraid that she would disappear if he wasn’t looking at her.

As quickly as the room had filled with doctors and nurses, it was empty just as fast once everything was over and the tiny child was placed in her mother’s arms.

His wife let out a choked sob of a laugh as the last nurse exited the room with a reminder to buzz if they needed anything, glassy eyes trained on the little girl in her arms. She repositioned the edges of the blanket around her with shaky hands and a wobbly smile.

“Look at her, Katsuki,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “Look, she has your eyes!”

He couldn’t stop staring at the blotchy-faced little blonde in his wife’s arms, her nearly-too-light-to-see brows furrowed as she stared up at them wailing. She definitely had his eyes, the bright red even looking indignant at the fact that she wasn’t as warm as she had been for the last so many months.

“She’s… she’s finally here,” she continued. “We have a daughter, we’re parents.”

He felt emotion bubbling in his chest and he wasn’t sure if it was purely the exhaustion from being awake for a day and a half or the fact that his child was safely swaddled in the love of his life’s arms or the fear that his best friend was so close to never being able to meet his daughter, or likely a combination of everything. Regardless, he knew that this was a day he would never forget for the rest of his life, for both the good and the bad it had brought.

“Can I hold her?” he asked as he finally found his voice, rough as it may be with the emotions swirling beneath his skin.

She sobbed out another laugh, eyes misty as she beckoned him closer. “She’s your daughter, of course you can hold her.”

He didn’t respond, only wiping his nervous hands on his pants before leaning forward and allowing his wife to gently set the newborn in his arms. Hyperaware of how his hands supported her, he sat back in his chair and looked down at the slowly calming child in his arms.

His child, he reminded himself, his daughter with the woman crazy enough to stick by him for so many years. Somehow he had ended up with the both of them in spite of the unforgivable words he spoke as a teenager, the anger had used as a weapon for so long, and all the other mistakes he had made in his life.

A small huff of a laugh escaped him as he moved a hand to rest atop the blanket bundled around her. She was fascinating to him, red eyes and just a smidge lighter than his ashy blonde hair so easily traceable to him but surprising nonetheless. It was surreal to be holding her, finally, after so long watching her mother’s belly grow and speaking to the taut skin that was her first home, and he could only continue to laugh quietly in disbelief.

“I’m your dad,” he managed to tell her between giggles. “I’m your dad and one day I’m gonna be the highest ranked hero to all of Japan, but I’m always gonna be your number one hero, yeah? You and your mom gotta be my biggest fans.”

Having been discreetly taking pictures of the moment, his wife began to tear up again at his words. Never once had she imagined a scene like this when they were teenagers and began dating during their second year at UA, but watching it unfold right before her eyes was more than she could have ever hoped for. Katsuki would be happy when they finally met their daughter, she’d always known that throughout the past few months, but this was better than any other reaction she could dream of.

“We’ll always cheer the loudest,” she said with a watery smile.

He looked up at her, the grin still on his face. “You damn well better.”

They were both in awe at the little girl and the influence she held over them already, the next hour being spent still in disbelief at the fact that she was finally with them and able to be held close, kissed, and fawned over.

It was soon after that Bakugo’s parents arrived, excited to see the newest member of the family and eager to hear the fine details of the previous day’s ordeal with the villains. They fit right into their roles as doting grandparents, Masaru taking on an even softer tone than usual to speak to the tiny girl in his arms and Mitsuki cooing affectionately how much she looked like her daddy. Bakugo held so much pride in the little family he had built for himself, watching his parents interact with his daughter stirring within him the desire to be different, be better with her than they were with him. She would be great, but she would be humble.

He was happy that his parents could see how far he’d come, from explosive little brat to a hero with a family, explosions still prominent but saved for work alone. It was nice too for him to see them happy and proud of him, the phrase not something he had heard from them in a long time. Everything felt right, at peace, except for one obvious missing piece.

His parents stayed until visiting hours were over and left after many hugs and promises to help whenever they needed. That was also comforting to know they were near and able to help them if the need arose, her own family from much farther away and unable to come as quickly should they need grandparents’ intervention.

Bakugo blinked sleepily as he finished changing his daughter out of one tiny white hospital onesie and into another, grateful that his parents had been able to grab their hospital bags and bring them in so he didn’t need to leave the hospital himself. A day and a half with no sleep was beginning to catch up with him.

“Katsuki, you should sleep,” his wife said as she watched him scoop the baby up. “You didn’t nap when I did while I was in labor which means you’ve been awake for nearly 36 hours straight. You need to rest.”

He shook his head as he cradled their daughter close. “S’okay, I can stay up with her tonight, you’ve been through way too much in the last two days. Plus I’ll be able to get news about Kirishima as soon as there is any.”

“Baby girl is tired, I could probably get her to sleep if I feed her. She’s due to eat anyway so why don’t you go sit with Kirishima for a bit and if he’s not awake soon, come back up and rest.”

He sighed, glancing down at the wriggling little blonde in his arms. It felt like no matter what he decided he was going to be away from someone he cared about and feeling guilty.

“Gimme that baby,” she playfully demanded, beckoning him closer. “Sit with Kirishima then get your ass back up here to cuddle us.”

“I… yeah, okay,” he relented, moving to set the baby in her arms. He ran a hand through the tufts of hair on her head, one finger drifting down to run over a chubby cheek. “I’ll be back soon okay? I’m taking my phone so if you need me, text me.”

“Say bye to daddy, baby girl,” she giggled, taking her little hand and waving it cutely at him.

With a smile and a kiss to his wife, he headed out the door and to the elevators, the distance he put between himself and the maternity room feeling so much larger than he could ever anticipate. But still he walked, intent on at least seeing his best friend and hoping that he would be able to bring the happy news of his daughter’s birth.

He entered the room quietly and took a seat in the same chair he had been in when his wife had said she was in labor. That moment a day ago felt like another lifetime entirely. In a way it was, it was a life where he didn’t have his daughter in his arms, when her life in the outside world had yet to begin.

Alone with his thoughts, he watched Kirishima’s steady, even breaths, the bandages over his shoulder crossing his chest and having just enough give to ensure it wasn’t constricting his breathing. Surely he would see the bandages as another one of those manly badges of honor he always spoke of, and Bakugo would readily agree. His decision to go into a three-on-one fight wasn’t the best and without Kirishima, things would likely be very different. He didn’t want to dwell on it; it wasn’t what happened, and it could never happen again.

So he settled in to wait, slowly sliding down in the plastic chair as time ticked by on the clock above the door. He didn’t expect his partner to be out this long and he was worried. All of the good he had experienced in the last day wouldn’t feel complete, not truly, until he was seeing the goofy, sharp smile of his best friend. He wanted, no, needed him to wake up. And within forty minutes, when he saw red eyes open tiredly, he felt like he could finally breathe fully again.

When Kirishima regained consciousness and heard the distinctive beeps of hospital equipment, he didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that he and Bakugo’s mission had more than likely been successful. The soreness in his left shoulder was bearable so he’d been healed and if he was in a hospital bed then that meant that reinforcements had come and retrieved them.

Slowly blinking, he let out a sigh at the brightness of his room.

“Nice of you to finally wake your ass up.”

Turning to his right, he spotted a very exhausted Bakugo slumped down in a visitor’s chair.

“How—” he cut himself off, voice cracking weakly. He cleared his throat and tried again, “How long have you been here?”

Grunting, he sat forward. “In the hospital, a little more than a day. In your room, this time, about an hour.”

Kirishima furrowed his brows. “This time? Where else were you? Shouldn’t you be with your wife? Wait- is she here too? Is she hurt? Did something happen after I went down? Is the baby—”

“Shut up, Shitty Hair,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before levelling the redhead with a tired look. “I took care of the villain after you passed out and reinforcements came in time to get your ass here to get your shoulder taken care of. We were both treated for minor cuts and we came here to wait for you to wake up, but she ended up going into labor, so I was with her for that. She’s fine and so’s my baby girl. They’re both asleep right now up on the third floor.”

“Baby girl B is here?” Kirishima whispered.

Bakugo’s lips quirked up into a soft smile. “Yeah, she’s here safe and sound. Little bit of a lighter blonde than me but she’s got my eyes without a doubt.”

“Bro, congrats, I can’t believe she’s here!” he said happily, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “What did you guys name her? When can I visit her? Did your parents already stop by? Have—”

“You gotta slow down with the questions, Kirishima. I’ve been awake for almost two days straight,” he grunted, no heat behind the words. “You can come up and see her as soon as you’re discharged which should be quick if you call in a nurse. My parents were here for about two hours after she was born but they headed home already. Visiting hours ended at seven but you get a special pass to come back with me for a bit tonight.”

Kirishima had never hit the call button for a nurse so quickly in his life.

