#((it would of course be ideal if you stick to stars and stay away from. yknow inhabited planets..))

[4dtk]

jaehyun as a bf

anon: “your writing brings me butterflies i love it you are so underrated!!!!! would love to request a jaehyun bf headcanons (like the one you did of mark <3)” thank you for the kind words anon <333 hope you enjoy this one!

(a bit of a plug lol but check out NCT 127's ideal r/s headcanons in this post!! i appreciate you checking it out! <3)

brief mentions of sex, but nothing explicitly nsfw!

likes to talk about music with you

especially jazz. there’s a plethora of songs out there with different renditions and sometimes he likes to ramble about who’s rendition he likes best

would play the piano for you if you asked, just maybe not after schedules or something. but usually when you’re free or alone together in the room, he likes you to sit beside him to listen to him play

you guys like to play a little game where he’ll play the chords and you play like a random note to create blobs of music

even if you don’t know how, the way the session always dissolves into giggles is his favourite thing in the world

if you know how to play the piano that’s great too!! jaehyun just likes the unexpected notes that come out since there’s no set melody in his mind

jaehyun needs to have some part of his body on yours at all times. like he has to hold your hand all the time, or a finger hooked around your backpack, or an arm around your waist.

at least when you’re together he does it very often and he’s just. obsessed with you lmfao

it’s also the reason he buys a promise ring when he’s sure of you as a significant other so you always have a part of him with you (his love)

would buy you those lockets for you to put pictures inside. he doesn’t care where you wear it though, around your neck, wrist, ankle, as long as the locket is on your person

he clings onto you like crazy in the mornings. jaehyun’s a heavy sleeper and likes to hug you on his side, so you’re always having trouble trying to pry him off of you in the morning

a bit nsfw: he likes morning lazy sex lol, ngl. jaehyun adores the rawness of your relationship in the morning and the sleepiness in your eyes when you’re gently pushing him away. he knows you don’t mean it but he makes sure you really want it first

loves the sunlight kissing your skin and the slow, gentle movements

so so intimate, he prefers it to the rougher forms of sex, but sometimes he doesn’t have that luxury since they leave for schedules quite often in the wee hours of dawn

for cuddling sense, jaehyun likes it when you’re under his arm and cuddled into his side. classic position but he dies every time inside when you look up at him and there’s this clueless look you have. has the biggest smile on his face after and you have to repeat the stuff you said bc he’s too distracted by how your eyes shine

second hot favourite (more of when you’re making out) is when you’re straddling him. nothing sexual, just like you on top of him when you’re kissing and stuff. he digs it when you’re pulling away for oxygen and he has to lift his body to reach for your lips again

gets flustered from kissing, but doesn’t show it. if he’s found a way to suppress the crazy crimson on his ears (which i doubt) then he will but his words will always contradict his expression

jaehyun can say “are you nervous, y/n?” with a smirk but his ears keep giving him away!!!!

mfer’s hands are shaking too when he trails it over your body. in disbelief you’re his.

sometimes shamelessly moans into the kiss LOL, not too loud but he whines when you pull away, and has to kiss you breathless again

when you kiss him, expect like a long-lasting kiss. doesn’t mind small pecks and stuff but he’ll want to savour your lips a little longer than a mere peck

jaehyun likes your neck too. when you’re hugging his face is always in your neck, placing small little butterfly kisses

you need to look out for him, always. mans always tripping over something at some point. it’s become more frequent now that he has you and my god he’s so unable to keep his eyes off of you that he trips over simple things. he once tripped over nothing

on the daily when he’s not tripping over you, he’s clumsy in a sense where he drops food on the table. he once struggled to tie up his growing hair into a mini ponytail bc it was just too little hair. the hair tie slipped from his fingers and shot itself into your face - those kinds of small small mishaps

it’s endearing but sometimes you can’t help but laugh at him

likes to take you out on impromptu dates. dates that are close by and easy to plan (?) i guess.

not saying jaehyun is a lazy boyfriend but he likes the more candid dates where you decide what to do as you go along. of course if it’s a big day like your anniversary or birthdays then he’d want to plan something out.

other than that, he just either lets you choose the places to go there or you two decide along the way. he doesn’t want to impose options for you and pressure you. if he’s being honest, he wouldn’t know where to go either lol so he just follows wherever you bring him

laughs so much when he’s with you. giggles, deep laugh, whatever you name it. your relationship is very light-hearted and he finds that he’s the one laughing more when you deliver jokes even tho he wants to make you laugh too

i can’t lie… his jokes can be dry sometimes i’m sorry jaehyun 😭 so he backs it up with laughter and has to catch his breath sometimes bc he finds it really funny

you’re not laughing at the joke, rather at his laugh so you might have to tell him that some way or another bc he’ll just keep making bad jokes i’m sorry y’all

he can’t handle the suuuuuper cheesy physically affectionate films or series (with shitty plot) but i feel like if the story’s interesting enough he’ll pay attention. likes bittersweet films too, i feel, gets him thinking

doesn’t mind cliched plots (fake dating / idealist girl meets realist boy / idk any others lol) but would propose something at the end that he thinks will make the movie/series more interesting

jaehyun likes to share his theories with you

unironically wants to learn the la la land tap dance scene with you. he ALWAYS hums city of stars too, no matter what. idk why but it sticks to him, in bed, in breakfast, when he’s doing something random

he did it once on the radio and he received a text from you in break that told him he was humming along to the song

with that said, jaehyun wants to try out the stuff in the rain quite a bit. making out, dancing, lying down, running, he likes that fascination that society has with doing things in the rain

doesn’t like it too much that he’ll get soaked, but as long as you’re with him and willing to do it, he’s all for it

jaehyun would def want kids in the future. wants to dote on them and buy them stuff and whatnot. wants to see them running around the house with laughter while you both struggle to contain the bursts of excitement they have

doesn’t care for the dynamic much. if he’s the one to stay at home to take care of them while you work, he can work with it. if it’s the other way round, he’s okay too

he just worries that if he’s still involved with the entertainment industry, you might have to take a back seat since he’ll be the one earning the money, and he doesn’t want babysitters either.

heart is so so full when he comes back home and you’re just playing with the kids, or singing them to sleep. any sight of you with him is enough to make him melt into a puddle

HAS to hold them even if they’re asleep. wants to always have them close to him while he nudges you to shower or get the food ready.

like jaehyun, he would wanna meet someone in a vinyl shop or bookstore. he knows it’s cliched but the thought of meeting someone when you’re buying something is exciting. anything unexpected for him, he welcomes it

the next few are just random, miscellaneous headcanons: he likes to see you in his clothes, preferably with nothing underneath. just his shirt lol. cheeky man

jaehyun likes it when you shower together (again, nothing sexual, just likes the domesticity)

likes it when you fall asleep on him

will never stop gushing about you to his parents, first time you met them they’re like “he’s told us so much about you!” and he really did

feels comfortable in your presence, no makeup, messy hair, no need for a perfect bod. he’s just jaehyun. jung yuno if you will

adores it when you call him “lover” i mean boyfriend is good, significant other is good, but lover is just chef’s kiss

it is a bit cheesy if you think about it, so it’s not often that you say it. when you do say it in songs when you’re singing it to him, he can’t stop smiling

plays lover, you should’ve come over when he’s on tour bc it’s the closest thing he can get to a replica of how he feels for you

and when jaehyun falls asleep to the song, all he can remember is your honey voice singing it to him. he’ll just have to hold onto it before he can see you again

<3

[solaeter]

can i request any soft casual date headcanons for choso or noritoshi or geto? -akatsukimommy

Soft, Casual Date | Headcanons 

Note: tysm for being my first request! .+:｡(ﾉ･ω･)ﾉﾞ I hope I did these justice, headcanons and I don’t get along because I over think and..it’s a process lmao. I also chose to do all three because I can’t pick between them |ω･)و ̑̑༉

Word Count: 1838

Characters: Choso, Noritoshi Kamo and Suguru Geto

Warning[s]: None aside from possible errors I didn’t bother to check for. 

Request Status: OPEN

↠ There’d be lots of communication, mostly coming from you as the two of you venture about. From shops, food and to culture, you educate Choso while he just is so lost in you. He’s like a puppy, completely in love and hanging onto every word. From how he looks at you, you’d question if he was actually listening. 

↠ A soft casual date with Choso would probably be showing him around Tokyo. This boy will be glued to your side, arms linked together or he’d hold your hand. Regardless, he’s not letting you out of his sight. 

“Did I lose you?” You worried you were babbling on too much and Choso shakes his head. He can’t help himself and admire you, how you knew so much and the level of patience you had for him made his chest tighten. 

“No, continue please.” So polite he is, taking your hand once again as you smile before going into another explanation that leads into a particularly embarrassing story of a past experience. But Choso doesn’t laugh, he is humored, don’t get him wrong, but he pulls you to his side and offers a small bit of comfort. So precious (´•ω•̥`)

↠ After walking around for what feels like forever, you’d drag Choso to a cute little cafe for a chance to sit down and enjoy a snack or drink. 

↠ Choso might feel a little out of his element but having you there is all he needs. So don’t mind him he wears a little frown or looks around curiously. Normal customs are beyond the poor boy though he is quick to catch onto things.

↠ For example, Choso may not like anything in his coffee. So when you look at him with a crinkled nose and a small smile, he’d tilt his head.

“What?”

“Black coffee? I could never.” You stick your tongue in a playfully disgusted manner and if Choso wasn’t in love then, he certainly fell more. You were so cute, innocent and he can’t seem to handle the emotions that swarm him.

↠ Choso.exe has stopped working. 

↠ After the pit stop, the little date would end with Choso seeing you home. He had things to attend to so staying wasn’t a choice unfortunately, but he makes sure to give you one hell of a hug. There’s so much love and he will cherish every moment with you, his actions prove this statement.

↠ Especially when he doesn’t let go immediately, keeping you there and mumbling a goodnight in your ear. It’d have your heart hammering in your chest and if he kisses you, or you to him, you’d both probably be flustered messes.

↠ But that’s alright cause neither one of you will forget the feeling and you’d be left at the door to your home, eyes soft and body warm with your phone in hand to plan the next time you get to see Choso.

↠ A soft casual date with Noritoshi would probably be an evening stroll through the park or sitting at home and enjoying one another's company. It’s not about what goes on, but rather the experience, atmosphere and feelings during that moment. Noritoshi is sentimental and it plays into a lot of things that he does. Especially when it comes to you.

↠ If you went for a walk with Noritoshi, just like with Choso, he’s keep you close. Except it might be a hand on the small of your back or loosely holding your hand. The contact is reassuring to him, it lets him know you’re okay even if there’s no danger in sight. 

↠ He also holds these little dates close to his heart considering he’s busy most of the time with sorcerer work and clan duties. So one the off days where he can see you, happiness and a sense of much needed calmness will radiate around him. And it’s obvious to you.

“You seem happy.” You point out while the two of you stand on a bridge overlooking a quiet stream illuminated by the setting sun. One might say the view is right out of a photo and you’d agree. Noritoshi laughs beside you, sounding so free from whatever shackles held him daily.

“Any time with you brings me much joy. It’s a breath of fresh air. Perhaps even an escape from reality.” He’d say so casually despite the sentence being cheesy as hell. You bite your lip and smile, ignoring the light blush dusting your cheeks. Smooth fucker, how dare he ୧(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭

Instead of responding because you were lost for words like a fool, you’d hug Noritoshi’s side and enjoy the peaceful view. The contact was all the response he needed, he thrived off of it. 

↠ Noritoshi isn’t opposed to taking you to his home, but he enjoys spending time at yours for a change of scenery. His obligations and duties don’t follow him once inside your humble little abode.

↠ A date can be anything, or so you’ve reassured many times because let’s be honest, Noritoshi doesn’t have the slightest idea on dating. So when you offered to sit at home and ‘chill’, he was completely thrown left field the first time. Now it’s one of his favorite things.

↠ Noritoshi will melt if you let him lay his head on your lap so you can play with his hair. There’s something so, so relaxing about it that he just falls apart over a simple act of affection. Plus you love seeing his content face while you absentmindedly watch tv and chat quietly about the day's events. The domestic atmosphere has your head spinning and mind jumping to thoughts of marriage. You’d bat the thoughts away but you can’t and when you frown, Noritoshi is quick to notice. 

“You okay?” His soothing voice brings you out of your short lived fantasy and you look down at him, noticing the concern despite his eyes never opening. You nod quickly, flashing a reassuring smile.

“Of course! I was just thinking, nothing bad.” You wouldn’t dare admit to thinking about the future that isn’t even certain. Instead of pressing further, Noritoshi brings a hand up to rest along your cheek. His touch was warm and welcoming and you can’t help but nuzzle into the palm of his hand. 

↠ Lovesick fools you both are. 

↠ Noritoshi is attached to you and he knew he was in deep after the first date. Now every moment with you is engraved in his memory, his heart. No matter how simple or quiet or rambunctious, he doesn’t forget. He also makes mental notes to take you out somewhere nice the next time he gets free time. Until then, he relishes in the comfort you bring and the freedom he feels while spending time at your home.

↠ All in all, relaxing at home playing with Noritoshi’s hair after taking a nice walk sure beats going to the movies or staying out into the late hours of the night. You cherish the softness of his face as he lays on you and the way he lets himself be loose around you in private. Nothing can beat the little things. 

↠ A soft casual date with Geto would be getting him out of trouble probably going out to some unhealthy restaurant and eating your weight in a buffet. Why? Geto can eat and will definitely drag you along. Will also make comments like:

“You need to gain some weight [Name], don’t fear the food.” He’s tryna be nice, honestly especially if you are shy or being conservative. But you may or may not take offense to that. So just punch him to shut him up (๑و•̀ω•́)و.

↠ Will talk about anyone and anything. Geto definitely gossip to you about other people that pass by, making up random blurbs that are far fetched or downright dumb. He likes to keep the mood light and fun especially if he just came back from a mission and needed a change of pace. 

↠ Geto is polite in every sense of the way despite his little comments here and there. He holds doors open for you, keeps your hand locked in his and will often bring it up to kiss your knuckles just to wooo you. Only because he knows it works. Every time. 

↠ After dinner, Geto would take you to the top of some building to look at the sky. Why? It’s romantic in his opinion and secondly it’s nice to get away from the crowds and admire the sea of stars while in the presence of the one who so graciously tolerates him.

“You know,” He’d break the silence and look over at you, catching your attention, “I appreciate you for keeping me grounded.” Geto spoke from his heart, referring to the mixed feelings and lingering doubt that covered his heart. The only light that remained was the space you occupied. You blink and sit up on your elbow.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to say it.” He shrugs, flashing you a half smile before pulling you on him for a hug. The two of you would remain like this until lord knows when. Geto wanted to stay like this for as long as possible because soon he wouldn’t have you anymore. 

