#really didn't think anything would come from this...

[heartmix]

❯❯❯❯the grid: missing you

prompt: things he does to let you know he misses you

includes: MV1, LN4, CS55, CL16, LH44, OP81

a/n: I would really love if these things happened to me, just putting it out in the universe

warnings: simp shit

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

MV1 - he watched/listened to something you recommended

It was impossible to get Max to do something he didn't want to. He was stubborn. Sure, he'll sit with you and watch a movie you picked during movie night, and listen to your music when the speaker blasts, but would admit he doesn't really give his full attention.

There is one exception. When he's been away from you, he remembers everything you've ever said. What's a better way to be connected to you without you being there in person?

'i watched sinners on the plane ride. pretty good'

He never says much, but you do. You would break out into an in-depth analysis with full passion. Another reason he didn't mind doing it. Hearing you ramble brought a smile to his face.

'finally listened to the SZA album you've been begging me to hear'

He's talking about Ctrl. When you found out he didn't listen to it, you went on a rant. But now you were telling him your ranking of every song. It was worth spenidng hours on something just to see you get excited about it.

LN4 - plays your spotify playlist

One thing you and Lando bonded over was music. Both being the designated DJs of your friend group.

You always had the Spotify tab open, never a moment you went without it. You also liked to stalk what your friends were listening to. When Lando noticed this he decided to start listening to your playlist in hopes you'd notice.

When you first noticed you immediately texted him, calling him out on why he was listening to it all of a sudden. All you got was a text back saying 'reminds me of you'

He only played your playlist when he was away and you would text him more often just to talk about songs on your playlist. Never mind that he already had your favorite songs saved in his already.

CS55 - sends you reminders throughout the day

Carlos was already the dotting and attentive boyfriend. But when he was away? Oh he took it to another level. Every hour was something new.

'It's cold in Monaco today, take my sweater on the couch'

'Drink water and ditch the coffee, its probably your fourth cup'

'Take a break from work, i ordered you lunch'

At first it took you off guard and you probably ignored half the things he texted you. Of course you drank water throughout the day and dressed appropriately for the weather. But when you noticed the pattern of the reminders with him being away it brought a smile to your face. He was thinking about you and missing you more.

CL16 - sends pictures of anything and everything

Often times Charles was too busy to talk so when you'd ask him where he was or what he was doing he'd snap a simple picture with no other follow up text.

Then he started doing it more often when he was away. You didn't even need to ask or send a text first. He was always a step ahead of you.

Snapping a picture of him in his sim rig. Another of a picture on the wall at ferrari HQ. A mirror selfie when he went to use the bathroom. His empty protein bar wrapper? He even took a picture of Ollie mid bite holding a sandwich.

That was all in one day. He would do that every single day you were both apart until he saw you again.

LH44 - uses Roscoe as an excuse.

At first he started to notice you would text back right away if Roscoe was mentioned as opposed to waiting awhile if he just casually texted. So when he was missing you and needed to hear you right away he would just throw Roscoes name in there.

'hows roscoe been? doing good?'

'i hope our boy isnt giving his mama too much toruble'

'roscoe called to tell me that you miss me'

He even used roscoe in a conversation when you were away and he was home with the dog.

'Roscoe says you should come home right now'

'Roscoe said he wants cuddles with his mama'

'If you care, roscoe and I are bored without you.'

He wasn't exactly slick about it but that wasn't his intention. His intention was to let you know he was missing you.

OP81 - starts sending voice memos

He wasn't the biggest texter. Much preferring to call or be in person. Anything to hear your voice. But when he had to leave and couldn't be on his phone to hold a conversation he would send voice memos.

'Hey, just got out of a meeting. Lando almost fell asleep...again. Were going to head into a bit of testing now. I might be awhile before i can talk again. You know how testing goes. So ummm, love you. Hope you're having a good day.'

One day when you sent a voice memos back, he was obsessed and started to send more so you had a reason to send him some.

Each time you'd sent him one back he fought the urge to send one right after. (That would be a phone call at that point). He loved hearing your voice and would save every single one. Even if you were talking about how you spilt coffee on you and almost tripped over nothing.

[senadimell]

I think Madeleine L'Engle has some wise words on the subject (for context, this excerpt takes place mostly in the 1950s & before A Wrinkle In Time, her most well-known work, was published):

"...."The tired thirties." I was always tired. So was Hugh. During the decade between thirty and forty, most couples are raising small children, and we were no exception. Hugh was struggling to support his growing family in the strange world outside the theatre. And there I was, absolutely stuck in bucology, with the washing machine freezing at least once a week, the kitchen never above 55° when the wind blew from the northwest, not able to write until after my little ones were in bed, by which time I was so tired that I often quite literally fell asleep with my head on the typewriter.

The various pressures of twentieth-century living have made it impossible for the young mother with pre-school children to have any solitude. During the long drag of years before our youngest child went to school, my love for my family and my need to write were in acute conflict. The problem was really that I did put two things first. My husband and my children came first. So did my writing. Bump.

...

Well, somehow or other, like a lot of other women who have quite deliberately and happily chosen to be mothers, and work at another vocation as well, I did manage to get a lot of writing done. But during that decade when I was in my thirties, I couldn't sell anything. If a writer says he doesn't care whether he is published or not, I don't believe him. I care. Undoubtedly I care too much. But we do not write for ourselves alone. I write about what concerns me, and I want to share my concerns. I want what I write to be read. Every rejection slip—and you could paper walls with my rejection slips—was like the rejection of me, myself, and certainly of my amour-propre.

[L'Engle describes a series of rejections of four different novels]

...And then there was that fortieth birthday coming up. I didn't dread being forty; I looked forward to it. My thirties had been such a rough decade that I was eager for change. Surely, with the new decade, luck would turn.

On my birthday I was as usual, out in the Tower [L'Engle's writing room] working on a book. The children were in school. My husband was at work and would be getting the mail. He called, saying, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this on your birthday, but you'd never trust me again if I kept it from you. ———— has rejected The Lost Innocent."

This seemed an obvious sign from heaven. I should stop trying to write. All during the decades of my thirties (the world's fifties) I went through spasms of guilt because I spent so much time writing, because I wasn't like a good New England housewife and mother. When I scrubbed the kitchen floor, the family cheered. I couldn't make a decent pie crust. I always managed to get something red in with the white laundry in the washing machine, so that everybody wore streaky pink underwear. And with all the hours I spent writing, I was still not pulling my own weight financially.

So the rejection on the fortieth birthday seemed an unmistakable command: Stop this foolishness and learn to make cherry pie.

I covered the typewriter in a great gesture of renunciation. Then I walked around the room, bawling my head off. I was totally, unutterably miserable.

Suddenly I stopped, because I realized what my subconscious mind was doing while I was sobbing: my subconscious mind was busy working out a novel about failure.

I uncovered the typewriter. In my journal I recorded this moment of decision, for that's what it was. I had to write. I had no choice in the matter. It was not up to me to say I would stop, because I could not. It didn't matter how small or inadequate my talent. If I never had another book published, and it was very clear to me that this was a real possibility, I still had to go on writing.

I'm glad I made this decision in the moment of failure. It's easy to say you're a writer when things are going well. When the decision is made in the abyss, then it is quite clear that it is not one's decision at all. '

From Madeleine L'Engle's A Circle of Quiet

[hollllisss]

Between Phainon and Khaslana

They are the same, but at the same time so different. You see how gentle, blue eyes, which were previously filled with tenderness and affection, exude desire. And golden ones, exuding power and rage for what is happening in this world, burn with lust because of you.You feel how cold hands pull your clothes off, kissing your lips, neck, collarbones along the way... At the same time, hot as fire hands begin to grab you by all decent places, making you moan

"Say my name"

You understand the look and see a man, although, not even a man but a god, the most real embodiment of carnal pleasures of the ladies from the bathhouse, which you always go to

"Khaslana..."

You whisper on the floor exhaling, whining when Phainon bites your neck

"You are beautiful, my love... so beautiful, so loving, so mine..."

Phainon Whether he said it on purpose or sincerely, but it was impossible not to see that Khaslan's jaw had tensed

"You are taking on too much"

The golden-haired man says, drilling his gaze into the hickey he left on your bare chest, strewn with moles

"You are me, and I am you. But no matter how hard you try, she still loves me more"

Phainon playfully whispers to spite Khaslana, but his smirk immediately disappears when he spreads your legs

"You talk too much"

He answers dryly, touching your pussy through your panties with a hot finger. He chuckles, deliberately lingering on a sensitive spot of your body

"Compare how she reacts to me, and how she reacts to you."

Phainon frowns, he clearly didn't like that Khaslana was touching you where only he had ever touched you before

"You don't know what to do with this"

The blue-eyed one snaps back, squeezing your breast more in a defensive gestureKhaslana smirks

"Oh, really?"

With one sharp jerk he tears your panties off you, making you shudder and cringe

"Even now?"

He runs his fingers over your naked, wet slit, making you tremble and moan.Phainon's eyes sparkled with anger

"You..."

It seemed to him that a fight was about to start, but you stopped him, grabbing his hand

"Phainon, please don't..."

You whispered this, still whining from Khaslana's fingers Phainon relaxed, kissing you on the tip of your nose

"Anything for my sunshine"

He was about to kiss you, when suddenly you screamed and arched, he turned his head and saw this picture: Khaslana threw your legs over his shoulders and greedily dug into your pussy, licking and smacking his tongue at your wet folds.Phainon immediately pushed him away

"Don't even think about it!"

He takes your legs to his shoulders, squeezing them so hard, as if he would break them now

"Only my mouth can caress her there"

And immediately Fainon bites into your pussy, greedily licking, as if he wanted to remove Khaslana's saliva and everything that he left Khaslana smirks, lifting your red face

It seems he can't tear himself away from you just like that... oh well"

You see his bulge... big... thick and long member, in some places it is also embraced by a golden glow. You arbitrarily open your lips in the country, when Phainon smacks your clitoris And then Khaslana put his member to your mouth, tapping it on your lips

"Open"

An order, not a request, but a direct orderYou grunt and open your mouth, taking his warm member in your mouth and feeling this taste...of divinity?While Phainon tongue-fucking your pussy like a beast, as if you were his food for years of starvation, as if your pussy was the salvation of the world that he strives for, Khaslana begins to pound your mouth without a twinge of conscience.Phainon whines from your taste, he is not ashamed to show how good he feels with you, and Khaslana growls and only occasionally breaks through a meek breath.You fidget on Faenon's tongue, and your eyes roll back. You feel that he will soon cum, that very soon you will come to the end, but you also feel how Khaslana's penis swells in your mouth, he is also about to cum and right into your mouth...

Once....

and with a loud squeal you cum on Phainon tongue and swallow Khaslana's hot sperm.Phainon kisses your exhausted clitoris once more, and Khaslana bites into your lips, tasting her seed and your saliva.Painon pulls away and settles between your thighs, rubbing against your wet folds. His member is slightly smaller than Khaslana's, but his is more clearly defined, with veins and a pink head.

"My princess, my star, my love..."

Phaino whispers watching your juices and his saliva drip onto his cock

"Want to take her for yourself?"

Khaslana says and sharply pulls you and throws you towards him so that you wrap your legs around his waist.Phainon comes up from behind, kissing your shoulder

"Darling, please, relax..."

He whispers, putting his cock to your entrance from behind, while Khaslana has already inserted the head

"Ah...damn"

He grabs you by the throat, squeezing slightly and begins to enter further, while Fainon gently kisses you, not crossing the line, because he knows that sooner or later you yourself will ask for rudeness. They both entered... you scream with pleasure and whine....both men...both of these beautiful ,strong, powerful and gorgeousmen are now fucking you

and I assure you, you won't get out of their hands until the next morning..

[nakylvr]

— 𝒟usk 𝒯il 𝒟awn (you'll never be alone) ✧ 𝒟.𝒜

summary જ⁀➴ after receiving the news that you're pregnant, dani does the unexpected or scenes in your pregnancy life with baby daddy dani

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, established relationship, dealer!dani au, f!reader, idk man it's just happy sappy shit here

substance masterlist

"how are you doing?" daniela asks for the third time in five minutes.

"i'm fine, dani," you reply, sitting at your computer, barely glancing at her.

"baby doing okay?" she asks next.

"yes, daniela. the baby is doing fine," you answer.

"i'm thinking of working at the car shop down the road. the one that fixes up all those nice cars." daniela says slowly, hesitant.

"uh-huh." you nod, not fully listening. then it process in your brain, and you look at her with furrowed eyebrows. "wait, what?" you let out. "are you serious?"

daniela nods. "yeah. i-i've been thinking and y'know with–with the baby i don't–i don't want to be doing what i'm doing now as income when you go on maternity leave." she says, stumbling over her words a little. "i don't want our kid to see their mom as a dealer who can't get a real job, y'know? i-i know this makes good money an-and i'll still do it occasionally but i don't want it to be the main source of money."

your eyes soften, and you remove your hands from the keyboard. you're surprised, and it's obvious on your face. you didn't expect this from daniela at all, but she always did the unexpected, even when you thought you could predict it, you couldn't. "really?" you ask.

"yeah," daniela murmurs with a nod.

you reach for her hands, grabbing both of them and smiling softly at her. "that's great, dani. you've always liked working on cars, this would be good for you. but are you sure? it's not like a baby is going to figure out their mom is a dealer."

"i'm sure." she nods. "i don't wanna be stuck doing this forever. i need a real job, like you said years ago. and this may be my only chance. i want to be better for you, for us."

your hands move to cup her face, and she looks at you with pure love and adoration in her eyes. "then do it. be the best goddamn mechanic you can be." you smile. "i'll always be here to support you. always."

daniela smiles back at you. "i love you."

"i love you too."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"dani!" you call for the latina, sitting on the bed.

"yes, my beautiful wife?" daniela says as soon as she enters the room.

"can you run to the store for me, please?" your lips form into a pout, knowing she'll say yes if you do.

daniela nods without hesitation. "yeah. what do you need?"

"mint ice cream," you answer. "and we need more tobasco anyways."

daniela nods again, grabbing her jacket from the closest before pausing. "please don't tell me you're going to add tobasco to the ice cream."

"i didn't say that." you shake your head.

"that's what you always say," daniela chuckles lightly. "then i'll see you eating it five minutes later."

"and?" you say, raising an eyebrow at her.

"nothing." daniela quickly shakes her head. "i'll go right now."

"c'mere." you say, waving your hand to have her come over to you.

daniela walks up to you, opening her mouth to speak when you grab her jacket, pulling her into a kiss. she immediately smiles into the kiss, her hands moving to hold your waist under your shirt, drawing small circles on your smooth skin.

when you pull away, dani's smiling brightly at you.

"i'll be back in thirty," she says, pecking your lips again. "text me if you need anything else, 'kay?"

"mkay." you nod, smiling at her.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"are you really not going to put an opinion in anything for this?"

you'd been trying to organize things for the wedding, and ended up asking that question when daniela says "do what you want" for the third time.

and daniela just shrugs. "i mean, you're way better at planning things than me. i'm just grateful that i'm marrying you. i don't need anything else."

the way she says it so nonchalantly makes your heart jump. you know she means it, too. all she needs is marrying you, nothing more. "well, i'm sure you'll be happy that we're doing cuban food for it then," you say, looking at the laptop again.

"really?" she perks up.

"yeah." you nod. "manon found this restaurant that caters big enough for events like this, and i figured it'd be nice."

you feel arms wrap around your waist, and daniela pulls you closer to her, resting her chin on your shoulder. "thank you, baby," she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your neck. she pauses before speaking up again, her voice soft. "have you told your parents yet?"

you tense up at the question, and daniela's grip tightens subtly, fingers gently grazing your skin. "no," you answer, shaking your head. "you know how they reacted to the pregnancy, i don't want to deal with that but ten times worse."

of course daniela knows, she heard the whole argument you had over the phone with your parents when you called to tell them you were pregnant. it went terrible, as you predicted it would. your parents already didn't like daniela from the start, and they made that very obvious after the first meeting. you hardly talked to them anyways, but it turned into even less when they explicitly expressed their disliking of her. a tiny part of you hoped they would be happy for you when you called, but instead you were told insults and degrading things you hoped daniela didn't hear. she heard all of it still, but she never told you that.

"you know you're gonna have to eventually," daniela says. "they deserve to know. even if they don't wanna accept it."

"they basically told me to never talk to them again, dani. they'll just get angry and yell until i hang up again like last time," you reply, moving your hands away from the laptop. "i don't want to hear it again, i can't."

"i know." daniela nods in understanding. "you shouldn't have to." she kisses your jaw gently. "but...the longer you keep it from them, the angrier they'll be."

you nod, leaning against her. "i know. i will, eventually."

"okay." daniela holds you close. "i love you."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"we are not doing a hot wheels theme for the bedroom, dani."

"but look at this wallpaper!"

you stare deadpan at daniela who's been looking for different themes for the nursery for hours on the computer. and she was stuck on wanting the hot wheels theme. for whatever reason.

"no." you tell her. "we don't even know the gender and you want to do some cars aesthetic?"

"hey," she pouts. "you agreed on not wanting to know until it happens."

"i know. and that's exactly why we need to keep it neutral. plus, i'm not paying–" you lean towards the computer to see the price. "$200 just for some trashy wallpaper."

"man." daniela pouts more. "what if–"

"no." you shake your head. "we're keeping it neutral."

"okay," she mumbles, closing out of the tab. "can we at least do it for a birthday one year?"

"yeah," you say, nodding. "just not for the bedroom. if it's a boy, i'll let you do it."

