#outsourcing word processing

[dataentryinc]

From Novice To Pro: Getting Started With Word Processing Services In 2024

All your Word documents go through word processing to give the best results possible. Today, creating and managing Word documents that can be used flexibly in terms of compatibility and processing has become crucial. And the advent of tech brings you numerous tools to do the same in no time. 

However, you need to know the insights of how things work on a deeper scale to ensure you can avail all the benefits of word processing before moving forward. And this is where outsourcing word processing services will guide you to impeccable results. If you are dealing with a large volume of word documents on a daily basis in your organization then you need to utilize the best of tools to make your word processing efficient.

Journey of Getting Pro with Word Processing Services

In recent times, multiple tools are available to perform the same task and you need to find out what suits best for your business operations. Here are some of the common word processing tools to choose from:

Microsoft Word: The simplest yet best user-friendly application for any of your word processing needs. You can avail of the Office 365 subscription packages for over-the-top solutions.

Google Docs: This collaborative document helps you maintain data across multiple platforms and connect in real-time with people across the globe along with unlimited cloud storage.

Apple Pages: This is useful if you are working with a Mac OS or iOS and need to manage and integrate data across other Apple products.

LibreOffice Writer: You can try this latest writing companion that works well with Microsoft documents and offers an open-source solution to many features 

Getting Started with Basics:

To start, you can avail the basic word processing solutions that work on the simplest tasks involving word documents. This includes creating and managing word formats, formatting the text and titles, and such elementary tasks. Depending on the type of document you have, the services help you to maintain your piles of Word documents and ensure all of them have the same layout that makes it easy to analyze the data within. 

Along with the textual editing, you can get the elements managed with word processing services. Images, tables, shapes, and charts make your data visually understandable and easier to interpret the long columns of text. This and the hyper linking across pages can be organized better with the perfect solutions offered to you. Ask the experts to know that even such tedious tasks require skilled hands for error-free outcomes. 

Move on to the Next Level

If you already have all your data in the proper format, the next challenge is to style it for its purpose. Your data serves you in multiple manners and each of those needs to be managed differently. It is the data processing experts who know how to manage each category of data distinctly and still keep them handy whenever required. You can alter the solutions in a way that caters to your particular needs without adding any extra hassle to the primary work routine.

Outsourcing word processing services offer you templates and styling options that convert your simple data into something easily readable while you are using a jumbled mess of data. While sharing data across many servers, it is important to track the changes and minimize errors or redundancy in data that can create confusion later. Real-time collaboration is a benefit of word processing only if used carefully for longer terms. Complex formatting tasks can also be handled well if you get a professional team of word processors who know their way around the simple yet puzzling operations.  

Become a Pro with Expert Level Solutions

Word documents give superior-level features in the simplest forms for the user to understand how to control the data flow. Microsoft Word offers you an automotive alternative to run and record repetitive tasks for huge data stacks. LibreOffice Writer is one such spin-off to ensure ease of data compatibility and managing Macros for advanced scales.

Mail merge is another feature of word processing, which helps you manage your personalized mailing and labelling. Word gives you numerous functionalities to manage your resumes, PDFs, books, records, etc. and all you have to do is gain expertise in making complete use of them all. Get the assistance of advanced design aspects for complex graphics with the help of a dedicated team that helps boost the performance of your core resources.

The Perfect Blend of Technology and Expertise

With the correct ingredients at hand, you are sure to make up the best-in-class outcomes for all your varied data. Word processing solutions from a steadfast outsourcing partner will get you answers to your data management issues. You will be able to glide through your records of text and images and extract the correct data as and when required. All these can be achieved by just trusting a reliable team of data experts who understand your needs and deliver exactly what you are looking for.

It is time for you to take advantage of what 2024 offers you to better handle the piles of data coming your way. This generation of tech and tools helps you ease off much of your workload while keeping your core team on the edge of the competition. Get the word processing services today to see how data management becomes trouble-free.

Source Link: https://latestbpoblog.blogspot.com/2024/07/from-novice-to-pro-getting-started-with-word-processing-services-in-2024.html

[uniquesdata]

Things to Consider While Outsourcing Word Processing Services

Documents are crucial to any business and hence demand proper formatting and easy management of bulk data. Word processing services enhance the quality and organize the document with appropriate layout and alignment. Consider outsourcing while considering a few key points to choose the best partner.

[edatamine]

Optimizing Business Documents with Word Processing Services

Business documents are crucial as they contain important information and content which is vital to enhance the look before sending it out. Understand how word processing services enhance quality and create lasting impressions.

[steddie-island]

Work today has mainly been redoing trainings for our new team members. The training their peeps put together are 25 pages long. We’re 4 hours into redoing this thing and are on page 8.

I finally chatted their leadership to say “ayyy it’s gonna be less work for us to just scrap it and start from where we’ve worked up to so far.” Like I’m so sorry they put all of this work in and it was literally for nothing. But their training is. Real bad. 😭😬

[shifteruncensored]

how to shift explained by karma

(since people keep requesting this + sorry for the wait)

also before i start, keep in mind this is just how i perceive how to shift. you may be different which is why i recommend outsourcing & forming your own biases as well as formulating your own personal approach that aligns with your preferences.

this is my take. i'm not saying this is the one true way™ or whatever…….. and if something else works for you?? AMAZING pls do that. maybe it helps. maybe it's just another way to look at it. idk. just take whatever resonates and leave the rest.

ok now continue reading ↓↓↓

okay so like… it's not about like. "doing" something the right way. it's not about the technique or the script or laying a certain way or counting to 100 or whateverrrrr. like those things are cool but that's not what gets you there.

what makes i think makes it work is ….becoming aware. i know. you want to slap me rn. but stay with me. straying away the idea that you’re “trying” to shift !!!!!!!!!!

shifting is literally just becoming aware of another reality right? and how do you become aware of something? you stop looking at what isn't there.

it’s literally detaching from your current reality and attaching to your desired one. like. THAT’S IT.. that’s what every method is trying to help you do. it’s like changing the dial on a radio…..you’re not “running” somewhere, you’re tuning into what’s already there.

and yeah okay. that sounds simple. so like why is it so HARD??

i think this is bcs shifting is suuuper personal. like REALLY personal. it's related to so many aspects of you, what you feel at ease with, what your hopes and fears are… it's like a fingerprint. no one else can do it all for you or paste it onto you.

what that means is some ppl might need approach it differently, some might need to confront internal wounds / fears first, you get the gist.

that's why there isn't a "one size fits all" method or key for the lack of a better word. it's an internal process. tools (scripts, visualizations, affs) are there to help you align w/ the reality you want to experience.

so why the fuck is it so difficult to let go? bcs your whole life you’ve been taught to trust only what you see. what is acceptable in society. even when you wanna leave, the conditioned part of your brain brain freaks out like “wait, what if it’s not safe? what if i’m crazy?” and boom your focus is here.

instead allow yourself to become aware of the reality you desire. not just daydream of it. but feel you are there. what would you think about, care about, or feel? people tackle this aspect in many ways. through visualization. affs. but the core remains the same. you immerse yourself in that reality internally.

it's not about seeing it. it's about deciding.

you can do this at any time (awake, falling asleep, whatever) a huge known way to trick your brain into detaching is releasing focus of this reality, this body, this version of self. that’s also why people always are pushing for the void state method or shifting when drowsy. it’s easier to detach that way.

detach from cr: stop clinging to this reality like it's the sole truth. release thoughts that ground you here. that is what meditation, counting, & deep breathing usually do. quiet the internal noise.

attach to dr: shift your attention into where you want to become aware of. feel it. think it. that's what affirmations, and visualization do for you….they let you immerse yourself there before you "see" it.

ok that’s how i view it. keep in mind i’m not a guru or something. i just got this request many times.