↠ Which brings us to the new Geto, the monkey hater. If you managed to stay with him through all the shit he did, good on you for being a certified simp! And if you were a non-sorcerer, you are the only ‘monkey’ he tolerates because he loves you so. This bastard will kill anyone for you, even if you’re out on a cute, casual date.

↠ Which would include him taking you out somewhere very nice, like way out of your normal budget. The man loves to impress, always has and always will. 

“Isn’t this a bit..much?” You question, looking at the array of silverware neatly arranged before you. Geto leans forward, his elbow on the table and chin now resting in the palm of his hand. He wore a sly smile, one that was far too relaxed for a cold hearted killer. 

“Not at all.” He reaches with his other hand and takes yours, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. You melt of course, he always managed to take you down, so effortlessly. “You deserve the best.”

“Even if I’m a monkey?” You raise an eyebrow. No one said you agreed with his ideals, but love kept you by his side. Geto laughs, clearly humored. 

“What can I say? I’m a hypocrite out of love.”

(╯°□°）╯︵ (\ . 0 .)\  

↠ As to where you go afterwards, that depends on you cause Geto will take you anywhere. Even though he’s different now, his opinion toward you and how he holds the relationship never changed. If anything, he loves you even more for looking past the monster he became and showing him the love he was scared to lose. 

[ptergwen]

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

-

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

-

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

[theseerasures]

a yearning nation’s blueeyed pride

honestly there is just like. no point as of Witch (if not earlier) in thinking about Marrow and Winter as following along the same defection path, and downright facile to compare the two in terms of who is “closer” to defecting and therefore “less problematic” (even setting aside that making value judgments along those lines in fiction is...never that straightforward), when the narrative has emphasized REPEATEDLY how they are on entirely separate tracks in terms of character and role in the Atlas military.

seriously, it’s like saying “this orange is bad because you can’t eat the peel like you can eat an apple skin”

so like, yes, Marrow is the one who has verbally expressed his misgivings, and has clearly articulated scruples (as opposed to just the dial-up noise) and will blurt them out any second now as soon as he gets a word in edgewise. but also: Marrow HASN’T gotten a word in edgewise (except with Winter, fancy that), and has done approximately fuck all to actually subvert the system that he is growing to hate. both his theory and lack of praxis are tied into Marrow’s relatively low, overlooked position in the Atlas system, and feed into the fact that for Marrow the project of Atlas is not personal.

Marrow joined the military on ideological grounds. he clearly does want personal connection, but that has been denied him at every turn, largely by his teammates, largely by his partner, all of whom use him to enforce their own struggles with the clash between political duty and personal grief. he has been alienated by the system he upholds, which started even before we meet him. this makes it much harder for him to rebel in deed, because he doesn’t have a lot of power to begin with and he knows the system will not protect him if he does; at the same time, that relative powerlessness and isolation keeps his investment in Atlas abstract, uncomplicated, and much easier to dispel. Marrow is still with Atlas because he has a job to do, because it’s his duty, because he is still clinging to the Atlas military’s illusory altruism. he wants Penny to come with them so she can save Atlas. his protestations at seeing Team FNKI, that they are “just kids,” comes from the belief that it is categorically wrong to send children into battle. what is keeping Marrow from defecting is belief, and once the belief is shattered--like, say, when his boss’ new ingenious plan is to Nuke the Poors--there is nothing keeping him around.

and once his path is set he will not waver, because Atlas, by design, has no hold on him materially or personally (outside of his own life, which he was already happy to dedicate to a cause). Marrow then, is the limit case of Atlas being hoist with its own petard: an exemplar for how it gives its people nothing while demanding everything, but also an exemplar for how quickly the entire system folds in on itself when the veil is lifted. when Marrow defects (and it IS when) it will represent Atlas as a whole defecting from itself, even if we don’t see it visually--from the civilians, to the enlisted soldiers, to perhaps even members of Marrow’s own team.

NONE of the things i just mentioned really apply to Winter, because there is nothing about Atlas that is not personal for Winter.

i have no doubt that Winter is in some ways invested in same abstract principles that swayed Marrow, but that is constantly overridden by the fact that Winter has family at all sides of this, even before everything fell to shit, and the narrative will not stop reminding her.

“what about your sister?” “would you say the same thing if it was your sister inside?” her father was gunning for a seat on the Council. the man who took her in is essentially Head of State. Penny has made herself Public Enemy Number One, and Weiss is actively abetting her. even Whitley has now thrown himself into the fray, unbeknownst to her. and another person might be better at compartmentalizing all this the way Winter clearly wants to, and stick to the party line, but Winter cannot, because the more i watch her the more i’m convinced that the current crisis in Atlas is just a microcosm of the real issue, which is to say: everything is personal in Atlas for Winter, because everything is personal for Winter.

at a moment-to-moment level, and especially when backed into a corner, Winter defaults not to ideology but her tightly coiled lattice of personal relationships. and this makes perfect sense, because Winter grew up in a household where she had to perpetually crisis respond, and then she never stopped. Marrow does what he does because he believes in the dream, in making the world a better place, and therefore it is more difficult in some respects for him to defect, because it involves taking a long hard look at and then rejecting the structures he bought into and made himself complicit in. once lines are crossed and he DOES do that, though, he’s home free. for Winter, there are no lines to cross, because all Winter wants in the end is to throw her arms around everyone she cares about and drag them to safety. to keep them there, closely held, where she can see them and make sure that they stay safe.

but what’s tricky about Winter--what’s fascinating to me, what Jacques tried to beat out of her, what James alternately capitalizes on and tries to quash, what she resents about herself--is that in times of crisis (which for Winter is again ALL THE TIME), “everyone she cares about” becomes everyone, so that suddenly she takes a shine to the General’s war machine, so that she’s risking her life to give Penny and Fria a few more seconds of time, so that she’s stepping in front of Elm’s incoming fist, so that she’s letting JYR go rescue Oscar. Marrow has ideals he values, but at her core Winter has nothing but the people, who are real the moment she sees and feels them--real enough to defend, or defend against.

Winter jealously protects her web of people, but that web will also spiral out to infinity if she lets it--so she doesn’t. she has adamantly refused to move out of the mode where she lives present-by-present, only reacting to what is right in front of her, what she has been told, weighing her own life against the people who are closest, and no more. this is unquestionably a trauma response, but it’s also reinforced by 1) her choice to become a career soldier, and 2) the fact that Winter actually HAS quite a bit of power, and she knows that. but she has never trusted herself with any of it, largely because her hypervigilant response to situations has only ever been chastised instead of rehabilitated. Winter knows the weight of her name and her position, but she constantly tries to ignore it, or run away from it, so that she is only ever the heiress, the second-in-command, and never the Queen. she cannot be a leader until she is Good (that is to say, perfect and rational), so she tries to obliterate her power the same time she obliterates that pesky personhood: remaining still for as long as possible, avoiding situations that she knows will prompt action and choice, and when absolutely pushed to think through her power, moving the pieces around with extreme caution, hoping that the world won’t be burnt black by it.

Marrow and Winter are fundamentally at opposing ends of the personal-political bleed, and the story could NOT telegraph it any more clearly than their conversation in Witch, where Marrow makes a personal plea to Winter so that she can make a call far beyond just that, and she refutes him, by reminding him of his obligation to Atlas in the form of impersonal duty.

i’ll conclude by pointing out that there is something very interesting happening with Winter right now, that exceeds her power in-universe. because even as a Schnee, as Ironwood’s protege, what Winter can do is limited (partly because she limits herself), except for how the story has resolutely centered her actions and MADE them significant. in the course of this war Winter has let herself make exactly two choices--both of them noninterventionist, easily justifiable, and not meant to take any ideological stand--and they ended up altering the entire fabric of the war with Salem. all because she loved her sisters more than her duty. all because she was shown a slim chance to save the kingdom and a fourteen-year-old boy, and she thought just for an instant, what’s the harm

(and James Ironwood will never know. that even with his plan, his bomb, all his ships, all his soldiers...he was no match for her. his loyal lieutenant. the only child he will ever have, who has only ever called him “sir.”)

it is not about what Winter COULD have chosen in those moments, if she had the ability to stop Penny and Weiss from leaving, if JYR were even Oscar’s rescuers, in the conventional sense. it is about the fact that she DID make those choices, and the story has made them reverberate, in spite of the fact that she did not mean for them to. Marrow’s story is about being neglected and overlooked by the system, the moment of recognition that it needs you more than you need it, that there are so many more of you, and together you can stop chasing the dream and make your own. Winter’s story cleaves to the heart of not just Atlas, but the RWBY monomyth, which goes something like: stars are like us. the world was created because two brothers could not get along, and sundered because a woman could not cope with her grief. just because you move closer to the elite, to the center, to the top, to the sublime, it does not mean that you move farther from the fallible. we are all, at our deepest layer, people.

but the world does not tremble any less for it.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Lost and Found

Prompt: Hello, you can ignore this but can you write Logince hurt/comfort?

look there's been too much character angst in my notes recently so I'm giving you no-one-is-at-fault-sweet-protective-boys h/c tonight

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: logince can be platonic or romantic i don't care I'm to aroace to parse out which is which

Word Count: 3116

He’d just wanted to find Roman.

Or, Logan gets lost in the Imagination looking for Roman when the weather takes a turn.

He’d just wanted to find Roman.

Logan grits his teeth against the wind as he pushes further into the Imagination. His glasses get knocked askew by a particularly enthusiastic burst of wind and he winces, fixing them before shaking his head at himself.

“This isn’t real,” he mutters, still pushing forward, “this is the Imagination. It isn’t real. Nothing can really hurt me here.”

And Roman would never hurt me.

Logan turns. And turns. And turns. Where did he come from again?

Ah, yes, there’s the broken tree branch he stumbled into when he came into the clearing. That’s where he came from. So, logically, he should turn so that is at his back before continuing. Yes, that’s what he should do.

So he does, turning so that the tree branch is behind him and walking forward. Well, stumbling forward. There’s something wrong with his shoes, he decides as he looks down and sees his legs perfectly intact. Perhaps they are not ideal for slogging through windy forests. Which, alright, he cannot be fully blamed for, he was not intending on going on a quest today—he just wants to find Roman. They have plans today and they’d both been looking forward to them. So he needs to find Roman. Yes, that’s what he needs to do.

…where is Roman, again?

Logan frowns, still trying to hold his glasses in place against the wind that—if he were someone else, he would say it seems determined to strip him of them. But that’s ridiculous. Wind doesn’t have emotions or goals, and this wind isn’t real.

But then would that mean that it could have emotions or goals?

He shakes again and walks forward, narrowly dodging a broken tree branch. He winces as he stumbles into the trunk and narrowly avoids smashing his head into its side. He keeps going. It’s cold. It sends him more off-balance, sends him staggering into another tree. He reaches out to grip the bark and squeezes his eyes shut.

This isn’t real. I’m fine. I just need to find Roman and get out.

His fingers slip on the jagged bark as he pushes himself up. He moves forward.

Something hits his face. He flinches, hand coming up instinctively to block his path when something hits his hand. He flails, trying to swat it away, only for something else to hit his hand. And again. And again. He swipes at his face, trying to figure out what it is, what’s hitting him, only for his hand to come away damp.

Oh. It’s raining.

Indeed, his glasses become speckled with water droplets before he can fully come to this conclusion. His shirt begins to stick to his skin, his tie hangs limply, caught by the buttons. He grits his teeth anew and keeps pushing forward. Just get to Roman, just get to Roman.

…where is Roman?

Logan turns around. And turns. And turns.

He’s in a forest. Dark trees frown over him, the wind gleefully stripping bark and flinging it at him. He throws his arms up to protect his face. Rain stings as it slaps bare skin. It’s cold.

He turns once more and—

Smack!

Logan cries out as he stumbles, landing hard against the roots of a tree sprawled across the forest floor. His pants whine in protest as he collapses. His leg burns. A very quick, very absent-minded assessment says it’s not broken, not sprained, just scraped. But anything more than that would mean moving and the rain seems determined to pin him to the ground. The wind whistles against him, delighting in seeing him there, at the base of the tree, unable to move.

But he has to find Roman.

Roman will know what to do.

Roman won’t hurt him.

“Logan?” The wind starts to sound like Roman’s voice. “Logan? Logan, is that you? Logan!”

His eyes closed against the onslaught of bark, Logan reaches out, baring his arms to the wind, reaching for the voice that sounds too far away.

“Logan! Oh my stars, Logan, you’re hurt, what’re you doing here, come here—“

“R-roman?”

“Yes,” Roman says, and oh, there’s Roman, “I’m right here, my darling nerd, come on, come here, let’s just—let’s get you out of here. What are you doing here, you don’t even have a coat—“

“Thought I didn’t need one,” he slurs, belatedly realizing how warm Roman is, “not real.”

“Oh, Logan,” Roman sighs, fondness bleeding into his tone as he lifts—when did he get his arms around him?— Logan up and begins to walk, “you can’t solve all of your problems with object impermanence.”

“…watch me.”

“Gladly,” comes the murmur as a warm kiss is pressed against his forehead, “but not right now, hmm? Let’s get you warm.”

It takes a few moments of realizing that it’s over, he’s safe, he found Roman, for Logan to put the pieces together that he’s being carried out of Roman’s realm like a child.

“I can walk,” Logan protests, trying to free himself only to be thwarted by Roman’s hold, “you can put me down.”

“I’m sure I could, and I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, still walking without trying to put him down, “but you can also let me carry you.”

Logan does not pout, he doesn’t, as Roman walks them out of the Imagination. The wave of warm as they cross the threshold into Roman’s room grants him the immediate knowledge that had he been standing under his own power, the contrast would’ve sent him right back into Roman’s arms.

“Shh,” Roman says quietly when he lets out an unconscious gasp at how cold he must be, “shh, sweetheart, thankfully you’re not hypothermic. Let’s get you in the warm shower, okay?”

“No, wait—after drop, core temperature causes—“

“That’s when you’ve been swimming,” Roman corrects, still carrying Logan as they make it to the bathroom, “not out in the rain.”

“Oh.” Logan blinks. “I—didn’t mean to go swimming.”

Roman chuckles, setting him down carefully on the steps to the bathtub. He reaches up to gently take off Logan’s glasses, drying them on a soft towel and sliding them back on. Logan blinks, trying to orient himself in Roman’s bathroom.

“…has this room always been this…extravagant?”

He’s rewarded with another laugh from Roman as they look around. Really, the last time Logan remembers being in here, it had looked much like Thomas’s bathroom. Shower, mirror, toilet, sink, a few cabinets. But now—

Now he’s sitting on the steps up to a truly massive bathtub, across the room from an equally massive walk-in shower. The vanity looks large enough for him to lie across with room to spare, the two sinks just below enormous mirrors. The toilet looks like—well, a throne.

It’s a miracle of a bathroom.

“Janus helped me make it,” Roman says softly, calling his attention back with a gentle hand under his chin, “it doesn’t stay all the time, but when someone needs to be spoiled, this is what it looks like.”