"really?" her eyes light up as she looks at you.

"yeah." you smile.

"would you want a boy or girl?" she asks suddenly.

"it doesn't matter." you shake your head. "i'd be happy with anything."

daniela grabs your hand, bringing it to her lips and gently kissing your knuckles. "you're gonna be a great mom. i know it," she says softly.

"you too," you respond in the same voice. "you're going to be amazing, don't worry."

"i won't. not when i have you with me." she looks up at you with pure love in her eyes, and you know she means it.

"good." you smile. "we're going to be the best."

"hell yeah." daniela smiles.

[thetetra]

Im going to do my best here to explain but I have to push past a few assumptions that logically have to be there for someone to not understand why you can't have an ethical billionaire even in fiction.

1)Bruce Wayne is an ethical and good person.

2)Bruce Wayne also happens to be a billionaire who didn't do anything personally to become a billionaire.

There's the old joke "There's only two ways to become rich, commit a crime or inherit." "Well what is the preferred way?" "I believe the preferred way is for your parents to have committed the crime and for you to inherit it afterwards". But that's unfair let's say that his parents just got supernaturally lucky with investments and good business decisions and did it the legitimate way all the way along. so we add into the world a third axiom

3) the billions were legitimately acquired categorically

"Well then it is by every metric legitimately Wayne money and he should have full rights to spend it however he wants!"

Now that we have fully unfolded the argument we are on the same page and we ask this question " Why can't he be ethically Batman, why can't Bruce Wayne, be ethically s billionaire with these 3 established axioms"

So let me present this

A billion is a lot ... like you really have to sit and try to wrap your head around the very idea of one billion.

"Oh okay so he has more money than he could ever spend like 'Brewster's Millions' yeah we get it. So what?"

Well it isn't an unspendable amount of money. That represents a section of the economy that isn't experiencing the velocity of money. That is being pulled out of community and municipality. That's schools that were never built that's hospitals that were never constructed and people being underpaid for their labor on an industrial scale. The billions come from somewhere and he directly benefits from that.

We're reduced to an arms dealer who sells weaponry to both sides but personally is a nice guy with a crime fighting hobby.

Instead he could buy all the corrupt politicians and pass anti corruption legislation, he's the only game in town. He could redo the corporate tax code to get the schools and hospitals and orphanages fully funded. He could have all the good he does as an individual codified and society wide as opposed to again a rich man's hobby.

Speaking of his hobby, crime fighting, I wonder what a custom tank, developed and built in perfect secrecy costs? and an airplane, oh and the boat/submarine. Im sure there have been a few more. Custom jobs like that , not even built off of existing vehicles are insanity in price and required spares, that also would require custom fabrication. We have identified were all his money goes. The reason his community is impoverished is he extracts the wealth via his corporation and then drains it out into the military industrial complex's various skunk works.

https://share.google/cWeohMr7gnI5wZadC

Batman is in essence a microcosm of what is wrong with the United States.

You have a responsibility to your fellow humans, your community and not just yourself. The hording of resources, even economic ones, causes real harm to the community. No one mugs people in alleyways for fun, except for maybe the joker. He would have no minions, no fellow bank robbers to shoot 1 by 1 (well have shoot each other but tomato tomato) , no open vats of chemicals to fall into in a well run society. The only people who think that some men just want to watch the world burn were men trained to dehumanize their enemy and can't see past their own place in imperialism and colonialism to understand a man who wants to harm the system that impoverished his people to the point of being bandits hiding in the forest. They have to otherwise they won't burn the forest down for their colonial masters.

He can't be an ethical billionaire, even in fiction because it breaks down so much of society down into "criminals are bad people and crime fighters are good people" as to become so dissociated from reality that you might as well be writing about Aliens on the other side of the Galaxy that have nothing to do with humanity at all. It mirrors our world not at all and it teaches us nothing about ourselves.

Its easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than it is to go through the mental gymnastics of an ethical billionaire even in fiction.

why does anyone in Gotham even bother doing crime like you KNOW the second you leave the bank with the money you just stole Bruce Wayne is gonna be chilling on a bench on the other side of the street in his bat fursuit like “hey bitch u better not be breaking the law”

[sad-girl-hours23]

Number 16 pls:) no pressure

This is for cuddling "with rain outside." 808 words. This came about because I had the thought that Tommy is the type of person who would cuddle his ex in a thunderstorm. I took a bit of a fragmented approach, but I hope it's not disjointed. Enjoy <3

Thunderstorms don't bother Buck anymore.

Except—apparently—when he's spending the first night in his new place and isn't used to the new sights and smells and sounds. The rain beating down on the rooftop sounds closer, the thunder booming overhead feels more threatening than it ever did at his loft.

He hadn't lived at Eddie's place long enough for it to rain.

Buck feels like a fish carelessly tossed into a new tank—not given the time to acclimate to the temperature of his new environment.

The weighted blanket hadn't helped; it only made him feel claustrophobic and put uncomfortable pressure on his already aching leg.

Buck sighs. His thumb hovers over the call button he's been silently arguing with for the past ten minutes. He shouldn't. It's silly. The storm will pass in a half hour or so, likely an hour at most.

He'll prove that he knows how to be alone.

He breathes in deep and exhales slowly. He counts down starting from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—lightning flashes across the sky. Four. Three. Two—a deafening crack of thunder.

He hits the call button.

*

Tommy's waiting for him to get in bed first. Buck fidgets with his pillow and sighs. "I'm sorry I made you come all this way for nothing." It's still raining—softer now—but the worst of the storm seems to have passed.

Tommy raises his eyebrows. He twists—looking behind him—then turns back to Buck. "Do I have invisible strings that only you can see?"

Buck laughs.

"You didn't make me do anything, Evan. I'm here because I want to be."

Buck nods. "Okay, thank you. Hey, do you think we could—"

"Big spoon or little spoon?"

He ducks his head. "Little spoon."

They settle in the bed—Tommy's broad frame enveloping Buck, making him feel small in the best way.

"Your place looks nice."

"I can give you a tour tomorrow."

"I'd love that."

"I'll even"—Buck yawns—"make you breakfast."

"Can't wait. Goodnight, Evan."

*

Buck wakes up in Tommy's arms. Sunlight fills the room. The rain has stopped. His fingers itch to grab his phone and text a number no longer in service—to ask Bobby if he's okay. To ask Bobby if he's okay.

Buck shakes Tommy's arm, the one wrapped around his waist. "Tommy?"

"Hmm?"

Am I really awake? Is this real? Buck tells him about the lightning strike. About dying for three minutes and seventeen seconds. About the coma and the dream. "For a while after, every time I would wake up, I would check the time—because it was never night in my dream—and I would text Bobby."

"And now it's morning and—"

"And Bobby's dead. So how do I know this is real?"

"I think I read somewhere that you have extra fingers in dreams."

"No, it wasn't like that in my coma." Buck is hit with a wave of grief at finding yet another thing he lost when he lost Bobby—an anchor, reassurance. He lets it wash over him; let's it lap at his feet. But the dread is still there underneath it all.

Tommy squeezes Buck's shoulder. "Do I have your permission to kiss you?"

"Uh, yeah? But I don't how that would—"

Tommy grabs Buck's chin and kisses him. For a few blissful seconds, his mind quiets.

"Is that real enough for you?"

Buck opens his eyes. Tommy's looking back. "Yeah, that works."

Tommy smiles. "Good."

"You know…that's not just good for today. You can kiss me whenever you want."

"I don’t know…sounds too good to be true."

"I mean it. I'll even put it in writing."

Tommy laughs. "I'll laminate it and put it in my wallet."

"Right in front of that fro-yo card that perpetually has only two punches." Buck had found the place early in their relationship and they both loved it. So naturally they spent the next five months saying they should go back, but never did.

"Exactly." Tommy moves closer, tangling their legs. "So, what do I get when I accumulate—I don't know—ten kisses?"

Buck tilts his head. This moment is fragile, maybe too fragile for the words on the tip of his tongue. But he can't pretend he's ever been anything but all in. "I think…you get to keep me forever."

Tommy's eyes widen. "Evan."

"Do you uh—is that something you still want?"

Tommy smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. His brow furrows and Buck just hopes he's not planning an exit strategy. Then he takes a deep breath in and says, "Yeah, I do."

Buck exhales in relief.

Tommy cradles Buck's jaw and kisses him. His whole world narrows to Tommy, lips, tongues, teeth. Tommy breaks the kiss and whispers into the scant space between their lips. "One."

[thecummoning]

New Favourite Customer

Teen Butcher!Simon × Teen Fem!Reader

WC: 1.3k

Song: You've Seen the Butcher - Deftones

(Fluff, slice of life, OOC Simon i guess, first time writing kinda nervous)

Dividers by: @cursed-carmine thank u for ur service 🫡

It was the usual slow day for Simon, slicing and packing the meat. Taking the dangling red flesh from the freezer, wash it with care, cut it into a smaller part easily with his 'natural' skill – Fletcher, the owner of the shop, said that to him the first time he saw Simon cut the tendon, but he believes the old man was just desperate and urgently hiring anyone – then, display it for the buyer in the day.

It was the same routine; he could almost do it all with eyes closed. People would come and go, asking about their meat that they sell, sometimes acting too noisily, but other than that, it was pretty decent. And the wage was also decent for young Simon, at least he could save the money for himself, hiding it from his dad.

The shop filled with the pungent smell of blood, a scent that at this point, almost numbed Simon's nostrils. The speaker is playing a song from his phone, since everyone else is in their mid-30s and has no care with whatever playing in the background, Simon decided to take control, entertaining the whole shop with a mix of heavy riffs, intense screams, and powerful drumming; something to just temper the voice inside everyone's head.

Nobody really ever complains to them as far as he remembers, or maybe he can't really hear anything else besides the music. Few customers would scowl, but they would enjoy it eventually, Simon thinks.

The bell jingling just above the main entrance signalled that another customer was entering the shop. He was too focused on weighing the meat, head bopping slowly while mouthing the lyrics of 'You've Seen the Butcher' by Deftones, perfectly fit for the theme of the shop.

I wanna watch the way, you creep across my skull!

"Excuse me!"

The other voice had already pulled him back to reality, making his head snap back immediately with wide eyes, noticing a small figure already looking back at him with the same surprise expression in their eyes, perhaps didn't even realise she could scream that loud.

You come just to buy the meat from the shop down the street, obeying your mother's demands, cycling through the afternoon sky still in your school attire; an overall with an old shirt beneath, wind blowing your hair and ending up a mess, cheeks flushed from the heat and energy that burned through the cycling.

You slowly enter, 'cause you know–

Simon immediately took his bloodied plastic gloves off, reached for his phone and turned the volume down, and then wiped his sweaty hands from the lack of air with a small cloth, all while stepping through the front desk. The usual other employee was off to the back, so the responsibility now weighted on him, expected to multitask.

Although, when his eyes landed on you, he would say it was more like a blessing rather than a weight on him.

"Welcome to Fletcher's Butcher Shop. What can I get for you?" His voice sounds deeper than you thought, and when the man boy finally stood still in front of you, your head had to tilt slightly upwards, noticing how you only reached his shoulder.

Simon was glad his tongue didn't slip, since he had never been the one behind the front table, only behind the cutting board. His eyes already flickering through your face; almost counting every mole that peppered across your soft features, even he began to count your eyelashes when your lips still shut. "Miss?"

"Uh..." You stammered, eyes blinking rapidly, as you began to get a hold of yourself. "Yes, I'd like to buy your meat," you spoke, voice as sweet as saccharine when it caught Simon's ears.

But Simon, he needs more time than necessary to process your words, and then his mouth started to grin crookedly that you could notice a hint of a snicker coming from him. "My meat?" He echoed, one brow already arched upwards.

You nodded, almost like a lost puppy. "Your meat."

A breathless chuckle now even clearer, which made Simon need to break eye contact for a second, his head shaking slightly. Cute, he thought; a good laugh that he didn't even know he still could produce, not even in front of a stranger.

"Alright, Hannibal. Tell me more about my meat you desperately need," he said, arms already crossed in his chest, enjoying himself toying with you.

Of course, you're confused as hell, wondering why the guy who is perfectly assaulting your ears a while ago with his shitty music taste suddenly acts all cocky. It's annoying, makes you feel like he knows everything in this world and you look dumb as hell in front of him. "I just told you I need your meat," you replied, shrugging.

"You didn't make this anything easier, sunshine. I need to know which cuts of the meat you need; the weight, the thickness, do you need the fat or not..." Simon's words trailed down when he noticed your brows furrowed even deeper, looking at him like he was just blabbering some ancient spells you can't even understand.

Simon let out a deep sigh, a trace of smirk still prominent on his lips as he slowly leaned his elbows on the table, lowering himself so he could look right at you. "Just tell me what you or your mom is planning to cook and I'll help you with the cuts."

You tried to explain to him under his piercing gaze, almost venting to him about how your mom didn't give the slightest explanation before. Those bright eyes moved following every word and every line that your lips made, while sometimes his eyes would flicker back to your eyes. It was embarrassing, and you didn't even know why, making your cheeks feel warmer. But you managed to spill it all out, still with a slight annoyance, and often avert your gaze from the boy in front of you.

As you finished your little story, Simon humming lowly, nodded, then finally went back to his full height, away from your face. "I'll get it for you in a minute, then. Just wait here," he said, pulling himself completely away from your front and walking back to the table where he worked after your little nod.

It didn't take much time for Simon to pack the meat for you, make sure everything is perfect for his newly favourite customer, still with his head filled with the image of how your forehead would slightly scrunch and lips pout while you think, or how difficult it is for you to look at him for more than three seconds.

Simon came back with a bag of your order, placing it on the table and still with that smug smirk he got on his face, noticing how your eyes were wide, reminding him of a little child seeing candy for the first time. "Anything else, princess?" He asked with a teasing voice.

You huff, then shake your head, fingers already fidgeting with the paper bag, forehead still bumpy with waves of your skin, eyes almost like daggers pointed at him. "No."

Simon was about to tease you again, mouth already open, but the other butcher, who was usually behind the cash register, was already coming back, and his expression immediately returned to usual, his smirk already long gone, giving the other man some space for you to finish your transaction.

When you gave a small 'thank you' to the cashier, bag on your hip, your eyes glanced accidentally at the tall butcher in the back, who hasn't been taking his eyes off you, eyebrows flicking up for a second, following with the irritating smirk on his lips, resulting with your rolling eyes and immediately pushed the front door open, bells jingling once again on the top.

"Your friend?" The older man asked as he counted the money inside the machine, eyes focused downward.

"Maybe."

And then you crawl your knees off, before you shake my tomb...

•─────────────────────────────•

Notes: Hiyyaa! This is my first time writing in here n i hope u guys like itt ಠ⁠‿⁠ಠ i would gladly read all of ur suggestion if u have one, n love to get in touch with fellow simon's wife^^ (i want to eat his meat too). Seee yaaa ╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯

[formulafanfics13]

Hi, could you make a story about Lando, in which his best friend meets Magui and knows about all the controversies she was involved in for cheating on her ex-boyfriend (João Félix) and she tries to warn Lando, telling him everything she (Magui) did in the past, but he (Lando) ignores her, thinking she is jealous, but what he (Lando) didn't know was that Sn (Lando's best friend) is secretly dating Magui's ex-boyfriend (João Félix) and that's why she knows everything Magui did

(I'm sorry if it's not written correctly, English is not my first language)

should’ve listened - LN4

Masterlist

summary: lando brings magui corceiro to meet his best friend. what he doesn’t expect is the tension. the warnings. the truth she tries to tell him about magui’s past. and what he really, really doesn’t know — is that she knows because she’s been secretly dating magui’s ex, joão félix, for months. warnings: mentions of infidelity, hidden relationships, jealousy accusations, angst, emotional manipulation, blind trust, tension between characters, eventual fallout

Note: this is fictional, based on rumours, hate should not be normalised and plz don't hate me for writing this... if you don't want to read, then move on, I have plenty more fics you can read!🫶🏼

You knew she would be beautiful.

It’s part of her brand. Big eyes. Big lips. Tighter waist. Tighter clothes. Legs that go on forever and that rehearsed little laugh like she’s always being watched. You knew what to expect the minute Lando said her name, and it didn’t disappoint.

She looks like a screensaver. She smiles like she owns the room. And she looks at you like she knows exactly who the fuck you are. Which, of course, she does.

Because you’ve been dating João Félix for the past five months. And you know every single thing she did to him.

Every lie. Every message. Every football player she slept with while he was on the road. Every argument, every fake tear, every fucking time she denied it. You know it all because João told you. Because João still flinches when her name comes up. Because João wakes up gasping sometimes, guilt cracking his voice even when he didn’t do anything wrong.

So yeah.

When Lando introduces you to her, grinning, oblivious, in love, you feel like you’re going to be sick. “Magui, this is my best friend. The one I was telling you about.”

She tilts her head like a cat. “The best friend.”

You blink. Smile, plastic. “Pleasure.”

Her gaze lingers too long. She knows. She knows. Lando doesn’t notice. Of course he fucking doesn’t.

You try once. The next morning. Hungover in hotel pyjamas, curled on the balcony of his suite.

He’s sipping orange juice. You’re chewing on the edge of your nail. “Lando.”

He hums.

“Can we talk about her for a second?”

He stills.

You take a breath. “I’m not judging. I swear. But I know things. About her. From before.”

He looks at you. And you already know it’s a mistake. “What things?”

You hesitate. “She wasn’t good to her last boyfriend.”