Within twenty minutes, he had been checked over by the attending physician and officially discharged with orders not to return to the field for three weeks, a recommendation for physical therapy, and a bounce in his step as he followed his best friend to the elevators. He had been given a special visitors badge that allowed him in the maternity ward despite visiting hours being long over and not having a wife and child of his own to be with; generally he wouldn’t let his pro hero status be used to bend the rules like that, but considering he was about to meet his best friend since high school’s newborn daughter for the first time after a dramatic rescue, he decided that one time couldn’t hurt. Bakugo had been the one to ask for it anyway, so it wasn’t entirely on Kirishima in the first place.

His excitement was bubbling beneath his skin as he walked behind Bakugo towards the room his little family was assigned to. When they stopped at room 304, a quick but soft knock on the open door was all that needed to be done to announce their presence.

“Look, honey, daddy’s back,” his wife cooed to the small bundle gathered in her arms as she sat on the bed. She looked tired, but her smile never faltered as she glanced up to the two men. “Kirishima, I’m glad you’re alright. C’mon in, you’ve got someone who’s been waiting to meet you.”

The redhead cautiously walked forward with Bakugo who reached out to take the baby from her. Turning back, Bakugo gave him a wide grin.

“Alright, baby girl,” he murmured, tucking the blankets away from her face, “open those pretty eyes for me, there’s someone here to see you.”

Kirishima caught his first glimpse of her face, smooth skin and chubby cheeks surrounded by the minty green of the blanket she was swaddled in. Just as he’d been told, her hair stood out as paler than her father’s, but when her eyes fluttered open and he could see the bright red he’d always associated with Bakugo, he had to hold back the tears.

“’S a little Bakubaby,” he managed to laugh, his voice caught in his throat at the sight of the tiny child.

“Hold out your arms,” Bakugo instructed, placing his daughter in his hold when he complied. He watched proudly as Kirishima cradled her to his chest, then started to speak, his eyes on his friend but his words to his daughter, “Now, baby girl, I want you to meet your Uncle Ei. He’s the one who helped me make sure you and mama were safe, because he’s my best friend and has had my back since we were teenagers. He’s always gonna have your back too, you know. That’s what godfathers do, after all.”

That was the breaking point for Kirishima’s tears as he whispered out a choked, “Really?”

Bakugo nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. No one else I trust to look after my kid if something were to happen to us. You’d raise her right.”

He sniffled, then smiled back down at the tiny blonde. “Yeah, I… I’ll do my best for her no matter what. Did… did you two decide on a name for her yet?”

Bakugo glanced back, bringing his wife into the moment.

“We did,” she said, catching Kirishima’s attention. “We wanted to give her a name with meaning, and we decided that the most meaning we could find was in the man who helped make sure that she made it into the world. So, Kirishima, meet your goddaughter Kira Bakugo.”

[bookswithelli]

a darker shade of magic: review

synopsis:

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black.

Kell was raised in Arnes—Red London—and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see.

Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they'll never see. It's a defiant hobby with dangerous consequences, which Kell is now seeing firsthand.

After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure.

Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

review under the cut!

stars: ★★★★☆

First of all, although I rated this book 4 stars, there were some issues with it (mainly involving representation and characterization). I rated it 4 stars because I enjoyed reading it despite its issues, but I recognize that the mediocre representation may turn others away from this book.

characters & representation

Before I begin this section of the review, I would like to say that I am not visually impaired and therefore do not have any authority on that subject. My comments on the treatment of Lila's missing eye are merely based on my own observations and what I have heard from visually impaired people on the topic.

Lila:

A cross-dressing thief and aspiring pirate with a penchant for knives, Lila Bard brings to mind the likes of Inej Ghafa from Leigh Bardugo's Six of Crows and Elizabeth Swann from Pirates of the Caribbean. There were times when I really liked Lila; she can be sassy and morally questionable which is always interesting to see when well done. However, her character had a few issues that I wanted to address.

“Delilah Bard looked like a king. No...she looked like a conqueror.” pg. 289

When will fantasy authors stop romanticising conquerors and colonization?! This may be a smaller issue since aside from White London (which is villainized) there is no mention of it in the overarching plot, but this line just really bothered me. It makes me think that V.E. Schwab is a fan of adult and YA fantasy authors like Sarah J. Maas and others who write their main characters to be colonizers and romanticize it in the process. I don’t think this line was necessary at all, and I wish the second sentence had been removed or modified to something a little less problematic (e.g. she looked like a pirate/captain/etc.)

"How did you lose it...your eye?" -Master Tieren, pg. 327

It is revealed near the end of the book that Lila has been missing an eye for as long as she can remember, and she wears a glass eye as a replacement. This is all well and good, but the consequences of her impaired vision are never explored. The only reason the reader knows that Lila is missing an eye is because the author tells them. The narrative never discusses how Lila's lack of an eye affects her day to day life, and it's only brought into the story when it is needed for the plot.

It’s also worth mentioning that Lila is the only female character with a large role in this book, and no matter how “feminist” her character is, there’s not a lot of women in this book that are portrayed positively and with depth.

Rhy:

I actually really liked Rhy and I loved his relationship with Kell. I love sibling love in books and we so rarely get positive sibling relationships, so this was nice to see! It’s also really important to have queer people of color in books. However, I don’t think Rhy’s character is good bi/pan representation (I will refer to him as bi in this review for the sake of brevity, but it’s worth mentioning that neither term is mentioned so Rhy could canonically identify as either).

“He would flirt with a nicely upholstered chair, and he never takes anything seriously.” -Kell, pg. 254

As a queer girl who has identified as bisexual in the past and may in the future, this is bad bi rep 101. Schwab is perpetuating the stereotype of the “promiscuous bi”, or one who flirts and/or sleeps with everyone and everything. This is not a bad characteristic in itself, but it is harmful bi rep because that is the way every bi character is portrayed in media. It reinforces the idea that bisexual people in real life are all like this, and it also reinforces biphobes’ points of view when they say that bisexual people are more likely to cheat because they sleep with more people. This is pretty much the most common stereotype of a bisexual person, so while I doubt that Schwab intended to be harmful in her portrayal of Rhy, it shows that she did not do much research on LGBT+ rep when writing her characters. I do know that some bi people were not bothered by this; however, I believe that writers should stay away from stereotypes, especially when writing characters that are marginalized. Even though promiscuity is not an inherently bad trait, it is harmful when applied to bisexual people because it reinforces real peoples’ beliefs and affects real life bisexuals. This is especially important here because Rhy is the only narrative-confirmed LGBT+ character in the first book. It's not the worst representation I've seen, since Rhy does have a personality outside his flirtatiousness and promiscuity (in fact, it's confirmed that this is a coping mechanism for him) but it's certainly not the best, and I'm just tired of seeing bisexual people represented this way in fiction.

Kell:

I know a lot of people who didn’t like Kell very much, and that is understandable. However, I found him really compelling. It’s refreshing to see a male lead in this genre who’s not jacked and a brooding asshole whose only redeeming quality is his dick size. He’s definitely moody, but not to the point where he becomes an abusive alpha male type guy (yes, I am aware that this is a very low bar). I genuinely enjoyed his character because he’s flawed. He’s stubborn and moody but he’s incredibly caring and he genuinely wants to help people. He feels alienated from his family so he rebels and gets himself in trouble. His character is written well because he’s not perfect by any means, but he’s still likeable and you still root for him.

Holland:

Holland is what every YA love interest wishes they were. Honestly. He’s given no excuses for his actions, and yet he is still sympathetic. You understand that he is under the control of Astrid and Athos, but you also understand that all he has done for years is carry out their orders, and that changes a person. His story is heartbreaking, but that doesn’t change what he has done. He knows it, Kell knows it, Lila knows it, the reader knows it. Honestly, if he were in a YA fantasy romance, I bet Holland would be the love interest; his female “mate” would change him for the better, and he would never face the consequences of his actions. That makes his arc in this story all the more enjoyable. Holland is one of my favorite characters of all time, and not because he’s a perfect “book boyfriend” or whatever, but because his story and character are genuinely interesting and executed well.

worldbuilding

I loved the worldbuilding in this book. There was a bit of an info-dump in the beginning, but I’m willing to look past that because the world was so engaging and interesting that I forgot about the dense first chapter once I got past it. Each London has a distinct feel, and they are all almost tangible. The descriptions of each made me feel like I was in the Londons along with Kell and Lila. It seems like the system would be complicated, but Lila sums it up well:

“There’s Dull London, Kell London, Creepy London, and Dead London.” -pg. 198

After the initial info-dump, Schwab weaves information about the magic system seamlessly through the book, leaving enough mystery for the reader to wonder at what might happen in the next books, but never leaving out so much that the reader is confused. I really appreciated the rules that existed around magic. It’s draining, and Antari magic requires blood, which means there is a limit to how much you can perform at once. Magic is seen to affect the world beyond the characters and their main conflict, which I was very happy about as well. There are too many fantasy novels where the magic system has no rules and only exists to further the plot, but in this world you can see it everywhere. The politics of Red London and White London are affected by magic, even where it is not necessarily relevant to the plot. You can see small amounts of magic being performed in the streets of Red London: spells to protect from thieves, etc. Magic is normal for the people in Red London, and it is treated as such in the text.

pacing & plot

This book flew along. I’ve read it multiple times now, and every time, I can’t stop until I finish. And then I want to move along to the next book immediately. It manages to keep up a great pace and still build up to an exciting climax. Schwab’s lyrical writing is not flowery, but it draws the reader in and carries them along the story effortlessly. It’s very engaging and accessible language, which makes it a good stepping stone into adult fantasy (especially if you’re coming from YA).