[ayeforscotland]

Keir Starmer says “Read my lips: I will cut immigration.”

Let me be absolutely clear here, cutting immigration is the wrong thing to do. It is fuelled by racism, and dressed up in economic language to pretend otherwise.

The UK has an aging population and declining birth rate. If we struggle to attract foreign workers, this will impact our economy and public services. A good example of this is the NHS.

‘Bad bosses’ are not hiring internationally before they’ve exhausted every option here. It’s easy to think of a large corporate doing that but even then it’s more likely they’d outsource a whole department in its entirety to another foreign company.

Also your dad’s marketing start-up or your mum’s construction company is not going through the lengthy process of hiring people who don’t already live here.

This also contradicts the UK’s push to have as many foreign students (paying as many tuition fees) as possible. These students have lives here, and should be able to work as they choose post-graduation.

This policy is aimed at those who read the word ‘immigration’ and pop a blood vessel, and it speaks wonders to how Labour thinks about the economy - no different than the Conservative Party.

[beneathsilverstars]

Was explaining my thoughts about Vaugardian attitudes towards mental health and therapy as part of a different topic, but it got really long so dfjkghdf here it is as a whole post! Starting with some more general worldbuilsing but hold on, we’ll get there.

Since Houses canonically contain libraries and infirmaries and provide things like education and transition care, I see them as a center of not just community but specifically community resources. If you have a problem or a question, you go to the local House, and if they can't solve it themself they'll point you in the direction of whoever can! Thus Housemaidens generally fill a role similar to social workers, and specific Housemaidens will have specialties like being a doctor, cook, teacher of a particular subject, etc. In larger cities, a lot of the more specific or labor-intensive resources would probably be outsourced to other charities/companies/organizations, or perhaps split into specialties by House, to better serve a dense population instead of trying to cram every resource into every neighborhood's House. But you would still go to any House first to find these other resources, so every House would maintain a focus on educating and advising. Combine this with the fact that religious leaders are often one of the first people that followers go to for personal guidance, and it makes sense that Housemaidens would provide all sorts of counseling, filling the role of everything from job coach to therapist.

If Housemaidens are the people providing all or at least most of the therapy in the country, then even if they're not trying to push religious doctrine, the Change belief is still going to be the source of the values and philosophies that their therapeutic models are based in. They can try to be nonpartisan and avoid mentioning Change in so many words, but it'll still be baked into the default assumptions of the local modalities in a self-perpetuating manner. If you want an entirely different approach, you're probably going to have find someone who specifically studied alternate modalities from other countries, any of which would have a much smaller market share than Change-based therapies.

So! Vaugardian therapy will focus on questions like "What Changes have been happening in your life lately, and how do you feel about them?" "What would you like to Change in your life?" "What can you Change about your thought processes and habits to address the things that trouble you?" and "Who do you want to be?" Which sound like just a particular way to word fairly common topics, but! These questions would be asked in pursuit of Change-y goals, as well.

The goal of irl mental healthcare as an industry is to make sure people can be productive. A common diagnostic question is "does this symptom interfere with your ability to work and otherwise get things done?" But Vaugardians are friendly and helpful to the point of approaching utopia, so I could see them being less concerned with this, because they're more willing to accept that some people can't work and some people need more support. In fact, in keeping with their distaste for carcinization, they might actively oppose the idea that there is any particular goal that people should be working towards. If there's one type of existence that is best for all people at all times, reaching it would mean there's no reason to ever Change again! So instead of any particular milestones, the goal is simply to set and strive towards goals that feel right to you.

I also think they'd be less likely to work off of a diagnostic model at all; you can't just say that someone inherently has depression. They may be depressed right now, but that can Change! The Change might require constant upkeep, but some Changes are like that, and it doesn't mean the Change is any less real. Instead, they'd probably be more focused on individual symptoms (and traits!), which might tend to come in certain clusters, but those clusters would be seen as trends rather than criteria. The Change modality would be less concerned with whether a state of being is disordered vs normal/healthy (and they'd be less likely to conflate "normal" and "healthy"), focusing instead on whether you're happy with where you're at, but also willing and able to Change as suits you.

So, "I feel apathetic all the time, I don't want to put effort into anything and I don't care about anything, I don't know who I am or who I want to be" would be an experience of depression symptoms that a Vaugardian therapist would prioritize helping you Change. But "I don't care about any of the things I used to care about, I think I want to quit my job and cut off all my friends so I can spend more time sleeping" would be... an idea a good therapist may recommend you spend some time exploring, to make sure that's what you really want and you're ready for the ramifications... but they wouldn't say, "No, that's a bad thing to want, we need to treat your depression so that you no longer want to do that." If you really do hate your job and your friends right now, stagnating in that because you feel like you ought to would be the worst case scenario! If pursuing this Change ends up making you feel unfulfilled and lonely and sick of sleeping all day, then, well, you can just Change again at that point, once you've decided that's what you want to do.

In an opposite example, a common criticism of irl therapy is that it provides bandaid solutions for structural issues. "I'm anxious about losing my job" might be addressed by mindfulness methods to lessen anxiety, which is better than nothing, but if you're genuinely in danger of losing your job and thus access to shelter and food, that's not something you can mindfulness away. Versus, in Change-based therapies, they would focus on discussing what you get out of that job and what about it makes you anxious. You might decide that you want to change careers to something that fits you better right now — which would be a lot easier to accomplish in Vaugarde than it would be irl, because of the resources provided by the Houses and general community. Or, you might decide that there's something about yourself that you want to change in order to better fit the job. So instead of working on the feeling of anxiety, you might work on building new skills, or building better relationships with your coworkers.

... I wrote this post thinking that Vaugardian therapy might use similar techniques to CBT (therapy), since CBT focuses on understanding the patterns of thought, behavior, and belief that lead to psychological issues, so that you can replace negative patterns with habits that serve you better. Sounds like making mental changes in order to change your feelings and actions! It would just be in favor of different goals than irl CBT under capitalism.

However. I did some more research, and it looks like Humanistic therapy is very similar to what I made up just now? According to this text, humanistic therapy "emphasizes growth and self-actualization rather than curing diseases or alleviating disorders." Psychological issues are "viewed as the result of inhibited ability to make authentic, meaningful, and self-directed choices about how to live," so it focuses on "helping people free themselves from disabling assumptions and attitudes so they can live fuller lives."

It's less of a set of techniques and more of a philosophy. According to this website, the key is empathy and "unconditional positive regard," which means the therapist "shows warmth, is receptive, and is nonjudgmental." They cultivate a casual, friendly atmosphere, instead of positioning themself as an authority figure. Client-centered therapy is a subtype that sounds like the most cliché sort of talk therapy; the therapist "listens, acknowledges, and paraphrases your concerns," giving you a space where you can be honest and accepted as yourself. Another subtype is gestalt therapy, which "focuses on the skills and techniques that allow you to be aware of your feelings and emotions," and encourages a focus on the present and self-responsibility.