Lando frowns. “And how would you know that?”

“I just do.”

“From where? Twitter? Gossip pages?”

You go silent.

He sighs. “Come on. You’ve never even met her before yesterday.”

“I have.”

That gets his attention. You lie. “Once. In Portugal. It was awkward.”

His voice hardens. “So this is personal.”

“No,” you say, too quickly. “I just think she’s- she’s not what you think she is.”

He’s quiet. Then, after a beat, “I think you’re jealous.”

You flinch. “What?”

“You always get weird when I’m seeing someone.”

“That’s not true.”

“You didn’t like Lou either. Or that girl from Miami.”

“Because they were awful.”

“Maybe because they weren’t you.”

You stand. Furious. Hurt. “Fuck you, Lando.”

He shrugs. You storm out.

João picks up on the second ring.

You don’t say anything. He just listens to your breathing and says, gently, “He didn’t listen, did he?”

Your voice cracks. “He thinks I’m jealous.”

João sighs. “Of her?”

You laugh. It sounds like crying.

He adds, “I’ll fly to Monaco. I’ll tell him myself if you want.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because then he’ll find out about us.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, “You’re worth it.”

You close your eyes. And say nothing

It takes exactly two weeks for everything to burn.

Zak makes a joke in the garage. Something about McLaren’s golden boy bringing his “Portuguese sunshine” to the Monaco race.

The words slip out before you can stop them. “She’s not sunshine. She’s fucking acid rain.”

Silence. Lando hears. And when he finds you after media, he’s not smiling. “You have got to get over this.”

You glare at him. “Over what? Wanting to protect you?”

“You’re making shit up.”

“I’m not-”

“She loves me.”

You snort. “She loved João too.”

His jaw clenches. “And now we’re back to this ex.” He steps forward. “Who is he? Huh? Who told you all this? Who’s poisoning your fucking head?”

You don’t say a word. That’s your mistake. Because silence? Is an answer.

His eyes widen. Disbelief. “No. No fucking way.”

You look down.

He chokes. “You’re fucking him?”

Still, you don’t respond. He takes a step back like you hit him. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Lando-”

“You’ve been playing me this whole time.”

“No, I was trying to warn you.”

He’s shaking. “You’re sleeping with my girlfriend’s ex and trying to tell me who she is?”

“She cheated on him, Lando.”

He laughs. Cold. Bitter. “And you believed him. Because you were fucking him.”

You flinch.

“I trusted you,” he spits. “You’re my best friend. And you lied to my face.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You just didn’t tell the truth.”

He turns. Leaves you standing there. And for the first time in your whole life, you don’t go after him.

The fallout is ugly. He soft-launches her on Instagram the same night. You stay quiet.

João begs you to post a photo of you together. To show the truth. To prove you weren’t being cruel for no reason.

But you don’t. You just let it all play out. And it doesn’t take long.

The first rumour comes in a DM. Some influencer in Madrid. Her friend saw Magui with a footballer two nights ago.

Then a second. Then three in one day.

João’s phone lights up. Again. And again. And again.

“She’s doing it again,” he says quietly. “He’s going to get wrecked.”

You nod. You want to be wrong. But you’re not.

Because two days before Silverstone, Lando shows up at your door. Eyes bloodshot. Knuckles raw.

He doesn’t say anything. Just hands you his phone. A message thread.

From Magui.

She sent the wrong screenshot. Or maybe she meant to.

Either way, it’s her. Messaging someone else. Explicit. Reckless. Gloating.

You don’t say I told you so. You just pull him in. Let him cry.

“I thought you were jealous,” he whispers later, curled in your sheets.

You’re stroking his hair. “I know.”

“I thought I knew everything about you.”

“You do.”

He’s quiet. Then, “How long?”

“With João?”

He nods.

“Five months.”

He exhales.

Then, “He’s good to you?”

You nod. “Better than I ever thought I deserved.”

Lando smiles. “Good.”

And then, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

You kiss his forehead. “I was always going to be here when you did.”

[clueingforbeggs]

No, yeah, you're absolutely right. It's the same logic, because transandrophobes think that the second a trans man comes out as a trans man they gain all the privilege of cis men, plus suddenly have experienced life up to that point as a cis man, so anything they say MUST be this privileged person who has never experienced anything bad because of their gender 'talking over' the people who have 'really suffered'

The earlier post mentioned Anarchy Chess, but I think it's also important to point out other posts in other communities where posters are standing with trans men, especially this one from r/mtf

Not just the post, but here are some of the top comments, again, from trans women in r/mtf, highlights are mine.

'I hate to say it, but the moderators in r/trans are still suppressing the voices of the community, banning people left and right, and trying to shuffle it under the rug.'

'It's bizarre, but it is real'

'I don't know what to make of this. I feel like the trans community is turning on itself sometimes when we need to come together all the more.'

'Honestly it pisses me off when trans women treat ftms badly. Have some fucking sympathy and compassion. It's literally the same thing from the other direction.'

'Whether it's trans men or trans women, genderfluid, non-binary or whatever, trans is trans and should be supportive of each other and understanding of the struggles we all face.

Anybody who stands in the way of that is enemy #1 in my book.'

'The eternal disdain I feel for the fact that some people are trying to replicate cisnormative and transphobic crap in our communities.

it pisses me off so much when other transfems treat trans men as either "safe [read not real] men", or as the spawn of the devil itself, as if somehow transitioning makes them into fucking tate stans.

overall people need to remember that your life before transitioning has a big effect, almost was conscripted because of it, specially on people that are transitioning later. T is not gonna erase whatever bullshit the guys had to deal with due to misogyny and the patriarchy, doesn't help that society doesn't want to give visibility to their issues, like how the whole fucking gutting of right to get an abortion in the US affects them considerably, yet it's discussed as if it was a woman only issue.

And also, some people think that just because they didn't hear of a group's woes it means they don't have issues, so there's this stupid argument saying that trans men are privileged.'

(in response to a deleted comment) 'Nop, what they did was the equivalent of a cis person telling one of us that we are whining when we talk about all the violence, discrimination and prejudice against us.

I saw that happen to us when people were tone policing and not understanding why trans lesbians would be annoyed at the idea of being forced to out ourselves for the convenience of transphobic cis women.

It was basically the same bullshit to what I saw there now'

It is easy, when loud voices from one group are screaming hatred, to forget that that is all they are. Loud voices. There will always be trans women standing with their trans brothers.

United we stand, divided we fall. Stick together and we can defeat transandorphobia.

So here's what happened on Reddit:

A transmasc posted about how transmascs and trans men are often invisible, how our issues are dismissed, and how resources, especially medical ones, are almost always written with non transmascs in mind. They posted this both to r/Trans and r/lgbt.

A moderator of r/Trans responded by telling them to “stop bitching.” That’s the word they used. That’s the level of respect trans men get. Transandrophobic by the way, don't call trans men bitches.

The comment was deleted, quietly, after backlash. Then the entire post was removed. When asked why, a mod responded that the post was “playing oppression olympics,” and took the time to go through and dismiss each of the original poster’s points, including saying that trans men being sexually assaulted isn’t “unique to transmascs” and therefore not an issue, and claiming that access to testosterone isn’t any more restricted than access to estrogen, which is a straight-up lie, because T is a tightly controlled substance in most places and E is not.

The original poster was banned for three days.

Then a separate mod made a post saying, “nobody asked us our side of the story,” which is wild because people absolutely did, publicly and repeatedly. Users also started reporting that they’d had supportive comments removed or had been banned after disagreeing with the mods, some of those claims are still unconfirmed, but given the general behavior, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then r/Trans locked down entirely. No new posts. The conversation was forcibly ended.

Some people posted about it on r/FTM, many of those posts were mass-reported, automatically removed by Reddit’s automod, or quietly buried. Meanwhile, r/lgbt also removed the original post, with no explanation.

One of the r/Trans mods eventually posted an “apology,” which was really just a soft-scrubbed PR post full of noncommittal language and distancing. They said they didn’t mean to call a trans man “a bitch,” they just used it synonymously with “complaining,” and they didn’t think about the implications until later even though the first post was about microaggressions just like the mod committed. They did not apologize for anything else, not for wrongfully banning people, not for accusing a transmasc venting like any other user of playing oppression olympics, nothing at all. They said they’re on break and can’t do anything about it. They said, and I quote, “please don’t be mad at the rest of the team.” even though the rest of the team are just as culpable for not stopping their behavior.

They also added that trans men are “a welcome part of the community” and tried to point at moderation history as proof. Because apparently we should be grateful that people occasionally get banned, every so often, for implying trans men aren't oppressed at all, wow, thanks, that is like below the bare minimum, cool.

The current state of things is: r/Trans has over 600,000 members, and trans men and transmascs were silenced, banned, and told to shut up for bringing up their own oppression. And the subreddit is locked down. There’s a mass exodus happening to the new sub, r/trans4every1, but let’s be real, the damage has already been done.

Now let’s talk about what this actually means.

This is not “just more Tumblr discourse.” This isn’t some random blog saying they don’t like transmascs. This isn’t a Twitter reply guy. This isn’t a niche zine or a spicy personal take. This is a massive trans-focused subreddit with over half a million users. It's easily one of the largest public facing trans community online, maybe even the largest, I've certainly never found a bigger one myself. And the moderation team made it crystal clear: they do not want transmascs to feel safe or welcome there.

This is what transandrophobia looks like on a slightly larger internet scale. When it’s in the hands of people who get to decide who gets heard and who gets deleted.

And for anyone who’s still stuck on “well they apologized” listen: trans men are told all the time that we’re being too loud, too angry, too entitled, too manly, too feminine, too confusing, too “binary,” too "Nonbinary", too much. We’re told that we’re “oppression olympics-ing” just for talking about our lives. And now we're getting banned and locked out of the spaces that claim to represent a huge portion of online trans people.

This isn't just online drama. This is a bellwether. And if it isn’t setting off alarms in your head, it should be.

The way transandrophobia manifests in online spaces absolutely bleeds into real life, into medical gatekeeping, into poor data collection, into the erasure of sexual violence against transmascs, into advocacy groups that write us out of the picture, into educational materials that treat us like footnotes, if they include us at all.

And if you’re sitting there thinking, “well it’s not that deep,” you’re part of the problem.

We need to start being more honest about this: Transandrophobia is real, it is widespread, and it is growing. We need to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt when they’ve shown us they don’t want us in the room.

And frankly?

We need to start making TRFs [Trans Radfems & transmasc-exclusionary feminists alike] deeply uncomfortable being open about their beliefs. We need to make them afraid to be TRFs, the way they’re trying to make us afraid to exist.

The same way we don’t coddle fascists. The same way we don’t tolerate TERFs. We need to stop tiptoeing around transandrophobia.

Because this growing wave of transandrophobia is going to kill people. Full stop.

Protect trans men. Protect transmascs. Protect your siblings; all of them!

[nightshiftpodcast]

Night Shift Podcast: A 2025 Big Update

Phew, deep breath.

Here goes.

The Night Shift Podcast is coming back!

(@ me, that wasn't so hard, was it?)

It's July 2025 as I'm writing this, and on behalf of the whole Night Shift team, I'm really happy to say the show is on its way back to you.

Writing this post has me super anxious because it's been so long since the second season was promised, but things are moving again at last.

To answer some questions we've had a few times:

No, we didn't blast through the crowdfund money on other things. That was for this show and will always be for this show.

Yes, there likely will be new parts to cast soon, but we'll post about them when it's time.

I still can't give you a release date yet, as production takes time, and whilst I was all but unemployed during S1, I ended up with a pretty intense and high level job in the last two years. I have to make all this work around that.

I will post more updates as often as I can from here on out.

I know I said last year I wouldn't go into it, and I'm not obligated to explain the delay, but a little context is deserved for all your patience.

I'll put the rest below because it's a little heavy so you can stop reading here if you want, and leave you with this snapshot of editing on an interim episode between S1 and S2 which is coming together very nicely.

If you do want to read on, CW's are death of close family, general illness, and cancer. Thank you all so much for being patient with me. It's often very hard to create when you're going through hard times, and the state of the world hasn't cut any of us a break either. But it feels amazing to be back in the saddle.

💜💜💜

So, my story.

It started back at the end of 2022 right after Season 1 wrapped up, when I lost my grandfather very suddenly, which would turn out to be the first in a series of horrible events. A member of my immediate family got diagnosed with cancer less than a month later, and Ashe and I were planning our wedding at the time when I suddenly got sick myself. It took months for the NHS to diagnose an autoimmune illness, which I've been struggling with every since.

Then less than a year later my grandmother passed too from Alzheimer's. It wasn't unexpected, but it was hard and brought heaps of legal stuff with it. I got a muscle atrophy in my leg in April 2024 and had to start walking with a cane, and recovery is still ongoing from that (but we're almost there!) - and I went through a lot of self-discovery after learning how much adhd had been ruining my life for decades, and trying to adapt to that.

I was pretty depressed and very anxious, and every piece of world news was making it harder to want to write (and especially something set in America). How was I supposed to write a story about rising up against how cruel and strange the world can be, when in reality the weight of the real world was crushing me?

For the next year, I became a complete hermit and spoke to nearly no one besides my wife, best friend and family. I stopped going on social media. I worked, put on a happy face to my colleagues, then played D&D in the evenings to escape.

When I posted the update last year, I thought I was on the mend at last. My work mentor was helpful, but I found that whilst I could be creative again, I couldn't bring myself to work on Night Shift. I drafted out a whole novel in that time, 100k, guilt eating away at me with every page that I wasn't working on the thing I was supposed to be working on. Night Shift stopped being fun and started feeling like a ball and chain.

'I'll start on it next week'. I must've told myself that a hundred times. And as last year closed out, I started to think I might be able to.

Then in January, my mother's partner of five years also died suddenly in a very traumatic way. It's wrecked the first half of my 2025, to the point where I was ready to just give up on being able to make anything again. When we finished S1 in 2022, I never, ever could have guessed I'd lose three very close family members in less than three years, let alone everything else in-between.

Just last month, I even deactivated the Night Shift website thinking about how I was going to announce the project was done for. I'd thought about it over and over for the last year. But I waited, just a little longer, because deep down I knew I didn't want to do that.

Maybe that was the release I needed, allowing myself to close it down and then realising I didn't actually want that at all. I saw a few things and read a few things that filled me with hope and inspiration.

And it struck me: what I need more than anything right now is to write a story about rising up against how cruel and strange the world can be.

Suddenly, all this nostalgia and love for the show came flooding back in, and I got my groove back; I've put four episodes together in four days, and reactivated the site again. I'm still figuring out the shape of Season 2, and it'll be what it'll be, but I hope whatever that is, you enjoy it.

I'm not writing this all down for pity, more just to get it off my chest. It's been an incredibly tough 2.5 years, both personally and globally. To all the people who've sent messages of encouragement and love for the show, know that I see you and I appreciate you.

My big hope is that when this little show releases, it can bring everyone a bit of hope and escapism. At a time when everything feels dark, we need visibility and togetherness. I hope our little queer show can be a drop in that ocean.

Lots of love, and I'm going to do my utmost for you all. Wish me luck ❤️

If you have any questions, please feel free to send them through to our inbox. I'm going to try not to avoid it any more.

- Skye (formerly Julian)

[vampire-magic]

Summary of the Kson VShojo Stream (under READ MORE)

Disclaimer: My Japanese is not that strong, but this is my basic summary based on what I heard and read from Shibuya Kaho's translation in the Twitch chat. I hope this sheds some light on the situation for those who were unable to watch.

Kson was planning on leaving at the end of the month because she had not been paid since September 2024 (10 months)

She was worried if she tried to leave sooner then they would hold her hostage and/or the other JP girls would suffer without her

JP CEO (Makino) did not want to explain in English because he lacks the ability to be subtle about it

"I'm worried I won't be able to say anything correctly"

JP branch ALSO had no idea what was going on. VshojoJP itself in finances has been doing good

Makino has no control over the funds because only the US side does.

JP staff were also confused as to why the delay in payment was so long. Makino claims he had been asking only for Vshojo US to say 'tell them to wait we will get it'.

Kson quits because it is very very wrong

"You're telling me VshojoJP was doing good and you could have been paying me? Where is it? I want it now."

Makino again states has no control over what the EN branch decides to do so he feels very upset at the news as well.

"The US branch is the only one who can distribute the funds and we have no ability to. All I could see was the money going in and out to the talents but I had no idea where the talents' payroll is going. Mainly we handle the licensed merch and the sponsorships on the JP side, but you as the talents should be getting that money, I agree."

"I do believe because of this mistake Vshojo JP will be dissolved but I don't want to say definitely."

Makino came on this stream knowing fully well he will lose his job saying this.

"Why did this happen???"

JP CEO says he is unable to say because even he's unclear as to why this happened; it's entirely on the US branch.

"Any money you make should go straight to you but it didn't"

"So it's entirely because whoever is managing the money is bad at it, not malicious error? are you getting paid?"

Makino reveals he's gotten paid but he took a cut, only getting 50% of his salary.

"Well I don't think that's very fair!"

"Yes but I don't really know... We all took pay cuts on staff."

"The talents are the most important part of the company, so isn't it important the talents get paid first? Not saying you as the support are not important but we were told this is a company that prioritizes the talents. Our fans donate to support us."

"I can't really say anything bad about the staff. We have good staff. We've been trying to find a new parent company... We thought our staff was good."

"Am I gonna get my money?"

"Well you see we don't have anything for you unfortunately because the US branch is holding the money, and well... it's been difficult with them lately as you can tell."