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. The representation that it gets praised so highly for is disappointing, but aside from that I enjoyed most of the characters and the writing was beautiful. The plot and world were engaging and made me want to read the second book immediately (even though I’m on my 3rd or 4th reread). I would recommend this book for fans of YA fantasy who want to get into adult fantasy - this book is categorized as adult, but I found it a lot easier to read than other adult fantasies. For me, this book is a reminder that you can recognize the flaws in a book and still enjoy it, so remember to stay critical, even of your favorite books :)

[darkpoisonouslove]

“How Can Light Be So Hard to See?”

Summary: It’s been seventeen years and Griffin has finally seen the light she was looking for inside herself when she left Valtor. Can she find her way to him and leading their love out of the black void it’s trapped in before it has surrendered its last breath to the indifferent cold of the universe? Sequel to "How Can Darkness Burn So Brightly?" but can be read on its own.

I had an idea and then managed to tie it in with "How Can Darkness Burn So Brightly?" so we got this sequel. Hope you like it!

Love can flow, like a river of light to touch the darkness of a soul and not burn into it a day when the cover of night was always a temple for magic, always a temple for love

"What are you doing?" Valtor's voice snapped her concentration in half and let the spell fall through the cracks just like its effect slipped through her fingers. The energy was still there, though, flowing around, confused without the direction of the words, longing. It was the perfect reflection of him as he stood in her cell like his magic had whisked him away from his previous location without his permission, yet he only had eyes for her instead of looking at its betrayal.

"If you're here, you know what I'm doing," she let her fingers relax at her sides and stop curling with the need to grab at him. She didn't even need to raise her hands to brush them against the tangibility of the feelings floating all around them as they were shed from the blue of his eyes like the tears she hadn't gotten to see after she'd left him. Her magic had fulfilled its purpose and led him to her finally powered by the right emotion.

He had felt it. He had felt all the threads made palpable by his heart in the bed of the spell. They bound them together like strings of fate but were far more powerful as it had been fate exactly that'd been trying to sever them. Every step of the way the universe had thrown blades of pain and shards of broken memories at them to cut them from the cocoon they'd spun together for themselves. It had carved her out amidst her metamorphosis to leave her half wings, half centipede and force on him the outside cold but their silk was still around them waiting to be pieced together in a protective veil fire couldn't burn and light couldn't come through.

Valtor shook his head. "You can't do this. You shouldn't be able to." His eyes traced over her like he couldn't find the light spilling from her anymore despite the nature of the spell and the light magic giving it its power. "You're a witch through and through."

A witch she was. But not the darkness the Ancestrals had taught him to associate with the word.

"I am your witch," Griffin let the devotion glide over the feelings the spell had brought out and fall directly in his heart to bring him to the bridge standing between the two of them and let him cross it at his will. If he could find it in himself to trust what waited on the other side was better than the quicksand behind his back.

Valtor's gaze stopped its frantic racing now that there was solid ground under his feet and he reached for the monad symbol still hanging from her neck where it'd belonged ever since he'd given it to her. He brushed his fingers against it tentatively as if not quite able to believe the sight of it, as if he'd only now noticed the golden gleam coming from the gift nestled so close to her heart. "My necklace," he murmured in foggy recognition before trailing his touch over to where her heartbeat was excited after all those years it had had to stay steady in his absence just to keep her from crumbling to pieces at the slightest lively movement.

"Your heart," Griffin covered his hand with hers pressing it more firmly against the beating organ to feel all that lived in it. "Your love."

Valtor's eyes finally found hers and she held his gaze as she reached slowly to put her free hand over his heart. She'd disintegrate at the smallest tremble from either one of them. The only thing she could stand pumped through her veins was his closeness after all the years of blood rushing through her with no way of spilling out no matter how many wounds she could feel scarring her pale skin and the flimsy muscles beneath.

"How did you get it back?" Valtor's voice was still quiet as if to remind her she had to be strong for him, for both of them, after she'd broken down their union, their wholeness.

"I didn't," Griffin didn't let go of him even as the fire flared inside him to have his magic prickling on the surface of his skin like small white-hot thorns growing between them to poke holes in their flesh. Holding on was the only way to erase the illusion of the cold that Omega had pushed into his mind to appear like an ice block between them. Her heart had never been touched by frost trying to scrape his fingerprints off of it. "It never left." Her whole soul had ran temperature akin to a fever just to keep the memories of him snug and comfortable inside her in hopes he would come back to them one day. Come back to her.

Valtor wasn't moving, not even his chest budging to let the oxygen his flames needed through. Just his lips parting to leave space between them. "But you did."

"I was never trying to leave you." Griffin held her breath waiting to see if he'd take her truth from the hands that had caressed him one moment only to throw magic against him the next. It was all she had to offer and rejection would be like having her fingers cut off as no touch would ever reach her brain outside the soothing blue vastness of his eyes holding her like space held the stars. "I just wanted to leave the Coven, leave behind who it made me," she forced out more of the darkness that had separated them when the shine of her eyes hadn't been enough for her to see through it. Not with his flames under the command of someone else and not his own wishes.

"It made you my partner," Valtor tugged on the necklace for her to feel it digging into her throat like it was his refusal to listen to anything else she had to say but his other hand was still covering her heart as if to protect it from harm. And he hadn't put his mark on her to silence her free will either. He still had leftover faith in her choices, or at least some surviving respect for them that let her live as well. And their love was still alive in both their hearts as proven by the magic he hadn't taken away from her.

Griffin shook her head. "I was there to make magic with you," her powers didn't need more than the mention to run through her veins ready to heal the emptiness she'd left next to him if he'd let them, "and to have your back." Keeping him safe had always been her mission and she'd failed spectacularly when she'd gotten lost in the deception her own mind had pulled on her after all her time with the Coven and their way of operating. "I was there to love you," her heart thumped louder to hold her in the right place. "Mass murder and colossal destruction was what the Coven was forcing on me. And that was not who I was." There was still enough anger in her coming out not just through her magic but through that of her students' as well as she passed it down to them but the fact that they were the way to bring her down was proof enough of her words. And she'd been the way to bring him down to prove he wasn't the Coven's either.

"That was who you were with me. We were both that." Valtor threaded his fingers through hers as if to pull her back into the memories she was trying to rip herself out of to leave him with a bleeding brain once again. But it wasn't her who'd played mind games with him. He'd been raised in the darkness of those with nothing his fire could do against them until it had started obeying them and turning dark itself. It had lacked the light he needed to break through the illusions and see all the lives he'd spared when she'd been by his side to give him a better plan he could use, to give him a better view of himself.

"Remember what you told me? That comparing my eyes to suns wouldn't do them justice?" Griffin almost heaved a sigh of relief at the spark of recognition lighting up his gaze. Their history wasn't so easy to swallow and suffocate in darkness since their romance had bloomed in the late hours in his room in quiet words whispered in the night for it to be their witness and nourish them away from prying eyes. "Staying with the Coven would have extinguished them and that was not what you wanted. You wanted suns. Why are you trying to destroy them?" she clutched at his hand to hold him in the pools of gold, the substance her gaze was made of too rich for trickles of guilt to break through with their thinness. "If you didn't want their light, why were you comfortable sleeping with it and embracing it?"

Valtor held on. He released the gold of her monad he'd held prisoner now that he had that of her eyes to be his armor of protection and rested his hand on top of hers to press her palm harder into his heart. His magic was swift like a flash of lightning as it removed both their gloves only to leave her flooded by his warmth instead of frying her nerves like her escape in the middle of the night had done to her.

"You wanted the witch that I am, that I have always been." He'd leaned in her healing touch countless times just like he was doing now. "You wanted the light in me as much as I wanted your flames. I would have never let it blind you any more than you would have let your fire burn me. I would've never let it obliterate our darkness." There had been shadows dancing in the corners his flames hadn't quite reached into and there'd been pain spilling from her fingertips that she'd touched everyone else with to save him from it, and their demons had been twirling together in a love ritual among the murky waves rippling off of their beings. "But I couldn't have let it get snuffed out either." She'd heard too many people equate witches to monsters to have allowed herself to reinforce the mistake.