So! That sounds about right! Vaugardian therapists aim to help you recognize your emotions and figure out who you are and who you want to be, through casual conversation and empathetic active listening, without judgement. They help you look at your skills, emotions, desires, and struggles, and guide you to consider the full breadth of options available to you, so you can decide what Changes will lead you to happiness and fulfillment. They especially try to avoid diagnosing, prescribing, or otherwise telling you who you must be or what you must need. They may provide suggestions — help you put something into words, or bring up options that professionals are more familiar with such as medication, or challenge you to re-examine your assumptions — but it's a collaborative brainstorming, and they want you to freely choose the option you think is best for you.

[katakaluptastrophy]

You know when you're at a dinner party with God and things start to get...weird...? It's Maundy Thursday, and it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where (Western) liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Maundy Thursday, which commemorates the Last Supper, where Jesus ate with his friends before he was crucified.

Before we get to the Locked Tomb, what's so special about the Last Supper?

There are actually a few significant things that happen during the Last Supper, but this is where Jesus introduces the concept of communion:

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood. - Matthew 26:26-28

This isn't actually the first time Jesus has told his followers they will need to literally eat him:

So Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. - John 6:53-56

If you're thinking that sounds a bit intense, you're not alone - the Bible says that "many" of his disciples left after being told that they were apparently going to have to eat Jesus to be saved and resurrected.

While many Protestant denominations take this symbolically, Catholicism teaches transubstantiation: that when the priest prays over the bread and wine at mass, they really do become Jesus' body and blood.

With this in mind, let's circle back to necromancers:

"Overseas to Corpus. (She likes the word corpus; it sounds nice and fat.)"

This is probably Corpus Christi College, Oxford (named after the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, where the church celebrates the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist). The symbol of the college is a pelican - there's even a fabulously gilded pelican atop the sundial in their main quad.

What do pelicans have to do with the eucharist? Quite a lot, actually... The pelican is a really old symbol for Jesus, because it was believed to feed its young on its own flesh and blood in times of famine. The pelican on the Corpus Christi sundial is pecking at its own chest.

The pelican, like Jesus, was believed to give its own body to save those it loved.

Okay, so we've talked about Jesus, and weird cannibal birds, but why is this relevant to necromancers?

Specifically, the necromancer, the Necrolord Prime. John Gaius styles himself as "the god who became man", echoing Jesus as "the word became flesh". His entire pastiche of divinity is a sort of bootleg Catholicism. But while Catholicism posits Jesus' offering of his own body as foundational to the salvation and resurrection of humanity to eternal life, John's godhood relies the exploitation of other's bodies as the foundation of an empire of eternal death.

I've mentioned before in discussing Lyctorhood, how vampires have been understood to represent a sort of inversion of the eucharist because instead of consuming Christ's blood to receive eternal life in heaven, they consume other people's blood for an cursed eternal life on earth. John, and the Lyctors who followed him, gained power and eternal life from the consumption, body and soul, of another person.

In Catholic theology, Jesus offered his own body to degradation and death for the eternal salvation of humankind, but John forcibly consumes someone else's in service of his own apotheosis and immortality, dooming humanity in the process. He wants to be a Catholic flavoured god, but without the suffering that entails. But he's perfectly willing to outsource that suffering to others.

There's something just achingly awful about Alecto liking the feel of the word "corpus" - "body" - when she so hates the body that John constructed for her. John describing Alecto as "in a very real way" the mother of humanity and the mother pelican on the Corpus sundial rending her own flesh for her children. John forcing the earth into a personification of femininity and playing Jesus on another's sacrifice. His daughter, unwillingly trapped in her own corpse walking around with the wounds of her significant self-sacrifice like the resurrected Christ but yet again another body exploited by John in support of his performance of godhood. It brings to mind a very different fantastical engagement with Catholicism, where in the Lord of the Rings Tolkien - riffing on St Augustine - suggested that evil cannot create, it can only mock and corrupt. The ethics of The Locked Tomb may be messier than that, but there's something indicative in how John shies away from his creative powers - his abilities to grow plants, and manipulate earth and water - in favour of his dominion over death.

The metaphysical world of The Locked Tomb is clearly not intended to be the same as that of Catholicism. But with hindsight, perhaps John was onto something when he was surprised that he didn't "get the Antichrist bit" from the nun too.

John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ.

If we're talking about John and Jesus, there's also, of course, the question of Resurrection. But we've got to go through Hell and back before we get there on Sunday...

[advanced-procrastination]

I hate how willing so many of my coworkers are to use chatgpt instead of their own brains. Sometimes I’m stumped with how to do something so I ask my team members for their advice as fellow educators, and one team member will invariably respond, “I put your question in gpt and here’s what it said”

Idgaf what chatgpt has to say. Chatgpt is not a professional educator with 20 years of experience, YOU ARE. Chatgpt does not know anything about our company’s best practices, standards, processes, or client base, YOU DO. Chatgpt literally just weighs the probability of one word going after another to create an appropriately constructed sentence; it literally does not understand the question or its own responses, and I’m starting to wonder if YOU do!

USE YOUR OWN FUCKING BRAIN, STOP OUTSOURCING THE TASK OF THINKING TO A PROGRAM THAT DOESN’T HAVE THE CAPACITY FOR THOUGHT

[multiharlot]

we can't be friends // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: you and matt try to repair what's broken.

warnings: reader getting angry, lots of emotions, being in therapy, mentions of pregnancy

very loosely inspired by we can't be friends by miss grande <3

series masterlist || masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

you two were seated in the waiting room of your OBGYN's office for your first sonogram when he'd blurted it out.

"maybe we should try therapy"

you furrowed your eyebrows as you snapped your head away from the book you were reading.

"what?"

"therapy. couples therapy."

you paused, just staring at him for a moment as you processed what he'd just asked of you.

"you think couples therapy is going to make me forgive you for cheating on me?"

matt winced at your harsh words, but you had every right to be angry. he felt lucky enough that you hadn't divorced him yet.

not that you hadn't thought about it. you did. you just could never follow through with it.

"i just thought that maybe it'd...help us move forward?" matt said, bracing himself for what you might say next.

you just nodded your head before turning your gaze back to the book you were reading.

"okay" you breathed out.

you'd wished that you hated him for what he did. you'd be well within your rights to hate him. but you couldn't. hating him was something you couldn't figure out how to do. and maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that kept you from it but every now and then, you found yourself crying to a god you weren't sure was listening to you, begging him to let you hate your estranged husband.

but you couldn't. and you weren't sure you ever could. which made the whole having his child thing all the more difficult and made you all the more angrier at times.

and now, you were here, on a strangers couch, clutching the pillow in your lap with matt seated beside you on the opposite end of the couch and a middle aged woman sitting in front of you. you'd felt odd. this woman was probably somewhere around the same age as you and now she was advising you on how to fix your relationship, not that you were even sure you wanted to.

"why'd you do it?" you mumble as you lean your chin onto the pillow

matt froze, he wasn't sure how to respond. he wasn't even sure why he did it himself.

"i..." he sighed once he realized he didn't have an answer.

you just nodded your head.

"was it me?"

"no! no, it wasn't you." he quickly responded, turning his body towards you.

"if i may, were you maybe unhappy with your marriage? or maybe just unhappy with marriage as a whole?" the therapist asks.

matthew furiously shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

"absolutely not i...i love our marriage. i love you. you're...the love of my life i just...i don't know. you are...everything that's good in this world. everything that i've ever wanted to keep safe from the evil seeping into this city. and i..."

"you feel like maybe you're that evil?' the therapist finishes his statement.

matt just sat there. he was no strange to self-sabotaging his relationships. he'd done them to every relationship he'd ever been in. it's all he'd ever known and maybe, subconsciously, that's what this was. because it certainly wasn't anything else.