“Who needs to be spoiled?”

Roman chucks him lightly under the chin. “You, sweetheart, you’re freezing. Come on, let’s get you into the shower. I’ll grab something soft for you to wear afterward.”

Logan nods, attempting to get up to do as Roman bids only to wince. Roman, turning away, immediately crouches back down, hands reaching in concern.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart,” he murmurs, looking him over, “can I help? What can I do?”

“I fell.” Logan stubbornly ignores the flush in his face as he gestures weakly toward his leg. “Tripped on a root, I think it’s scraped.”

Roman winces in sympathy, reaching to hover his hand over where Logan indicates. “Sometimes I swear those trees are trying to trip me.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth. “It’s not Remus, is it?”

Roman laughs. “No, no, when he wants you on the ground, he doesn’t stop at passively trying to trip you. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Roman’s hand lands on the scrape and he sucks in air through his teeth. “There.”

“Mm, I can feel how warm it is. You poor thing…alright. There’s a first aid kit in the left drawer over there—yes, that one, and the stuff in the shower is meant to be gentle. I’d avoid trying to clean it fully, that’s going to hurt, but just enough to make sure there’s nothing in the wound.”

“I understand.”

Roman pats his knee and stands. “I’ll be just outside, take as long as you need. I’ll leave the clothes on the counter, okay?”

Logan tries to look up and winces. The bright lights and the white tile make it difficult to keep his eyes open without his glasses.

“…sweetheart?”

“Can it be—“ Logan waves his hand at the ceiling— “less?”

“Of course, here—give me your hand.” Roman helps him stand, slips his arm around his waist, and guides him to the shower. He presses Logan’s hand against the wall to feel the set of light switches. “There’s one that controls all the lights, one for the overhead, one for the shower light, and one for the fan.”

Logan clicks a couple of times until he can look up again, yellow light spilling into the shower area and only the shower area. “Thank you.”

“Always.” Roman kisses the back of his hand and leaves him be.

Peeling himself out of his damp clothes takes longer than he expected, but his frustration is tempered by the knowledge that he’s here, he found Roman, Roman would never let him be hurt in his own bathroom, and that it’s okay, now.

Everything is okay.

He leaves his clothes laid out on the steps, his glasses set on the counter nearest the shower. The curtain has the same weight as a key in his hand. The warm water beats down over his shoulders, flowing softer over his leg. He can’t see it too well in the soft light, but he can make out the angry red skin and it still feels too hot to the touch. He winces as the water hits the wound, turning so it hits his head first. After a moment, he lies down, the cool tiles beneath him the perfect contrast to the pitter-patter of warm water on his front.

Logan lies there, in the warm light, soft under the water, and remembers how to breathe.

When his chest no longer aches from the cold, he stands, shutting off the water and reaching for the towels. Oh, Roman must have heated towel racks; the towel he wraps himself in is so, so, warm. A noise escapes his mouth as he walks over to the pile of clothes left on the counter. A glance over his shoulder shows Roman must’ve come in while he was drifting. His wet clothes are gone too. He reaches for the dry ones only to wince when the towel rubs against the scrape on his leg.

Right.

He turns on the brighter lights, wincing and trying to see the full scope of the injury. It doesn’t look good; he’s scraped along most of his upper thigh, red and angry and too sore for him to rest his weight on. There’s probably not much he can do. It’s not severe enough to merit a full bandage and smearing any sort of cream over that much surface area just guarantees it’ll get on something he’d rather it didn’t. He sighs and exits the bathroom only to pause.

Oh, Roman’s turned his fairy lights on.

Roman glances up from under the strings of lights hanging around his room, smiling when he sees Logan and holding out his arms. The room is dim, not too dark that he can’t see, but not bright and shining as it normally is. Roman is still in his prince costume, looking every bit like he’s stepped out of a storybook. Logan suddenly feels very underdressed in the pajama shirt and shorts.

“Come here,” Roman calls when Logan hesitates, “let me have a look at you.”

Logan moves, making to sit next to Roman when Roman stops him with a hand on his hip.

“…did you not find the first aid kit?”

Oh. “There’s not much use in it. It’s not bad enough to cover and I—“

Roman moves his hand to touch the scrape and Logan flinches. At Roman’s fond yet disappointed look, something like shame bubbles up in his chest.

“…will you help me?”

“Always,” Roman says, pushing Logan’s hip, “now lie down. I’ll be right back.”

Logan lies down, worrying a little about getting anything on Roman’s bed only for Roman to hush any protests and tuck a pillow under his head.

“Don’t strain your neck. I’ll be right here.”

Logan tries, but as soon as he feels the bed sag behind him and the clunk of the first aid kit opening he tenses.

“Roman.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t—can’t do this. Not like this.” He shakes his head. “I can’t see you. I don’t know where you’re—when you’re going to touch me.”

“Okay.” Roman moves to crouch in front of him. “I still need to be able to see your leg. Can we try something else?”

They end up with Logan resting against Roman’s shoulder, his leg across Roman’s lap. Roman takes one of Logan’s hands and rests it on his arm.

“It’s on the outside of your thigh,” he says, “so I’m going to need you to turn it or I’m going to have to lean over. Either way, I won’t always be looking at you so if you need me to stop at any time, squeeze.”

Roman won’t hurt him. Roman won’t let him be hurt. His hands are gentle as he applies the cream, strong enough to hold Logan’s leg in place without it hurting. When he brushes a raw part of the scrape and Logan hisses, he rubs soothing circles into the skin with his thumb as Logan lets out a breath over a few seconds.

“Good.”

Only when Roman starts making sure the cream is properly rubbed in does Logan realize he’s focusing more on the dry warmth of Roman’s hand than the slight sting of the cream. He’s more focused on the slight furrow of Roman’s brow than the angry red welts on his leg. He’s more focused on the way his leg rests in Roman’s lap, in Roman’s grip, Roman’s arms flexing and relaxing under his hand than the slight strain of keeping his leg turned.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Roman, of course, can feel the moment he tenses, no matter how small, stopping his motions and looking up at Logan’s face. Logan, of course, would rather Roman didn’t look at his face right now and turns away, steadfastly focusing on the wound on his leg and not the way his face heats up under Roman’s focus. But then there are fingers under his chin that turn him back to Roman’s face and that’s not fair. Roman simply raises an eyebrow, wordlessly asking in a way that ensures Logan can’t speak.

Have Roman’s eyes always been that color brown?

He can see the moment realization clicks by the way Roman’s face softens, mouth curling up in the way it does when he’s about to tease Logan for the next hour. Logan flinches only for Roman to cup the side of his face and hold him still.

“Eyes closed now, Specs,” Roman murmurs instead, thumb running over his leg.

“W-what?”

“Close your eyes,” he repeats, “let me put the bandage on and we’ll be done.”

Logan opens his mouth again but Roman raises his eyebrows.

“Closed.”

He hears the gentle pull of the tape, feels Roman’s warm hands tape the gauze in place. Feels one of Roman’s arms hook under his leg, the other around his back, hears the soft thump of the covers as Roman stands, turns, and lays him down properly. He hushes the soft noise of surprise and snaps his fingers, the prince costume turning to pajama under Logan’s hand.

“We had plans,” Logan protests blearily as he feels Roman slide his glasses off his face, “we were going to—to—“

“To what, sweetheart,” comes the murmur next to his ear when he can’t finish his sentence, “what were we going to do?”

He grits his teeth in frustration, much to Roman’s amusement.

“Relax, Specs,” he chuckles, “it’s alright. I’ll be right here when you remember what we were going to do. In the meantime, why don’t you just lie here with me?”

Logan bites back a curse. Damn Roman for being as perceptive as he is, and damn him for knowing it’s working.

“Shh,” as a hand strokes his cheek, “none of that, now, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“Should’ve known a prince could never resist a damsel in distress,” he bites out, just to have something to say.

“Oh? Is that why you came into the storm with no jacket?” Damn. “So I’d have to come save you? Logan, really, if you wanted my attention, you needn’t resort to such extremes.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says in a way he hopes doesn’t sound as much like a whine as he thinks it does.

Judging by Roman’s chuckle, it’s definitely a whine. “Oh, Logan, you know you always have my attention.”

“Stop teasing.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, “you’re so teaseable.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now.” Before he can open his mouth again, there’s a kiss pressed to his cheek and warm arms around him. “Now shush, my dearest nerd, and rest. My damsel’s hurt.”

Through the rapidly growing drowsiness, Logan manages to mutter: “not your damsel.”

“Of course not,” Roman coos, “you’re my Logan.”

“Roman!”

He laughs again, a hand coming up to ruffle his damp hair. “Come here, roll onto your side—yes, that’s it. There. Let me hold you. This way you won’t roll onto the scrape and hurt yourself.”

Roman’s leg wraps through his, drawing him into a gentle pin. Nothing that will work if Logan actually wants to be free—and he knows Roman would let him go the instant he asks. The hand in his hair threatens to lull him right to sleep, but not before he says thank you.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” comes the reply, the other hand scratching lightly between his shoulder blades, “now you just lie there and fall asleep to me.”

Just before he slips under, he hears one last whisper.

“Me too, Logan, me too.”

Logan drifts off in Roman’s arms, safe, warm, found.

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[nagimitsus]

Title: somewhere along the line

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Synopsis: For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

Diluc has known this from the start. Before the traveler entered their lives, before the battles, before he saw him standing in front of a dragon, ready to give everything in exchange for the freedom of another. And Diluc had thought, now that is how a god should behave.

That is someone I could believe in.

 [Read on AO3!]

For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

Diluc has known this from the start. Before the traveler entered their lives, before the battles, before he saw him standing in front of a dragon, ready to give everything in exchange for the freedom of another. And Diluc had thought, now that is how a god should behave. 

That is someone I could believe in. 

It should come as a surprise, the amount of respect that he has gathered for the bard of melodious voice that makes himself at home only at his tavern. But it doesn’t. Maybe Diluc felt a pang of nuisance at first, when he thought of Venti only as a drunkard with too many stories to tell. 

That was before he came to know him. Before the nights when his smile became sad after too many bottles of wine, small and nostalgic and unfitting in such a bright face. Before he understood that there was still a raw wound behind those eyes of his, still bleeding as much as Diluc’s own. 

Diluc took the habit of offering him a glass of water and telling him to go home. The sensation of discomfort that nested his chest when Venti smiled up at him and asked what home was he talking about made Diluc wince.

.

At some point between that and the whole Dvalin situation, he stops asking Venti to go home and starts keeping him company until the silent streets of Mondstadt, illuminated only by the moon and the stars, call back for its bard. 

When Venti leaves, his smile is a bit more grateful and a lit less lonely, and Diluc tells him “I hope you find something more rewarding to spend your time on, tomorrow” but thinks See you later. 

Venti laughs. It sounds like a breeze. “What’s more rewarding than wine, I wonder?” he says, and has the audacity to wink.

Diluc sighs, because there’s nothing else he can do. 

.

The thing about Venti is that he doesn’t want to be worshipped. 

He doesn’t. It’s made clear in the way he behaves, the way he doesn’t stop too much in front of the church unless it’s to perform, the way he talks to the citizens of his country as if they were more friends than subjects. And it’s not because he likes the freedom that comes with anonymity, it’s not because of his own wants or needs. 

It’s because he wants them to be free, in this city where there are no tyrants and no gods. This city where they can follow the winds and their hearts alike, bound by nothing but their own ideals.

Diluc protects Mondstadt, fiercely. Because he loves everything it represents and everything it stands for. 

And likewise, he protects the god that gifted them all of this.

.

 Venti stops by the Winery of Dawn sometimes. Diluc finds him trying to steal wine or sleeping inside a barrel, and thinks: this is not a deity, this is a raccoon. 

Still, because he has a bit of faith left in him and because he used to go to church with his father back in the day, Diluc takes him by the back of his cape and into the house, where he makes sure he’s put to rest in one of their spare rooms, with enough water on his bed table to deal with the hangover. 

By the next morning he’s always gone, but the wind blows gently through the open window. 

Sometimes, if he’s still sober enough to string a few words together when Diluc takes him in, Venti laughs, and clings to his shoulders with both arms, and says things like “I can sing for you if you desire it, Master Diluc”, with that sweet voice blurry but cheerful. 

Diluc sits him down before the fireplace on those occasions, just so he can make sure that Venti drinks enough water and doesn’t do something like throwing up into his own mouth and suffocating on it.

What a troublesome bard, Diluc thinks. The thought is covered in affection anyway, and he has to sigh to himself at that. Venti blinks slowly at him, almost as if he could know what’s crossing his mind just by looking at him, and then he leans in his direction with a drunken smile that makes Diluc roll his eyes. 

“You,” Venti says, slowly but with intent, “are a very good person. Do you know that, Master Diluc?”

The reaction is immediate. Diluc can feel it start on his stomach and creep up until his head, his ears, his hands. It’s a fuzzy sentiment that makes home on his chest and purrs like a cat, a reminder of how good it is to be acknowledged. 

Diluc looks back at Venti’s eyes, clear even in his state. 

When he was young, he wondered how the truly religious felt. He asked Jean once, eleven or so, as little Barbara tried to sign in tone with the croaking of a frog. And Jean, always patient and warm, had said: I don’t think it can be explained.

But it can.

Diluc feels like he’s being hugged by a tornado and cradled by the breeze at the same time. It’s excruciating and infuriating and exhilarating, and it’s making a knot into his stomach, reddening his ears. 

He scoffs lightly, but his voice is not unkind when he says:

“And you are very drunk.”

Venti laughs at that, and the sound reverberates in the space of the room.

The only reason Diluc doesn’t leave is because he’s still afraid that Venti will throw up all over himself. 

.

(The traveler comes.

The traveler comes, they fight against Dvalin, and Diluc has to see Venti’s slender form fly across the battlefield when the dragon hits him once. Even when he gets up immediately, smiling through the pain, the knot that he made in Diluc’s stomach twitches and hurts. 

He makes sure to tell Barbara that the bard got hurt once they go back to Mondstadt, and ignores the perplexed look that he sends his way.)

.

Venti doesn’t come to the winery for a few weeks after the Dvalin incident, and they don’t meet up at the tavern either. Diluc would be worried, if he didn’t see him here and there, talking to Kaeya or playing a simple tune for Klee (who he seems to adore, if the warm look in his eyes as the little girl tries to harmonize with him.)

Diluc is not prone to lie to himself, so he doesn’t even try to deny that he misses Venti’s annoying presence. Still, since the traveler left for Liyue, the whole town seems to have subdued, its upbeat attitude turned into a dull sense of longing. 

Someone knocks on his door one night, almost sixteen days after he saw Venti for the last time. And of course, as fate would have it, it’s the bard himself who’s waiting at the other side.