"I would've never sacrificed my flames for you either," Valtor said, the understanding licking at her from his icy gaze like fiery tongues along her flesh keeping all the cold of their past away. All of it. Even the icicle she'd pushed in his chest and had to melt with her own fingers.

"I should have never expected you to." She'd stroked his humanity and she'd loved the menace he had been. She'd held the spark he was in her hands and had stood amidst the wildfire he'd made for without a threat for her life, nor for her conscience. They'd simply been two forces of nature taking their toll in a hostile universe that hadn't wanted them. At least they could have been without anyone trying to force them into the moldings of weapons pointed at a target that wasn't their own. She should have pointed them in the right direction instead of pulling them apart just to leave them more lost.

Valtor leaned in now that she was right there in front of him and the only thing in his reach and his lips were pressing against hers the same way their hearts were being pressed in each other's palms. It was much better than the memories she'd kept cold in her head to preserve them. Better than she'd ever dared paint in her mind a reunion between them would feel when her heart had been running from the emptiness that imagining her soul piecing together bathed in his heat would leave once she had to face reality. But there was no fantasy here, no fairytale she could only read but never experience.

Their mouths were one and their tongues were together again, dancing to celebrate the return home. His teeth were in her lips, sinking in the vulnerable flesh to leave his presence all over it and make sure every moan that left her would dip into his closeness on its way out to flaunt it into the face of the universe the moment her voice made it real and tangible. He was breathing into her lungs again – love and fire, and darkness. His very essence. And hers.

Pulling away was yet another cruelty of reality and she was licking her lips to gather every last remnant of his taste on them and draw it inside her. After all these years of kisses feeling like she was cheating herself out of love, her stomach was about to rumble its protests against the denial she had to face as they parted and her heart was only in its place to stay under his palm. She was in the only place she'd ever belonged and his hot pants were scorching the memories of her wrongness off of her skin to leave her all his again. Like she should have always been.

Griffin barely managed a whisper through all the life he'd released inside her, "The universe be damned."

"What was that?" Valtor's eyes were on her and the blue was crystal clear as it waited for her answer to nestle into itself where his trust would keep it. And there was the fresh knowledge not to encourage his destructiveness with a lie.

"I have my everything back," Griffin pressed her forehead against his both to revel in the closeness he was allowing her once again and to seal the confession in their minds and their flesh. There was nothing that could erase his heat from her skin and the seventeen years of loneliness she'd doomed them both to had proven that. His flames were at home inside her and she was at home inside them. It was enough for her.

Valtor cupped her cheek in lieu of holding her gaze, his eyes closed in content as if there was no danger out there requiring his alertness. "Where do we go from this cell?"

"I remember you mentioning something about a castle among the stars," Griffin dug the words out from under all the thoughts her mind was throwing at her to bury her alive. But it couldn't when there were no corpses she was leaving behind, just her life. "I would really like to find that one. We can make our own universe there." There was no place for her in the one she was already in if she couldn't have him.

"Just the two of us?" Valtor looked at her, the ice of his gaze pressing into her gently to probe as if he was afraid too much of it could chill her to the bone and chase her away in search of sunlight even though she'd always liked the stars shining in the dark and the sparks of his fire flying around her mind like fireflies in a garden.

"If that will be enough for you," Griffin gave her answer since there was nothing to ask him. And there was nothing to ask herself.

She was leaving behind everyone else she cared about but she owed it to herself. She'd ran away from her happiness once and all the love she'd gotten despite that had convinced her to forgive the universe for the piece of her being it had taken away. Her friends and her students had been more than enough to convince her she was wanted and needed, that she was worthy of existing. They had given her everything she could have asked for in those seventeen years. But she'd never found someone to give all of herself to, not even Faragonda who had always accepted every last grain of darkness inside her and had held the broken pieces of her heart unafraid of cutting herself. Not when Faragonda couldn't make the same use of her light Valtor could.

"It will be everything," Valtor gave her the whole universe.

[whisperandroar]

Healing A Country: One Trauma Wound At a Time

What Today Meant

I didn’t realize how deeply rooted misogyny was engrained in me until today. I grew up being TOLD that women can be and do anything a man can and then was beaten and held down with actions that screamed the opposite. Actions that said “you can scream as loud as you want to but no one will hear you. You can fight like hell but you will never ACTUALLY be able to beat a man. A man will always overpower you. A man will always defeat you. You can try and speak but we will always interrupt. You can fight but we will always hold you down” - both literally and metaphorically.

A woman can be anything they want to be EXCEPT more powerful than a man.

I fought hard for my voice and for my self-esteem. I did years of work on myself to become who I am. I fought like to hell to speak and be heard. To not be scared of my own intellect. I had to work to feel worthy of being heard. That I, too, mattered. Then on my 26th birthday, a woman was defeated by the very man who, unapologetically, was the same man from my nightmares. The bad guy that grabs without asking and takes because he can and unabashedly shames and silences the “nasty” “bad” women who dare to say no. He won. Again. Just like he always does. Just like men like that always do. But still I fought hard to keep the footing I had rightfully earned. Continued to fight for my life, my sobriety, my voice, and my esteem. To remind myself that my integrity matters. To remind myself that if I keep doing the right thing and keep putting one foot in front of the other, my work will, one day, be rewarded. That if I fight hard enough, I can take back my body and my soul. Just because they won when I was six doesn’t mean they can win again now. I can live and love and thrive and be in spite of them. I can take control back. I can live a life so full and with equally unapologetic entitlement, that I may seize the beautiful that their darkness cannot touch.  

This last year, that voice I fought so hard for got weaker and weaker. I clung tightly to the voices of predominantly black women who seemed so strong and confident and inspired; a source of strength when my newly learned scream felt more like a whisper. Hope flirted often with hopelessness. I started to hesitate again. When a man without a mask entered a store, I often stayed quiet. Self-preservation overrides the right and moral thing. Because the message coming from the man in power was so familiar. So reminiscent of my childhood.

My very voice was an act of defiance punishable by threatened or real physical harm.

For the last year, the voices in my head have screamed “Their hate is louder than your heart. Justice will not come. Perhaps no matter how good you are, good cannot rise above. Perhaps the superheroes that failed to save you as a child failed because they dont exist. Goodness will always be outnumbered.”

Kamala Harris beat Trump. A woman is louder than a man. What she and Biden have done is SHOW me that women can be anything a man can. The words I heard but couldn’t see materialized. Here is a women that fights like hell. A woman who is loud, opinionated, and speaks with an audience who listens and no man can shut her up. No one beat her. No one silenced her or punished her. Instead, Biden chose her.  

Today the voices of millions told the ENTIRE country that hatred, racism, bigotry, misogyny, and vitriol is NOT the norm despite what the moron in office has made it seem. His behavior and the behavior of his supporters IS, in fact, unacceptable. You do not get to be openly hateful AND win. You do not get to plant harm and reap victory. You do not get to speak for the nation by silencing voices. This moment is the one I’ve waited for since I was a child. This tangible and real moment when goodness conquered evil. Superheroes are real and they walk amongst us and they always have. Hindsight shows me angels every step of the way. Thank you Stacy Abrams, Kamala Harris, RBG, and every other woman that suited up, showed up, and demonstrated unyielding grit and ferocity in the face of dangerous opposition. On this, my 30th birthday, you have given me the greatest gift of all: faith.

Van Jones said it best. “Character matters. Telling the truth matters. Being a good person matters.”

Thank you.

[blainesebastian]

35 + 38 + 42 -> brio :) Thank you so much for all your fics, they're amazing

35 “You make me feel safe” 38 “All I wanted was for you to be happy” 42 “You’re always on my mind”

Thank you for reading darling!!

No longer accepting prompts, got a backlog to fill :) thanks to everyone who sent something in! And especially to @medievalraven for her help talking through this idea with me.

--

All I want is for you to be happy –it’s not something Rio ever says to her but sometimes Beth wonders if he would, if those are words he’s capable of saying. They don’t communicate like that, through syllables, through dialogue that makes sense once it’s in the atmosphere.

Beth’s always been a talker, someone who’s been able to get through a lot just by saying the perfect string of words together—it’s gotten her through her parent’s rough patches, through school, through her disastrous marriage with Dean and through PTA meetings. It’s what’s gotten her through working with Rio, not so much with communicating with him, but through their patchwork deals and meetings with other undesirables.  