"i can't...i didn't want to be the one to dampen any good thing that was coming your way i...you deserve better than me. better than the life i was giving you."

"you don't get to decide that! that was never your decision! i sat in leanne's apartment for a month trying to figure out what it was about me that made you feel like...like you had to outsource. i- we were fine!" you said, your volume rising and tears beginning to brim your eyes.

"we were more than fine i just-"

"you had so long!" you cried.

matt just sat there and the therapist furrowed her eyebrows.

"what do you mean by that, y/n?" she asks.

you sit there, letting out a long breath as the tears began to fall from your eyes.

"you had all this time to figure it out. every time you pushed me away, i waited through those phases. i waited for you to love me again because i knew that deep down you always did regardless of the way you tried to push me away. and when we got married i thought...i thought that was it. i thought maybe you finally accepted me and my love. but i was wrong." i cried.

matt sat there, tears brimming in his eyes.

"i do love you." he breathed out, his voice cracking softly.

silence filled the room. and the therapist clears her throat.

"y/n, considering the...circumstances. i think it'd be good to set an intentional timeline on how to move forward from here."

"doc, with all due respect, if i remotely knew how to move forward, we wouldn't be sitting in this office. i'd have filed for the divorce papers the moment i found out he cheated and i wouldn't be trying to shuffle through the rubble of our relationship for anything worth saving after it crashed and burned the way it did." you blurted out.

matt tenses as he hears the rage dripping from your words and he could feel his heart cracking as he listens to your confession that you'd wanted to leave him.

"why do you feel that you can't divorce him?" the therapist asks.

you scoff, shaking your head.

"we're having a kid together." you say matter of factly, leaning back into the couch.

"you can co-parent." she says, shrugging her shoulders.

"we can be co-parents and...just be friends." matt says reluctantly suggests, making you snap your head towards him.

"friends? you want to be friends? ...no. we can't be friends, matt. i can't be friends with you i-" and you stop, the emotions beginning to overwhelm you.

"do you think maybe it's not that you can't get divorced, but rather you just don't want to?" the therapists says, and you pause as you look up at her.

"i don't think that. i know that. i've had every opportunity to file for divorce. and i'd be well within my right to, marriages have ended for less." you mumble, the words leaving your mouth at a barely intelligible volume.

but you knew matt heard you. and your words, as much as they hurt, also gave him hope. hope that he could fix things.

"you would be. but you don't want to. and i think that's a really good start the pro-"

"listen, i'm sorry, but i'm tired of these phases where i'm sitting around being his good little wife and waiting for him to decide he likes me again. i'm tired of waiting around for his love. i am tired. and i don't have the luxury of time to figure it all out because we have a child on the way. i love him and i'm angry at him and i hate that we're in this position because of him, what do i do with that?"

tears slowly fall from matt's eyes as he listens to you confess everything you've kept in from him since he'd gotten back.

"yell at me." he says.

you scrunch your eyebrows and look at him with confusion.

"what?"

matt turns his body towards you and scoots closer to your end of the loveseat.

"yell at me. scream at me. throw things at me. hit me, even-"

"-okay so no" the therapist interrupts, sticking her finger up and furrowing her eyebrows as she purses her lips.

"-just be angry at me, baby. all i've gotten from you since i've been back is indifference and silence. you're keeping it all inside and it's just bubbling and festering. be anything as long as it's with me." he pleads, reaching out to clutch your hand in his.

you sit there staring at him, your eyes slightly wide and your mouth falling slightly open as more tears dripped from your eyes. you weren't sure how to respond.

"he's right, you know. not...not about the hitting part. or the throwing things at him part. but i think you're keeping everything in because you don't know how to talk about it. so instead of talking about it, you're biting your tongue. what do you think or feel that it's accomplishing?"

"because if i...if i press pause on this here, right now, then i don't have to face the music that i have to spend my pregnancy fighting to save and rebuild my marriage and trying to regain trust in my husband. when i thought about what our life would be like when we were having our first child, it wasn't this. and i...i don't want to be here. in this place. so if i don't talk about it, if i don't confront it, i can push it aside and i can enjoy my first pregnancy the way that i want to." you cry, taking your hand from matt's and clutching the pillow that you'd begun to use as a comfort object.

"i'm so sorry. i don't know how to fix this but i will. i'll wait this time. i'll wait until you trust me again. until you love me again. i'll do whatever it takes just...please, stay" matthew cried, scooting right up next to you and grabbing your face in his hands.

you two had spent the remaining 5 minutes of the session with your foreheads touching as matthew held your face in his hands. a physical representation of his unwillingness to let go of you.

at this point, the therapist was sure that neither of you actually needed couples therapy, but she was fine being the catalyst to having the necessary conversations. often, couples find themselves needing a safe neutral space with a mediator in order to have these productive conversations but as the therapist watched you two cling to each other, she just knew.

you two would not be coming back here.

once you'd left the therapists office, you and matt walked quietly down the sidewalk towards leanne's apartment where you'd been staying recently. neither of you had said anything since you'd left the session, but both of you wanted to say something, tired of sitting in silence all of the time.

"what do you want to name him?" you blurt out, taking a moment to glance up at him before turning your gaze back to the pavement.

matt lets a small smile grace his lips, grateful for the normal topic of conversation.

"we don't know that it's a boy."

"i do."

"you're only 2 months, it's the size of a raspberry."

"he's the size of a raspberry."

"it barely has a nose, let alone reproductive organs!" matt laughs

you smile and shrug your shoulders.

"mothers intution."

"not to say that you're wrong, but i think the ultrasound might tell us before your intuition." matt teases

"you can't even see the ultrasound anyways, so i don't wanna hear it." you chuckle

"fair." he smiles, nodding his head.

you two walk in silence for a moment before you speak up.

"what about jack?"

matt stops, looking over at you.

"you want to...you want to name him after my dad?"

"oh so now you're willing to admit it's a he." you smirk, looking up at him and he just stares at you with a gentle smile.

"i like jack." he agrees, before continuing to walk alongside you.

"me too." you nod.

"you know...i think we're doing pretty well at this being friends thing"

you stay silent, not offering a response as you approached leanne's apartment building where you'd been staying lately.

"want me to walk you up?" matt offers, and you stand there for a moment before shaking your head.

"i want to come home."

"h- you want to come home?" he asks, his tone full of hope and his eyebrows going up in slight shock.

i just nod my head before intertwining my hand in his and continuing our walk down the street. matt stays silent, afraid that if he spoke up that maybe you'd change your mind or let go of his hand. so he walked alongside you, enjoying the moment that you were permitting him.

neither of you had said anything when you approached the apartment building, or when you'd walked into the loft for the first time in two months, or when you'd put on one of his t-shirts and you both crawled into bed.

it wasn't until you were both laying there, unsure of what to do next, that you spoke up.

"i don't want to be friends, matt." you say softly as you turn on your side to face him.

"what?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows and turning on his side to look at you.

"you said we were good at the being friends thing and i- i don't want that."

matt nods.

"okay. then we won't be. we'll be husband and wife. and i'll regain your trust and i'll rebuild your faith in me, little by little. i'll love you in whatever small doses you allow until i fix this. i'll wait and i'll beg and i'll crawl and i'll do whatever it takes. i love you, y/n. and i'll love you for the rest of my life" he says, reaching out and placing his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

tears cascading down your cheeks, replacing the ones he'd wipe away.