"The reality is I need to get paid. The fans gave me the money, everyone their money, to support them, so you can see why I can't just accept that. I understand what you've told me but you can see why I can't be okay with it. I truthfully cannot 'wish you the best' because it's a betrayal to everyone here. Where did the money go that we were supposed to get?"

She talks about how they've been trying to hire NEW talents when they haven't paid their old ones. How were they planning on paying for new talents if they could not afford to pay the ones they already had?

"Someone could have stopped this situation... Did anyone inside Vshojo say "hey there's something wrong! let's stop that!"... Did anyone say anything about that?!"

"We did not know anything on that front because people from the US side were hiding the profit loss from us, so we operated under the assumption the funds were fine."

"So they were lied to? Who was lying then?"

"I have my suspicions on who it is but I truthfully don't know. I can't really say."

Conclusion and Afterword: The JAPANESE branch of Vshojo was also defrauded by the US branch, and so they are trying to find a new parent company in order to support the girls currently under their belt, but the successful talents who already had a huge audience will be operated differently than the new girls (NOVA generation) who debuted as Vshojo recruits.* The JP CEO is limited in what he can say about the state of the company but he also seemed shocked once he was told about Ironmouse's situation, and he's going to try to salvage the JP branch along with the rest of the staff currently working there.* kson quit so none of this applies to her. She doesn't want to believe the JP branch is evil, but none of her burning questions were answered properly. She's not going to join a new company, she's laughing about how she's 'gonna have truuust issues', and her old manager who joined Vshojo with her, she's going to 'buy her back' and pay her generously so she doesn't have to work at that company anymore. *Addenum: According to recent reports, JP staff at Vshojo have been getting laid off en-masse following the broadcast of Kson's stream, suggesting that the US branch is liquidating the JP branch. It is unknown what will happen to the other JP talents, but Kson directs the viewers to Henya and Michi's streams that will premiere later on in the following days.

[girlyhornywriter]

To my pig...

You didn't think it would come to this, did you?

When I suggested some "pet play", you were probably expecting me to slip a cute little collar around your neck, to pull you around on the end of a leash, and maybe make you bark for me while I use you like my own personal fleshlight...

You had the wrong kind of pet in mind though. I didn't want a cute little puppy or a sweet, gentle kitten... I wanted a pig.

A big...

...fat...

...disgusting hog. One that would oink and squeal for me while I feed them endless snacks and grope their thickening belly paunch. One who wouldn't even notice how tight their clothes are getting because they're too lost in their own gluttony to think about what they're doing to themselves. One who eats until their fullness makes them horny, then allows that horniness to turn into even more hunger, until they're so stuffed that they can barely move...

I didn't think it'd be this easy to turn you into one, though. Honestly, I think you were made for this, fatass. The way the world around you just slips out of focus when I put food in front of you, and doesn't return until you're a grunting, oinking pile of lard on the floor, licking the plate clean after another proud display of gluttony for your owner...

Were you ever really a person, or has this greedy hog within you just been waiting to show itself all along? I don't know why I'm bothering to ask you. I haven't heard you speak in anything but oinks in so long... You're probably too far gone to even hear my words. Nothing more than a greasy, slobbish mess, crawling around at their owner's feet, waiting for their daily slop to chow down on while their fat ass gets fucked from behind.

You're not my partner anymore. You're my pet. My possession. My Hog. Not that Hog remembers ever being slim, or athletic, or disciplined. Hog just knows how useless and pathetic it is now. How disgustingly greedy and animalistic it let me make it. It used to obey a strict diet... Now it just obeys its owner when they slide a stick of butter down their throat and tell it to swallow. Hog is so good at doing as it's told now. Hog is too broken to have any shame any more...

Does it remember how long it used to spend picking out a cute outfit for our dates? How it would fret about looking chubby in its new top, or being too embarrassed to order itself a burger? Thank goodness those days are behind us... My Hog doesn't even think twice when I take it for a walk through town, crawling laboriously on all fours with a leash attached to its collar, its massive curtain of soft belly brushing the ground beneath it as I lead it to bakeries and cafes and restaurants, buying it treats for it to enjoy while passers-by stare at the disgusting, naked pig being paraded around. I don't know if Hog can hear their awful comments over the sound of its belly slapping against each thigh with each step, but maybe its best that Hog doesn't know what a gross and mindless glutton they think it is.

I should feel bad for turning my partner into my own perfect pet hog, but to be honest... I really don't. Because I realised long ago that despite everything, you did all this to yourself. All I did is put the trough in front of you; you ate up all the swill, all by yourself. You saw an opportunity to become such a fucking useless bucket of blubber and you grabbed it, never letting go, even now that you can't move because your gelatinous gut has grown too big and heavy for you to even crawl anymore.

Just keep oinking for me, Hog. It's all you're good for now. Let your owner enjoy their masterpiece. Eating is all you need to worry about...

[pinkolve]

Barbarian- Eddie Munson ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Summary: Eddie comes up to you, noticing you don't have anywhere to sit. You become good friends, but what happens when he realizes you aren't who you appear to be?

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint realllyyy hard, kind of violent?

CW: Fem!reader, D&DNerd!Reader, Alternative!Reader, second person point of view, use of Y/n, Reader is very violent and crashes out on a jock (I hate when Y/n's are all sweet and innocent and 'baby' so I made this one a total bad bitch, but she does have sweet qualities...She's just a nice person who isn't afraid to be a bitch when she has to basically), Reader has hair long enough to tie up, Reader is described as shorter than Eddie, kind of awkward writing? That's basically it I think.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I have a feeling this may be kind of cringy at some points? Either way it's still a pretty good fic. (Reader's D&D characters are based on my own...I didn't feel like coming up with completely knew characters on the spot.)

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You finally exit the lunch line, tray in hand. You scan the room, trying to find an empty table. You had just enrolled at Hawkin’s High a couple weeks ago, still not finding your own group. You looked down at your outfit, assuming that had something to do with it. Your tights were decorated with a yellow police tape pattern, short, black denim shorts over them. Your T-shirt was tucked into them on one side, a picture of a silly looking cat adorning the front. Your shoes were tall platforms and made you look a lot taller than normal. Overall, you could tell why people were adamant on avoiding you. The people in that school had zero personality.

You pull yourself from your thoughts, locking eyes with a tall man. He walks right towards you, his long curly hair looking soft to the touch.

“Hey.” He greets you shyly, pulling a hand from his pocket to wave. You’ve seen him before, with his D&D group. He had a habit of jumping up on the lunch tables to yell at jocks across the room. The way he was acting now drastically differed from his usual persona.

“Hi?” You can’t help but feel confused. This guy who had never acknowledged you before, randomly walking up to say ‘hi.’

“Uhm…” He clears his throat quickly. “I saw you looking around, do you not have a place to sit?” He questions.

“No, I don’t. I’ve spent most of my lunch periods outside, there’s never any empty tables.” You state, pointing to the lunch room doors.

“Well, would you like to sit with me and my friends?” Your face lights up, despite your protests.

“I’d love to, if you’re sure?” He nods enthusiastically, his back suddenly straightening. His whole mood seems to change as he leads you back to his table.

“Everyone, this is…” Eddie pauses, attempting to introduce you but realizing he never asked your name. “I’m sorry, I never got your name.” He chuckles.

“Y/n.” You say simply, taking a seat right beside his own. He plops down, his hair bouncing.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He mumbles, though you have a feeling he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You shake your head with a smile and direct your attention to the rest of the table.

“I like your tights.” A curly-haired boy pipes up. You look at him, eyes shining and smile wide.

“Thank you, I like them too! What’s your name?” You put your chin in one of your hands, watching him expectantly.

“Um, Dustin Henderson.” His voice cracks before he clears his throat once.

“Nice to meet you. I like your bracelet.” You say, pointing to a colorful beaded bracelet on his wrist.

“Oh, thanks! My girlfriend made it for me, used all my favorite colors too.” His smile is giant as he mentions his partner.

“That’s really sweet.” You smile back.

“So,” Eddie claps his hands together, grabbing your attention. You look over, his eyes already staring into yours. “Do you happen to know anything about D&D?”

“Probably not as much as you guys, but I’ve played a decent amount.” You nod, making him grin.

“Do you have a party? Or a character perhaps?” He leans on the table, arms crossed.

“I used to have a party until I moved away. And yes, I have two characters.”

“Two?” His head tilts back as his eyes widen. “Tell me about ‘em.”

“Uh, well I have a Level 22, Tiefling Rouge named Orianna. I made her for my very first campaign so she has a special place in my heart. I also have a Level 10, Dwarf Barbarian named Helwyn. I also gave her a pet rabbit named Ingot.” You nod your head after your short ramble. You look back at Eddie and his face is simultaneously stunned and amazed.

“Level 22?! I don’t even have a character that high yet!” A voice from further down the table whines. You look over with a cocky smile.

“Guess that means I’m better than you.” He looks at you with a red face.

“You should join our party.” You look back at Eddie, meeting his gaze.

“I was waiting for you to ask me.” You both smile.

“Do we get a say in this?!” Another voice yells.

“No.” Eddie replies, never tearing his eyes from you.

The next few weeks fly by, and before you know it you’ve made amazing friends. You officially join Hellfire after your first time playing with them. They were hesitant at first, but then you totally saved all their asses by rolling a natural twenty. Safe to say, they didn’t have any complaints after that.

“Hey!” You greet excitedly, plopping down onto the bench. One thing your friends in Hellfire noticed, was your attitude completely differed from your style. You looked hard to approach, stubborn, angry, and borderline evil…But that was only because you have a severe case of RBF.

“Hey there, Sunshine!” Eddie greets you with just as much enthusiasm. He came up with the nickname very easily, your charms and smile radiating light.

“So, are you finally gonna tell me what you have planned for our next campaign?” You ask, biting your lip in anticipation.

“Sorry, a magician doesn’t reveal his secrets.” He raises his hands up, eyes closing. You shake your head, rolling your eyes with a sweet smile.

“Tell me or I’ll slap you.” You state, but your smile removes any fear Eddie may have had.

“Yeah, right. You couldn’t hurt a fly, Sunshine!” He leans forward, eyes drooping so he looks drunk. In theory he was, but it wasn’t alcohol he was drunk on…

“I could-” As if on queue, something thick and warm collides with the back of your head. You hear boyish laughing right behind you, and based on that alone, you know that whatever’s in your hair; isn’t good.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Eddie stands up first, staring at the two boys with narrowed eyes. He looks ready to explode, but you won’t let him fight your battles. Everyone thinks you’re a total sweetheart, so it’s time to prove them wrong. You stand up abruptly, smacking your hands on the table. You reach for your lunch tray, grabbing a handful of mashed…Something. Eddie backs up when he sees your face as you turn around.

One of the boy’s taunts you, but you don’t hear it. You walk up to him with terrifying confidence, just close enough before you slap him across the face with the food in your hand. It smears over his face, getting in his eyes. You take advantage of his distraction and pull your foot up, pushing it right on his chest to kick him down onto the floor.

“Holy shit!” Someone screams, but you can’t tell if it’s one of your friends or one of the douchebags. You stomp your foot down on his chest, pushing him into the floor. He groans and tries to pry you off, but you stay where you are.

“Apologize.” You say through gritted teeth.

“W-What?!” He yells, stuttering through shaky breaths.

“I said, apologize to me now!” You shout, pushing down on his chest. He cries out, apologizing quickly. Before you even notice, a teacher is grabbing onto your arm. You look up and pry it from their grasp. “I’m going to the principal, let me go!” You avoid Eddie’s gaze as you grab your bag, walking for the lunchroom exit. The last thing Eddie sees is you scraping the food out of your hair, to throw in the face of a girl laughing at you.

“She’s a total badass.” Dustin speaks first, the rest of Hellfire watching you walk away as well.

“She’s perfect, is what she is.” Eddie whispers, watching you with literal heart-eyes.

You make your way home after being suspended for several weeks. Your parents aren’t there when you arrive, probably in another country by now. They travel for work a lot, leaving you alone in their giant house. You quickly make your way to your room, changing into fresh clothes after showering. You put on fuzzy socks, and tie your freshly washed hair up. You throw on a T-shirt that practically swallows you whole before walking back downstairs. Just as you pass the front door, the doorbell rings out.

With furrowed brows, you pull open the door.

“Hey, Sunshine.” He says softly.

“Eddie! What are you doing here?” You ask, unable to fight the smile creeping up your cheeks.

“I came to see how long you’re suspended for.” He chuckles, making you groan.

“Three weeks.” His eyes widen.

“How are we gonna survive our campaigns without you?”

“You probably won’t, you’ve started relying on me too much.” You smirk, leaning against the doorframe.

“You know…You choosing to play a barbarian really makes sense now.” Your cheeks go warm, and you avert your gaze.

“I didn’t mean to lash out like that, and I’m really sorry you had to see it.” Eddie looks at you like you’re completely crazy, because he actually thinks you might be.

“Are you serious? Why are you apologizing? That was the most badass, amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” You look up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks suddenly feeling warmer for a completely different reason. “You took him down like it was nothing! Everyone in Hellfire practically worships you now. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, you care so much for everyone close to you…But you also know how to hold your own and defend the people you care about. That’s the most impressive and…Hottest thing ever.”

“You think I’m hot?”

“That’s what you took from all that?” He asks, laughing loudly. His head tilts back as he laughs, when he looks back up you’re still staring at him. “I thought you were hot the second I saw you, this whole thing only added to it.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I didn’t tell you but…I had noticed you on your first day. I was too scared to walk up to you because I thought you were so out of my league. The guys had to give me more pep-talks than I can even count, before I walked up to you.”

“I have a feeling you wanted to do more than just invite me to sit with you guys.” You squint, searching his face.

“I originally wanted to ask you out but…You needed a place to sit first, and after we became friends I didn’t wanna ruin that.”

“Ask me.” You whisper.

“Huh?” He shakes his head, staring at you with raised brows.

“Ask me out.” He stutters a little, stumbling backwards slightly. You stare up at him expectantly, and he really can tell if you’re messing around.

“Uh…Will you g-go out with me?” He chokes on air, patting his chest with his hand.

“Yes.” Your answer is quick and holds zero hesitance. Eddie looks down at you with glittering eyes, staring at you like you’re everything he’s ever dreamed of; and you are.

[mainstreamangel]

ON TOP OF THE WORLD

summary: after injury, you rekindle old flames and find out what it really means to be on top of the world.

warning(s): slight childhood trauma? player injury.

a/n: this is my favourite fic of mine. pls love it—caress it, whatever :)

masterlist / indiana locker room

[name] out for the season, torn acl.

the espn notification popped up on your phone. a short article about the incident. you were starting in the notre dame-iowa matchup but near the end of first quarter, you went for the fast break and a smooth layup and under some circumstances, you were bodied and lost your footing. a pop was felt in your left leg and you let out a blood curling scream.

the arena was packed. full of fans of all ages coming to see the star athlete, caitlin clark. but those same fans had just witnessed one of the most dreaded injuries any athletes could experience. the cameras panned to your pained, empty expression. the moment you felt the tear, you silently gave up. you knew what it meant—the therapy you'd have to endure, the recovery process, even the chance you may never get back to the way you worked so hard to be.

as the medical team carried you off to the ambulance and to the hopsital, you kept the same empty expression. the look of defeat, not from the game's loss but to the loss of your career.

you laid on the uncomfortable white hospital bed. the sounds of the monitors beeping, faint noises of people shuffling around the floor—even the steady sounds of voices talking in and out of rooms.

no one was in your room. the nurse had left after checking up on you. you were set to be sent to the OR for surgery. your phone kept blowing up from different notifications—sympathy texts, media articles, fans drawing up genuine and half-assed comments about your recovery. but you never picked up your phone once.

a knock at the door, brings your attention back to reality. though you didn't stop looking at the bare ceiling. the smell of sterile equipment and sanitary percautions filled your nose as the footsteps drew closer.

"[name]? i'm doctor charleston. i will be the one operating on you." he says, scrolling on his tablet.

you say nothing. your eyes still glued on bright florescent lighting. the sounds of the hospital blurring together, the numbness of reality sending you into a fever dream like state. next thing you know you were being wheeled out into the semi-empty hospital halls. from your designated room to the operating room.

for the first time you shift your head to the side. you watch as you're pushed through the halls. all of it a blur of motion—the only clear thing through your eyes was when you passed a nearby room. inside, there was a child laying on a similar bed to yours. her mother, sat on a plastic chair, was holding her hand, rubbing her skin softly. you couldn't hear exactly what the child's mother said, but by the loving look reflected in her eye, you assumed it were positive affirmations.

but for the first time since the tear, a single tear slide down at the corner of your eye. your parents never cared much about you. you grew up with a rough childhood, your parents picking up some inideal haits. they always stated they never had time for you, always said you were a drunken mistake.

so to protect your feelings from harsh reality, you found different things to keep you away from home, to take up your time. the first time you picked up a basketball at the ripe age of 5, it quickly became your escape. it opened up many opportunities only one could ever dream of. you told yourself if you did something that made your parents proud of you, they would love you. but you think deep down you knew there wasn't anything you could do to make them change their mind.