Rio seems to be the same way, a silver tongue that curls around language so intimately. His words burrow deep, under skin, double meaning behind simple phrases. It’s gotten him where he is today, it’s one of the reasons she wanted to work with him in the first place. Because there’s honesty in his words, which is why he’s so careful with what he says. He chews over things before he says them, he means it—he’s believable and it feels like tumbling through a dark rabbit hole to trust him.

Despite both of them being so similar in how they talk to other people, they don’t talk to eachother that way. Rio would never say certain things to her and she’s apprehensive over the words she uses with him.

They communicate mostly through touch, because that feels the most true. It’s easy to hide behind words but not as easy to hide emotions through physicality. When his fingers touch her skin, it’s like a language all their own. He doesn’t tell her everything, and vice versa, but they can feel the words like brail when his hands settle on her hips, when her fingers brush over the wings of his bird tattoo, when he yanks her out of harm’s way, when she smacks his chest for being ridiculous, when he kisses her temple, when she grabs his hand and his ring makes an indentation against one of her fingers.

It’s there—it’s tangible.

It’s not exactly what Beth wants or needs to hear but most of the time, that’s okay.

--

Sometimes, however, things are said that leave imprints on skin.

--

Rio pulls up one day in his sleek car, slipping through the streets of her neighborhood like a soundless black cat on the prowl. Beth sighs; can feel him without turning around as she stands in front of her open trunk. She likes having work to do, don’t get her wrong, but she hates the fact that he always turns up whenever he wants.

Unannounced, rain or shine, like some sort of demented postal service.

“Mornin’ Ms. Boland.”

She shakes her head and turns slightly, trying to motion to her groceries. “I’m busy.”

He shrugs his shoulder, “S’alright, I can wait. I’m patient.”

Beth snorts without meaning to, “No you’re not.”

Rio makes a face at her and puts his car into park, leaning back into his seat, as if he’s ready to prove his point. He’s really going to wait for her to carry her things in and put the groceries away? She feels like making a show out of it, taking her time, maybe even whipping up a recipe for dinner when all is said and done…but she doesn’t feel like trying his patience.

She looks up at the sky and lets out a long sigh, closing her trunk and trying to ignore his aggravatingly handsome grin as she makes her way to the passenger door.

“There’s really no one else you can annoy today?”

He hums, putting the car back into drive. “Nah, you’re always on my mind.” There’s a wall of silence that follows, settling over them like a blanket. It wraps in-between their bones and lives along their synapses; breathing in their veins.

Beth distantly realizes that he’s said something important but it doesn’t register until later.

Rio’s eyes are traveling over her face, slipping down her neck and onto her shirt; a quirk of a smile following as he grazes over the too bright, too floral pattern.

“Last thing I want to hear is another ‘partners’ talk in the middle of IKEA.”

She rolls her eyes, putting her seatbelt on as they begin to drive away from her house. “Oh, that was one time.” But nothing follows except a fond chuckle.

--

There’s a lot of blood that her fingers are slipping.

She’s only sewn him up once and it was in her living room, under a controlled environment, with plenty of gauze and disinfectant and bright lights. His wound wasn’t that deep; a bullet graze that he couldn’t do on his own. It needed two stiches, she did it under his supervision, it healed perfectly with little scarring.

She kisses it from time to time.

This is different.

They’re in his car, away from a warehouse but not in the best neighborhood. The windows are dark, the only illuminations are the streetlamps outside and the overhead light on the ceiling.

It’s not enough.

She debates turning her cell flashlight on but Rio makes a guttural noise that she doesn’t like, she’ll have nightmares about it.

“Fuck, just do it.”

“There’s no need to be bossy.” Beth snaps back, brushing her hair out of her face, getting blood on her skin. His blood. Tacky and warm.

She’s got the bullet out, its somewhere in-between Rio’s legs, she just needs to stich him up now. Beth wishes she could open the car door, give herself some space, but she needs to do this fast and the last thing she wants to do is draw attention to them.

God, she can’t do this, she can’t breathe.

Her hands are steady even though it feels like her entire body is shaking. She cleans the area and gets the needle ready. Beth can do this; she’s done it before. She suddenly pictures her kid’s Halloween costumes that she made from scratch like that’ll somehow help and Rio senses her hesitation because he grabs her hand.

He squeezes, gaining her attention.

Despite being shot, he doesn’t look that bad—annoyed about the inconvenience and clearly in pain but not trying to show it.

“I trust you,” He licks his lips. “Give me a badass scar, yeah?”

I trust you. Her breath catches in her throat and he lets go of her hand.

The words repeat against her eardrums and drown out every other sound as she gets to work.

--

Beth searches through Rio’s kitchen cabinets for chocolate and finds nothing resembling it. For someone who has a kid, who lives in this apartment when he’s not with his mother, she expected more sweets to be stashed about.

Nothing, nada.

She sighs, leaning her elbows against the counter and tapping her fingers against her cheekbones. Yeah, it’s ten at night and she should be going to bed instead of trying to find dessert when they’ve ate dinner hours ago but…can’t blame a girl for trying.

“You have no chocolate, seriously?”

Rio pads into the kitchen in a pair of grey joggers and black t-shirt, letting out a soft huff to let her know he’s heard her but not dignifying it with a real response. He doesn’t really eat sweets, she knows this, but still…

“Nothing?” She asks again, turning to look at him. He’s opening up the fridge to grab water, taking a long sip. Beth kinda hates how distracting it is, the muscles in his throat working before he puts the bottle back. “I’m not asking for much, I love chocolate, okay? I’m craving it in the worst way right now—”

And suddenly, Rio opens up the freezer and pulls out a small tub of chocolate ice cream. Wait, not just any chocolate ice cream; double fudge chips. He slides it over to her in a long gesture, putting a spoon on top.

“I know.” Is all he says; the simplest of two words. There’s the smallest smile on his face as he leans against the counter and watches her rip off the lid and dig into it…even when she nearly bends the spoon.

--

Beth cleans her gun, watches how Rio does it.

It’s calm and calculated and she had no idea that a gun could come apart in so many pieces. That so much of it would need cleaned. She sighs and rubs the back of her neck, biting her tongue on saying something like I don’t use this thing often enough to clean it but figures that will only cause some sort of backlash.

He’s always encouraging her to use her gun, even when she doesn’t want to. She’s fired it before, of course, but it’s never felt very necessary.

Her eyes wash over Rio’s face, his jawline, the stubble on his chin. She memorizes his bird tattoo, the lines there, the hollow of his throat, follows his sharp curves down to his hands holding onto his own gun.

She’s felt those hands before, on her, inside of her, pulling her close and pushing her away. Beth feels a little silly cleaning her gun, keeping it on her at all times, because…the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them:

“You make me feel safe.”

Rio goes still, pauses in a way where she wonders if he’s even breathing. His jaw clenches as he bites down on the inside of his cheek, putting his gun down, the metal clanking noisily against the tabletop.

“Don’t,” He says quickly, shaking his head at her. He holds her gaze for a long moment, until she realizes he’s serious, until his words burn into her skin like a brand, “One day I’m gonna get you killed,” Rio looks down at her gun and picks it up, presses it into her hands,

cold metal and warm skin.

“It's just not today.”

--

Beth yawns, stretching her arms over her head as she leans back into Rio’s couch. “Alright, that’s it. Last book is done.”

Rio sits up next to her, flipping through a file of paperwork, cars in her backlot that haven’t made it through their process of searching them yet. There’s still a few they need to work on and hash out clients for.

Right now, they’re just trying to make the books match the car inventory. The last thing she wants is another Turner situation where she’s hiding in the bathroom trying to get rid of evidence either in the ceiling or toilet.

“You sure? My eyes feel like they’re permanently crossed.”

She smiles a little and puts the book on top of some others in the corner, pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “Might improve your looks.” Her voice is warm and teasing despite how tired she feels and Rio picks up a pillow only to tap her side playfully.

“Bed?”

Beth nods, putting the pillow to the side as she stands up. “Bed.”

She makes her way over to his bedroom, moving to pull the sheets down. He presses up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as his hands squeeze her hips. His mouth comes down onto her neck, a shiver coursing down her spine as his stubble tickles her skin.

“Am I not going to get a thank you?” She pouts. “You could have easily done that on your own.”

Rio turns her in his grip, pressing her down into the mattress, blanketing her body with his. “I like havin’ you around.” She smiles, the words sinking into her pores and living there, warmly, before he kisses her.

It’s deep and intimate and his tongue slips between her lips, making her moan, his hands working their way up her shirt. Then, too suddenly, he’s gone—moving down her body.

Beth lets out a soft huff, clearly displeased that he’s disappearing, that his mouth is gone from her own. “Where are you going?”

He looks up at her through his eyelashes, “I’m thankin’ you.” and pulls the string of her joggers loose before sliding them onto the floor.