"okay"

*************************************

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shadows

crowlycule (viago/teia/lucanis/rook) | 507 words | rated t

for @viagoweek day seven: king

“Do you think he will make this one cry?” Rosa asks, her voice a quiet murmur. “I don’t think so— this one is holding up pretty well, so far,” Teia replies in the same voice.

The two of them, along with Lucanis, stand off to the side, as Viago sits for his official portrait. The crown upon his head shines golden, the shape of a bird taking flight decorating the front, as if to say to whoever looks at it: I won. 

Yet there is nothing triumphant about his expression.

Arms crossed tightly over his chest, Viago keeps scowling at the painter.

“If he keeps this up,” Lucanis laments up, “we are going to run out of artists, and then we’ll have to outsource.”

“Having to find an orlesian painter will make his mood even worse, and then who’s putting up with him?” Teia says.

Five paintings so far, from five different artists. All of them finished, and all of them deemed unsatisfactory by the reigning king of Antiva. All painters, with their slightly different styles, delivered perfectly good portraits— even if Viago’s expression had progressively darkened with each attempt.

He hasn’t really explained what the issue is or which specific faults he finds each time, only that the paintings will not do, and then he hires a new painter and starts the process all over again.

Rosa tucks herself against Lucanis’ side, leaning her weight against him as she watches Viago quietly. Five portraits— six, with this one. There is being particular about art— which Viago is, because he is particular about a great deal of things— and then there is… this.

There is a tension in the air, a tension to Viago’s jaw— he’s grinding his teeth, she thinks.

Tongue slowly running over the edge of her top row of teeth, point to point, canine to canine, Rosa lowers her voice even more, until it’s little but a raspy purr:

“He… does look quite a bit like his father, does he not?”

(It’s the first thing she thought, those two times she was in the late king’s presence— first, as she stood before him with her boots soaked in blood, leaving red prints on the polished floors of the palace, and later, sneaking into his bedchambers, with a contract to fulfill. Older, and shaved, and lacking the character of Viago’s customary frown, but the parentage was undeniable.)

Next to her, Teia shifts closer, leaning her head on Rosa’s shoulder, intertwining her fingers with the other woman’s.

“Oh, Vi,” Teia sighs, “you ridiculous man.”

Lucanis hums a quiet, considering sound. “It would not be the worst thing in the world,” he says, “if, somehow, part of the portrait hall burned.”

“A brazier could fall, a painting or two could be lost…” Rosa continues.

“And you,” Teia squeezes Rosa’s hand lightly, “could be far away at the time, so no one can blame you.”

They all know Viago will blame her, anyway, but that’s fine.

They have killed gods before.

A shadow should not be particularly difficult.

[court-jobi]

Unsee

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line. 

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume. 

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office. 

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates. 

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode. 

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear. 

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip. 

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?" 

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves. 

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly  flicks it over to the shared screen. 

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe. 

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood. 

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens. 

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement. 

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing. 

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead. 

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning. 

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right. 

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place. 

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display. 

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates. 

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer. 

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be. 

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for." 

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate. 

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then. 

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.  

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap. 

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead. 

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers. 

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’ 

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch. 

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward. 

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together. 

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens. 

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore. 

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another. 

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that. 

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah." 

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

 He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file. 

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head. 

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort. 

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again. 

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost. 

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes. 

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged. 

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business. 

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place. 

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast. 

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Love and Liabilities: Chapter Four (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: As you prepare for the impending trial and attempt to find ways to relieve your stress, the biggest stressor in your life has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Lawyer!Agatha is back after a little hiatus! This is a bit of a shorter chapter to get me back into writing after a few months. I’m hoping to be updating a bit more regularly but I’m (sadly) growing even more busy & stressed, so I promise to do the best I can! As always I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think. My asks/dm’s are always open!

Tag List: @chiar4anna @harknessshi @neverfindmegone @aggieslittleslut @ris-ris-mind @tr333sus @sabstance-blog

Present Day

The whooshing of the wind in your ears combined with the cool air filling your lungs fueled you to increase your pacing as you ran through the deserted park. It had been nearly a week since you reunited with Agatha, and your brain had been hellbent on torturing you ever since. Nothing could take your mind off the infuriating attorney, not even work. You had spent the past few days pouring over every word in the various documents Agatha presented during the pretrial conference, hoping to find something, anything really, to solidify your case.

It was times like this when you missed working in corporate law. Although you had only been a junior attorney at Stark & Strange, you had unlimited access to paralegals and attorneys at your disposal. Unfortunately, working for the government meant not only taking a significant pay cut, but also limiting your outsourcing. You didn’t regret your decision to leave the firm, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the perks.

Since burying yourself in piles of work proved useless, your only real escape from Agatha came from running. The familiar burning sensation began to fill your lungs as your body begged for a break, but you forced yourself to continue. Your legs felt heavier than when you first started, and as you rounded the corner of the trail you had to work twice as hard to not slow down. Even though you were growing tired, the rush of endorphins was a welcome change from the haunting memory of searing blue eyes burning holes into your own.

Agatha would be far too pleased to learn how much of your time and energy was being wasted trying to forget her. However, being the soul sucking succubus she was, you wouldn’t be surprised if she was already aware of the pain she was causing. A swell of anger suddenly overtook you, a feeling you had long grown familiar with when thinking of her, and you used it to finish the final stretch of your run. The thudding of your feet on the pavement along with the loud thumping of your heartbeat acting as a painful reminder of the woman you so desperately wanted to rid yourself of.

Swirls of scarlet, orange, and yellow painted the Manhattan skyline as the sun gradually rose over the city, and the quiet beeping of your phone from your back pocket signaled the end of your run. Nearing the end of the trail, you slowed your pace down to a steady walk, allowing yourself to do some breathing exercises in the process whilst checking your email. It was early enough in the morning that there wasn’t much for you to go through, but you knew it was bound to be yet another busy day.

You had timed your run to give yourself just enough time to head back to your apartment to get ready for the day and get to the office before the rest of your colleagues. The stress of the looming trial was becoming overwhelming, and you had to be prepared for whatever chaos Agatha would inevitably throw at you. Unfortunately that meant you were working nearly double the amount of hours than normal.

Luckily you were able to take a quick shower, find clean clothes in the back of your closet, and managed to get to work before anyone else had arrived. You would hopefully have an hour or two to yourself before you were eventually interrupted, and you intended to use every last possible second you could. As you strolled the corridor, you were tempted to stop to make yourself a coffee, but decided to get settled before adding caffeine to this situation.

Absentmindedly dropping your bag to the floor after you entered your office, you refocused your attention on reading a memo that one of your colleagues had left for you. Making mental notes of what needed to be addressed, you turned to open the blinds when you stopped dead in your tracks at what was in front of you.

Agatha Harkness sat in an armchair in the corner of your office, an amused expression painting her face. You nearly fell over at the sight of her, how did she get in here? The door was locked when you had arrived, wasn’t it?

Agatha, unaware of your current inner ramblings, took a sip of her coffee before repositioning herself, recrossing her legs as she gave you a disappointed look. “Your lack of situational awareness is truly astonishing. I could have been a murderer.”

Adrenaline continued to course through your body as your heart thumped loudly in your chest. Taking a deep breath, you ignored her sarcastic remarks as you leaned against your desk, attempting to calm down.

“What-what the hell are you doing in here?” You spluttered out, unsuccessfully trying to regain your composure.