Rain is not unusual in Mondstadt, even when they’re accustomed to a gentle drizzle, so most citizens have learned to take an umbrella with them when the spring is creeping on them.

Venti is dripping wet, and there’s something in the way his clothes cling to the line of his shoulders that make him straight up sad, almost pathetic. Still, the gleam on his eyes is a tell-tale that he’s been drinking, and the curve of his smile is too close to loneliness. It stirs something in Diluc, calls for the silent understanding of their nights in the tavern.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a step to the side to let him in. 

The maids will find awfully unpleasant the wetness on the carpet, Diluc’s mind supplies, but it’s difficult to care when Venti smiles like rain and alcohol and apples, all mixed up. His mere presence tends to be intoxicating, with the way he takes so much space with his voice and his laugh and his music, but it’s even worse now. Maybe it’s because Diluc has become unaccustomed to it.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Diluc asks after a few seconds. Venti’s smile is still sad, but it’s there nonetheless. 

If this were any other person, the sound of the wind outside might have drowned their words. But Venti has never known how to be quiet, and so Diluc hears him without any trouble:

“You care about me, don’t you, Master Diluc?”

He sighs, and closes the door. The storm becomes a muted sound behind the wood and the steel, and somehow that adds to the intimate atmosphere that this scene carries. Diluc can feel it at his throat, the warning, the threat that comes with the closeness. He talks through it.

“I don’t think you’ve made all the way here just to point out the obvious, bard.”

He turns then, and Venti is still there, looking straight into him. In the pit of his eyes there’s an ancient kind of loneliness that makes him look terribly old. It’s in times like this when it becomes easy to think of him as a god. Again, Diluc thinks of what being religious means, thinks of kissing his temple and his hands until pink and red go back to his skin, thinks of drying his hair and lending him a bed.

That’s not the kind of devotion that a God requires. But for Venti, who would treat the cathedral built in his name just to see Klee smile, who dirties his hands helping Sucrose with her work and runs away from Diona between laughs whenever she gets angry at him, it might be enough. 

Venti laughs. The sound is enough to loosen the muscles of Diluc’s tense shoulders.

“I haven’t,” Venti says, and then he turns around and walks into the house as if it belongs to him. Diluc follows, waiting for him to go on. Since he doesn’t, he adds:

“I’m not going to serve you wine here,” just to make sure that’s out of the table. 

Venti hums, amused. He goes straight to the fireplace, sticking both hands in front of the flames. Diluc stops just three steps away from him, taking a few seconds to stare at the side of his face, shadows dancing over the curves of his nose, his eyebrows, his neck. 

“I lost something important,” Venti says at least, his voice soft, “and my power has decreased drastically.” 

Diluc frowns before he can stop himself. Venti looks at him with that same smile that doesn’t suit him, even as he’s winking, probably trying to downplay his own words.

“Worst possible time too, right?”

Diluc would know. The Abyss Order’s activity is still on rise, and the Fatui are getting bolder every passing day. He knows the Knights of Favonious are not good enough to keep them all at bay, not enough to protect all of Mondstadt, bound by the laws and diplomacy and their own duty.

Even so,

“I’m still here,” he reminds him, as if it was obvious. “And Jean will do everything in her power.”

Venti looks at him through the corner of his eye for a second before he’s turning his whole body, hands on his hips. He giggles again, and even though the sound is far off the usual, it doesn’t sound as tense as his last words.

“Are you saying you will protect me, Master Diluc?” 

Diluc doesn’t roll his eyes, because he’s not keen on the gesture, but he hopes that the expression on his face is enough to convey his feelings of fond frustration. One can’t be serious with Venti around unless someone is in immediate danger, it seems. 

“I am saying that if my actions can bestow some peace upon you, know that I’ll keep protecting Mondstadt.”

Venti takes a step in his direction, then another. When his hands close around Diluc’s white shirt, they leave wet marks that extend through the cloth under his fingers, cold against his skin. The flower on his hat has lost at least two petals in the rain, but his eyes are alive and  warm as they look straight into Diluc’s red ones.

He doesn’t feel the need to confess, doesn’t want to kneel down and ask for forgiveness for his sins. But he wants to keep Venti here nonetheless, in the intimacy of the room illuminated only by the flames. Maybe that’s a thought that needs absolution. 

“You,” Venti says, very slowly, “are a very good person. Did you know that, Master Diluc?”

He smirks, the little shit. Diluc doesn’t bother to answer this time, because he’s too busy trying to calm down the beating of his heart as Venti gets on his tiptoes, one hand going to his shoulder, the other remaining on his chest.

Diluc leans down into the kiss, and it’s impossible to think of a god when the laugh that he swallows in his own mouth it’s so undeniably Venti.

[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

[shyficwriter]

Twister

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Yondu, Peter, & Reader. Guest-starring Kraglin and Mantis

Summary: Drabble where gang plays Twister, but Yondu cheats by tickling reader

Author’s Note: Prompt that won second place in the poll (Option: GOTG 6) and I’m still deciding how I want to go about a tie breaker for 3rd place lol. Based off prompt from anon.

Word Count: 1,859

“Left foot on red!” Mantis cheered happily. 

With Gamora and Drax looking over weapons with Rocket, Peter suggested a game of Twister as a way to kill boredom. You weren’t sure how he managed to rope Yondu and Kraglin into playing, but you assumed they probably placed bets. 

Mantis was currently the referee, wanting to watch how the game was played first, and she giggled happily as she watched the four of you twist yourselves into pretzels trying to complete the latest instruction. You couldn’t help but think that if Groot hadn’t been with Rocket and the others right now, he’d probably be winning.

As soon as everyone had settled, with groans about being old from Yondu, Peter gave the go ahead for Mantis to spin again. Currently, you were stretched over Kraglin with your hands on yellow and green, and your feet on blue and red. The others of course also had their limbs on the same corresponding colors, but with the rules being that no two players could share a spot, your positions varied. 

As stated, Kraglin was currently under you, doing his best to retain his almost horizontal position to avoid falling onto the mat. Unfamiliar with the game, he didn’t start out making the best placement choices. Peter was to your left, his right leg placed precariously between Kragin’s to rest on a blue dot, and his body leaning over Yondu who’s left arm was stretched under your own for purchase on yellow.

“Right hand blue!” said Mantis, to the collective groan of the group.

You found yourself in lucky enough position to not be buried under everyone else, so you were able to quickly position your hand in the dot right next to your right foot, much to the chagrin of Peter who had to reach for a free space at the far end of the mat as Yondu had taken the only other free space that was only available because Kraglin, unable to twist around in his flattened position to reach a blue space, fell and was eliminated from the game with an, “Aw, shucks!” 

“Right hand yellow!” Mantis called once Kraglin had vacated the mat. He joined her at the spinner.

The three of you sighed in relief as this move resulted in a much needed “un-pretzeling.”

You were now currently at the highest advantage, seeing as Peter was twisted very awkwardly with his arms crossed over Yondu. However that all changed in a few more turns.

“Left foot blue.”

“Right hand green.”

“Right foot red.”

“Right hand yellow”

Now you were more or less pinned under Yondu’s right arm as he reached over you for a yellow dot to your right side. Peter was worse off though, after being finally able to uncross his arms for a bit, that last call forced him back in the same crossed arm position he had been just a few turns ago.

“Left foot red.”

You all shifted to red. An easy move.

“Right hand blue.”

You let out a yelp as you felt Yondu tweak your right side as he pulled his arm back to claim a blue dot to your left, and you squeaked again when he performed the same action to your left side before settling in on his chosen dot.

“No cheating!” you scold playfully.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” replied Yondu, pretending to be offended.

“Left hand yellow.”

Everyone’s left hands had already been on yellow for some time, so this was a mercifully easy one, as everyone just shifted their hand down one space.

“Right hand green.”

Yondu was finally making his way out from under Peter, or Peter from over Yondu, depending on how you looked at it. Yondu moved his hand to green with ease, but not before poking you in the ribs and passing it off as an accident. Peter had obviously noticed Yondu’s shenanigans and was no longer regretting having forgotten to take his leather jacket off before starting the game. He could call him out for cheating, but hey, if it got rid of the competition... Not wanting to get his arms twisted up for a third time, he quickly reached over to claim the green dot directly in front of you.  No matter, you were able to reach one just fine to the right, the last one in the row. 

Now you were all parallel to each other, Yondu on the left of the mat, you on the right, and Peter in the middle.

Mantis called out ‘Left hand yellow’ yet again and you wondered if the spinner might be sticking, but everyone just moved their hands back up one space to where they had originally been on the last ‘left hand yellow’ call. 

“Right foot yellow.”

Crap. Peter was faster and managed to kick his foot under your body before you could react to claim the furthest yellow dot, the one that would have been easiest for you to reach, forcing you to take the one next to it, the one that would have been easiest for him to claim. This required you to step over and almost straddle his leg to do so. Clearly he was trying a strategy to mess you up.

“Right hand green.”

Crap again. At first you thought nothing of it when Peter lifted his hand and you claimed the green spot his hand had previously occupied, assuming like every time when Mantis called a color/limb combination you were already on that you’d all move forward or backward a space. However, instead of taking the easy route and moving forward, he reached over you, and poked you in the armpit (resulting in a squeak from you) on the way down to claim the spot where you had just been, despite the fact that this also made things more difficult for himself. Yondu simply moved his hand down to rest on the green dot next to yours, despite many open within his reach. 

“You both suck.” you scolded, laughter still in your voice.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Peter claimed, and Yondu just chuckled in response.

“Left hand blue.”

Yondu quickly snatched up the blue dot closest/easiest to Peter, and Peter awkwardly twisted to grab the one next to it, the one that would have been easiest for you to claim. 

Because you were on top of Peter’s leg as well as under his torso, this made things difficult for you. The next best one for you to grab was under his leg, and with difficulty, you made it.

“Right hand yellow.”

Peter claimed the circle just next to the one your foot was resting on, so you seized the chance to get out from under him. You quickly pulled out from under his torso to reach over him to claim the yellow dot right next to it just in time to see Yondu had already claimed his and was very much in a better position than you and Peter seeing that he wasn’t tangled up at all.

“Left foot green.”

Finally, something to twist Yondu up! He had to swing his left foot behind his right to reach the green dot nearest to him. It wasn’t a whole lot, to be honest, he was still better off than you and Peter, but hey, it was something. 

Speaking of you and Peter, Peter was now completely under you and twisted in what you were sure was an uncomfortable position. He looked over at Yondu and lamented, “How’d you get so lucky?”

“Skill, boy.” Yondu laughed.

“More like beginners luck!” You sassed, rolling your eyes.

“Right hand red.”

“Left foot yellow.”

“Right foot green.”

“Right hand blue”

A few turns later and Peter was in almost a crab-walk position, not exactly ideal for him. You were still bent over him like a bridge, facing away from him and Yondu, who was only just starting to lose his luck and get re-pretzeled in with you and Peter.

“Ain’t one of ya gonna fall yet?” he asked. “How long does this usually take?”

“Normally-” Peter grunted from the effort of staying in his position, “The game is much shorter- but... this is what happens... when you play with a master!”

You and Yondu both rolled your eyes at that. Kraglin groaned and laid back for a nap, expecting this to take a bit longer and Mantis just remained cheerful as ever, enjoying watching her friends tie themselves into knots.

“Left hand yellow.”

You managed to claim a yellow dot near to you, but then you felt something tickling at your waist.

“H-hey! Peter quit it!” you squealed through giggles.

“It’s not me! Why would it be me? If you fall on me we both lose!” Peter whined.

“Yondu!” you scolded.

“What?” came his voice from behind you in a mock-innocent tone. “I’m just trying to find a yella circle.”

You felt his fingers creep further up to your ribs and your giggles turned into laughter. “You won’t find it there! That’s cheating! Quit it!”

“Actually, I don’t see anything in here saying that’s against the rules,” Kraglin quipped, now re-interested in the game and pretending to go through the rule booklet. He even made a show if letting Mantis see.

Peter sighed and spoke up over your peels of laughter. “Mantis, just go ahead and spin the next color.” He was really hoping for a ‘right foot red’ or something that might allow him to pull himself from beneath you before you fell.

“I can’t Peter, the rules say everyone has to either find their circle or fall before we continue, and Yondu is still looking for a circle.” Oh Mantis, sometimes she was too innocent.

Kraglin chuckled and suggested maybe giving a time limit of 10 more seconds to “find a circle,” pretending to referee the situation. Mantis agreed, and Peter groaned, warning that you that you better not fall on him. 

“Don’t worry, I think I almost found one!” Yondu claimed, smirking. He had moved his hand back down and was now scritching at what he could reach of your belly, and you were losing it. Even if it wasn’t against the rules to remove a hand from a circle unless another color had be called, you didn’t think you could manage it without collapsing, and there was nothing you’d like more right then than to pull his tickling fingers away from your tummy. 

“No! No! AhahaHAH! Not there! Yondu! Yondu please! I- I can’t!” you cried out, trying with all you had to keep from falling, but, of course you failed in that goal. You finally collapsed, taking Peter down with you.

You rolled off of Peter, still giggly from being tickled, and smacked Yondu in the leg, who was now standing and smugly brushing himself off whilst declaring himself the winner. “That’s for cheating.”

“Hey, ya heard ‘em. Ain’t no rules against it.” The Centaurian laughed. “Well, I won. I believe you owe me some units, boy.” he said, grinning at Peter.

Peter grumbled and transferred the units he owed him, claiming his was going to add “no tickling” to the rulebook for the next game. 

[lea-andres]

So, I love changing brains plots, they fascinate me. Especially when two (or more!) Established and beloved characters are doing the swapping, because then it becomes a study into what makes those characters those characters.

In an ideal world, I'd love to swap Sonic and Knuckles. Force Sonic into a situation where he has roots and a responsibility that requires him to stay in one spot (guarding the Master Emerald), and snip away Knuckles's roots, giving him the freedom to do whatever he wanted, and the power to actually go do it (Sonic's superspeed). I think those two could learn a lot of lessons from the experience, and ultimately their friendship would be strengthened by the ordeal. Walk a mile in each other's shoes, so to speak.

If I couldn't do them, know what my second choice would be?

Team Chaotix swaps bodies with each other.

(TW for some body dysphoric/dysmorphic language moving forward, I feel like Vector and Espio in particular would suffer from a bit of that over the course of this plot.)

I don't totally care how they got into this scenario, to be honest. Latest case has them going up against some Not-Eggman mad scientist who build a brain swapping machine, and they successfully trap the detectives in the thing and turn it on, or something. I don't care how they got there, the fun is them being IN that situation. And I think I've figured out the worst (for them) case scenario of who ends up where.