--

Words are like touch, but they don’t fade with time.

[rosiier]

                                        “ i wanted to be ruined a little                                         more than I wanted to be loved. “

cis male / he/his. ┊ if you’re looking for EVAN ROSIER, you’ll probably find HIM in the SLYTHERIN dorm with the rest of the SIXTH years. they’re the TWENTY year old PUREBLOOD who looks kind of like LORENZO ZURZOLO. they seem INTUITIVE, ENDURING, & UNDERSTATED to me, but apparently they’re also LISTLESS, REPRESSED, & MALLEABLE. maybe that’s why they remind me of the first bite of frost on un-gloved fingers; handwritten entries in heavy journals burned once the page is full; messy hair, from the rush of wind and bored fingers both; lush-dark forests calling you to their depths; the clenched-fist, broken-glass feeling that this can’t be all there is.  

WARNINGS:   self harm (wall punching), parental manipulation, parental death, war mention ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   evan’s stats page, pinterest board & playlist

evan was four years old and recently motherless when he decided, for the first time, that he didn’t like rules.

he was raised from a young age to believe in the power of his name, if nothing else. above all else. it was a poor belief system for a child, but he’d say he came out alright. not great; but then he’d long forged a private belief that people weren’t capable of being great, not really. sometimes he wondered if they were even all that capable of being good. the thing was, his father knew what was worth instilling, and some sense of self worth better served rosiers than purely good morality. 

but  ---  names. something small and tangible and stifling. not quite a set of rules, but not quite not. he’d decided at four that he hated rules, but names were just that little bit harder for him to escape.

evan’s father, sebastian, was not an altogether awful man. he was a politician, as rosiers often were. he was as known for his corruption as for his re-elections. his smile was so charming that people forgave the former and gifted him the latter. 

people came to sebastian for favors; he’d hear them out, pull a few strings. always at a price. he never asked for more than someone could give  ---  because he’d learned in his own childhood that there was more to be bargained for than money. trust, faith, loyalty  ---  those were far more powerful. people were often so grateful not to be asked to give their gold up that they didn’t realize the cost of dealing with sebastian rosier.

and why would they realize anything? more often than not, he saved his harshness for the closed-door happenings at the ministry. cruelty was better suited for passing laws that hurt people, or made it easier to hurt them; in speeches given on marble steps with a smile and fingers crossed behind his back. still. sebastian presented a good, if slightly crooked, face for the rosier name. he tried to make sure his son could do the same.

but evan didn’t like rules. society and politics were nothing but rules and he was still a child but he was certain he could never do well under their thumb. it was fine. evan had always been able to tell that his father wasn’t the type of man cut out to be a father. his harshness seldom bled out onto his son; he thought that family bonds were sacred, even if he didn’t know what to do with them in practice. they never talked enough, never deeply enough, for evan to reveal that he knew he’d never fit into the rosier political legacy. 

evan was a solitary kid by circumstance if not choice, raised by a string of tutors and house elves until his dad came home each evenings in time for stilted dinner conversations. it was a fine enough existence for two rosier men missing the dead woman who should’ve sat at the table, too. 

they didn’t talk about evan’s mother, but that was fine. the two didn’t talk about a lot of things.

sebastian remarried  ---  another young, pretty pureblood with a dead spouse. the two of them had kids all their own, and while evan was never his father’s best friend, he never felt like an outsider in their family.

not being beloved didn’t mean much when evan knew that no matter what, he’d always be his father’s pride and joy. he expected evan to be a good man  ---  by a definition of good that meant being a good rosier. it was a rule, but it’s what passed for love to evan, so he accepted just the one.

it took years for sebastian rosier to note evan’s shortcomings. he loved his son, really. he boasted so often about how great he was that he was blind to the fact that evan was not, in fact, great.

evan didn’t like rules and the prospect of being a good rosier sure felt like it came with a book full of ‘em. but what could he possibly do about that? it was one thing to break free from the order of the day to go running around outside, escape his tutors and steal a broom from where his father kept them hidden. it would be another entirely to buck out from under his father’s wishes; evan wasn’t willful enough for that. he knew he’d never be a politician, but he’d be something else his father approved of. it only made sense. 

evan had nothing against his father. nothing tangible. 

but he’d always wonder if the things wrong in his wiring were to blame on those years of his life with just his father around. maybe if his father had been the kind of man who could be a father, evan would be capable of being a half decent person. his half siblings and his step-mother all seem better at being people than he is; at the cost of being poorer rosiers, sure. 

they do seem happier for it. for the most part, evan would guess he’s fine with the way his life turned out. he lets his hands be bloodied, if they’re not good for much else.  

( he thinks they’re good for plenty more, of course, but it’s an unspoken rule of being evan rosier, that he needs to keep thoughts like that to himself; for someone who hated rules, evan set so many for himself. )

his father was a politician, and politicians had rules. they couldn’t appear too hot-headed, too rash or emotional. every move evan’s father made felt calculated. hell, it was calculated. even the automatic love he gave to evan feels like a choice he’d come to one day in the office that evan was barred from entering.

but evan was a young man. young men could do things that seemed cruel and illogical and if they did them with enough charm, the world would forgive them. evan wondered when his father noticed that despite all the things that evan lacked, he had charm in spades. he wondered when his father stopped looking at him like a total failure and started to see his usefulness.

evan had, of course, had no say in when he was born. wit the gift of hindsight, though, even thinks he might not have chosen late august. 

there was a scant week between his sixteenth birthday and the start of the new school year; evan hadn’t thought to prepare for any earth-shattering changes to his life, in that time. it had always been the blandest stretch of the summer. nothing ever happened during the week he spent waiting between one thing and another. but a day after his birthday, evan was called in to his father’s study and given a task to do for sebastian. see, he’d said, there’s a favor we need to call in. 

there was only a week until school started, but it became a routine after the first time. evan called in two more favors for his father before he boarded the hogwarts express. suddenly evan saw the path his life was winding down; whenever his father had something harsh he needed done, he’d call upon evan to do it. no one would ever really call evan bright, but he knew without needing to ask that those three missions were only the first taste of the rest of his life. 

he wondered why his father chose sixteen; if there was a reason he didn’t wait until evan’s seventeenth birthday, when he’d be of age. maybe he just knew evan had no interest in that part of sebastian’s world; maybe he thought he’d given evan a year to give into it all, before he was an adult who could refuse. of course he thought evan would give into it, eventually. wasn’t that why purebloods had sons? so they could fall in line and do the work their fathers wouldn’t anymore?  

evan knew his father didn’t think of him as smart. perhaps sebastian thought evan didn’t know the reasoning for all the errands his father sent him on. evan knew a lot of people didn’t think he was smart  ---  and his farther hardly knew him better than those strangers. it was just that he didn’t care enough about school or order to come across like someone who knew to play the game.

( be any way you want, but seem perfect. )

but evan noticed things, he’d always noticed them. made note of ‘em and did nothing with the knowledge. nothing, except keep it packed up and hidden in the back of his head. he made note when he was sixteen: that very first time his father asked him to visit someone he’d helped along, and inform them it was time to make good on the debt they owed the rosiers. 

evan worked off the script his father had given him  ---  after all, the man didn’t think him capable of much improvisation, and evan didn’t care to challenge that expectation.

he did exactly what his father asked. and then he went home and punched his fist through a wall so hard, had bruises for so long, he didn’t notice when they faded.

a friend asked him, on the train, if he wanted them to heal his hand for him. evan turned down the offer, and every subsequent offer for every subsequent time he needed to let the pain blossom on his knuckles as penance for acting as a trained dog. 

it was a routine. his father asked things of evan every time he came home. when he did, he didn’t so much want evan doing them as he wanted the rosier heir to do them. but evan would  ---  because there were some rules you couldn’t break. this was a new rule of being a rosier. and when he was finished, he’d come home and find something he could break instead of the rule, and that’d be that.

it was easy to live a life by his father’s careful scripts while cheerfully shattering every other script around him. not caring about other people, about classes, about the future he as a rosier would one day be forced into  ...  it was easy. it was necessary. evan didn’t like rules and life was full of them, unless you knew which ones to follow and which to throw by the wayside. he was four when he decided to hate them and sixteen when he realized that hate could never fully manifest the way he wanted. sixteen, when he realized for all his hate he’d always follow his rules.

he wasn’t a rebel, not really. people looked at him with his tousled hair and devil-may-care grin and thought they knew he wanted to be one. they didn’t know a damn thing.

evan rosier knew rules, but sebastian rosier knew people; he had evan go and talk for him because he knew that deep down none of them would begrudge evan. he was painfully young, with a stubborn set to his mouth and eyes that turned wild on a dime, and, yes, enough charm to shake the clouds off the moon. evan’s natural carelessness, paired with the careful lines his father fed him, made him perfect at getting away with whatever sebastian wanted.