The attorney frowned, as if that was an absurd question. “This is your office, is it not? I wasn’t sure at first, but the withering plants were a bit of a giveaway.”

Typical Agatha. They weren’t dying, were they? You made a mental note to ask your paralegal to water them a bit more.

Ignoring the jab, you took another deep breath, your body still on edge. “Do I even want to know how you got in here?”

Taking a moment to think over your words, she shook her head. “No. Now drink your coffee before the ice melts.”

It was then that you noticed the untouched cup of iced coffee on the edge of your desk. Narrowing your eyes at it, you gave her a suspicious glance. “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, as if that was the most ridiculous thing to ask her and she didn’t just break into your office. “Honestly, dear. You’re far too paranoid this early in the morning. Drink. We both know how irritable you are without caffeine.”

When you refrained from grabbing the cup, Agatha huffed, her stormy blue eyes swirling in annoyance as she rose from her seat. Taking a step towards you until your legs were nearly touching, she snatched the cup, the silence in the room disrupted by the clanking sound of the ice swirling in the cup. Hovering over you, she used her free hand to grab yours, the soft feel of her touch briefly taking you back to a time where it would have been more welcomed.

Your breath hitched as the rich, musky scent of her expensive perfume washed over you, and you fought the temptation to look into her eyes. How many times had you found yourself in this exact same position with her, you mused lightly as your brain attempted to regain its ability to function. Agatha’s fingers intertwined with yours, as she leaned in even closer, her lips grazing your jawline and you closed your eyes, fighting against the urge to lean into her touch.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head. “No. This can’t happen again.”

Agatha pulled back, her eyebrows slightly raised. “What can’t happen again?”

Giving her a pointed look, you tried to ignore the feel of her fingers still interwoven with your own. “I don’t think we need to relive that mistake, do we?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Agatha replied, swishing the cup of iced coffee as she lifted it up. “I seem to recall you rather enjoying yourself during that mistake, or was that someone else who pulled me into a closet and jumped me?”

“I did not jump you! You’re the one who came onto me,” you hissed as your irritation grew exponentially.

“Easy, tiger,” Agatha teased, raising the cup until the straw was nearly touching your lips. “I see the caffeine withdrawal is already kicking in.”

“Agatha…” you trailed off, ignoring your brain protesting that this would hurt even more than your last encounter.

Dropping your hand, Agatha gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head upwards until you were forced to meet her eyes.

“Sip,” Agatha murmured, raising the cup once more to your lips.

Her words were soft, but you both knew it wasn’t a request as much as a command. A part of you knew this was a mistake, that you couldn’t give into her yet again after being strong for so long. But then you looked into her eyes and found yourself getting lost in the fiery intensity she always seemed to carry. Logic and reason held no weight against the pleasure that was being at the mercy of Agatha Harkness.

Wrapping your lips around the straw, you lightly sucked, savoring the creamy, cold taste of the iced coffee on your tongue. Agatha’s eyes darkened at the sight; using one hand to brush your hair behind your shoulders while the other remained glued to your jaw, fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

“Good girl,” Agatha quietly praised, running her fingers through your hair, tugging lightly at the loose strands.

As you released the straw from your mouth, Agatha set the cup down, tightening her grip on your hair before capturing your lips in a kiss. Her lips were warm and gentle against your own, but it wasn’t long before she began nipping on your lower lip, biting down harder when you let out a whine. Moving forward, she pressed herself fully against you, while you instinctively wrapped your arms around her waist. Her tongue expertly sought out your own, and it felt like she was trying to get every drop of coffee from your mouth.

Panting, you were the first to break the kiss, tilting your head as Agatha proceeded to pepper persistent kisses down your jawline, each leaving you more breathless than the last.

“Agatha…” you whimpered, the last bit of self control slipping away even as you tried to hold onto it. “We can’t do this again.”

The attorney chuckled softly against your skin, tickling you ever so slightly in the process. She took a moment to look up at you then, with her ever blue eyes hazy with want and perfectly swollen red lips, and you remembered a moment in time where this had been easier. It was almost too easy to forget the pain of the past when she looked at you in that special way; as if she saved those intimate, sweet glances just for you. You used to believe you were able to bring out a different side of her than the rest of the world saw; that you understood who she was at her core.

Having her here now made the whole situation even worse than you previously remembered. It complicated things, and if there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was unnecessary complications. You found it difficult to remember the seemingly obvious reasons why you left her all those years ago when she was standing within your reach; the light that once dimmed in her eyes was once again ablaze. Gone were the demons of the past, in its place was the woman you had once fallen in love with.

Unfortunately, you were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard chatter from the hallway; your colleagues had arrived for the day. Agatha’s head tilted at the sound, and the moment was broken as she took a step back.

Clearing her throat, she folded her arms across her chest. “I was hoping you had given more thought to dropping the case, that’s why I dropped by.”

Annoyance took over any feelings of longing that had been threatening to emerge, and you frowned. “You do realize that this could be perceived as intimidation, right? That on top of trespassing could mean you potentially lose any upper hand in this trial that you believe you possess.”

Agatha fully cackled, which only served to enrage you further. She picked up a few files that she must have previously set on the desk. “You always were so full of pride and ambition, dear. I’m not surprised to see it still has a hand in clouding your judgment. It’s a pity. I always thought you had a lot of potential.”

Flabbergasted, you shook your head. You should have known better. Only Agatha would be capable of attempting to manipulate you over your shared past to better serve her motive. Shoving past her, you finally opened the blinds to your office, the once sunny morning replaced with dark gray skies as rain furiously poured down. As you turned around to tell Agatha to get out, you were unsurprised to find she was already gone. Typical.

Settling down at your desk, you opened your laptop and started going through your checklist for the day when you noticed something on the edge of your desk; a file folder. You quickly realized Agatha must have left it behind by accident, which was strange; it wasn’t like her to do something like that. It was unclear what drove you to opening the file, but looking back you’d blame it on your own morbid curiosity. Inside there were over a dozen pages of what appeared to be hospital records for two people, one being Wanda Maximoff.

As you settled in to read, your eyes drifted to the neglected iced coffee. A part of you wanted to throw it away, but the caffeine driven side of your brain led you to grab it. After all, it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Flipping the page over as you sipped, you paused as you actually tasted the coffee for the first time without distraction.

This is your exact coffee order. Iced coffee, extra ice, one pump of vanilla and a splash of oatmilk. After all of these years she still remembered, remembered it perfectly.

You weren’t sure why you hated that as much as you did, but it burns in your mind as you keep reading and drinking, trying to wash her taste out of your mouth.

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Our Love is Six Feet Under- Nakahara Chuuya

featuring: Nakahara Chuuya (bsd), gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) warnings:- angst throughout, major character death, major light novel (stormbringer) spoilers!! a/n:- my, my, this idea has actually been rotting in my brain for over a month and its my longest fic till date. i loved writing it i hope u guys like it too <33 heavily inspired by 'six feet under' by billie eilish

wc: 3k || masterlists

You feel like you’ve been through worse than hell and back when you drag your eyes open. It doesn’t take you long to assess your situation and remember what had happened to you in the first place to get you attached to a hospital bed with various machines around you.

You promptly wish you’d rather have died instead, or never woken up. Not having had to deal with the pain that stabbed your heart like a thousand serrated, unforgiving knives would be a million times better than being alive. It would have been so much better than being the only survivor. 