"alright we're going to put you under, [name]. count down from 10 for me." the anesthesiologist says in your ear. you didn't say anything. you just mindlessly stared at the ceiling as your eyelids drew heavy.

time moved slowly as the doctors worked on your body, music played softly in the background—the sounds of tools and equipment merging with the melody.

in contrast, your mind ticked by and oddly enough, it felt at peace for once. you stood in the middle of purcell pavilion. the lights were dim and all the seats were empty. rows and rows of chairs that were once filled just hours ago, now vacant.

though most of the arena was dark, a single light shone on the centre of the court. you looked around you, rotating your body in a circle. the faint hum of the ac filled the quiet space. your legs carried you about a step before your foot hit something. a lone basketball.

your breathing slowed as you stare at the ball. it wasn’t there before. the ball’s paint glared back at you—daring you to pick it up. drawn to it like sleeping beauty to a spindle, you crouch down and pick it up. with the basketball in your hands you feel around the sphere. the rough texture with tiny intricate bumps to the smooth lines painted delicately, trailing along the area of the ball.

but the longer you held the ball, the faster the voices started to roll in.

“could this be the end of [name]’s career?”

“is [name] just a one hit wonder?”

“[name] has broken so many records…but are they really that good?”

“is [name] trying to be something they’re not?”

“why isn’t [name] trying hard enough?”

you don’t realise the ball had slipped from your your fingertips. the voices of doubt and uncertainty plague your mind—all the noise getting louder by the second. your breathing picked up, the fear of everything you’ve built—lost to an unpredictable injury.

as your body shook you hunched over with your hands planted firmly on your knees like you just timed your sprints. the noise never seemed to let up until you felt a hand on your shoulder. your body flinches, jerking you back. you spin around to look at what had startled you. in front of you was a girl. you couldn’t see her face as your vision was blurred.

but her energy felt familiar, like you had felt her touch a million times before. you furrowed your brows as you try and recover your breath from your minor panic attack, your head dizzy from all the movement. the girl slowly strides over and pulls you into her arms. you’re shocked at first—stunned even. but then you wordlessly wrap your arms around her slightly taller frame and tuck your head into her shoulder. your breathing evens out, eventually returning to normal. and the noise around you finally stops, a new kind of quiet envelopes you. it’s familiar but foreign at the same time, foreign rather by time but not distance.

neither of you say anything for a bit. you’re not even sure if where you are is real. but you choose to just stay present in the moment, the noise disappear feeling like a breath of fresh air.

“nothing can defeat you if the change is in your heart.”

your eyes snap open, the familiar blinding white of the hospital. you wince as your eyes haven’t adjusted to the lighting.

“oh, good. you’re awake.” the familiar sound of dr. charleston fills your ears. “the surgery was a success i can’t give you an specific time frame of your recovery but i’m sure you’ll be alright.”

you let out a sigh of relief. it felt as a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

“though, you will have to endure a bunch of physical therapy. it will be difficult and you won’t get back to 100% so easily. i’m sure though with your amount of drive, you’ll come back better than ever.” he finishes.

you nod slightly. “thanks doc.”

“is there anyone you would wanna call? your mom perhaps? or a friend?” he asks, lowering his tablet a bit.

you shake your head again. “it’s just me.”

he gave you a solemn look before walking out and shutting the door softly behind him.

now, the good news is that staring at the ceiling without the ability to walk properly without help, it gives a girl time to think—mostly about recent events. sometimes you would think about where you were when you went under. it was like a certain escape, now unreachable. it felt like peace, it felt like home.

but most nights you were left to think about the what-ifs and all the different outcomes. so here you were, finally discharged from the hospital’s facility. with the help of one of the nurses, she got your backpack on your back and taught you how to properly use the crutches they provided.

no one came to get you. not even one of your teammates—or any of your fair weather friends. ever since you transferred to notre dame, you hadn’t gone out of your way to build any sort of emotional bond with your teammates off the court. sometimes when you see your teammates laughing and you stand off to the side, your mind wanders off to happier times. you used to be in a group like that, laughing. but not anymore.

you had called an uber and before you officially left the hospital grounds, a nurse assisted you one last time into the sleek black car. the driver asked where you wanted to go. the doctor insisted you go home and rest up. but your mind needed to be cleared, so you asked to be driven to the rec centre. the one place where you could rely on no matter where you went.

you passed through the threshold clumsily, still trying to adjust to the new fine motor skill. you place your bag down in the corner, away from all the chaos and find an open half court. it wasn’t too busy—oddly enough it wasn’t as busy as you had anticipated. you also spotted a lone stool. it was tall and was perfect for not putting pressure on your leg. you carefully drag it over to the 3 point line and grab a basketball from the rack.

“hey! [name]! sorry about your acl. what’re you doing here?” your teammate, sonia citron, asks.

you give a half-assed smile. “just tryna clear my head. rebound for me?” you asked, adjusting your body to sit comfortably on the stool.

“yeah sure. just let me know if you need to stop.” she says, putting herself next to the basket.

you shoot threes for a while, your arm burning from repetition sweat trickled down your forehead as you miss another shot. “fuck.” you muttered, catching sonia’s pass.

again.

your mind screamed at you to push past the pain—to prove… prove what?

you let out a small breath as you feel the impact of the basketball hit your stomach.

“you, okay?” sonia asks, jogging over.

the basketball skids away from you both as you nod your head.

“yeah just spaced out for a minute. listen thanks for your help but i gotta go.” you say, dragging the stool back and re-racking the basketball.

sonia nods. “okay—you need help?” she asks cautiously, hinting at your injury.

“nah it’s cool. got here by myself i can get home by myself too. see you at practice tomorrow.” you told her.

“you’re coming? shouldn’t you be resting?” she asks, a worried expression dawned upon her face.

“i’m not playing but i’ll watch. can’t keep me off the court.” you joked.

she didn’t laugh.

“alright… see you later citron.” you look down awkwardly, limping away with your crutches.

once you got back to your place, you dropped your bag and drop your shoulders. you hadn't checked your phone since the incident and once you did, your dms were flooded to the max with sympathy texts, well wishes, the occassional hate comment.

but the one you weren't expecting was a text from caitlin clark. you hadn't spoken to her in a year. you were busy keeping her out of your mind and importantly, out of your heart. with a rough history you made the silent decision to transfer.

that's how you ended up at notre dame.

it wasn't the same, environmentally. it wasn't as carefree and fun, you didn't laugh like you did back at iowa. some nights you couldn't help but think about her. about your past... what could've been your future. but nothing was gonna change the way it was.

cait baby 💕

↳ hey... i know you probably don't want to hear from me. but i'm really sorry about your injury. let me know if there's anything i can do for you. and incase you needed it, this message is genuine.

you scoffed. genuine. after everything she did to you, nothing about her is genuine.

you

↳ ?? nothing abt u is genuine if u came to gloat abt my acl js dont im not in the mood 4 ur rage baiting

cait baby 💕

↳ i promise i’m being serious. i am sorry and i want to help you.

↳ you know i do.

you

↳ stop texting me caitlin.

cait baby 💕

↳ then why do you keep responding baby

you

↳ u lost the right to call me that the minute u left me

cait baby 💕

↳ please don’t do this right now i told you it was a mistake.

you

↳ and i told u u cant js rebound me like ur shots just bc u made a “mistake”

cait baby 💕

↳ let me help you. please. and if you don’t i’ll be here.

you

↳ leave me alone cait

cait baby 💕

↳ alright.

you sigh, slamming your phone on the couch nearby. she was so infuriating. you try and take a step but stumble a bit, sitting yourself down on the couch. it was quiet for a moment until a knock sounded on the hardwood door.

you groan and think about just not answering. wrong choice—the knocking gets persistent and louder. you grab your crutch and carefully stand up, putting most of your weight on your good leg.

you reach the door and pry it open.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

“listen before you say anything-“

you roll your eyes and harshly push the door closed—caitlin puts her foot in the middle of the threshold and a hand on the door. she winces at the impact but pushes through.

“i just came to check on you. i know it’s been hard since you left and-“

“you made me leave.”

“i… yeah. i’m sorry.” she looks down and sighs. “look put our feud aside and all, i really did just came to check on you.”

“go back to iowa.”

“we don’t leave for a couple days.”

“then go back to your hotel.”

“can i come in?” she looks a little past you, taking a look at where you ended up. “it’s not as nice as iowa.” she points out.

“go away.” you close your eyes taking a moment to readjust your footing—struggling a bit with the crutch.

“here let me help.” she moves to open the door more.

“i got it.” you snap, swatting her away with your free hand. unfortunately that causes you to completely lose your balance and caitlin grabs a hold of you.

“easy, [nickname].”

you swat her away again, once you regain your footing. “don’t call me that.”

“right, sorry.” she awkwardly stuffs her hands in her pockets.

“you done?” you ask suddenly.

“uh, yeah. you need… you need anything else?” she retaliates.

you put on a bored expression. “nope. bye.” you go to close the door and finally you close it straight on her face.

you let out a breath you were sure you were holding and with great difficulty you managed to get to the fridge and crack open a monster.

“you know those aren’t good for you.”

you jump and whip your head around.

“how’d you get in?” you ask.

“you left a key under your floor mat. like you did back at iowa.” she says, holding up a shiny silver key.

“that doesn’t give you the right to walk in without invitation caitlin.” you take another sip of your monster and hop on over back to the couch.

you lean over and grab the remote, putting on a random cooking show. you watch as the two mediocre bakers try and beat the two award winning bakers. their only advantage being time and access to ingredients.

“you’re not gonna tell me to leave you alone? to get out or curse me out?” she asks suddenly.

“whats the point cait. you just walked in as you please. either make yourself at home or leave i don’t care just let me watch my show in peace. i have enough on my mind.”

it was silent for a moment while caitlin awkwardly stood in your entrance area. but then she kicked off her shoes—she knows you hate dirty floors—and walked over to get a glass of water like she casually lived there. then she shuffled back over and took the other end of the couch—the middle cushion being left wide open.

you watched with your eyes but your mind was elsewhere. conflicted with the idea of letting your ex girlfriend and ex teammate stay for a bit.

“you don’t even like cooking shows.” she says, breaking the silence.

“you don’t know what i like, caitlin.” you say mindlessly.

“i know you prefer sitcoms and action entertainment. cooking hasn’t once been a preference.” she states. “wanna try that again?” she says, smugly looking at you.

you scoff and turn your head to her. “why now? why do you show up now? when i’m at my lowest you suddenly come back up on the map. why, caitlin? is it because you wanna relish in my pain well go ahead.” you raise your voice.

“my career is over anyways. now i’m gonna be a fucking medical physicist now. and i won’t be able to do what i love. so laugh all you want, i don’t care anymore.” you snap your head back to the tv after your outburst.

caitlin is silent for a moment before speaking again. “[name], look. i don’t know how many times i can tell you but i really just want to help. i know i haven’t been there when you first moved in here,” she says motioning around.

“and i know it’s been difficult for you to adjust—and before you say anything i know because you have a hard time adjusting to new environments. it happened when you came to iowa, it happened when we went from friends to girlfriends to exes. so please, just let me help you.” she assures, softly.

you say nothing as your jaw remains tight. “get me a water.” you reply.

“what’s the magic word?” she teases.

you look at her with the same bored expression. “get me a water before i call the cops for trespassing.”

“you wouldn’t do that.”

“try me.”

caitlin gets up without another word and grabs another glass, filling it three fourths of the way full. she takes long strides back to the couch and gently hands it to you.

“thank you.” you painfully say.

“what was that?” she asks, smiling and taking a seat back where she was just minutes ago.

“sorry i tried to be nice.” you snapped, taking a sip of water.

“how’s your knee? can i get you anything? do you want dinner?” caitlin gave you a worried look.

“you don’t have to pre-“

“i’m not pretending. are you hungry?” she asks again.

“didn’t know you were staying for dinner.” you snort.

“it’ll be nice.”

“who says you’re staying?”

“you want me to leave?”

now pause. the right and logical answer should be yes. but you’ve felt rather lonely since you got here. it would be nice to have familiar company—even if it’s ex company.

“that’s what i thought. you want italian for dinner? you’re always in a mood for italian.” she starts looking for places that serve italian.

“not this time.” you say, sadly.

caitlin gives you a horrified look. “wow you really aren’t well.”

you give her a half offended—half sarcastic look. “no kidding.”

“so what DO you feel like?” she asks, lowering her phone.

“not pizza.”

“okay i know that, at least that part of you is still normal.”

“maybe a sandwich.”

“a sandwich? alright… what were you thinking? subway? jimmy johns?”

“maybe a burger.” you pretend to tap your finger against your chin—symbolising your decisiveness.

“okay… any in partic-“

“maybe lasagna.”

“that’s italian. you said you were in the mood for italian.”

“but what if i want lasagna?”

caitlin said nothing but gave you a half assed annoyed face. you only smiled back and turned your show up louder. after a minute caitlin nodded and stood up, grabbing her keys and heading out the door.

you watch as it slams close and you stare at it for a minute too long. you should be glad—you successfully got her to leave, like how you wanted her to at the start. but you only felt disappointed. in reality it was sweet how even though all you’ve done is yell and argue at her, she’s been persistent and kept you company while asking if you needed anything.

you put your head in your hands and turn the tv off. you grabbed your crutch again and limped your way to your bedroom. it was a small bedroom—but it felt like home. well, as homey as a place can get. you had posters hung up of all the players you admired and the league you hoped to join—that all taken away now. you lay down, your crutch leaning against a nearby wall.

you decide to scroll on your phone, not feeling very hungry even if caitlin mentioned it. she was supposed to stay for dinner. tears started to well in your eyes but you forced yourself to not cry. she didn’t deserve any of your grief.

so you did the most radical thing. you called caitlin. it took a few rings but the line went through.

“hello? are you okay? do you need me to come back?” the background was a bit loud—a lot of noise.

“where’d you go?” you ask quietly. you were starting to feel a bit tired.

“i just went to the store. i was gonna make mac n cheese for you. to make you feel better, and because i know whenever you feel indecisive, i make mac n cheese for you.” she replied.

it touched your heart that she still remembered. it felt like you never broke up.

“why’d you leave?” you mumble.

“i just said-“

“why’d you leave us.” you cry silently. tear after tear slowly rolled down your cheeks since the tear.

the line was quiet, until, “can we not do this now—over the phone i mean. i wanna talk about it in person.” she says, softly.

you nod like she can see you. “alright. you’re coming back though right?” you sounded worried—like she was gonna leave you again.

“i promise, [name].” the line went dead.

your hand slowly fell limp as you stared at the ceiling. somewhere along the way you closed your eyes and fell asleep—your cheeks still damp and your skin still glowing.

“hey, wake up.”

you crack your eyes open and look at who shook you. your eyes squinting at the little light turned on next to your bed.

“what- what’re you doing here?” you ask, trying to get away from caitlin’s touch.

“i’m back just like i said i would. were you crying?” she asks, leaning forward to tough your face.

“no, fuck no.” you lie.

she doesn’t seem to buy it but lets it go. “i made you dinner. come on.” she starts to walk away.

“i’m not hungry.” you grumble.

“i don’t care, you need to eat something. even if it’s small.” she opens the door and walks out to the kitchen.

you groan and get up, making your way to the kitchen too. caitlin stirs the mac n cheese in the pot and the soft sounds of the spoon scraping every so often against the sides—filled your ears.

“you didn’t have to do this for me.” you say, looking down.

“i want to take care of you. i haven’t been for the past year and i can’t make up for lost time but i wanna be there for you… while you recover.”

you sigh. “cait listen you left me—us, and you can’t just show up when im at my lowest.” you walk over and lay your head against her shoulder. she was only a tad taller than you.

she rests her head on your head and nods slightly. “i know but i want to start over and i’m willing to do anything to do that. i’m serious—leaving you was a mistake.”

you close your eyes and nod. “i’ll need time.”

“all the time you need, take it. i’m here.” she hands you a bowl of mac n cheese and helps you sit down on the couch.

“thanks cait.” you give her a small genuine smile.

“there’s that pretty smile. you want anything to drink?” she asks, fixing herself a bowl.

“no thanks. still got my monster from earlier.”

“it’s probably flat though.” caitlin says quickly.

“still tastes good.” you retaliate.

she plops down on the couch and hands you the remote. “no silly cooking shows right?”

“right.” you nod. you scroll for a bit till you find yours’ and caitlin’s favourite movie.

“i still like that movie. i still watch it sometimes… when i miss you late at night.” she confesses.

you turn to look at her. she half expects you to laugh at her—tease her or get mad but you just nod.

“me too.”

“fuck.” you grumble, missing another shot.

you’ve made wonderful progress through the season and have ditched the crutch. the doctors says you should be back to playing before the draft and you let out a sigh of relief.

you told your teammates—coaches and all, and they were ecstatic for you. you told caitlin and she booked a flight to come see you over a weekend break. it was a nice break and you have to admit it started to feel like you may be harbouring a crush on caitlin again.

she’s proven herself true—nothing short of more than you could ever ask. she always helped you when it felt too heavy to move around and she took care of you like she did in the past. you missed it really, but you were still cautious about your heart.

you didn’t want to make the same mistake.

but she’s only been sweet on you like you never broke up. she’s texted you every day and face-timed you when you have winding down moments.

“you know, maybe you should take a break.” sonia said, catching the ball.

“just give me the ball sonny.” you sighed.

“nah, i’m making you take a break.” she says, making a random layup.

you grumbled. the door to the gymnasium opened and both you and sonia turned to see caitlin.

“you know she’s right. if you overwork yourself, you’re just gonna end up back in the hospital—back to square one.” she says, pulling you into a hug.

“i know.. i just feel kinda useless not being on the court and all.” your words muffled into her shoulder.

caitlin pulls back and puts her hands on your shoulder. “you’re healing. plus you’ll be stronger with the right recovery process. take a break.” she insists.