evan made note of that, too. did nothing with the knowledge for now.  

if anyone ever decided to ask evan a personal, deeply soppy question, he would say: quidditch was, perhaps, the only thing he loved. there was something about the caress of harsh winds on his cheek and the complete insanity of ground obscured by fog and distance. there were rules in quidditch, yes, but rules evan knew how and when and why to break. that was the only important thing about rules now  ---  knowing the ways around them. and aside from all that  ( the stupid love and stupid freedom )  he was good at it. he made captain and could have crowed with pride.

instead of crowing or whooping or grinning too wide where someone might see, god forbid  ---  he poured all that brash emotion onto a roll of parchment. and then he burned it; tucked a corner against the merry common room fire and let his excitement burn to ash. then he wrote his father a very measured letter detailing the accomplishment in clean words. he awaited his father’s response, which contained rote congratulations just as scrubbed as evan’s were. 

writing the things he knew not to say out loud became a routine, then, as much as noticing things had always been one. hell, he wrote the things he noticed too, onto the pages of a notebook in dizzy, cramped handwriting. evan was under no illusions that he was good at writing; and he’d never let anyone read his words enough to comment on his prose one way or the other. the quality didn’t matter. it was necessary. it was a practice he’d started years ago but he could never keep track of how many journals he’d filled since.

every single journal, once written up to the last inch of paper, was burned. evan hated rules, but he’d made this one for himself, for his own good: leave no trace. and so he followed it to the letter every time.

evan’s father didn’t ask too much of him. mostly evan figured this was because sebastian thought he knew his son’s limits and didn’t want to become disappointed by exceeding them.

this was fine. every few months evan would be called home during holidays or written to with instructions on passages out of the castle, a location printed on the page in his father’s neat hand with directions on what to say and what to get out of the interactions. aside from that, the rosier patriarch did nothing to corral his wild heir, not yet. evan’s wildness still had use.

evan would never call his actions self-destructive, because he too knew his own limitations. of course, evan felt he actually knew them, while his father just assumed shortcomings and planned accordingly. not that evan much cared what sebastian assumed anymore  ---  his father used him as a tool. it was hard to expect more of the man after that.   

but evan knew his actions couldn’t destroy him; they were just outlandish, and reckless, and carried an undercurrent of anger he tried his hardest to only put onto the pitch. he knew nothing could get to him enough to destroy him now, not really. it wasn’t a childish feeling of immortality. things could hurt him, things could kill him, but nothing could break him and he carried himself accordingly. 

he didn’t think of himself as charismatic, but he knew he knew how to command a room.

he didn’t think of himself as smart, but he knew he had a gift for puzzling things over until he figured them out.

he didn’t think of himself as a liability, but he knew he was a few bad choices away from his father turning to the children he’d had with his second wife. 

that’s what kept him on his father’s leash, at the end of the day. evan liked his step-mother and cared for his half-siblings. he knew, deep down in his cold little heart, that they were all far better people than he was and he didn’t want his father’s machinations to touch them quite like they’d touched evan. 

he knew he could handle it. and he knew that they could not. it was a sacrifice that was only too easy for him to make. 

he was only a sixth year, but he had letters arriving to him all the time now from professional quidditch teams. evan had a habit of burning up papers that mean anything to him, but he kept these un-scorched, tucked in a safe place in his trunk. it felt like a hard-earned validation, that people were interested in him for something that he actually cared about, and tried for. he tried to imagine telling his father he was going to become a professional quidditch player and almost laughed out loud. 

technically, evan has never played by the rules. not all the rules, not once in his life. and somehow living that way has given him the chance to have everything he could have dreamed of when he was four and motherless and decided rules were bullshit. 

it doesn’t taste like he might have hoped it would, but evan knows it’s real. 

he’s got his father’s conditional approval and a real chance at his dream job, a nice smile people like even when he knows they shouldn’t.

but there’s got to be more, right? there’s a war coming up. evan didn’t think his father would ask him to fight in it  ( evan has always been his tool, not some causes’ )  but it was impossible to ignore its presence. and it was even more impossible to ignore the people who were beginning to rise up to counter the war and what it meant.

there’s probably some sort of wartime protocol even evan should abide by, even now, still at hogwarts and pretending war doesn’t mean a thing to him. 

but at this point he doesn’t know how. too much is on his mind and it clouds over all the things he should care for. there’s likely rules for winning and rules for losing and evan just cannot, will not, bring himself to care about them. come what may, he is determined that nothing in his life will change unless he wills it to.

[umbillicalnoose]

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

[lubdubsworld]

A change of Heart.( Taehyungx OC)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Three days later, I was dragging myself back to my room , early in the morning. it had been a hectic few days but there had been a breakthrough the previous day and some of the doctors had managed to isolate the particular strain of virus that seemed resistant to attack the particular gene related to lycanthropy. A virus that spared humans and targeted werewolves was unheard of and almost all werewolf extremist groups were gearing up in protest, claiming that the government had engineered the virus as some sort of twisted biological warfare weapon. 

I didn’t want to think too much about the details of it. 

I was more worried about the three young pups, struggling to breath in the NICU. They’d caught the virus from their mothers who were also deathly ill.

My room was located off campus, down a narrow pathway and a few yard into the surrounding woods. it was a cabin of sorts, with a built in bath and kitchen and a spacious living/dining/bedroom space. it was still dark outside, as i trudged wearily across the damp foliage, my shoes squishing into the wet earth and leaving muddy streaks on the white surface. 

“What were doing out this late?” Taehyung’s voice caught me off guard and i felt my heart leap into my throat in surprise.

“Oh, Christ...” i whispered, clutching my bag tightly as i tried to push down on the panic. Taehyung looked unimpressed as he stared at me. 

“well?” He demanded, when i ignored him and moved to open the door to my cabin.

I sighed, exhausted. 

“Can i help you?” i said wearily.

He stared at me for a second.

“I have a proposition for you.” He said , voice a little stilted , teeth worrying his lips as he stared at his shoes. If I didn’t know for a fact that this man was richer than 90% of the people in my country and pretty much the definition of powerful, i would almost think he was nervous.

I didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue.

“My daughter....she...” He sighed.” She’s taken a real shine to you. She refuses to stay with any of her usual babysitters and insists that unless I invite you over for dinner, she will not in anyway listen to me.” 

He looked like the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

I stared at him.

“And?” i prompted.

He glanced at the cabin.

“I told you to quit your job. Why are you still here?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

“Oh wow. it’s almost as if you don’t have any say in what i do with my life, Mr. Kim...isn’t that shocking?” i smiled brightly, already turning around to open the door.

i yelped when his hand shot out, gripping my wrist hard. I whimpered and his hold loosened, but he didn’t let go .

“Nobody wants you here, Mirae ssi...” He gritted out. “ You and your kind are the reason we’ve been subjugated and oppressed for centuries, and I’ll be damned if I let you people infiltrate the once place that is supposed to be a safe haven for wolves everywhere....” 

His eyes flashed red, lips twisted with burning anger and I tried to pull my hand out of his grip. 

“And yet....you want me to have dinner with your baby daughter...” i snapped and his eyes narrowed.

“She’s a child. She doesn’t know any better. And i don’t want you to have dinner with her... i want you to come over and tell her that you’re never coming back here because you don’t fucking belong here in the first place....” He snarled.

i shook my head.

“i’ve done nothing to harm your species. I’m only trying to help...i know your anger is justified but you’re taking it out on the wrong person...”

I yelped when he let me go, but only to step  in closer, both hands closing around my arms and pushing me up against the side of the building. i flinched, when the old wood pressed against my skin, the harsh rub of splinters evident through my thin blouse. 

He was taller than me by almost a foot and I turned away, heart pounding as he ducked his head, nudging my cheeks a little.

“Am I? “ He whispered softly.” You’re not welcome here and yet, you can’t seem to want to leave. So what’s the catch? Did some rough old wolf catch your fancy....You wanna find out what its like to fuck an animal, sweetheart?” He huffed out a breath that was sickly sweet and warm against my neck.

 “What are you-?” I flinched when he growled and pressed in closer, this time his body pushing me into the wall. 

“I know that most of you women think that fucking a werewolf is the ultimate fantasy. A forbidden fruit. A sick little fetish. Isn’t that what we are to you?” He drawled and despite the almost seductive tenor of his tone i could hear the undercurrent of fury behind it.

“You’re being unfai-” I stopped breathing as he snarled , teeth closing over my throat , just shy of actually sinking in. i shut my eyes , my fingers clenching into fists as i willed myself not to burst into tears. I’d never been more terrified in my life.