Vector needs to end up in Charmy's body. He's the leader, the muscle, and (to someone unfamiliar with the trio) the most intimidating looking one of the lot. He loses all of that if we stick him in the little kid, bottom of the totem pole (in terms of Team Chaotix's power structure) honey bee. No one's gonna take a 6 year old bug talking mad shit seriously, he no longer has the raw strength he originally had to wreck stuff, and if the Chaotix try to hide that this happened (and they would, because Vector and Espio are both way too arrogant to be okay with anyone finding out about this.), He would have to completely let go of the leadership position. If he were in Espio's body, he'd at least be able to point out flaws in a plan or offer up suggestions without anyone batting an eye. But Charmy rarely, if ever, does that, so to keep up appearances, Vector would have to totally stay out of it.

And personally, I don't think he'd be able to do the stuff Charmy can do, like fly. I think the idea of him being able to fly would just be way too foreign to him, and he wouldn't be able to do it. (I know that sounds a little silly, considering we've seen Charmy lift and fly around with Vector AND Espio in Heroes, but in Vector's eyes, that's something *Charmy* can do. Not something *Vector* can do.)

Espio needs to go into Vector's body, which is probably the worst (for them) match up of the three. Espio's a ninja spy detective. He's used to being stealthy, quiet, acrobatic. He's small (in comparison to Vector), slim, and fast. He can turn invisible, and climb up walls and ceilings. And remember, Espio can be an arrogant little shit, he takes great pride in almost all of that.

Vector's body can do absolutely none of this. That crocodile is built like a tank, and probably absolute garbage at stealth. And suddenly being at least twice his normal size (if not bigger, it's been a while since I've looked at the canon heights and weights of everyone), way stronger, and infinitely louder is going to completely throw Espio off his game. And it's going to be extremely embarrassing and confidence shattering for the poor guy. He tries to do ANYTHING that came so naturally to him before, and it ends in noisy, destructive failure. And Espio would take it SO HARD everytime.

And remember what I was saying about keeping up appearances and the power structure of Team Chaotix? If Espio's in Vector's body, that means he's not only in charge whenever they're in public, but he's going to have to be in charge the way Vector is in charge to keep from arousing suspicion. And that's going to stress him the fuck out. Espio isn't afraid to question Vector, or call him out on his nonsense, but at the end of the day Vector's his superior, and he gives him the proper respect. Espio gives EVERYONE the respect they deserve, that's kind of a big deal with him. I'm not saying Vector *doesn't* do this, but he's definitely a lot more casual and laid-back with that sort of stuff than Espio is. So Espio's not only going to have to talk to Vector in a manner he feels is inappropriate, he's going to have to talk to everyone like that, and it's gonna really stress him out.

And finally, Charmy needs to go into Espio's body. Because Charmy is Charmy (and we need some comic relief somewhere in this emotionally traumatizing ordeal), he'd be pretty unfazed by the situation. Sure, he might be a little bummed he can't fly anymore, but I think Charmy would be way too distracted by the fun of being in Espio's body, and all the perks that come with it.

Just imagine him striking ridiculous ninja poses, climbing all around on the walls and ceilings, and turning invisible and terrorizing people, all while attempting to impersonate Espio's voice as he says all the over the top stuff he says.

(Charmy: *in deepest voice he can manage* Ninja power! Spirits Unite! Blah blah, ninja blah!

Espio: I do not sound like that. 😠

Vector and Charmy: You do too!)

Bonus points: I personally headcanon that Espio's ninja weapons work the same way Amy's hammer does. He doesn't carry them on him, he just summons them out of the void as needed. For plot convenience, let's say that ability stayed with his body, and didn't go with him into Vector's body. Vector and Espio have no way to disarm Charmy, and because Charmy's a little kid and they always get into the stuff you don't want them in, Charmy figures out how to call forth the weapons almost immediately. There's no way he'd be careful or responsible with that stuff, he's 6! So he'd chuck them around willy nilly for fun, almost killing himself, his teammates, and anyone else within a five mile radius of them everytime.

And Charmy wouldn't care at all about acting like Espio publicly to keep anyone from finding out this happened. So everyone would be so confused (and a little uncomfortable) as to why Espio's so goofy and... Happy... (Not to mention being extremely reckless, because someone said something he thought was cool, so 'Espio' went "KA-BLAM!" and tossed like 8 throwing stars, almost killing everyone in the process)

That's all I've got for now. Not sure how this would begin or end, but I know what the middle would look like! I'm very tired, I'll revisit this in the morning if I think of more.

[hoekaashi]

3 am Talks - bnha pt 3

a/n: here is the last part for bnha 3 am talks!! i’ll be doing hq next which will be longer than 9 characters. i hope yall enjoy (: pairings: dabi x reader, hawks x reader, aizawa x reader warnings: mentions for smex and smoking but no actual acts being done (dabi), dabi is a todoroki (not really a warning but i’m still saying it), mentions of depression (aizawa) taglist: @babydabi​, @suckersuki​, @bakugoustanaccount​, @animoozies​ part 2 | part 4

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

⇾ if Dabi is talking to you at 3 am, it’s because yall just finished doing the Devil's Tango ⇾ or yall smoking ⇾ those are the moments when his guard isn’t down persay, he’s just softer ⇾ he’s not a talkative guy to begin with so when he does start talking, you make sure to listen ⇾ it would probably start with something like ‘why are you with me’ or ‘joining the league, this isn’t what I thought I would be doing’ ⇾ maybe even bring up why he joined the league in the first place fuck Stain ⇾ he’s an insecure child at heart, but after asking some initial questions, he’ll be doing most of the talking ⇾ now - hear me out - if he reeeeeally trusts you, he would talk about his past and his daddy issues ⇾ how much he misses his siblings and mom, but he can’t go back to them ⇾ how he wants to expose his father for the things he did to his family but doesn’t want everyone else dealing with the backlash of it

You felt Dabi shift besides you, moving the thin sheet you used to cover yourself as you came back down from your previous activities. He sat there, facing the window, staring out at the moon and the stars. You knew something was on his mind, but waited to see if tonight would be the night he decided to talk about it. “Why are you still with me? You know I can’t give you anything you want.” You sat up, bringing your knees to your chest. Resting your head on your knees, you spoke. “Well, it’s not like I chose to fall in love with you. It just happened. But I honestly wouldn’t change a thing.” “Not even if being caught with me means you won’t be able to return to your family?” It wasn’t ideal, not in the slightest, but you hadn’t had that problem yet. “I don’t want to choose between the two of you. At this point, you are my family.” The silence fell back over the two of you. Sleep began to wash over you so you got up to find Dabi’s shirt to wear to bed. “When I joined the league, it was because I wanted to out my father to the entire world. Now that I’m here, I know that isn’t going to happen. The man-child has his own agenda that I’m a pawn in. The more I stray from my original ideas though, the more I realize that I can’t tell the public about his actions in the past. How will everyone else deal with the backlash? Shouto...he’s training to be a hero. How would that reflect on him? And Natsuo is in college… The only person I see benefiting from this is my mother who would finally be released from the hospital. But how would she adjust to life back home?” He dropped his head into his hands and you crawled across the bed over to him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you pulled him back into your chest. “I miss them so much… If I were stronger, maybe I could’ve protected them all.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ oh boy, I can talk about my favorite chimken ALL day but I’m not gonna show favoritism like that ⇾ I see late night talks with him the way I see him drunk - the longer he talks, the deeper he gets ⇾ like, 10-12 am, he’s on crack talking about the most random things, not sticking to one topic ⇾ around 1, he starts to get more serious but more so about relationships - not necessarily yours, but in general (could be work, friendship, lack-there-of) ⇾ 2-3 am, he’s on work, spilling his innermost thoughts on it but never telling you secrets because he won’t put your life in danger like that ⇾ 4 am and onwards, he gets deep ⇾ he’s talking about his family and his childhood, how if he ever sees himself wanting kids in the future, he wants them to have a better life than himself ⇾ once he starts sharing the thoughts and feelings he’s kept to himself for all this time, he won’t stop ⇾ not unless he thinks you’re bored, tired, or he falls asleep himself ⇾ he just wants someone to listen to him for once and not cut him down for having feelings

“But I guess Endeavor is my best friend…” Hawks was staring up at the ceiling, lying on the couch as if he were in therapy - another luxury that was stripped away from him. “What about Miruko?” you asked, moving his legs out of your lap so you could get up. “My favorite rodent! Yeah she’s up there too. Actually, scratch that. She’s my best friend, don’t tell her I hesitated though.” You laughed. You heard him follow you into his bedroom as you began to change your clothes. Once you were done, you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “But I’m so lucky to have found you.” “It feels weird though. Like we’re dating secretly behind our parents’ back.” He pulled away, a small frown on his face. “Are you...not happy with me?” You walked over to the balcony doors, opening them to step outside. “Of course I am. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. It’s just strange I can’t tell anyone about you.” He joined you soon after, his shirt disregarded and sweats covering his lower half. “I know, but I want to keep you safe from, well, everything. The Commission isn’t exactly known for being kind to anyone. As a kid, I felt like I grew up in jail, my teachers and supervisors were my wardens. They forced me to grow up long before anyone my age had to.” He leaned back against the railing of the balcony, looking at you. Before continuing, he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. “I never thanked you for not prying whenever I don’t tell you stuff. If the Commission ever found out that you know anything, I don’t even want to imagine what they would do.” You looked back out at the view of the city. “Are you planning to stay with them forever?” He took a moment to answer turning around to look at the view with you. “I mean, as of right now, yeah. Maybe one day in the future, if I want to settle down, I’ll leave. But they won’t let me go so easily, if at all, so it’s just easier staying with them.” “Kids?” He let out a dry chuckle. “If that ever happens, I’m keeping them the hell away from the life I grew up with.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　-: ✧ :-゜・．

⇾ our favorite UA zaddy ⇾ he’s up that late on a daily, whether it’s from grading papers and working, or just from all the thoughts running around in his head ⇾ he’s an insomniac, change my mind ⇾ he’s also depressed so these late night conversations would revolve around that ⇾ he’s too tired to even try to keep his walls up at this point ⇾ especially with the shit show of a year this has been and all the media painting him to be an incompetent teacher, always endangering the lives of his students ⇾ he needs a break and a really long paid vacation ⇾ constantly hearing how he’s doing a bad job at his job starts to get to him and after a certain point, he doesn’t need the media and parents to tear him down ⇾ he does it himself ⇾ honestly, just hold him in your arms as he let’s everything off his chest 

“Shouta, why are you still up?” “I could ask you the same thing.” He was sitting at the dinner table, grading some papers. You walked out of your bedroom and took the pen out of his hand. Placing it down on the table, you pulled him out of the chair and walked him back to your bedroom. “You take your medication?” His lack of a response was all you needed. “If you don’t take your meds, how do you expect to get sleep?” He replied with a sigh as he sat down on the bed. “What are you running away from?” you asked, sitting next to him. “Everything.” He paused. “Do you know how hard it is for me to read and hear people call me a failure?” You knew what he was talking about. “I never cared how others viewed me. I don’t want to be a hero who’s in the headlines for the work I’ve done. But this? Those reporters don’t know the shit I go through to keep my kids safe.” He was tired and was finally at his breaking point. “I already feel like a failure for not being able to keep them safe - for seeing them in hospital beds because I was too weak - but then to have strangers who weren’t even there reporting on my incompetency? Comparing me to All Might?” “I know it’s easier to say this, but shouldn’t it matter about what your kids think only?” you asked, rubbing his back. “What about their parents? What kids will I have to teach and protect if their parents think I’m a failure too?” He had a point. You didn’t know what to say or do to help him feel better. All you were able to do was make sure he was going to class, coming home, and taking his meds. “Sho-” He sat up. “I love you, you’re doing the best you can with me.” He caressed your cheek. “It’s just my luck that everything is happening all at once. I don’t care how many times I have to put my life on the line though, I will always make sure my kids are safe before anything else.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Five - Past Hauntings (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER FIVE!! Dates and drama, what more could you ask for? I actually wrote most of this before I even started to write Chapter Four, I was that excited for one bit! I hope you all like! All my medical knowledge comes from ER, so if there’s anything wrong, I apologise!

Summary: Draco has finally asked (Y/N) out, but will their date run smoothly?

Warnings: I made up a jinx, mentions of injuries, brief descriptions of procedures, strong reader, fluff, swearing, mean old men, mentions of food, kissing - IT ENDS WITH A BUTTLOAD OF FLUFF.

Word count: 4.2k

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four 

Draco lands on (Y/N)’s doorstep half an hour before their reservation at a bistro recommended to him by Dean.

He releases a shaky breath before knocking twice on her front door. Draco had only been to her home three or four times through the length of their friendship; (Y/N) much preferred to relax at his place and at his, she was closer to the hospital should she be called for anything.

Calming his heart, Draco fiddles with the cuff of his white shirt; ensuring that just enough poked out from underneath the black suit jacket he had chosen to wear.

It takes another knock at her door for (Y/N) to answer; she wrenches the door open with an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m almost ready. I just need to find my shoes, jacket and bag and we can go.”

“Don’t apologise,” He laughs; his nerves abating somewhat, “You were dancing weren’t you?”

(Y/N) flushes, “How did you know?”

Draco points above him; to her bedroom where he can hear the well-known sounds of ABBA playing, “You love ABBA, it makes sense you would dance.”

She rolls her eyes, “Alright Sherlock, I was dancing to ABBA and I lost track of time, is that better?”

Draco laughs, nodding, “Much better.”

She smiles, “Good. Let me go grab the rest of my things and we can go.”

Draco doesn’t verbalise his response; he simply nods at her, watching her walk away, admiring her outfit. (Y/N) wears figure hugging tailored trousers; tapered so they’re tighter at the hems. His eyes rake over her body as she climbs the stairs to her room; he chides himself for not acting like a gentlemen but the stirring desire in his veins tells him not to bother.

(Y/N) rushes back down the stairs; almost tripping on the last step as she bounces around, trying to slip her foot into her heel. Draco lurches forward; reaching for her just as she topples forward. He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth, “Are you okay?”

She stands with a huff; hoisting her bag on her shoulder having put her jacket on upstairs, “I’m fine. Shall we get going?”

Draco smirks; holding out his arm for her to take, “As you wish, Dancing Queen.”

-------

Draco had booked a table at a small bistro; nothing overly fancy, but still cosy enough to retain the romantic atmosphere he hopes will continue throughout the date.

It’s not an overly large restaurant; fifteen or so tables all covered with red and white gingham cloth. A small kitchen resides in the back of the bistro; the scent of Mediterranean herbs making Draco’s stomach rumble as he and (Y/N) are led to their table.

“How did you find this place?” She asks, sliding into her chair, shucking off her jacket.

“Dean recommended it to me.”

(Y/N) smiles, “I was gonna say. This doesn’t have ‘Malfoy’ written all over it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “And what does?”

She taps a finger to her chin; deliberating with a small smile, “Michelin Stars, for starters. Huge plates with tiny portions of food, and expensive wine lists.”

Draco holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. However, my father is the sommelier of the family, I simply drink the stuff.”

(Y/N) snorts, “Is Draco Malfoy a rebel?”