“alright.”

sonia nods at caitlin and bids her farewell before walking out of the empty gymnasium. you sit down on the sidelines, taking a sip of your water. caitlin sits down next to you.

“what’re you doing here cait?” you ask, handing her your water.

she takes a quick sip and puts it on the floor. “just came to visit my favourite girl, is that a crime?” she asks.

“i’m not your girl.” you correct.

she says nothing but nods. “right, sorry.”

you sigh and lay your head on her shoulder.

“people say i’m not good enough. they say i’m not trying hard enough. i think that’s why i’m pushing myself.” you admit.

“you can’t listen to them, [name]. you know that. who’s a pro basketball athlete? you or them?”

“neither of us. i’m in college playing college bball.” you laugh.

she smiles down at you. “well you’ll come back and show them that you’re the pro athlete not them. and when you get drafted to a team where you impact them so well, you feel free to tell them to eat shit.” she says.

you chuckled quietly and nod. “i hope i get drafted somewhere in the midwest.” you confess.

“i bet you’ll get drafted to the best team.”

“where do you want to get drafted?” you ask, with your eyes closed.

“in the midwest. i wanna stay close to home, you know, my family.” she responded.

“well you’ll have no problem getting drafted and making an official roster. you’ll probably be first pick.”

“maybe but incase i’m not i just want to make the roster by pure talent.”

“talent? thats a generous term.” you joked.

she hit you softly on the arm. you laughed quietly. it fell silent for a moment before you opened your eyes and saw her looking down at you with the most loving look she could muster.

it felt like home—those eyes. the way she expresses her love, it makes it difficult not to give in and kiss her. luckily for you, you’re pretty weak when it comes to temptation. you softly guide caitlin’s lips towards your own and share a sweet kiss with the girl who stole your heart all those years ago.

caitlin pulls you closer as you softly grip her shirt. as you pull away slowly, you don’t dare to open your eyes instantly.

“i think i’m in love with you.” you confess.

“but?”

“how do i know you won’t give up on us again.” you opened your eyes.

caitlin softly tilted your chin up to meet her eyes. “ask me that again, once that day comes.”

you smile and kiss her shoulder.

it wasn’t the ideal way to get back together—you didn’t even know you were going to get back together with caitlin, but in that moment finding your happiness again was what really felt like being on top of the world.

stacks and stacks of awards and money couldn’t ever compare to caitlin’s love.

@spideygoop @numberonepartyanth3m @phoenix32711 @we2222 @sevikasleftbicep @em-nems @addymmt @swiftie4evr @fandoms-bythedozen @pathecat14 @fiction67 @ctkvi @toad-stool

[niuttuc]

So, I'll start with the bad news: Adaptive Automaton itself was made for a core set (ie a base, generic one with little lore) in 2011, so it was made to be as generic as possible and it could be on almost any world and work with almost any creature type. Typically, new cards in core sets back then tended to be set on Shandalar, a pretty generic fantasy world that has a few things going for it, but this one's art doesn't even have anything in the uniforms or look that'd confirm that.

The story of it is summed up in mechanics and a single line of flavor text, which is pretty impressive! A construct that imitates and inspires people of flesh and blood, with undying and unliving loyalty.

But! We can still use the card as a jumping off point into various things that are similar and may be of interest if this one caught the eye.

The first and fairly quick connection is more mechanical: Adaptive Automaton is a link in a lineage of generic typal support creatures.

The oldest of these is Brass Herald, which doesn't show up directly in the story either, but from its release set and effect, one can easily extrapolate some things. Brass Herald was released in Apocalypse, set during a time where the world of Dominaria was being invaded by the Phyrexians, alien zombie robots, and their god, Yawgmoth. The people of Dominaria banded together in a Coalition to fight against them, and at the center of the coalition was Tolaria, an island known among other things for its artificers. It is not hard to imaging those Heralds being sent out to warn and gather the different people across the world of Dominaria, to unite and galvanize them against the threat!

But coming back to Adaptive Automaton, the flavor text stands out.

Such loyalty can only be made.

The thought of a robot, a construct being built for loyalty and trusted over humans is something that crops up every so often in magic. In Avishkar:

This specific golem on Tarkir has had quite the story across a few cards:

Over 1,000 years in-universe (and over 10 out of universe) separate these three cards.

But I think the best example that resonates with Adaptive Automaton, that you might enjoy learning about, is a character that has been at time central to the story for close to 30 years now... Karn!

Karn was initially created as a probe by the planeswalker and artificer Urza, to send back in time through his experimental time machine to collect data. Karn was only given consciousness because the probe would work better for the purpose that way. Urza never really saw Karn as more than just a tool, useful at various points. To be fair to Urza, that's how he saw people he didn't make too, he was an artificer and for the most part only saw people as what they could contribute to his plans.

Thankfully, Karn met some people that were kinder than that in the academy he lived in. First among them was Jhoira. Later on, when Karn was getting burdened with grief and pain, Urza unilaterally decided to cap Karn's memories to 20 years to avoid that issue. As a result, for years and years to come, Karn would say aloud every day a mantra of the important stuff he never wanted to forget. It went like this:

"Jhoira is my friend — my best friend. We met in the original academy, before the accident drove us from Tolaria. She named me. Karn, from an old Thran name. She said it meant strength."

Eventually, incidentally along with Urza's death and coincidentally at the end of Apocalypse, Karn would ascend into a planeswalker. At the time, planeswalkers were beings of great power, capable of reshaping worlds should they want to enough.

Many of the planeswalkers of the time, had they been born human, or elf, or panther, or dragon, became in time quite monstrous, seeing regular people as at best pawns, at worst fodder.

Karn didn't. The golem made to be a tool was consistently one of the most "humans" of the planeswalkers, caring for people as people. He wasn't infallible, and his mistakes cost the life of many. Among oldwalkers, he is probably the one that suffered the most from regret and remorse at these mistakes.

Eventually, he would create an entire world of metal, and populate it with golems like him. He would name it Argentum. While his attention was on other people and things, that world would slip from his control, eventually being renamed to Mirrodin, and then to New Phyrexia.

As the Multiverse changed around him and as other planeswalkers did, he lost a lot of power and is no longer capable of creating, reshaping and destroying worlds at his will. His status as a planeswalker itself has changed a few times since, as Story happened to him. At the end of it, with the help of friends and allies, he remains and remains uncorrupted. In his last appearance, he participated in the end of New Phyrexia and the threat it posed, seeing it as his personal responsibility.

We'll see what the story has in store for Karn in the years to come. The Silver Golem, the Great Creator, the Living Legacy. The immortal creation who grieves and care, who protects and worries, who regrets and repairs.

Through hardship and friendship, he's learned what it means to be seen as an object to be used, and a person to be loved. He is still an example inspiring many people who were born or hatched, he champions and protects still.

I'm sorry Adaptive Automaton didn't have more to delve into directly, but I hope you enjoyed these tangents it inspired within Magic's lore.

This is a post I'm interested to be seen by people who either do not play Magic: the Gathering or engage with it rather casually. If that's not you, feel free to reblog to reach a wider audience, but the exercise in here will not be as useful.

A few months back, the game released a new Base Set of cards called Foundations. It is meant to be a new batch of hundreds of cards that will always be available, that are simpler on average (though not necessarily less powerful) to be a point of entry for new players. Something else it does wonderfully is be a palette of the many worlds, aesthetics and vibes within the game. This is where you come in:

This is the important bit below

Take a look at the cards in the set! You don't even have to read them, there are many, many of them. If one of them or more catches your attention, reblog this post with an image of it, and if you want to learn anything more about it! Be it the world it depicts, its history within the game, or even the mechanics if they are what intrigues you.

This is the important bit above

Some of the cards are either generic or from worlds we haven't visited yet, but the vast majority fit within a larger whole, and there might be more like them to point at! I will try to elaborate on what you want to learn, and maybe even point you towards similar cards or entire card sets on the world or subject you took note of.

In case you're totally unfamiliar with the game, I'll put a short summary under the cut:

Magic: the Gathering is a fantasy trading card game that's over thirty years old. People are invited to create their own deck of cards out of a pool of nearly 30,000 different cards at this point. The gameplay has been summed up many times as being something that sits in between Chess and Poker as far as overall appeal, though the actual action-by-action game is unlike both of them. Just like with playing cards, though not as extreme, there are different ways to play with the cards too, varying which are legal, or the exact rules they're played under.

It is a deep game that can be enjoyed at many levels of engagement, and will take exactly as much time and money out of you as you're willing to give it. From $0 free to play gaming on arena or occasional board game night engagement, to spending hundreds regularly to keep up with a tournament metagame, to spending thousands if not tens of thousands on super rare collectible cards.

In the past few years, Magic has started collaborating with other franchises to make cards for their properties. Lord of the Rings, Fallout, Doctor Who, and plenty more, though it keeps making cards for its own worlds and lore.

That lore can be summed up as a magical multiverse full of very different worlds, each with their own aesthetics, magics, factions and struggles. They are interconnected by rare mages that are able to travel between them, and a major event recently started connecting them further, allowing the layperson to be able to travel between them using less practical ways to do so. Within those worlds, stories happen, sometimes through the cards themselves, sometimes through written fiction, be them novels, online stories or even comic books. Magic cards are divided into five different colors of magic, each with its own associated philosophy, elemental associations, mechanics, aesthetics. Those five colors can then combine and interact to form complex characters, factions, spells and more.

[rosesforshouto]

marked in your heart | 3

marked in your heart | todoroki shouto x reader

chapter 3: oasis of comfort | length: 9.1k

previous chapter | all chapters: 1 2

Summary: A peaceful life was all you strove for ever since the war, avoiding heroes seemed to be a surefire way for that. It really didn't help though when you had the name of one of Japan's top heroes marked on your skin. Content/warnings: fem pronouns/afab reader, soulmate au, pro-heroes, angst, grief, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, mentions of mental illness, canon-typical violence, pining todoroki shouto, todoroki shouto is a tease, overthinking/spiraling thoughts, noodles, books Soulmate Mark: 75% of the world was born with their soulmate’s name inscribed on their skin. The inscription changes color upon first skin-to-skin contact with your soulmate. Notes: chapters are getting longer! mommy and daddy issues galore! once again, thank you so much for reading, it really warms my heart to see every like, reblog, and comment! let me know what you think of this chapter :) it hurts but i have so much fun writing this fic haha!! i'm also cross-posting this on my ao3 if you prefer to read on there, it's also linked on my masterlist <3

Regret.

“We extend our sincere condolences to you and your mother.” 

Regret consumes you, followed by anger.

“Daybreak… he didn’t make it. During the mission, there was a trap…”

These two emotions battle each other within you. Right when you think one will devour you whole, the other rises, fueling and filling every crevice of your being. And the cycle repeats, tortuously. 

“We should’ve known but it was too late. His sacrifice… he saved all of us. None of us would be here without him.”

You wondered why they took you and your mother to a different room. Wondered why when all the awaiting families of the heroes were gathered, you and your mother were pulled aside. Why weren’t you there with them? Why weren’t you having a tearful reunion with the hero you were waiting so long to come back home?

The one hero that didn’t make it back. The hero that sacrificed his life for the mission, for his comrades. 

Saving never felt so devastating before. 

“Please let us or the team know if you need anything during this tough time. We truly are sorry. Daybreak–”

“Did he say anything before he died?” Your voice was unrecognizable to you, strangled, as if someone was holding you by the neck. Why were you even asking this question?

Your father’s sidekick opens and closes his mouth like a fish without water. He looks off to the side and then meets your eyes with remorse. “I’m deeply sorry. He… He turned off his comms when he knew he wouldn’t make it, he didn’t want us to hear. The last thing he said to me was that it was a hero’s duty to fight. Even if it… kills us.”

The man in front of you grimaces as he holds back tears. Bowing deeply, he remains in that position like a stone statue. 

Of course. A man as consistent as your father would say something like that. Words so hauntingly familiar to the last ones he said to you. 

You look over to your mother and her entire frame has gone still. She turns to you and her disturbingly hollow eyes chills you to the bone, creeping terror wreaking havoc in your mind. 

“Mom… ?” It’s as if she’s looking through you, not at you. 

It all became a blur from there. You were a mess, sobbing and gripping your mother’s arms. Saying something but you don’t remember – it turns into screaming. You’re shaking your mother, and her body simply follows the furious motions like a ragdoll.

You’re pulled off of her, kicking and crying. You still don’t know what you’re saying but you’re pleading, begging – your mother’s empty eyes still don’t look at you. She turns to the door, exiting the room without saying anything and another hero from your father’s team hurriedly follows after her. 

You cry. Without noticing, your body crumples to the ground and the sidekick has to hold you up. You briefly see tears running down his face too but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, holds you as you break down. 

At the time you didn’t register it. Didn’t register that this was the moment you lost both your parents. 

One second you were in the room. The room where you lost everything. The next thing you knew, you were standing on top of a building at Shiketsu’s high school-turned-shelter, gazing endlessly into the night sky. 

Tears stream down your face and you feel yourself walking closer and closer to the edge. 

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

Regret consumes you. 

Why?

Why?

Why were you silent when your father left? You should’ve said anything, anything but silence. But his words left a despairing feeling in your gut. As if you knew this day would come, where he fought till the bitter end. 

You were a coward, hopeful that he would make it back safely. So that you could soothe the tension lingering between you two as he left with only a sad pat to your head. 

Regret crushes you, reducing you to pieces that fall away as you struggle to pick them up. 

Then anger comes. 

Why?

Why did he leave us behind? His soulmate. His kid. 

Was his soulmate not worth it? Was she second to the so-called honor and sacrifice he held deep in his morals?

Was he angry that you came out quirkless? A hero as powerful as him who made it as the #14 hero, was he so angry that he would rather die as Daybreak? To die with honor before his legacy died with you?

Your mind can’t seem to grapple with the irrationality of your thoughts. You’re furious. At him. At your mother. At the world. 

Why did your mother leave? Why did she just look through you as if you’re nothing? As if you died along with him?

All you could do is cry. Cry at what was left of you and her. When a hero saves lives, not everything comes out unscathed. 

Regret and anger consumes you. 

You don’t feel anything else. Not when you’re kneeling at the edge of the building, screaming your grieving heart out. Not when you feel someone slowly pull you away from the threatening edge, carrying your unresponsive body into the building. Not when you lie down on your temporary cot, curled up into a ball and hoping that the nails drawing blood from your palm would give you any other sensation besides the pure torment in your mind. 

And the worst hasn’t even come yet.

For you were in the same room again, two weeks later. The same room with the chipping paint and walls that seem to cave in on itself. With the same sidekick who delivered the most soul-sucking news of your life, now bearing news that convinced you he was the grim-reaper.

Your mother was found dead that morning, a wrinkled picture of your father clutched coldly in her hand. 

The hospital chair is unforgiving to your exhausted body, not alleviating your aching limbs in any way from its stiff position. Who knows how long you’ve sat here — slumped in the hard piece of furniture, staring blankly at the wall, arms wrapped around your midriff in an attempt to hold yourself together. 

He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. 

The words replay in your mind like a mantra, the only hope of thread that you helplessly cling onto. 

The sterile-smelling hospital smothers you, making you draw into yourself tighter, right palm clutching the soulmate mark you for once wish burned hot. Instead, it was cold. Cold and lacking the pulsating heat that would give you some type of reassurance. 

It’s been three days since the incident and Todoroki still wasn’t stable. After a panic attack wrecked you that night, your feet moved on their own. Dawn had broken when you found yourself heading to Hosu General Hospital and your tender eyes stung the whole way here. 

He’s not dead, you repeat. 

Nurses stared at you when you arrived, unwilling to give out the #2 hero’s room but Pro-hero Deku had appeared by your side and reassured them. With a tired but sincere smile, he led you to the outside of Todoroki’s room, urging you to take a seat on one of the chairs lining the wall. 

“You’re the book store owner, right?” You absentmindedly nod. He probably asked out of courtesy and you didn’t question if and how he knew who you were. You wouldn’t be here if not. 

“Todoroki-kun isn’t stable… not yet at least. Feel free to wait here, I’m sure he’d want to see you when he wakes up.”

His green eyes look at you softly and you feel your own start to water. Turning your head to face the wall, you swipe away the oncoming tears. 

“I’m Midoriya Izuku, let me know if there’s anything I can get you.”

You quietly say your thanks and he gives you a reassuring smile, walking towards the nurses without another word. 

Other than using the bathroom or buying pre-packaged bread from the vending machine, you were rooted in the uncomfortable chair just outside Todoroki’s hospital room. 

There was nothing you could do except wait. Wait and think. One very dangerous combination.

Your fears came true. They undoubtedly, bitterly, mercilessly came true. 

What have you been doing these past couple of weeks? You told yourself it was nothing more than friendship, nothing more than good company. Then why did it hurt so much?

You were greedy — selfishly wanting only some of him and refusing the rest. As if you could separate Pro-Hero Shouto and regular Shouto. As if it’s fair of you to even do so. 

No. This was inevitable — him getting hurt is inevitable. It forever will be. A fact that you’ve been recklessly throwing aside every time you see him after work, every time you tell yourself that just a little more couldn’t hurt. 

You should’ve known two weeks is plenty of time to turn your whole life around. After all, it only took your mother two weeks to decide to meet her end.  

Not noticing yourself slipping away, you fell into the comfort and solace that was Todoroki Shouto. Was it the way he always made sure you had something to eat before going home? Was it his soft smile that never failed to make you warm inside?

When did you start hoping that the sun would set just a little bit slower, prolonging the day? When did you start desiring for more?