Technically, you should feel no personal guilt over the Flags’ deaths. Its not like you had been hired to protect them, and what you had been paid to specifically do is the only thing that matters when you’re an assassin. Especially when the Port Mafia is the one who outsourced you. The blame of their deaths could, in no way, be pinned upon you.

Having feelings is what gets someone killed in the world you live in, a dark world in the deepest shadows of the city. Having an ability is no reason to be confident of yourself, not when the country is littered with ability users everywhere. And yet having an ability as unique as yours is how you managed to save yourself from the certain death brought upon you all by the King of Assassins.

It was supposed to be another normal day, right? You were off-duty, so you were hanging out with the Flags at the usual place, who you had become ‘acquainted’ with over the past few months of working together, Mori’s orders. If you could dare to curse yourself and them by calling you guys friends, you would. One of them, possibly the one you were closest with, had left for some mission with a foreign investigator, long story. So you were chilling out with the others, playing billiards and all that stuff. 

If someone had told you that would be your last memory together, you would have atleast clicked a picture for keepsakes. Or you’d have cherished the moment more, rather than treating it so casually. After all, you never know the value of what you’ve lost until you’ve lost it. 

In the present, you shut out your emotions- they’re too much of a storm for you to be able to deal with. The grief at their deaths, the horror at the memory of the sight, the overwhelming grief- you needed a break. You slipped back into unconsciousness, a weight lying heavy on your chest that would surely never leave you until you die.

********

The funeral seems much too loud and way too quiet at the same time, or perhaps thats just your thoughts. You’re silent in the shadows, yet again, watching the processions and the choir wordlessly. You don’t speak anything. You don’t think you have the right to. 

You haven’t dared to talk to Chuuya, or even approach him. He was the only member of the Flags who was not present when Verlaine struck, and thus the only one alive. He was incredibly close to them, you know, because you yourself were close to them, to him. Barely anyone had spoken a word to him, not even the boss. His aura was such that if you even dared to approach him, you’d probably either have your lungs squashed by gravity, or his own carefully crafted facade would break down. 

If, as someone who wasn’t even part of the Port Mafia or the Flags, you had been affected so badly, how was Chuuya coping? Was he? Yet, out of habit, you can’t help but keep an eye out for him. Silently, selfishly even, perhaps you’re hoping he can find it in himself to forgive you.

The foreign investigator has shown up again, looking much too cheerful for someone entering a funeral, and goes straight to Chuuya. You can feel that he’s pissed off, but a few words from Mori, and Chuuya stands up in a forced manner, going to leave with the detective. 

You manage to meet his gaze finally, but you don’t think you’d ever be prepared for it. His eyes bored straight into yours, eyes that had once looked at you with mirth and laughter, and dare you say it, love, eyes that were always an open gateway to his emotions. They held nothing but silent accusations, hidden anger, all pointing their sharp ends towards you. Not a single friendly feeling. 

Not a word is exchanged as he walks right past you, but there’s no need to. You’ve gotten the silent message he’s sending you crystal clear- he will never forgive you for this.

You think you deserve it fully, you understand. Even now. How twisted, really, but you got it. When he lost the Flags, he lost a part of himself too, but he still remembered you. And remembering you was a constant reminder of them, of your failure to save them, of the pain that came with. 

Though it hurt you, you knew that distancing yourself from him was the best thing to do. If you pursued him again, there was no telling what he might end up doing, but it certainly wouldn’t end well. Chuuya likely knew this too, and he clearly didn’t want you to come back. So you wouldn’t. This funeral would be the last time you associated with the Port Mafia, and thus Chuuya, even if it hurt you to do so. But again, considering feelings is what gets you killed in this world, and you’d rather not die so soon, although you actually don’t mind. 

And well, what did it matter if somewhere, sometime, Chuuya secretly wished you’d ask him to return?

********

Visiting their graves has become a monthly thing to you, due to your inability to let the past stay in the past. Perhaps its your own, guilty way of attempting to make amends, perhaps its your way of keeping their memory engraved in your mind, perhaps its to ensure that they aren’t forgotten, even if you know well they will never be. Deep inside, its a way for you to mourn the dead, as well as the loss of the living. 

You bring flowers every time, stay a while, occasionally leave something for them. Sometimes, you talk to them, sometimes you apologise over and over again, sometimes you stay silent, letting your thoughts still for a while. If nothing else, you just stared at the small rose plants that were growing there, one behind each of the five graves. It always amazed you, that such a delicate flower could grow in such a barren place. It sure seemed like they’d be blooming soon, and whenever you visited, you always made sure to check on them.

Time passes, but the wounds do not heal from inside, they just scab over, concealing the pain at first glance. You’ve gotten better at hiding it, yes, but that does not make it any better. You’ve become stronger, risen in rank as an assassin, honed your skills further. You’ve become reputed for carrying out your tasks in a swiftly lethal, unclouded way that left no traces. Almost a year has already gone by since the incident, and you still havent forgiven yourself. Nor has Chuuya.

That’s why, on their death anniversary, when you feel his cold gaze on you for the first time in a whole year when you were at their graves, you don’t hesitate to get up and start to leave. It’s best for him to not see you again. You’ve cut off all contact with the Port Mafia, except for when you occasionally got hired by them, and even then you finished it quickly, wasting no time. Interacting with no one. 

So that’s why it surprises you, when he holds up a hand, walking past you to lay the flowers on their graves. “You can stay.” He speaks emotionlessly, not looking at you. He sounds older, more mature, which was to be expected, you supposed. You remain standing where you are for a few moments, not facing him as he walks over and sits behind one of the graves. “As long as you aren’t doing anything wrong, of course.” He adds. At that, you sit in front of the grave he’s leaning against, replying quietly with a “No, I was merely paying my respects.”

It was anyways evening when you came, soon, the moon starts its ascent through the sky, as silence settles between the two of you. Not a word is exchanged between the two of you as you sit on opposite sides of the same grave, in each other’s company. The only people who could truly understand each other’s pain and suffering.

You settle for silently staring at the roses. Small buds have formed, but they don’t look well- its as if the whole plant is starting to wilt, little by little. They haven’t flowered even once yet,and you wondered if those roses would bloom before the plant died. Could they? After all, the weather was changing- it was raining more often these days. Maybe they couldn’t take it. Even now, a light drizzle had started as you sat, but it took you some time to realise, because you didn’t feel the rain at all, only noticing the faint red hue around. You didn’t mention it, nor did Chuuya.

Perhaps, whatever once could have been between you and the guy opposite you was symbolised by those roses- it could have bloomed, if given the chance, but life abandoned it,  left it to wilt in the aftermath of the storm. Any possible chances for you two were like the beloved ones who had left you now- six feet under the ground, dead, marked by a grave. This was merely the hand that fate dealt you, you had no choice but to accept it

********

“I can’t see the moon tonight.”. You murmur, almost to yourself, as you remain seated against the graves. It had been years, and even till now, neither of you had stopped coming to the grave to pay your respects, you arriving first every time and waiting for him. Your own visits weren’t monthly anymore due to life, more sporadic, but you still did visit from time to time, and you know Chuuya did too. And every year, on the fateful day that the incident happened, both of you never failed to show up, at the same time. Sometimes you exchanged a few words of greeting, a line or two about life. Other times you sat in silence till the moon’s glow started to dim, leaving as noiselessly as you came. Over time, this became your and Chuuya’s last remaining shared tradition out of all those that used to exist, your last link to each other. Seems like none of you was truly able to stay away from the other after all, huh?