He blushes at her teasing tone; glancing back down to the menu in his hands. A satisfied smile spreads across (Y/N)’s face at the sight of leaving Draco speechless; he so often had comebacks ready. It was a treat to see him so affected by her.

She peers down at the menu, “What are you thinking?”

“Is it completely stereotypical of me to go for the steak?” Draco ponders.

She shakes her head, laughing, “I may have been thinking the same thing.”

They hand their menus over to the waiter; giving their orders and choosing not to drink. Instead, they stick to water. Work tomorrow would be easier if they didn’t have a hangover to deal with as well.

“How long are you on tomorrow?” Draco asks.

(Y/N) shakes her head, “Let’s not talk about work.”

“I can do that,” He comments, “What would you like to talk about?”

She raises an eyebrow, “How did you know I was listening to ABBA? I thought you didn’t care much for muggle music.”

Draco flushes, “I don’t care for a lot of muggle music.”

“But you like ABBA?”

Draco nods; trying not to roll his eyes, “I like ABBA.”

(Y/N) laughs; clapping her hands together in delight, “That is my new favourite thing about you, Draco.”

“Oh?” He smirks, “What was it before?”

(Y/N) flushes as she averts her eyes; glancing around the room, “Truthfully?”

“Now you have me worried…”

She shoots him a glare, “I won’t tell if you’re going to be an arse.”

Draco holds one hand up in surrender; the other crosses over his heart, “I promise I won’t be an arse tonight.”

(Y/N) smiles shyly, “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

(Y/N) nods; the flush spreading to her neck as she bites her lip. The specific knowledge settles in Draco; making its home in his heart.

She recovers quickly, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Draco counters; knowing exactly where she’s going with this.

“What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Draco shuffles in his seat; butterflies running riot in his stomach. He reaches for his glass of water; wetting his mouth before speaking, “I don’t have a specific thing.”

(Y/N) visibly deflates; disappointed at his words, “You don’t?”

Draco nods; deciding honesty to be the best policy, “My favourite thing about you is all of you.”

“Oh…” (Y/N) whispers; a mesmerising smile breaking over her face and leaving him breathless. She opens her mouth to say more; to say what she feels in this moment, but as the words start to form on the tip of her tongue she’s interrupted by the arrival of their food.

With practiced flourish, the waiter places their food in front of them. The smell and sight making Draco’s mouth water. He digs in after sending a broad smile over to (Y/N) who watches Draco with bright eyes and a large smile herself.

Conversation is little as they eat; the both of them practiced in the art of needing to eat and rushing off to the next patient.

They get halfway through their main courses when Draco’s pager sounds. He looks at (Y/N) apologetically, “I thought I had turned it off. I told the hospital that I was off for the night, not be called in at any time.”

(Y/N) moves to answer, but she is interrupted by her own pager sounding in her bag. She glances at Draco sheepishly; the apology glimmering in her eyes as she reaches for it. Her expression changes as she reads over the number on the screen; Draco feels so concerned he can’t help but reach for his own pager to read what’s on the screen.

It takes them less than five minutes to pay the bill and rush from the restaurant; hurrying into a side alley to apparate to the emergency room.

They’re greeted by Vera; she looks them up and down, “Did you drink?”

Draco and (Y/N) shake their heads, “We’re both on tomorrow; we stuck to water.”

Vera thrusts trauma gowns at them, “Good. We need you sharp.”

Draco’s senses hone in; attention becoming laser sharp and focused. The shift in him is visible all to watching him; the relaxed posture dropping away to make room for the attending. He looks to Vera as he slides on goggles, “What do we have coming in?”

“Large raid on one of the last death eater hang outs. A battle broke out; everyone injured is coming our way,” Vera shakes her head, “It’s even being reported on muggle news; that’s how bad things got.”

“ETA?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Draco exhales, “Where are the trainees?”

“Behind you Healer Malfoy,” Matthew Kinghorn’s voice calls out.

He turns to find all four already gowned and gloved, ready and waiting. He meets the eyes of each one, “This will be your first large trauma, am I correct?” At their nods, he continues, “Okay. Split off to your attendings; do not get in the way. Help when you can but do not overcrowd. Kinghorn, I want you with me.”

Matthew startles; already heading towards his attending. Draco shakes his head; waiting for the other trainees to file away, “I want to see how you handle a trauma situation after I saw you with our impalement. We don’t exactly know what’s coming in but stay alert. If you think you’re going to be sick, leave the room. Do you understand?”

Matthew nods; remaining silent, following Draco as the first of the injured roll up.

From there, it’s close to a blood bath. St. Mungo’s is the only wizarding hospital in the entire country; supposedly equipped to handle such traumas. However, when the patients are from two groups with such differing ideals, keeping them separated is difficult.

In his head, Draco plans to make another appeal to the Minster for Magic; wondering if Hermione could help him persuade the powers that be for another hospital.

Piercing screams distract Draco from his plans to expand the hospital. With Matthew close behind, Draco rushes towards the sound. Being wheeled in by medics is a young Auror; barely out of his twenties or so Draco assumes – his face and body have been burnt so badly by a jinx that it makes it difficult for Draco to age the patient but also for the patient to offer anything but his screams.

The moment they enter the trauma room, Draco administers a pain potion. In cases like this, the survival rate was low. The most that could be done is to offer as much comfort to the patient as possible.

Draco looks over to Matthew, “How are you feeling, Kinghorn?”

Matthew’s gaze finally meets Draco; his skin looking rather green, “I’ve never seen something so bad.”

“Cases like this are rare, but they do happen. Now, the patient isn’t getting enough oxygen with the mask, what do we need to do?”

Matthew flounders; Draco adjusts the mask on the patient’s face, repeating his words, “What do we need to do, Matthew?”

The use of his first name snaps his out of whatever stupor, “Intubate. He needs to be intubated.”

“Have you seen one done?”

Matthew nods, “Healer (Y/L/N) showed me last week.”

“Good. You know what they say, ‘see one, do one, teach one’. Get over here, Matthew,” Draco leans over the patient, “Sir, we’re going to have to put a tube in your throat to help you breath.”

The patient nods; a tear falling down his face as he realises the likelihood of him coming off the vent is low. At the patient’s nod, Draco administers a sedative – to help the patient and Matthew through this. Draco looks to Matthew; nodding his head slightly for him to begin the procedure.

Matthew bounces to life; rushing to the head of the patient. Draco hands him the scope and tube needed for the procedure; speaking him through it as Matthew visualises the cords, slipping the tube down the patient’s throat – aiming for the lungs and not the stomach.

(Y/N) joins Draco as Matthew finishes intubating the patient; the need for muggle medicine a priority when the jinxes and curses were so bad there was little chance of recovery. This particular patient had been hit with the extensive burn jinx – a nasty jinx that isn’t seen too often as it causes third degree burns across 80% of the body; spreading across the body like a wildfire, giving the witch or wizard hit a low chance of survival.

“How did you find our first date?” Draco asks as (Y/N) begins to debride the burns; giving the patient some chance of relief.

(Y/N) smiles at him from over the trauma, “It’s like you knew exactly what I wanted.”

Draco can’t help the laugh that escapes him; quickly regaining his professionalism, however and apologising to the patient even though he is sedated. He looks back to her, “Can you handle it from here?”

She nods; eyes flickering the trauma room behind, “I’ve got it. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

Draco grins at her; pulling off his gloves and gown before rushing into the next trauma. The patient is agitated; shouting and screaming at the nurses, leaving Jude Prewett scared but firm as she talks him down.

The Auror only gets angrier at the sight of Draco; hollering for the whole floor to hear, “I won’t have you treat me! I demand another Healer. Get me another Healer.”

“Healer Malfoy is the best Healer we have,” Jude reassures; eyes flickering between the patient and Draco.

The patient shakes his head; adamant, “I won’t have a Death Eater treat me. He’ll kill me just as he would look at me.”

Draco wants to shout; wants to get in the patient’s face and list all the ways he’s repented since he was a scared and vulnerable sixteen year old, doing what he thought was right for his family.

He doesn’t though; he sighs sadly, stepping back from the patient, “I understand sir, I’ll go fetch another Healer,” He looks to Jude, “Are you okay for a few more minutes while I go get Healer (Y/L/N)?”

Jude nods; eyes sad from Draco’s quick dismissal. As Draco returns to trauma room one, he hears Jude say, “I hope you know you just insulted one of the best Healers we have.”

(Y/N) looks up as Draco re-enters, “What’s wrong?”

Draco shakes his head; hating the lump that has formed in his throat, “Do you mind treating next door?”

She nods down to the patient she is currently working on, “I’m busy here. Why can’t you do it?”

“He doesn’t want to be treated by me. Wants another Healer.”

“Why?” She demands; voice angry, eyes angrier as they glance into the room behind Draco.

“We’ll talk about it later. Will you please treat him? I can take over here.”

(Y/N) looks like she very much wants to argue with him, but she decides against it. She nods quietly; handing Draco her scalpel before disrobing, “What’s his name?” She asks, referring to the patient.

Draco shrugs; focusing his attention on the burn victim, “We didn’t get that far.”

-----

(Y/N) liked to believe that she was patient; she knew when she began her training as a Healer that she would need to learn the art of patience and fast for there are some patients who have a list of medical complaints a mile long.

However, she did not have any patience for the narrow-minded Auror ranting before her.

“I can’t believe a place like this would hire him.”

“Hire who?” She asks; daring him to say it.

“Him,” He spits; jutting his chin to next door when (Y/N) knows Draco works diligently over another Auror who may only have hours to live due to the extensiveness of their burns.

“That man you’re spitting about happens to be working on your colleague.”

The Auror rolls his eyes, “My colleague wouldn’t be in his mess if it wasn’t for families like his. I knew who he was the moment he walked in the room; Lucius Malfoy’s brat.”

(Y/N) grits her teeth; continuing to stitch up the man’s arm; refusing to rise to his vitriol. He takes her silence as permission to continue, “I’m surprised we didn’t find his father there. We certainly found a lot of his friends; hiding together like rats, plotting their next uprising as if the last one worked. Who are they going to worship now? The Dark Lord is gone.”

“And yet,” (Y/N) breathes, “You cannot say his name without being scared.”

The Auror glares at her; not happy to have his courage questioned. He remains silent through the rest of his treatment; seething at her words, knowing that she called him on his bullshit.

(Y/N) removes her gloves, standing from her chair, “I would say that it’s been a pleasure to heal you given that you’re an Auror, but it hasn’t. I will be contacting your superior for the abuse you’ve shown my colleague – who, for your information, has nothing to repent for. I understand questioning the adults that followed Lord Voldemort, but you do not get to question the children who were innocent bystanders in a game they didn’t understand.”

The Auror laughs menacingly, “Speak to my superior, see if I care.”

(Y/N) grins, “I will. You’ve ballsed up big time – want to know why?”

The Auror remains quiet so (Y/N) tells him anyway, nodding towards Draco, “Your boss is one of his best friends.”

The colour fades from the Auror’s face and (Y/N) admits to herself that she rather enjoyed telling him what’s what. Patience is something that (Y/N) is still learning; even almost ten years into her career, but what she will not stand for in any form, is bullying.

----

Draco takes a moment of leave from the burn patient when his family arrive in floods of tears; asking about statistics and whether he was positive that nothing could be done.

He doesn’t see the commotion, but he hears it; her voice travels down the hall, easily leading Draco to her. He finds her gesturing wildly to an unprepared Harry Potter.

Harry catches his eye; pleading silently for help. Draco makes his way to her side; placing his hand on the small of her back, “What’s happening here?”

“I was just tell Harry about that lovely patient we have

“Auror Flintlock?” Draco asks; taking the chart from (Y/N)’s hands.

Her hands settle on her hips, “Potter, you have to do something about him. He was wildly inappropriate towards Draco.”

Draco sighs, “Patients can refuse to be treated by certain Healers, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) purses her lips; her attention still fixed on Harry, “I want to see him at least written up and giving an official warning for how he continued to speak after Draco left the room.”

Harry nods, “He’ll be written up, (Y/N). He’s been skating on thin ice for a while.”

(Y/N) folds her arms; a victorious look on her face, “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry smiles; nodding at them both, not missing their closeness. He makes a mental note to mention it to Draco the next time they go drinking. Harry looks towards trauma one, “How’s he doing?”

Draco pats Harry’s shoulder, “80% thickness burns to most of his body. It was a nasty jinx, Harry.”

“How long does he have?”

“Hours,” Draco states plainly, “His family is with him now.”

Harry nods; silver lining his eyes, sighing, “Good. They should be. He’s been on the force less than a year.”

With little else to say, Harry leaves Draco and (Y/N) – fulfilling his duty as an Auror; going to comfort the family of one of their own.

Draco and (Y/N) retreat to the break room; never officially being on in the first place. Like always, the ancient television set only displays the muggle news in a hushed volume; the red banner skirting across the bottom of the screen announcing an unexplained explosion on the outskirts of London. The news anchor repeats how lucky it was that no-one was hurt. Draco represses the urge to roll his eyes; muggles weren’t hurt, that’s correct and he’s thankful for that, but his emergency room is filled with Aurors and Death Eaters alike – all injured and vulnerable because of what happened tonight.

Draco settles at the round table in the middle of the room; sighing in relief at getting off his feet for a little bit. (Y/N) sits next to him; her hand reaching for his across the table. An act of affection so naturally displayed that it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof.

He regrets the fact that their date had been cut short, but with any luck, (Y/N) wouldn’t mind a repeat. He thinks to their brief conversation in the bistro and for a second, he wonders whether she would protest much to his version of wining and dining. Reservations needing to be made weeks in advance; wine lists four pages long – each bottle with multiple zeroes behind the name. He realises he would like to show her the world in which he grew up; the fancy dinners and balls, but he also accepts that he would be happy in any world as long as he’s with her.

“Are you staying with him?” (Y/N) asks; concern in her eyes.

Draco nods, “I’ll stay with him through this. Matthew will need me to help pronounce.”

(Y/N) nods, “I’ll stay with you too.”

He reaches for her hand, “Thank you.”

She squeezes once, shrugging, “One thing’s for certain, you’re not a boring date, Draco.”

“It’s about to get even more wild,” Draco drawls.

“Oh? How’s that?”

Draco points to the pile of unfinished paperwork near his locker, “We have all that to work through.”

(Y/N) fans herself, “Slow down, Romeo. Paperwork is a second date kind of thing isn’t it?”

Draco laughs loudly, “So you see a second date?”

(Y/N) beams at him; pulling a pen from her bag, “I see a second date.”

------

Two hours later, Matthew interrupts their squabble about news anchor’s to say that the young Auror’s oxygen levels have dropped. Draco stands; knowing it won’t be long now.

It isn’t. Less than ten minutes after entering the room, Draco helps Matthew pronounce the young Auror; explaining the death kit and how the nurses do it.