“Am I? I’ve lived in this preserve all my life , Yoon Mi Rae ssi... Not one wolf has propositioned to me or behaved in an unseemly way  but every time i visit your mainland..” He made a noise of disgust.” Your women throw themselves at me like flies.” 

i’m not one of them!!, i thought miserably.

 “Let me go.” I shuddered out, voice barely a whisper and he chuckled, pulling away a bit. I stayed still as he stepped back fully, moving away and staring at me.

“Quit the job and get off the island. This isn’t the place for you. ” He said sharply. 

“Tell your daughter i said hi. And that I’m glad she’s nothing like her rude , obnoxious father!!! ” i snapped, because apparently, i was suicidal. 

Taehyung stopped to throw me a glare before turning on his heel and stalking away. i watched him disappear into the night before slowly sinking to the forest floor.

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

“.... do you think that humans in the preserve are in some way contributing to the deterioration of the community?” 

Taehyung took a deep breath.

“i think, every community needs to reach within itself and build and find its own stability. Wolves have been suppressed and denied opportunities for centuries. Most of the time, the excuse is that we aren’t meant to mingle with humans because of our dangerous attributes. By that logic, there’s really no reason why there should be humans employed at the preserve. But mostly, I think there are several qualified wolves who could take up the three posts currently held by himans at the research center alone. If you don’t want us in your space, you need to at least let us take control of our own....”

The interviewer nodded, making notes. “understandable. What about the current strain of influenza going around... It seems to be targeting lycanthropes in particular. “

Taehyung nodded.

“it’s quite unfortunate. Most of the affected cases are young pups. Humans themselves act as carriers without displaying any symptoms, so there’s another reason, humans ought to be kept away from the preserve. At least till this whole thing is resolved....”

“There’s talk about this strain of flu being man-made...” The interviewer said softly.

Taehyung shrugged.

“i don’t have any proof for such claims” He said quickly but next to him Seo Joon piped up. 

“ Well,  if certain factions of the human race did decide to develop some deadly viral strain as some kind of biological weapon against my people....well....it wouldn't be the first time would it?”

  The crowd went into a frenzy, muttering excitedly and Tahyung flinched. He didn’t want people to start attacking each other. Seo Joon wasn’t a pacifist like him. The dude wanted a full fledged war. Taehyung wanted no part of his aggressive attack. 

He stayed quiet for the rest of the interview while Seo joon rallied about how humans were responsible for the deterioration of the preserve. 

When the program ended and he began to leave the studio, he found Jimin waiting for him near the door.

“That was a bad idea.” His friend said quietly. 

Taehyung sighed. 

“Seo Joon is one the most respected men out there. i can’t antagonize him. At least till i win....”

“There are violent factions everywhere Tae... do you really want to fuel a full out war between us and the humans?”  

Taehyung brushed aside his concerns.

“i just want them out of the preserve. And most of them have left. There’s still just a few foolish stragglers. In a way i hope this motivates them to leave. ” 

His mind flashed back to her..

To those, wild brown eyes, whiskey deep and scared, her fear so tangible and real that it had appealed to ever base instinct in him. the wolf in him had preened at the idea of being feared....

And the way  her silky smooth hair looked as it flowed over shoulders, the pale, fragile perfection of her body, the smooth unblemished skin that had felt like silk under his lips. How tempting it had been, pressing her up against that wall, that insatiable urge to just sink his teeth in and bite and turn and claim....

He shook his head to clear that thought. He wasn’t attracted to her as a person. it was just the way she seemed to carry herself, like the perfect prey....

“i still think that idiot  should have worded that better.” Jimin shook his head.

Taehyung shrugged.  He didn’t want to talk about Seo Joon. 

“Let’s go get something to eat. Drinks on me.” He smiled, slinging a hand over his friend’s shoulder.

Jimin sighed but acquiesced, letting him lead him to the glittering black Bugatti near the parking lot.

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

It was a little past one in the morning when Taehyung finally reached the pier, ready to take his personal boat to the island when he noticed the commotion near the loading dock. 

He felt his eyes widen, when he saw a couple of humans, looking frazzled and upset as they climbed out of the ferry.

“what’s going on?” He asked his skipper urgently and the man looked up from where he was lifting the anchor.

“There’s been some sort of riot on the island, sir. some of the wolves got together and tried to attack the humans in the research center.” He said casually.

Taehyung felt his heart leap into his throat.

“What?” He croaked. 

“Yeah, they got all of them off i think. The wolves are nearly feral with anger out there. Something about the research people being the reason the kids were sick in the first place...that they were the ones who brought them to the preserve in the first place...”

Oh fuck.

Oh  fuck.

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

She wasn’t there.

 Taehyung went through the two halls where all the humans from the preserve were sitting. once. Twice. And then again. 

 They were all wet and shivering, clutching their meager possessions and looking lost but he couldn’t focus on any of them. He tried to catch her scent, that soft buttery smell of cinnamon and lavender... but it wasn’t there. 

She wasn’t there. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to bring himself to think. 

Seo Joon. He had to call Seo joon.

“Hello...” Seo Joon sounded groggy. 

“Mirae’s still on the island.” He choked out.

Seo Joon groaned.

“Who?” He croaked.

“Yoon Mi Rae....that  tech from the research center.” 

Seo joon scoffed.

“That little lab rat? Didn’t she get on the ferry that was carting all the rest of the vermin back to the mainland?” Seo Joon sounded bored.

“She isn’t here, Seo joon..this is your fault. You shouldn’t have talked that shit on  TV..... you need to go find her and make sure she’s safe...I’m coming over...” Taehyung snapped. 

Seo Joon made a noise of impatience.

“I’m sleeping Tae. And besides, if she stayed behind, she’s probably been ripped to shreds by now. Serves the little bitch right.” 

Taehyung felt the blood freeze in his veins. 

“Seo joon, we can’t let a human get hurt under our watch.” He said shakily. 

“Really? why the fuck not... it isn’t like they have any qualms about hurting our kind. its her own damn fault, coming here and acting like she’s fucking mother Teresa...I hope they fucking ravaged her. Should be a nice message to any other fool that wants to come traipsing into our land..” 

Taehyung realized he couldn’t speak sense to the man. He hung up quickly, calling for him chuffeur. There was not enough time to take the boat... 

“Lee?” He said sharply. “ I’m gonna need the chopper.” 

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

He found her in her cabin, tied up and tossed in a corner while some of the betas shifted around the entrance. They had been growling and gnashing their teeth when he had arrived but some kind of restraint had kept them from actually killing her. 

But they hadn’t left her unscathed.

 Taehyung tried not to let his claws pop, his eyes taking in the way she looked.

Her clothes were torn off and she had clearly been sleeping when they’d broken into the cabin , dressed as she was in a tattered white t shirt , plain white panties and mismatched socks. Her jaw was bruised, a trickle of blood dried down her chin. Her left eyes was swollen shut and her breathing was ragged and came in short, painful little rasps and it clearly hurt her which meant that she definitely had a few broken ribs. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

“This wasn’t right.” He said sharply and the betas cowered. 

“She’s the reason the pups are sick...” one of the men said and the others mumbled their assent. 

“Where is the proof?” Taehyung snapped.” We do not mete out punishments when there is no proof. We’re better than that.” 

The betas shifted guiltily and the stench of wolfsbane made him sigh. They were mostly drunk.

“Get out of here. The whole lot of you and get ready to get carted off to prison tomorrow when she presses charges.”

He watched them leave, waiting for the last wolf to leave before turning to her. 

She was staring at him with her one good eye. 

“You gonna...” She began and then stopped, shutting her eyes in pain. “ tell me you told me so...” 

She was clearly in agony, the putrid stench of her pain filled the room and Taehyung couldn’t breathe.

“you need to get to the hospital.” He muttered, frozen in place. She sighed.

“Can’t... Don’t want anyone...to know.” 

He stared at her.

“Mi rae...”

“itll make things worse....for your kind.... “ She rasped out. “ Won’t press charges...”

He couldn’t believe her.

“You’re willing to not press charges...?” He said slowly.

She sighed and nodded a little.

“Please help me.”She said softly and his heart lurched.

He moved quickly, crouching next to her and popping his claw to cut through the ropes binding her. She fell into his chest at once, crying out in pain when he gripped her arms to steady her. 

“It’s okay... I got you...” He said softly, loosening his hold and cradling her in his arms. She blinked at him.

“i don’t have anyone.” She said suddenly.

“What?”

“Family. i don’t have anyone.... You need... You need to let me stay with you. Till i get better...Can’t let anyone know....what happened....” She whispered.

He was nodding before the words even registered. Staring into her eyes, he felt like he could have agreed to any damn thing she’d ask him. 

She nodded and then closed her eyes.

“i’m gonna sleep now.” She said weakly. 

And then went limp in his arms. 

Fuck.

 Fuck.