Your carelessness led you to this point — sitting outside his hospital room and watching doctors bustle in and out, anxiety peaking when they tell you time and time again that his condition just wouldn't stabilize.

There was no one to blame except yourself. 

Without anything to distract your busy mind, you’re ripped apart endlessly from your spiraling thoughts. 

At some point, your phone died. No, it’s battery drained. You really can’t stomach anything that died right now. 

Luckily you were able to call Goya the moment Midoriya-san left you. His annoyed sleep-ridden voice gave you a familiar sense of comfort when you told him, sloppily, that you wouldn’t be able to come in the shop until further notice. Upon hearing your sniffling, he asked where you were and told you that you didn’t need to worry about anything. 

That was on Friday, before the shop closed before the weekend. And on Sunday, today, after buying yet another pre-packaged bread, you find the aforementioned boy facing you, in front of your unclaimed claimed spot for the past few days. 

Goya’s eyes examine your state. If the bathroom mirror told you anything, it wasn’t good. Scary even. 

But the familiar sight of his tall slouched figure brings another round of tears to your eyes and you can’t help falling into his arms as he wordlessly pulls you in for a hug. Funny, how four months of working with this brat led to feeling this odd sense of familial security on sight. 

“Let’s get you some real food,” his hands soothingly rubs your back in repeated motions. “How does ramen sound?”

You don’t say anything on the way to the ramen shop, Goya doesn’t either, he simply leads. 

It’s a short walk from the hospital. You’ve been to this shop a couple of times when you were in the area, otherwise it was just out of the way.

Both of you sit down at a secluded table in the back. Goya orders for you two and the silence ensues. When the ramen comes, he doesn’t start his own until you take the first bite. 

He’s babying you and you start to wonder who the older one really is. 

Before taking a second bite, Goya’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Todoroki Shouto?”

You falter just as you bring a small bundle of noodles up, loosening your grip on the chopsticks. The sudden movement makes the noodles drop back into the broth. 

“I saw his name outside the room you were sitting at.”

You blink, watching the small waves of broth slosh messily in your bowl. 

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Yes,” you snap, harsher than you intended. A migraine starts pulsating in your temple. 

“Is he the reason you’ve been waiting outside after you lock up shop?”

“I don’t wait,” you say defensively. 

“You sure do.” He points his chopsticks at you ill-manneredly, “I knew something was up when you kept telling me to leave first while taking your sweet ass time locking the gate.”

Biting back a nasty remark, you don’t respond as you play with your noodles — bringing a bundle up then mixing it back into the broth. 

“The #2 hero huh?” he muses. For a second, you’re thankful for the familiar banter but the topic at hand isn’t something you were thrilled to talk about. 

“How was the store on Friday?”

He ignores your question, “How’d you two meet?”

“Goya.”

“The shop was fine. How’d you two meet?”

You sigh, irritated, “He’s the one who saved me back at the bank.”

He hums and taps the ends of his chopsticks at the edge of your bowl, signaling you to take a bite. You would’ve been appalled at his lack of table manners if not for the scolding look he gives you. Reluctantly, you bring another bundle up to your lips, chewing slowly. 

Goya takes another few bites of his own, watching you the entire time and glaring when you start playing with your noodles again.

“The hospital is gonna run out of bread if you don’t eat.”

“They have plenty of egg sandwiches I could buy. A wide assortment actually.”

Goya sighs exasperately, “Okay, okay! I’ll stop asking about him if you’ll stop playing with your food.”

A corner of your mouth quirks up and you take another bite triumphantly. Goya grumbles something about being an immature adult but starts scarfing down his food when he sees you continue eating, albeit slowly. 

Halfway through your bowl, a thought hits you. 

You were supposed to be eating ramen with Todoroki, the next day if that villain never came and crumbled the whole building. 

Nausea builds in your stomach and you push the bowl away, appetite dissipating quicker the longer you stare at the noodles.

“Hey–”

“Hey!”

You lunge forward and snatch his hand not holding his chopsticks, staring widely at the etched name on the inside of his wrist. 

“I thought I was seeing things!”

The soulmate mark that was once white and pale on Goya’s wrist now glows with a vibrant pink. Amazement filters your previous thoughts and nausea out, “You met your soulmate?” 

Goya blushes profusely and tugs his hand back, his other hand coming up to cover his soulmate mark protectively. 

“Yeah. I did–”

“How’d you two meet?”

Goya scowls and you know you’re both thinking of the irony of your question. Nonetheless, he turns his nose up and declares proudly, “She works at the soba shop I took you to before. The one where I told you to tell them I sent you.” He then glares at you distastefully, “Which you did not, by the way. Not cool! I told her I was gonna recommend the place to my friends!”

You let out a small chuckle, “Sorry… I got a bit distracted.” With Todoroki. 

“I’m sure you did,” he eyes you suspiciously. 

Goya runs his fingers tenderly across his mark, with a smile you know is reserved for his soulmate. It tugs at your heartstrings, seeing his expression resemble remarkably similar to someone else you know. 

He looks up at you and blushes again, picking up his chopsticks. 

“I was actually waiting to tell you about it. I want you to officially meet her, when things calm down a bit.”

You smile fondly, heart warm, “Goya, I would love to meet her.” He gives you a boyish grin and finishes the last of his meal. 

That’s amazing, Goya finally met his soulmate. After months of complaining about having not met his “one and only” yet, his mark now proudly displays without the usual sleeve of his hoodie. 

You wonder how it would feel, to not be afraid of showing off your mark. To flaunt to the world that you’ve met your soulmate. To proudly declare that the one you are fated with is not only bound to you by mark, but also by heart. 

Is that something you want? You’ve never allowed yourself to think of such ideas. 

…

Is that something you want? Having had ample time to think these past few days, your mind reels back to the same thought, the same terrifying conclusion for whenever you think about what it would mean for you and Todoroki. 

If Todoroki ever died, a part of you would die with him. 

You risk losing him, and you risk losing yourself.

And you can’t handle that — can’t risk it. It would be too cruel.

Goya drops you off at the hospital shortly after. Standing in front of the looming building, the uneasiness that left briefly comes back in full force. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t worry about the store for now. And call me if anything happens, okay?”

You nod, but then remembered, “My phone ran out of battery.”

He clicks his tongue and swings his backpack around, fishing out one of those clunky portable chargers that all college students seemed to have. You carried it around like a lifeline at one point too. 

Goya holds his palm out and you hand him your phone. He proceeds to plug in the cord and wait for it to turn on, handing you both the charger and phone when the power-on sign lights up. 

“I mean it. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, you didn’t need to come all the way out here–” he flicks your forehead before your sentence finishes and you glare at him, fingers coming up to soothe the sting. 

“You’ve seen better days. Just shut up and go inside.”

Fatigue starts creeping up again and you can’t even find it in yourself to retort back. You give Goya a small final wave and turn around to head inside, flashing the visitor’s badge that Midoryia-san gave you. 

Each step feels heavier as you walk to Todoroki’s room, mentally and physically. The sterile environment envelopes you again — threatening the spiraling thoughts to resurface. 

He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He's not dead. 

There’s commotion in the halls and you look up to finally observe your surroundings. You had passed two heroes in their suit by now and the closer you got to his room, they start appearing left and right. 

You quicken your footsteps — cold sweat chills your forehead from the brisk pace. Your heart starts beating faster. With each hero that passes, you duck your head slightly to carefully examine their expressions.

Is it happiness? Is it sadness? Is it… grieving?

Oh please don’t be grieving. Please don’t be grieving. Please don’t be grieving. You had only left for at tops one hour–

You hear the call of your name and your head twists at the voice of the green-haired hero you’ve become familiar with in the past few days. Locating him at the end of the hall, he motions for you to come towards him and you immediately break out into a jog. 

“I was worried when I didn’t see you here. Is everything okay?

“I stepped out for a second. How is he?” you frantically ask, not wasting a second. Your erratic heartbeat overwhelms you and it’s taking all that’s in you right now not to panic. 

Midoriya-san places a reassuring hand on your arm and smiles, a full wide smile you’d expect no less from such a friendly person, “He’s awake now. The doctors just finished checking on him a bit ago and he’s talking with some of our other friends.”

He’s not dead. You breathe out a sigh of relief and the anxiety in your bones trickles out slowly. Feeling your eyes already rimming with tears, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Midoriya-san’s hand then pulls you lightly and you follow his footsteps towards Todoroki’s hospital room, hearing muffled chatter and the occasional yelling from outside. 

Stopping in front of the door, he turns to you — excitedly and a little jittery. He must’ve been waiting for you to come back before going in himself. 

“Would you like to see him?”

“I– I just need a second, you go ahead first.”

The kind green-eyed man nods and gives you another reassuring squeeze on the arm. Opening the door, it slides shut as you see his frame make it through the threshold. 

You can’t help the stray tears that leave your eyes and you bring both your palms up to cup your mouth, breath coming out unevenly.

He’s okay. He’s alive. 

That’s all you needed to know, right?

You didn’t think this far while waiting, didn’t think of what to do or say if he finally woke up. Too focused on if he woke up. 

Do you leave?

“I’m sure he’d want to see you when he wakes up.”

Maybe just one glance. One glance to make sure he’s really okay. That he’s really not dead. 

With a hesitant hand, you quietly slide the door open and the muffled voices instantly amplify, rushing into your ears. A group of heroes crowd around the lone bed in the room with their backs turned, blocking your view of the bed’s occupant. 

“I told you I had it, why’d you have to fucking shove your way through?!”

“Bakugo. You really should be thanking him instead.” 

“Like hell I should! I had it! Now the fucking loser is out on the run.”

The villain escaped? 

The heroes haven’t noticed your presence yet and you opt to stay quiet. Taking in their conversation like a bystander, you start stringing together bits and pieces of information they throw out. 

“It can’t be helped, he annihilated the building before we could capture him. It’s a miracle that we were able to get everyone out.”

“Tch. It’s not a fucking miracle.”

“We’ve seen worse before. If anything, this was one of the better outcomes.”

Your ears perk at that comment. 

One of the better outcomes? 

“Yeah! It feels like nothing, right Todoroki?”

Like nothing? 

You feel your body grow cold. 

He was unconscious. His whole right side was so goddamn bloody. He practically seemed half-dead when Dynamight hauled him out. 

This… This was the best outcome? 

What would the worst outcome look like?

“Guys… Calm down. Todoroki-kun needs to rest.”

“He’s rested plenty the past few days. Must’ve felt like a vacation, huh?”

The laughter that follows echoes in your reeling mind. 

Oh no. This isn’t right. This… this was a mistake. 

You know. God, you know that they’re heroes. You know that they’ve seen tragedy and destruction like no one else before. They’re practically on the frontlines for it. 

But one of the better outcomes was that he came out half-dead?

It’s suffocating in here — you can’t fucking breathe. This isn’t right. You’re not supposed to be here. Everything you’ve tried to avoid after your parents death — grief, devastation, violence. It’s all here — in this room.

You’ve never felt the separation between your world and his so vehemently before. It pulls the rug underneath your feet and you want nothing more than to run away.

You turn towards the door and reach for the handle with shaky hands. He’s okay — he’s alive and breathing, his friends are here, keeping him company.

He doesn’t need to see you. Someone as anxious as you is not needed in his world. 

The door slides open slowly and you’re about to take the first step until a voice calls out to you. His voice. His deep and calming voice that you had so desperately wished to hear one more time. You twist your head as if it’s second nature — like your body is naturally drawn to him.  

A space has opened in between the bodies that hover around his bed and your eyes find Todoroki’s wide ones. You feel your heart thump hard and your soulmate mark burns hot and heavy — you resist the urge to cradle it. 

When you don’t move an inch from your spot, it’s Midoriya-san who comes forward and gently tugs your unwilling body towards the crowd. You look up and vaguely recognize some of Japan’s top heroes in this very room. Besides Deku, there’s Dynamight, Chargebolt, Uravity, Froppy, and of course–

“You’re here,” Todoroki breathes out. Your eyes meet his earnest ones once again and you marvel at the way they shine bright, filled with light — with life. His mismatched eyes roam over your figure, taking every bit of you in — assessing you, you can’t help fiddling nervously with your fingers under his gaze. 

A feminine voice chirps from behind you, “Oh! Are you–” 

“Ochako-chan,” another voice hushes quietly. 

Todoroki pays them no mind and continues to gaze at you with honest eagerness. It unnerves your every resolve. When he sees that you’ve stopped at the end of the bed, his eyes briefly leave yours to give a blank waiting look to the ash-blonde standing next to him.

“Bakugo, can you please step aside. You’re in the way,” he deadpans.

Dynamight opens his mouth and you can practically hear the incoming onslaught of curses before Uravity yanks him back, shoving a palm over his mouth. 

“Don’t mind him!” she says sheepishly, having a surprisingly tight grip on the fuming man, “Go ahead, go ahead!” She pulls Dynamight aside and you’re ushered to the closest spot near Todoroki — on his left side. It’s warm, even from a distance. Is it his quirk?

You feel the others watching your every move like a hawk – it’s unsettling. The sensation of their awaiting eyes makes you feel smaller than ever. 

Now that you’re closer, you take a quick sweep over Todoroki’s injuries. His whole right side was covered in bandages, replacing the bloodied look it had on TV. His head was also wrapped in the same way as yours did when you hit that concrete wall, with most of the bandaging sitting on top of his white hair. 

A stark and clean difference from the Todoroki you saw on the news. 

You can’t comprehend it. How someone who looked so brutally mangled up, could sit here – as if nothing happened.

Maybe it was because you were young but you never saw how graphic it could get when your father was a hero. It seemed he made an effort to keep your eyes clean from bloodshed. But his sentiments merely made your young mind ignorant — ignorant to think that he would always return home, untouched. 

You vaguely hear someone saying to give you both some space and the shuffling of footsteps brings your attention back to the moment. To the man sitting in front of you, upright and keen, waiting almost impatiently for the last hero to filter out. 

Once you two are alone, Todoroki playfully starts, “Look – we match now,” pointing to the wound on the right side of his head. He probably meant it as a joke but it makes your face crinkle and you can’t stop the familiar sting in your nose. 

You don’t laugh at his joke, simply stare. 

His face drops slightly at your lack of reaction, “Are you alright? I heard you’ve been waiting the whole time I was out.” The low timbre of his voice comes out slightly concerned but the mere sound of it sounds so sweet to your ears. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, but I’m here now,” he softly says and it’s the line that breaks the dam. Tears start running down your face and you watch as his lightened expression turns into worry. 

Oh my god. He was the one in a hospital bed and he’s worried about you?

You’ve never claimed to be those strong people who refused to cry, and it embarrassingly shows now. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” his doting makes the tears fall faster and you can’t stop staring at him. At his beautiful gray and turquoise eyes filled with distress. At his scar that healed smoothly over time. At his white and red hair that laid flat from the tightness of the bandages. 

“… Why?” 

Todoroki stops his rush of questions and looks at you, confused. 

“Why? Why are you asking me if I’m okay? You… you were…!”

It doesn’t stop. Images of his bloodied limbs. Glimpses of his deathly still body seen from outside the tiny hospital room window. It’s burned in your mind. 

You bring up your hands to cover your tear-stricken face, hiccups vibrate in your chest and escape out your mouth.

“You almost died! You were so bloody and the doctors… They wouldn't tell me anything– I couldn’t– I couldn’t do anything. Why are you asking if I’m okay?”

Todoroki doesn’t say anything. When you pull your hands away from your face and furiously wipe away your tears, you see his hand reaching out to you. 

You lean away from his awaiting touch and watch as he grasps air. His arm helplessly falls to his side and he frowns, “It’s really not that bad…”

“And that’s the thing!”

Anger consumes you. 

“You say it’s not that bad. Your friends say it was like nothing. But – I just don’t understand. How? If this is nothing, then what’s something?”

Your voice is louder than you anticipated. You’re panicking. You’re angry. You’re still furiously wiping away your tears that have already dried, making your fingers drag harshly across your skin. 

What comes after anger?

You jolt when Todoroki’s palms grip your forearms to pull your frantic hands away from your face. You could almost feel his skin through the thin sleeves of your shirt and you move to pull away but his hold remains tight. 

He’s careful. Careful not to touch your bare skin and your tension subconsciously eases just the slightest bit under his firm hold. 

“I apologize. Please calm down… It wasn’t my intention to upset you. I just didn’t want you to worry,” his troubled eyes find yours and you hate that you’re the cause of it. 

Your voice comes out weak, and your heart feels heavy, weighing like a million tons. 

“How?” you whisper, “How can I not worry? When we’re–” you bite your tongue, not able to say the word out loud. 

Soulmates. It’s never been a topic brought up between you two, a word you avoided like the plague. 

But he seems to understand – the weight of the unsaid word. His brows furrow deeper and his grip is unrelenting – not painful, but tight. As if you’d suddenly disappear. 

Silence hangs heavy in the atmosphere and a ghostly impulsive decisiveness washes over you.

Your voice sounds empty even to your ears, “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.” 

Todoroki’s face immediately morphs into a distraught one. Breathlessly, he asks, “What?”

“I– I don’t think I can do this. It’s… it’s too much. I don’t think I can handle it. Not again.”

He seems to be at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing. You see him calculating, trying to make sense of you and what you’ve just said.

In the moment of tense silence, you try to move away again but his iron-grip prevents you from doing so.

His expression looks tormented and a flicker of anger flits across his face, immediately masked by frustration, “You’re pushing me away. Again.”

You close your eyes at his statement and it makes it infinitely harder to follow through with your decision. It’s almost shameful how he’s so capable of making your resolve falter. 