(Y/N) looks up when Draco re-enters the break room; the question written over her face. Draco nods; silently confirming her suspicions.

They apparate back to his place; neither of them hungry after such an extensive trauma. (Y/N) throws herself on the couch; groaning at the softness, “You know, this is the comfiest couch I have ever sat on.”

Draco laughs; picking up her legs and settling them over his as he sits down next to her, “Are you just saying that because you wore heels all night?”

(Y/N) frowns down at her bare feet; having kicked off the offending footwear the moment she landed in Draco’s flat, “That could be part of it.”

“I knew it!” Draco declares with a broad smile, “You only agreed to the date so you could lay on my couch more.”

(Y/N) stretches her limbs out, “Can you blame me? This couch is a gift from Merlin himself.”

Silence falls between the two of them; it’s not awkward – far from it. It’s the kind of silence where they both know they’re thinking over the night’s events and remembering the young Auror who passed less than two hour ago.

“You didn’t have to do that earlier, you know,” Draco whispers.

(Y/N) sits up the couch; swinging her legs around. She cuddles up to Draco, “Yeah, I did. I saw your face in there, I had to do something.”

Draco shakes his head, “It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last either.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t the first time?”

“I mean that it wasn’t the first time a patient has refused to be treated by me,” He sighs; heart heavy as he thinks of the early days of his career when the mark on his arm was as dark as the day it had been seared into his skin, “There are still those who have not forgiven my family for their involvement in both wizarding wars.”

(Y/N) frowns; staring up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shrugs, “Truthfully, it hadn’t happened in a while. Auror Flintlock was the first patient in almost a year to refuse my treatment.”

“You still should have told me.”

“I know,” He admits, “Will you forgive me?”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I don’t know,” She starts, “What’s in it for me?”

Draco chuckles; leaning in to her, “What would you like?”

(Y/N) takes it upon herself to connect their lips. She brushes her lips against Draco’s softly; to gauge his reaction. Draco gasps gently as the touch; unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. She pulls away; a hairsbreadth away from him, but he surges forward, reconnecting their lips in a kiss that screams pent up emotion and long-lasting love.

She lets him take control of the kiss; surrendering herself to his mouth and wandering hands as he presses her further into the couch.

They’re a mess of hands, lips, and tongue. Her hands work on the white button down he wears; unfastening the buttons and pushing it from his shoulders before running her hands down the flat expanse of his stomach.

Draco shudders at her touch; briefly wondering if whether this is what it feels like to internally combust. He’s dreamt of this for long so; sometimes waking up in the middle of the night with the taste of her in his mouth and desire lighting up his veins.

Her hands continue wander as he slows down the kiss; slowing their pace so they move together languidly. He doesn’t want to rush a thing; he wants to feel every inch of her set him on fire.

Breaking the kiss, Draco pulls her from the couch. She throws him a puzzled look as he leads her into his bedroom. Draco gives her a questioning look; searching her eyes for permission, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind since the couch. With a small smile, (Y/N) tugs Draco towards her by grabbing his belt.

He connects their lips once more, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

**********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti @nebulablakemurphy @pointlesscoconut @cherrylita @harpersmariano @slytherinlovesgryffindor @falconfeather23435 @namoreno @johannalauraaa

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @sophia-gwendolyn​ @ravenclawbitch426​

***if your username is in bold, I was unable to tag you.

[svnflowervol666]

New Year (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of smut, dad!harry (or dad-to-be!Harry I suppose), tons of fluff, skewed timeline (I wanted to make this work, so just pretend that Harry and Y/N have been together for quite some time and Camille has long been forgotten)

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is my first time writing for Harry, so please be kind! I’d been trying to muster the courage to write this when it was actually right around the new year, but I’ve not been able to stop toying with this cute little scenario in my head! I’d love to write more about dad!Harry or just Harry in general, so your feedback and/or other requests would be greatly appreciated! Take care and tpwk!

She worked her way from the bathroom through the small crowd of people gathered around the living room for what felt like the hundredth time that night. If you asked her what the most inconvenient part of her pregnancy was thus far, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that having to pee every half hour on the dot was by far the biggest inconvenience of them all. Far too many times in her now 7 months had she found herself having to locate the nearest restroom anywhere she went as soon as she arrived just to be prepared for when her baby inevitably decided to plant its weight on her bladder.

The space wasn’t overflowing with random bodies or sleazy folks wanting nothing more than a juicy story for their news station. It was just a healthy handful of closest friends and their loved ones. It was a celebration. Of an upcoming new year, a recently released new album, and two recently successful shows in Los Angeles and London. Despite this, she still struggled to spot him in the dimly lit space of the house. 

After gently tapping shoulders and muttering a polite, “Excuse me,” to what felt like everyone at this damn party so that she and her perfectly rounded belly were able to pass through, she found him. He was propped up against the wall in the living room, his lanky, Gucci trouser-clad legs crossed over each other. She could tell by the way his eyes were glued to the floor and how his fingers anxiously drummed away to an invisible beat that he was waiting anxiously for her return.

Harry was never able to shake the nerves that overtook him when she went off on her own. After he’d found out she was pregnant (which was no doubt a result of the hot and heavy reunion the two of them shared after his extended trip to Japan that began around this time last year), he’d always found a way to convince himself that something bad would happen to her and the baby if he wasn’t with her at every possible moment. Sure, it felt somewhat smothering at times, but it beat having an unaffectionate husband who couldn’t care less about the impending arrival of his firstborn by a long shot. In his defense, his own safety had been compromised plenty of times throughout the years of his career, so it’s not to say that his worry was uncalled for. He simply felt more at ease with her by his side. With them by his side.

“What are you thinking about?” she prompted him, wrapping both arms around her husband’s torso and snuggling into his side the best she could with her bump in the way.

Harry seemed to withdraw himself from the hazy daydream he’d been lost in as he responded to his wife’s touch and wrapped his arm around the side of her waist so that his fingers rested softly on the swell of her stomach. She caught a glimmer of a cheeky grin tug at the corners of his lips before he spoke.

“Who ‘m gonna share my New Year’s kiss with after the countdown.”

Immediately, she rolled her eyes at the tall brunette that held her in his arms. Had she not been in such a doting mood, he would have likely earned a punch to the shoulder. Nevertheless, she decided to indulge Harry in his jokes. 

“Yeah? Who’s the lucky gal?” she added a dramatic raise of her eyebrow up at him.

“Hmm,” Harry fake-pondered.

“Verrrrrrry pretty. She’s ‘bout this tall.”

He raised his hand to his wife’s height for reference.

“Her belly kinda sticks out like this,”

His hands motioned in a crescent shape, mimicking her pregnant belly and making them both snicker even more in the process.

“Only thing is, she’s married.”

He finished off his grand performance with a pout.

“Well,” his wife responded as seriously as she could, “You’re Harry bloody Styles. I’m sure her husband would allow just one kiss if it was from you.”

This made Harry blush. She could see the bashful pink even in the low light of the living room, how the heat crept up his cheeks from being complemented by his own wife and partner of several years.

“Wha’ about you? Who's gonna be the one you cozy up to when the clock strikes midnight?” Harry then focused his attention on her.

“Oh,” she shrugged her shoulders as if it was a no-brainer. 

“I was thinking about going for Mitch," she gestured to the brunette who was sat on the sofa across the room with a beer in his hand.

Harry gave in and laughed loudly, unable to keep a straight face for the little game they had been playing.

“You might have to fight Sarah for that one, mate,” he was able to squeeze out in between giggles.

“Eh, I think I can take her.”

No further comment was needed as their laughter died down and they simply basked in each other’s company, listening to the buzzing of various conversations happening around them as the party continued on. Since the cycle began of press tours and rehearsals for the album release shows, the two of them felt like they hardly had any time to themselves, which was why they opted to celebrate the new year on a smaller scale as opposed to a grand party that dozens of other celebrities and brands had invited them to. Not only that, but seeing as their little one would be making their grand appearance in a little less than two months' time, any heavy partying was out of the question. 

“’Ye want to go home, lovie?” Harry broke the comfortable silence between them when he heard her yawn against where her head had been resting against his chest.

“No, you goob. It’s not midnight yet.”

“If you’re tired, we can go. ‘Ye need t’ take care of yourself.”

“I think I can handle being a bit sleepy,” she reassured him.

“Yea, but you need all the rest ‘ye can get. Baby’ll be here soon.”

‘Harry, I promise you that staying up until midnight just one time is not going to hurt me or the baby. I’m good. Promise,” she finished with a loving pat on the part of his chest that was exposed from his unbuttoned blouse.

Harry reluctantly nodded in agreement, relaxing his tensed muscles as he made himself comfortable once more against the wall.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be parents soon. Gonna have our own baby,” he muttered lowly so that only she could hear. 

“I know. Hopefully, all of those years of taking care of Lux will pay off. I guarantee any child of yours will be a handful, to say the least,” she teased.

Harry faked a dramatic gasp, letting his mouth fall agape and putting his hand over his chest as if what his sweet wife has just said had given his heart a proper break.

“Can’t believe this. M’ own wife.”

There was no need to apologize, they were both used to countless nagging and teasing from each other over the years.

“You’re gonna be a good dad, Harry,” she sighed.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her hair, so featherlight that it was almost undetectable.

“‘N you’re gonna be the best mum. The hottest mum,” he said as his hand slipped south to grab a handful of his wife’s bum which caused her to shriek.

“Harry! We’re in public,” she hissed.

“So? It’s not a secret how much I love ye’. We’re married. Remember? ‘ve written plenty of songs about ya in case you’ve forgotten,” he toyed as he returned his hand back to its proper position around her waist.

The commotion between Harry pinching his lady’s bum had collected an audience, a handful of eyes focusing on the envious and jovial banter between the couple.

It was true, they were the couple everyone aspired to be like. They lasted the test of time. No number of long months apart from each other could dwindle the flame that was their love. It only strengthened the ravenous fire that coursed through their hearts for one another. They had done it right, in their minds at least. They’d gotten their lives together, made sure they were steady and stable before they settled down and decided to marry and have children.

Harry genuinely thought for the longest that he’d never have this. This perfect life and this perfect wife and, soon, a perfect little baby to call his own. He’d always thought that if he ever had children, it would be unplanned. That eventually one of his one night stands would fall pregnant, leaving his child to grow up under less than ideal circumstances. He never thought he’d be where he is today, where he’s always wanted to be.

Time slipped away from the couple and before they knew it, shouting from everyone else in the room signified that the new year was just seconds away. Reluctantly, Harry and his wife pulled themselves from their own bubble they had created away from the party and joined the rest of the group.

“FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!” was shouted in unison as a handmade balloon and confetti drop fell from the ceiling and covered the guests as they cheered and kissed their loved ones.

“Have your first kiss of the new year wi’ me? Please,” Harry turned to his wife, wrapping both arms around her sides.

“Only because you asked nicely,” she laughed.

As her fingers linked around Harry’s neck, he pulled her into him. The kiss was tender and sweet, just like his love for her. As they pulled away, Harry rubbed one hand over her swollen stomach and spoke again.

“Think we’re ready for this year?”

His wife brushed away a piece of the metallic star-shaped confetti from his forehead and tucked his stray hairs behind his ear just like she had done plenty of times in their years of being together. The smile on her face was soft and wise, his favorite type of smile, and Harry swears that he can see her glowing despite how dark it is in the room. She’s perfect. Her belly is perfect. Their baby is perfect. They’re perfect.

“I have a feeling we’ll be alright,” she whispered quietly before kissing him once more.

In this moment, just as every other moment, with his hand resting on top of his wife’s baby bump, Harry wishes he could stay like this forever.

[mostlydysfunction]

Sacred Part 2

Summary: Tusk has made his decision, something that changes both his and Chloe’s lives forever. 

Pairing: Yautja x human OC

Warnings: Some violence, shitty Yautja anatomy descriptions, some fighting, a little blood, smut

A/N: OMG I did it. I finished part 2. I’ve literally been working on this since I wrote Part 1 like three months ago. My muse bit me in the ass and here we are. BONUS: extra love to whomever can figure out the ending....

Part 1| Masterlist|

Tarei’hsan frantically presses buttons on the console, the ship shuddering as shots are fired at them. Chloe is safely tucked away in a pod, strapped in and ready in case things go wrong. The coordinates are set, ready to send her to the nearest oxygen-based planet. All he has to do is press a button.

He weaves the ship, dodging fire as he attempts to start a jump. He needs to get as far from there as he can, his ship only capable of taking so much fire. Things had not gone as he’d hoped. He had thought they were in empty space, but it appeared there were others in the area.

He had abandoned the idea of returning to his Clan Ship. There was a chance they would be killed on sight. There was a chance they would kill Chloe and make him watch. There was a chance she would be hated for her entire time there, shunned by the males and scorned by the females. He couldn’t put her through that. So he had changed course, cut the ties with his clan, and sent the ship off to empty space where he would have time to figure out where they were going to go.

But then she’d come in, smelling like sweet meat, clean and musky and he’d completely lost control. He’d mated with her, lost himself in her. He’d let his guard down and now they were being pursued by another spacecraft. He had sent the ship right into a trap and now he was paying the price.

He curses, steering away from another blast. The ship was almost ready, vibrating from the force of the damage and the power needed to make such a big jump. It was the safest place he knew for both of them and their best bet on a place to lay low for a while.

The wormhole opens in front of him, his ship jumping through, thankfully closing before the other ship can follow. He slows his ship down, preparing to enter the atmosphere of the planet before him. He keeps Chloe stored away, wanting to be ready for anything. She would forgive him later, he’s sure of it.

He lands on the planet, kicking up dust as he sets the ship down roughly. He runs a scan, pulling up everything that’s damaged. He’d need to do repairs before they did any more serious traveling. He makes sure the cloaking is on before he leaves the pilot’s seat, heading back towards the pods. He opens the pod, catching Chloe as she slides out. It would be a few minutes before she would wake up, so he returns to the pilot’s seat, holding her in his arms.

She’s soft and warm against him, and he can’t help but remember how she’d felt wrapped around him, tight and wet. He’d let her dominate him, let her take control. He’d wanted to fuck her like a female but he knew she was more fragile, more delicate than the females of his kind. He didn’t want to risk hurting her. She’d been so receptive to him, the sounds she’d made, the way she shivered when he touched her. He can feel himself getting hard again and pushes the thoughts away. That was for later.

Right now, he needed to find them someplace to stay, someplace to lay low.

Chloe starts to shift in his arms, groaning a little as she stretches. He purrs quietly to her, smoothing a hand down her back. She groans again, nuzzling closer to his chest. He stares down at her for a moment, tracing her features with his eyes. Yautja don’t define beauty in the same way humans do. Yautja don’t have a concept of beauty at all. Strength, power, hunting, and fighting abilities. Those were things Yautja took into consideration when looking for mates. But this small ooman, pathetically weak compared to him, had warped his ideals. She had wormed her way into his mind, into his heart, and changed him. But he had been the one to let it happen, too. He had let her worm her way in, twist him inside, change him. He liked it.