“Say, Chuuya, next year, can you check for me whether the moon is visible or not? I feel like there really is something different about it on this day.” You ask him. He curtly replies, “Yeah no, you can do it yourself when you come back here. There’s no big deal about it anyways.” There’s no real bite in his words though, but it still saddens you. You wave it aside though, as you stare at the rose plants, like you always do. 

Over the years, those roses have wilted, died, and new plants have grown in their place. Not a single one of them ever bloomed though. You want to ask Chuuya to check on those plants next year too, but you don’t.

Tired from your day at work- it was more hectic and dangerous than usual- you lean against Chuuya’s shoulder. He remains motionless- he doesn’t push you away, but he certainly doesn’t pull you closer either. This is another thing you developed over the years- if either of you felt like you needed a shoulder on that day, the other would offer it. And you wanted to do it one last time.

Eventually, you two get up and brush yourselves off, preparing to part ways. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on Chuuya’s for a second more than usual as you open up your umbrella- it always does rain on this day, but today it seemed a bit gentler yet stronger- as if the skies were quietly lamenting over what was to come. 

Right before he left, he quietly spoke, the whisper floating between you. “Don’t think everything’s alright between us, because it isn’t.” He always does say something like this before he leaves every time, and again, there’s no real bite or meaning behind those words, just a formality he wishes to continue. 

You let a sad smile rest on your face as you gazed at him, before responding, “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Take care, Chuuya.”

As you started walking off alone, feeling Chuuya’s eyes still on you, ensuring your safety like the gentleman he was, you wondered if you had truly tied all the remaining loose ends of your thread of life, or did you still have regrets? It was very likely- no one could say they died without any regrets at all. And besides, no one’s end was written in stone, unless they carved it themselves. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was ever all too much for you.

The next morning, you call your boss to let him know that you’re ready to take on the mission. It was an important one, involving both a long period of infiltration for gathering valuable intel, and then the assassination of the target at the end. It was a high-risk mission too, but you were used to those, weren’t you?

Why would this mission be any different?

*********

Another year rolled past. This year, Chuuya hadn’t been able to visit the graves at all after the first two-three months because he had been sent overseas for a long-term mission. During the months he’d been in Yokohama, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of you- of course he hadn’t, he made sure to avoid the days you came, preferring to merely see the traces of yourself you left and leaving his own. After that he only got the chance to return there on their next death anniversary, and even for that he had to fight tooth and nail. He was a man of actions, and he would never be the one to break the tradition.

But he’d never imagined that you would break it either. You too were a person who valued actions, or had you changed over the years? 

His sharp eyes scanned the graves cautiously, but there was not a single trace of you. The only life around were the rose plants, not a soul in sight.

Rage, resentment and hints of sorrow bubbled up in him, taking him by storm as he strode over and angrily sat down by one of the graves. He was silent the entire night, letting his rush of emotions subside, staring at the gates as if he was expecting you to suddenly pop out. He stared at the moon, and at the roses. Did you not notice that they were about to bloom when you last visited? Because they were in full bloom that night, for the first time in years, delicate, fragrant petals shining in the moonlight. The moon, too, looked beautiful that night, a full moon surrounded by clouds. It was raining, heavier than usual, but the moon was never hidden. A memory entered his mind- last year, you had asked him to check whether the moon was visible this year.

“Well, it’s visible, and it sure is beautiful, but you didn’t even show up. Why?” He bitterly spoke out loud.

In the soft blowing wind that accompanied the rain, a stray lone rose petal lying on the ground gently floated in air, appearing as ethereal as smoke. He rose up to leave- you clearly weren’t showing up- eyes following the petal as it blew about, landing on a grave not of the Flags, but right beside, almost as if the deceased had specifically asked it to be there. It seemed relatively new too, for he hadn’t seen it the last time he’d been here. He walked over to it, to read what was written on the gravestone.

A moment passed, then another. And another. And Chuuya doesn’t know how long he spent there, kneeling in front of it. He was slowly getting drenched, because his ability had deactivated itself at some point of the night, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the neatly written words staring back at him, taunting him.

At some point, he understood why he was alone that night. Why you weren’t there to give him company, solace that night. It was because you couldn’t, and so you’d left whatever remained of yourself there, beside him, beside them, eternally. He just hadn’t known.

He could barely breathe, he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to, because his chest felt so heavy then. Eventually, he noticed where the petal had landed- it was a small letter, slightly wet and yellowed, kept in such a way that the rain wouldn’t destroy it. Someone must have kept it there on your request, and so he took it  out, eyes taking in the faintly smudged but still intelligible words.

‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, for everything. I hope you can forgive me someday, even if I myself never could. Thank you for staying with me, for existing.

-Love, [Y/N]’

A silent tear slipped out of his eye, then another. “Idiot.” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself. I think I forgave you a long time ago, I guess I just never wanted to acknowledge it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being too late.”

“And don’t worry, the moon looks beautiful tonight, and so do the roses. They’ve finally bloomed. I think you would have loved to see them, wouldn’t you?”

this took me ages to write, but i hope u like it hehehe anyways votes, reblogs and comments are really very much appreciated <333

[ninelives2]

Nine Lives statement on the use of generative AI in fanfic

Hey, lovely readers and writers:

We've been talking about the uptick in people using generative AI to "write" fanfic, and thought we should make clear our position about it. Below is our collective statement.

As part of this process we've updated Nine Lives' Terms of Service and clarified our policy on plagiarism.

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If you outsource the act of being a fan to AI, what does that leave you? Fan creators are powerful because they’re deeply participatory media consumers—they don’t passively absorb a work, but grab onto it and reshape it to their will.

Elizabeth Minkel, “Where the Wild Stories Are”

Nine Lives emphatically rejects the use of generative AI in creating and publishing fan fiction. Among the many other concerns about their use, sophisticated large language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT pilfer and plagiarize the writing of creators without permission, credit, or compensation to churn out prose devoid of personality or author voice. Generative AI is replicative, not creative. It can rearrange the words and ideas found in the sources it is fed, even "sound" like the writing of a particular author, but it cannot come up with its own, original prose. There is no human mind involved in the process.

There are legitimate, often beneficial uses for AI, including making text accessible to people with a wide range of disabilities. But having a computer crank something out in response to a set of prompts and calling it "writing" - that's at best a pale imitation of the real thing, and in our opinion has no place in fandom.

We have updated our Terms of Service (TOS) to clarify that AI-generated works are not to be posted on the Nine Lives Archive, for two reasons: 1) Because AI-generated works are not your work; it’s a computer doing your thinking for you. The TOS already explicitly states that works published on the archive must be your own. And 2) because those LLMs were trained on the works of other writers, using AI to generate a Caryl story constitutes plagiarism, which is also already spelled out as being against the TOS.

That said: we don’t have the resources to police your work, and we don’t want people to report “violations”. We’re just going to say, “Please don’t use AI to generate fic at all, and specifically don’t use it to generate Caryl fic and post it on Nine Lives.”

As Tumblr user Mikkeneko puts it, “Generative AI… fails on every count. It's inaccurate, it's unethical, it's unreliable, it's wrong.”

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For background information, additional viewpoints and concerns, here are a few links, starting with the Ellipsus blog guest post where the quote at the beginning came from. (The Tumblr post contains links to information about the environmental impact of the data centers required by AI. If for no other reason, that impact should be enough to stop you from using AI.)

https://www.facebook.com/FenWrites/posts/pfbid0ohYKyEYoyW5Ky3dULEM58WX3MAJrpPfLpM4yJ2RzcFUa6yXxd9A9UALLwZVxREDcl