He pushes, “Is this really what you want?”

Is it?

Your body betrays you, head helplessly shaking side to side with the smallest movement, “Todoroki… please,” you plead, gaze dropping to his lap. Let me go.

Todoroki lets your left arm go and the warmth he emitted dissipates. You think he’s about to release your right arm when he suddenly gives it a firm sharp tug. You let out a small yelp as your body falls onto the bed and nearly crashes into his upright one. Your left hand rushes to catch yourself, pressing hard into the mattress and against his blanket-covered leg. 

Your heart stops, eyes widening at his face just inches away, mismatched eyes boring heavily into yours. Through layers of blankets and clothing, your bodies press against each other and it’s the closest you two have ever been physically. It makes you freeze like a deer in headlights.

Parts of your hair had fallen forward in the midst of your fall. With slow motions, his free hand comes up to lightly push them away from your face, careful the whole time. 

He attempts to tuck the fallen hair behind your ear, but the respectful intention of not touching your bare skin causes a few strands to fall back. Nonetheless, he tries. He lingers on the last bundle, fingers curling around it. 

As if you’re in a trance, you watch as he slowly brings your hair up to his lips, eyes closing as he tenderly kisses it. 

Your heart lurches at the intimate gesture and your nails find the familiar spot in your palm, nails pressing down hard. 

What is he doing?

He’s quiet, as if savoring this moment – this proximity. Up close you can see the slightly raised skin caused by his burn. It runs across his cheek, above his eye, and it makes you wonder how it would feel underneath your fingertips. 

You watch as his eyelashes slowly flutter open. You’ve never noticed how they don’t match the color of his hair – they’re dark, not long but not short. 

Todorki lifts his lips just slightly away from your hair, face contemplative. It takes him a moment before he finally speaks, voice low and soft as a whisper, “… I can't promise that I won’t ever get hurt. I apologize, but that’s the truth. I can’t lie to you and say that you won’t ever see me like this again.” 

Your brows furrow in hurt confusion. Why is he saying this?

“But I meant what I said back then,” his eyes shoot up to yours with an unwavering determination that makes you flinch slightly but you don’t pull away. “What I can promise is that even if I get hurt, I’ll do everything in my power to make it back. To choose between sacrificing and fighting, I will always give it my all to fight. To fight and live.” 

His face is close. So close that you can feel the breath of his every word fan across your face. At some point, his hold on your right arm had loosened and both your arms dropped to the bed, skin inches from touching.

That look. That look that you just can’t seem to decipher from him, it encapsulates his whole demeanor. 

Todoroki huffs out a soft laugh, tinged with bitterness, “I apologize. I guess I'm more selfish than I thought.” He fiddles with your sleeve and looks up past your head, seeming to carefully consider his next words. 

“I think we both can agree that it really hasn’t been that long since we’ve met each other.” You nod along, tentatively. 

Two weeks.

“Twenty seven days. Oh. Today’s Sunday, so actually…” he counts with his fingers. One. Two. Three. “Thirty days.”

“Thirty days…” he repeats, drawing out the words. “I don’t think it’s ever taken me this short of a time to be so sure about something.”

So many questions are on the tip of your tongue. There’s longing in your heart but you observe him. You wait. You want to hear what he’ll say. 

Todoroki faces towards you again and his tone takes on a melancholic one, “We can be friends. Acquaintances. I can be a simple customer. But please… Don’t push me away. Please, can you give me the chance to fight? To fight to live? For you?”

Trembling. You feel your body tremble at the intensity of his words, at the implication. It takes you by surprise – the boldness in his attitude, the fearlessness in his request. It’s almost confusing – how resolute he sounds and you can’t help asking a question that’s been blaring in your mind. 

“Why are you doing all this? We’ve barely known each other, it’s like you said – it’s only been… a couple of weeks.”

He simply smiles at you, an affectionate smile that seeps deep in your bones. He cocks his head to the side playfully, as if knowing something you don’t. 

“I know that you have a rather peculiar obsession with noodles.” A small laugh escapes your lips and your palm rushes up to muffle it. He brightens at your change in expression and takes it as a cue to keep going.

“I know that you tend to ask yourself three times before committing to buying something – things as trivial as a bookmark.”

It’s a habit your mother taught you, to curb your impulsive purchases. 

“I know that you wipe your feet on the doormat, put your umbrella in the stand, then fix your hair before entering somewhere new, and always in that order.”

You do?

“I know that when you get nervous, you clench your fist so tight that your nails make indents in your palm. It worries me.”

Your fingers lightly graze the crescent moons made from earlier. 

“I know that you’ve gone through your own battles during the war. That you’ve lost a lot,” he says quietly, approaching lightly. “I know that you’re strong, even if you don’t notice it yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you feel the tears welling in your eyes again.

“I could keep going. And yes, I’m aware that it’s only been a couple of weeks. That merely means there’s so much more to know about you.” 

His eyes. His captivating gray and turquoise eyes that you can’t look away from. 

“You’re honest, even in times you don’t want to be. And this beautiful head of yours… ” he tilts once to your forehead, “tends to think. Quite a lot. And fast. But I’m confident I can keep up. I’ve done my fair share of training over the years.”

This makes you blush, your therapist did say your spiraling thoughts would outrun you faster than you could keep up. 

Frankly, you’re shocked. To think he would notice these things, things you didn’t even notice. It’s hard to fathom that he would put the effort into doing so. Your heart feels like it’s two seconds away from bursting. 

Todoroki scans your face, watching your expressions. Minutes pass between you two as you try to let his words sink in. But it’s hard.

In the silence, you realize again what position you’re in – the wrist pressed against his thigh, your legs still haphazardly laid on top of his, the bundle of hair innocently being played with between his fingers. Each realization sends an electrifying heat up to your neck and you reluctantly pull away to gather your thoughts, much to Todoroki’s dismay. 

He doesn’t follow and the hair between his fingers softly slips away. 

Your head swims with too much information. It’s overwhelming – the villain attack, the hospital, Todoroki. Forming a single coherent thought seems too difficult a task right now and it seems he could see the conflict in your face.

His voice cuts through your thoughts, comforting and deep, “You don’t need to give me an answer now. I’ll wait, as long as you need.” 

You leave the room with those words ringing in your mind. After Todoroki had insisted you to get some rest, you found yourself walking out of the hospital doors and into the warmth of the setting sun. 

Muscle memory takes you home. On the train, you stare out aimlessly at the passing buildings and the quietness of the empty car soothes the jumbled thoughts in your head. You press your forehead to the window, hoping the cool glass would calm your overworked mind.

As you see your station coming up, you get up from your seat to move to the doors. The rocking of the train sways your body and you feel your foot clumsily catch onto something.

A brief moment of panic sets in as you trip, your body falls forward as you hold out your hands to brace for impact. 

But you don’t meet the floor. Your body is yanked back as someone grabs your arm and you whirl around, heart beating erratically. You weren’t alone?

You glance to the floor of the train and see that it’s clear, except for the foot of the person who grabbed you. Body tensing, you slowly trail your eyes up and it meets pitch black ones glaring harshly at you, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your guard immediately flies up and you cautiously shrug your arm out of the strangers’ tight grip. 

Did this guy just trip you?

“Thank you,” you mumble out, taking a step away from him.

The man is ominously quiet and it makes you further on edge. You sweep your eyes across the car and see that it’s just the two of you, alone. 

When did he get here?

His chuckle makes you dart back to his frame and his once harsh glare is smiling now, feigning innocence. 

“You should be more careful next time, Miss,” he says laughing, “You almost got hurt.” You let out a nervous chuckle and only bow your head in response, itching for the doors to open. 

As soon as it does, you will yourself to walk out of the train as calmly as you can, hoping the man wouldn't follow. Thankfully, he doesn’t and the doors slam shut behind you. 

You look back as the train pulls out of the station, heart beating wildly and a palm rubbing the now sore spots he held in a bruising grip. 

What was that?

In a semblance of gaining some normalcy and peace of mind, you’re back at the bookstore the very next day. It catches Goya by surprise when he opens the unlocked store to find you already stocking books. He tries to ask you about your hospital visit but respectfully backs off when you show no inclination to speak a word of it. Instead, he resumes like normal, whining and complaining about the heaps of assignments he has. 

It’s nice. It makes you feel like you still have control over the things happening around you. 

Except for when it comes time to lock up shop and you remember all the evenings Todoroki had been outside waiting for you, huffing and puffing. You’re thankful when you don’t see the blob of white and red hair on your way out the store. 

For the next few days, you force yourself to not think of him. You need time, time to settle your thoughts and ground yourself. 

A few days turns into a week and a week turns into two. At the end of the first week, you had received a text from Todoroki simply hoping you were doing well. You had responded cordially, but neither of you continued the conversation.

Other than that, you give yourself the much-needed space from him. 

You go back to reading your favorite book. You treat yourself to more nights of take-out. And you visit a pop-up at a nearby museum for a change in pace. 

It all helps substantially, but there’s a lingering emptiness in your chest at the end of most days.

It’s a Wednesday night when you sit at your desk, a pen neatly set beside a journal opened up to a blank page. A journal that hasn’t seen the light of day ever since your parents’ deaths. 

You write. You write until your fingers start cramping from the continuous grip of the pen. You write until the pages start to blur and you have to avoid the wet spots that drop from your eyes down to the uncreased pages. 

You write until you can’t anymore. Not until all your frustrations and sadness take onto the form of words and your disorganized thoughts fill page after page. Hours pass and it's in the middle of the night when you tenderly close the journal, eyes raw from crying but mind finally gaining some peace. 

Going outside for some fresh air, you lean your arms across the railing of your balcony, eyes closed. The stillness of the night soothes your soul and the gentle breeze passes through your hair. 

Images of the pro-hero flash behind your eyes and for the first time in two weeks, the recurring anxiousness doesn’t hit when you think about him. 

Todoroki Shouto.

“What I can promise is that even if I get hurt, I’ll do everything in my power to make it back. To choose between sacrificing and fighting, I will always give it my all to fight. To fight and live.”

You mull over his words – his promise. 

A promise of hope rather than a bitter ending. 

Pro-heroes will always try to save lives. That’s their mission – their reason for pursuing such a dangerous career.

It’d be naive to think Todoroki would never get hurt. To take his words as an excuse to think he would always be safe from danger.

Separating his pro-heroness from himself, it’s been an unconscious and downright unfair approach you’ve been using when interacting with him. But you can’t uphold that notion now, nor should you. 

It’s one with himself, a part of who he is. His request comes from all of him – not just one or the other. 

Is that something you can handle? Something you can willingly put yourself through?

What comes after anger?

Regret. It was always regret. Regret for staying silent, for assuming that things would run its natural course and that you would have a second chance. 

Would you regret running away from Todoroki now? Will you run back to the oasis of comfort you’ve helplessly chained yourself to, in favor of a peaceful life?

You’re scared. So scared of losing someone important, again. 

“Please, can you give me the chance to fight? To fight to live? For you?”

Every time these words passed through your mind, it left confusion, fear, and panic. 

In the quiet of the night, you find inklings of a new feeling bubble in your gut. It slowly overtakes the feelings of anxiety and makes you buzzed with adrenaline. The unfamiliar emotion mixes in with the others, swirling and concocting into something that leaves you more scared than before.

Anticipation.

“This is new. It’s not a Friday night.” 

“I’m glad to see you too, Okamoto-san.” 

The elder quirks an eyebrow up at the sight of your flushed face. It’s clear that you have been running, and for good reason too seeing that he was just about to close for the night. Wordlessly, he opens the door and motions for you to come inside. You plop into the same seat you’ve been sitting at for years and he moves to prepare a bowl of ramen for you.

“It’s okay, I ate before I came here.”

Okamoto-san gives you a weird look but proceeds to pour two cups of tea instead, placing one in front of you. 

The wrinkles of his face are set in a frown but you know there’s no genuine discomfort behind it, simply a passive look that has aged over time. He sips his cup of tea, waiting for you to explain why you’ve come running to his shop at nearly midnight. 

Your voice comes out small, his presence never failing to make you feel like a kid all over again, “Okamoto-san, can I ask you a question?”

He grunts in response and sets his cup of tea down on the counter.

“Why do you think my parents ended the way they did?”

Silence envelopes you both as his eyebrows raise in rare surprise, a little taken-aback by the bluntness of your question. It surprises you too, but you remember why you wanted to talk to him in the first place – why it had to be with him. 

This shop. This shop where your parents had taken you to ever since you were born. This shop where Okamoto-san had been serving bowls of ramen to them even before they met each other. This shop that was destroyed by the war but was persistently rebuilt afterwards, not a piece of furniture differing from its origin, even if new. 

He had known your parents for so long, and is one of the only people you’ve kept in contact with that had a close relationship with them. 

Upon his silence, you state, “My soulmate is a pro-hero.” 

You spend the next half hour spilling all that has happened in the past month and a half. Recollections of memories and pent up feelings flow out endlessly. Eventually, Okamoto-san takes a seat at the bar next to you, resting his wearied legs from the day and listening calmly. 

It feels liberating, for all these emotions to be spoken into existence. 

Your eyes are rimmed with unfallen tears at the end of it and you heave a big relieving sigh. 

Looking over, you see Okamoto-san’s posture sitting tiredly, cradling his third cup of tea. A sudden wave of guilt washes over you at keeping the elder man from going home. Right before an apology leaves your lips, he looks over to you and gives you a gentle look. 

With sure movements, he reaches up to pat your head. His hand presses with light pressure and you bite your lip to keep from bawling at the comforting gesture. 

“You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.”

Silent tears break from your waterline and trickle slowly down your cheeks. God, how embarrassing. 

Okamoto-san simply grabs a tissue box nearby and sets it in front of you. You use one to quickly wipe away the hot tears cried from the old man’s affection.

He asks you in a gravely voice, “Is this boy important to you?”

Sniffling, you take a second before answering, thinking carefully, “Yes, he is.”

A beat passes. “Do you love him?”

Your face flushes immediately and you furiously shake your head, “No. I mean– I– I don’t know… I’m having a hard time just being near him. I haven’t thought about… loving him.”

He hums suspiciously and you turn your flustered face away. 

“I understand. I know that it’s taken a lot for you to have even considered being friends with him.” 

You nod and vigorously shove away the mental image of Todoroki kissing your hair. 

“Kid. I’m going to be straight-forward with you.”

Turning, you face Okamoto-san’s serious expression and nod your head, bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say. 

“Your mother… Your mother was mentally ill. Not even taking her soulmate mark into account, she depended far too much on your father. It was an ongoing process of her getting help but…” he sighs tiredly. 

He shakes his head, choosing to move the conversation in a different direction, “Now, trust me when I say this, she loved you very much. I have no doubt that both of them did. But I think a part of her had hoped that you would also keep your father from continuing his pro-hero career. She could never fully accept his choice to give himself to society the way he did.”

Your body becomes rigid with the harsh truth spoken in the air. 

Yes, a part of you knew your mother devoted her life to your father, excessively so. Maybe that was why you looked to her first at the news of your father’s death, afraid of her reaction. 

But you had thought maybe it was because of the soulmate mark. A mark that binds you mercilessly to another. 

“Look at me when I say this, kid.” Your eyes that have strayed aside look up to see Okamoto-san’s hard set face, droopy with age and framed by graying hair. 

“You are not your mother,” he says firmly, “You are your own person, with your own experiences and thinking. Do not let her actions define your life and how you live it.” 

Your heart sinks and Okamoto-san’s face instantly softens at your expression. You don’t even know what you must look like to him now. 

Quietly, you whisper, “What if I lose myself? I’m scared I would be following in her footsteps. What if I meet the same end?”

“That is a reasonable fear, I wouldn’t want to lose you too.” 

For a moment, only your sniffling could be heard in the empty dim-lit shop. 

Okamoto-san’s voice cuts through the silence, “But, you are not your mother. I can’t tell you what is the right or wrong choice, but this boy is clearly important to you. Will you regret it again? If something does happen to him?”

Regret. 

The thought of it circles back and you reel at the consequences of it. 

Regret at not saying anything. Regret at thinking you would have a second chance.

You think back on all the moments you found yourself smiling at his unexpected silliness. All the conversations that made you admire his way of thinking. His wonder and excitement at the prospect of getting to know each more, to understand each other better. 

Will you regret it?

“You are not your mother.”

The simple yet strong declaration repeats in your mind and engraves into your soul. 

Witnessing grief overtake her very being, seeing the life leave her eyes before it really did. It terrified you beyond belief and before you could help it, you associated that look every time you thought of a soulmate bond. 

“Do not let her actions define your life and how you live it.”

A peaceful life. A peaceful but dull life was what you came up with. A defensive mechanism to avoid the same fate. 

But will you regret it? Will you regret not taking his hand? Will you watch it grasp air helplessly, again?

His captivating heterochromatic eyes that you’ve grown so fond of. His soft and reassuring smile that you undoubtedly preferred seeing over his distressed one. His tall and protective frame that you’ve unconsciously missed being next to you in the past two weeks. 

Suddenly, in this empty dim-lit shop that you’ve been frequenting for years, an overwhelming urge to see Shouto sparks in you. It runs through your veins, passes through your limbs, beats through your soulmate mark. It rises with each pulse of your heartbeat and you let it. 

In this definitive moment, you bask in it. You embrace this new-found feeling and cradle it, close to your chest and let it thrum throughout your whole body. A conclusion that comes forth and completely overtakes your thoughts. 

I want to see him. 

I want to see Shouto.