He leans back in his seat, cradling his tiny ooman in his arms. His clan may not agree, may not accept her, but he was willing to let it all go, leave it all behind for the sake of his ooman. His Yeyinde.

Chloe starts to stir again, Tarei’hsan’s helmet picking up her rising heart rate and her quickened breaths. He doesn’t loosen his hold, staring down at her as her eyes flutter then open. She frowns for a moment, looking around, her body tensing slightly.

“Tusk.” She says, her voice groggy and rough.

He purrs in reply, shifting her slightly to free one of his arms, reaching out a clawed finger to brush a stray hair from her eyes. He lets the claw trace lightly down the side of her face, watching her struggle to come out of the drugged sleep she had been forced into. He had given her half a dose, knowing her biology was different, and regardless of his blood running through her system, he could have easily killed her with a full dose.

“What...happen...”

“Attack.” He says, searching for the words in his database. “Hostile ship.”

“Where are we now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Safe.”

She groans, laying her face against the armor on his shoulder. He continues to hold her, hoping he did the right thing. Hoping he made the right decision. He was forever an outcast, leaving his clan, his family behind, all for this tiny, fragile human in his arms. Was she worth all of it?

Yes.

He could start his own family, his own clan. He had heard of it being done. Bad Bloods did it all the time. He would be his own leader now.

********

Chloe rubs at her eyes, bare feet kicking up sand as she follows close behind Tusk. She was still groggy and disoriented, but Tusk had told her that would wear off soon. She pulls the blanket tighter around her, picking up her pace so she doesn’t get lost behind the long strides of her alien companion.

She hadn’t gotten much out of him, not that she had asked much to begin with. Wherever they had ended up, he had deemed it safe enough for them, at least for the time being. Chloe starts to get flashbacks to the time she’d watched Star Wars, being reminded of it as they enter the metal building. It wasn’t enough that she was being reminded of it, she’s living it. She was on an alien planet in outer space. Obviously one that was heavily trafficked, as the many ships sitting outside had told her.

She keeps her head down, a blanket covering her as she sticks close to Tusk nearly pressed up against his back. He’s speaking with someone she can’t see, not that she really wants to. It was enough of a shock to register the fact she wasn’t on Earth anymore, let alone the fact she was with an alien...an alien she had fucked...to try and wrap her brain around the fact there were more aliens around her. They were all aliens to her. Or was she the alien?

Chloe grips the back of Tusk’s belt as he speaks with someone, pressing up against his warmth. It had been warm outside, but the metal floor is cold against her bare feet. Thankfully no one seems to pay them any mind, giving them a wide berth in fact. Perhaps it was the nature of her companion. Or maybe that was just alien etiquette.

She’s pulled along as Tusk begins to move, making his way through crowds of creatures. Chloe keeps her head down, holding onto Tusk as he weaves his way towards a staircase, heading up. She nearly runs into his back when he stops, heading down a hallway before opening a door. She’s ushered inside before he closes the door, the airlock hissing. She pulls the blanket down so it’s wrapped around her shoulders, looking up at him. He’s at the small window, glancing out. Chloe takes a moment to look around the room, taking it in.

Had she not known she was on a different planet, she would have guessed she was in some sort of strange hotel. Maybe something one would find in Roswell or the Southwest. The entire room is metal, giving it a very futuristic look despite the obvious wear and tear. There’s what seems to be a bed in the corner, and a desk in another. There’s a door next to the bed, what she assumes leads to the bathroom. What she hopes leads to the bathroom.

Tusk moves from the window finally, making his way towards her. She looks up at him, craning her head to see him as he stops inches from her. He lifts his hand, clawed fingers tracing over her cheek before his palm presses against her skin. She leans into his touch, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“What happens now?” She asks, lips brushing the rough skin of his palm.

“Stay until safe.” He says through his helmet, claws running through her hair gently. “Then...I don’t know.”

She opens her eyes, looking up at him. “We’re not going to your clan are we?”

He shakes his head. “Too many...risks. Not...worth it.”

Chloe frowns slightly, pulling away from him and sitting on the bed. He watches her, mandibles clicking in confusion.

“I can’t help but feel this is partially my fault. Actually, it is all my fault. I’m the reason you can’t go back to your family. Your clan. You did all this for me and now you can’t ever see them again.” Chloe runs a hand through her hair tugging on it slightly. “Your entire life is ruined because of me.

The hand on her shoulder startles her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t even noticed him move close to her. Her back hits the mattress with a hard thump, nearly knocking the wind out of her. It’s not as soft as she’s used to, not even the pile of furs she’d been sleeping on the past few days weren’t as firm as this mattress. Despite its firmness it still dips as he climbs on, heavy weight denting the firm substance.

She can feel the warmth of him as he kneels over her, caging her in under his body. He lowers himself down, holding himself up on his elbows. His mask is nearly touching her face, close enough she can see the roughness of the metal, the divots and impurities in it.

They lay like that for a few moments, breathing in each other’s air before a single word is uttered.

“No.”

Chloe stares into the eyes of the helmet, lips parted slightly as she breathes in the slightly musky scent coming off him. She feels exposed suddenly, the blanket had fallen open. She had been forced to dress in her dirty clothes, her torn pants and the tank top she’d worn under her layers on Earth. The room is cold, making her aware of her lack of bra but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeyinde.” He breathes out, shifting ever so slightly over her. “Worth it.”

Chloe bites back tears at his words. They were simple but she could understand. He wouldn’t have risked taking her on his ship in the first place, he would have left her to die in the cold on Earth if he hadn’t thought she was worth it. He wouldn’t have risked his entire life, he wouldn’t have saved her. He wouldn’t have let himself be so vulnerable with her...he wouldn’t have been so gentle with her had he not thought her worth it. He hadn’t left his family, his clan because he felt like he had to. He was doing this because he thought she was worth it. He was putting her above everything he knew.

He pushes himself up, kneeling over her on the bed. Chloe chases him, pulling herself up so she’s kneeling as well, only putting her about eye level with his chest. She puts her hands on his shoulders, bringing herself up to press her lips against the metal of his helmet. He tenses slightly under her hands, but she moves back before he gets too uncomfortable.

“I understand now.” She says, sitting back on her heels. “Besides, we don’t need them. We can be our own clan.”

***********

It’s dark out when Tusk returns to the room. Chloe is wrapped up under layers of blankets, trying to get warm. It was warm on the planet during the day, but the nights were something else. Chloe had her back to the door, not wanting to move out of the warm spot she’d created. She knew Tusk would be disappointed in her lack of awareness, of her lack of self-defense, but she was tired and finally starting to get warm.

She hears the familiar hiss of air as he removes his helmet, setting it on the desk with a clunk. A few more clunks follow, meaning he had stripped off his armor. The bed dips as he settles on it, cold air meeting her skin as he slips under the blankets. She instantly rolls back against him, seeking out his warmth. She can feel the wire netting against his chest, pulsing out warmth under the blankets. She sighs contently, her sigh being met with a purr. She smiles softly to herself, a thick arm wrapping around her stomach, pulling her tighter against the solid body behind her, mandibles twitching in her hair. She feels small like this, his sheer size evident in moments like this. She’d been close to him, closer than this. She’d seen more of him than she ever thought she would when she first woke up in his ship. They’d shared an extremely intimate moment, one she wasn’t even sure the cultural meaning of to him completely, and to be totally honest, she wouldn’t mind doing it again.

But not right now.

She’s tired, the last of the drugs he’d used to knock her out wearing off, leaving her feeling exhausted despite the fact they’d put her to sleep. Despite the unknowns, more on her part than even his, she feels safe and comfortable in his arms. She knows he’ll take care of them both. He had so far.

********

The clothes help infinitely. Chloe’s not sure where they’d come from, or how they look perfect for humans, or even how he’d gotten the right size, but they fit almost perfectly and they’re extremely warm. She could gauge enough from his silent emotion and his posture he still wasn’t comfortable with her leaving the room yet, but at least he remembered to feed her and he had tried to make her as warm as he could. It seemed aliens were more adapted to the chill of space, and so most outposts like this were colder than humans were used to. It made sense to her. It wasn’t like humans were exactly traveling out this far. They weren’t adapted to this kind of life. She was the first, and no one even knew it.

It made her feel slightly melancholy. She did miss Earth. There were things she had hated, but it was still her home. She hadn’t left much behind, but her exit had been unexpected and the reality of her situation hadn’t hit her during her blissful time on the ship. But it wasn’t like she could convince him to go back. From what she could garner, his kind visited Earth fairly consistently and so going back would be a risk. It would be easier to track them. This was her life now.

He was her life now.

*******

“What are you doing?” Chloe asks him one day. She figures they’ve been there about a week now, as far as days go on the planet.

“Fix ship.” He says, messing with something electronic on the floor of their room. Chloe couldn’t even begin to tell you what it was or what it did. “Damaged.”

“From the other ship?”

All she gets is a grunt in reply.

“Was...was it your kind...that attacked?”

He shakes his head, locks swaying back and forth. “No.”

“Oh.” Chloe looks down at her hands. “Can...can I do anything to help?”

“No.”

Chloe bites her lip, pulling her knees to her chest. She can’t help but start to feel bored. She had absolutely nothing to do. She was stuck in their room all day, every day. The only excitement she had was his coming and going and their mealtimes. She needed something to do. Some entertainment. Anything.

That’s why she decides to leave the room one day when he’s out. She knows she shouldn’t, she knows she’s entirely alien to everyone that could possibly be in the outpost. She knows it’s dangerous, but she’s tired of being cooped up and bored. So, she leaves the room when he’s out fixing the ship.

She slowly makes her way down the steps, entering the lobby of sorts. There are creatures her mind couldn’t fathom sitting around. It was more like a bar than a lobby, really. She’s utterly fascinated by the completely different world, taking in everything she can.

She’s drawn to where groups of creatures are sitting around tables, playing what looks like Craps, but she can’t discern anything else. She leans against the side of the table, watching them curiously. None of them give her more than a glance, Chloe trying to work out the rules and point of the game on next to nothing as far as information goes.

After a couple of rounds, the creature next to her sets the dice in front of her, giving her a look. She doesn't need to speak the language to understand what that look means. She’s reaching for the dice before she can really think it through, but she’s stopped when a clawed hand wraps around the back of her shirt, yanking her away from the table. Her feet slide on the floor as she’s dragged towards the stairs, Tusk’s nails cutting into the skin on the back of her neck.

He’s angry. She can hear the angry trills and growls from his chest as they move away from the lounge area and back towards their room. Her feet leave the floor as she’s quite literally tossed into the room, hitting the metal floor hard. She coughs, the wind knocked from her lungs at the impact. It jars her, but not quite as much as the seething Yautja across the room.

Chloe jumps as his helmet hits the floor with a loud thud. She’s shaking, she realizes as she props herself up on her hands, staring at the angry alien. His eyes are filled with rage, glaring yellow slits at her. His mandibles are flared wide, fists clenched.

“Ooman stay.” He growls out, pacing back and forth.

“I was bored.” Chloe tries to defend herself. “I have nothing to do.”

“Dangerous. Ooman not know.”

“You won’t tell me anything! How am I supposed to know when you won’t tell me anything?” Her voice is rising, pushing herself up to her knees. Her side is sore where she hit the floor. She knew he was strong, but she hadn’t ever pictured the strength being used against her. She had herself convinced he wouldn’t hurt her. But he was still an alien. Had she made a mistake in thinking that of him?

“Ooman stay safe. Ooman do as told.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Chloe says, feeling childish but she’s so angry and tired she can’t help but fight back. “I didn’t ask you to take me. I didn’t ask to be with you. I didn’t ask you to leave everything behind for me. I didn’t ask you to-”

A loud roar shocks her into silence. It’s louder than she’s ever heard from him, her ears ringing at the sound. She can’t help but fall back at his roar, backing up in fear. The sound is primal, dangerous, awakening some prey instinct in her that has her making herself as small as she can in the far corner of the room.

He’s standing there, eyes wide in anger, mandibles splayed. Chloe hadn’t felt this afraid of the one she’d met on Earth. She hadn’t ever felt this afraid before.

He stops roaring, glaring at her for a moment before bending to pick up his helmet, leaving the room with a slam of the door. Chloe curls up tighter in the corner of the room, burying her face in her arms.

**********

Chloe sleeps alone on the alien planet that night. She hadn’t seen Tusk since their argument and part of her is afraid he had left her. Abandoned her on this planet in his anger. She had just been bored. She hadn’t known anything. She didn’t know anything about the galaxy or other planets or the life on them. A few weeks ago she hadn’t even known life existed outside of Earth. Of course, there had been the “sightings” and the people who were convinced, but she had always been skeptical. Skeptical until proven real. That was her mantra.

But aliens were real. She was on some distant planet Earth probably didn’t even know about yet, crying over a fight with an alien species Earth also didn't know about. It was all very real, and here she was, crying after a childish argument with a species that could probably tear her in half with his bare hands. Who was she to think she could make decisions like that. Act stupidly in a place she was totally ignorant of? She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Tusk doesn’t come back. If he really did abandon her here. She really doesn’t know.

*********

Tusk can’t sleep.

He’s staring up at the three moons in the sky from the pilot seat of his ship. He had been so afraid...so worried when he’d spotted her in the lounge at the table. He had told her to stay in the room. He had told her it wasn’t safe and she had acted like a pup and defied him.

But her face when he had roared. The...fear in her eyes.

He feels a sick twisting in his stomach as he replays the moment in his memory over and over. It was a side of him he hoped she would never have to see. A side he never wanted to direct towards her. She was fragile, small. His little ooman and he had roared at her like...like an animal. He hadn’t meant it. He was blinded by his anger. He had lost his temper like a fiery Young Blood. He wouldn’t ever hurt her. Not his little Yeyinde.

And now here he was, sulking in his ship while she was alone.

He gets up, heading back into the outpost and up to their room. It’s dark inside but he can see her, curled up in the bed. She’s asleep, her breathing soft and even. He sets his helmet quietly on the table, getting rid of most of his armor as well before climbing into the bed next to her. She doesn’t wake, but she does shift closer to him. He runs a hand down her arm, feeling the softness of her skin, how delicate it is. He can smell the dried blood on her neck from where his claws had cut into her when he’d grabbed her. He feels the twisting in his gut again, moving his head to lick at the wounds.

He purrs quietly, tongue tasting the metallic blood. She stirs slightly, letting out a quiet groan.

“Tusk?” Her voice is thick with sleep, hand rubbing at her eyes.

He lets out a louder purr, nipping softly at her shoulder. She rolls back over, settling into sleep again, Tusk wrapping himself around her tightly, holding onto her determined not to let go.

**********

Chloe wakes up warm and comfortable. Her head is moving slightly, up and down in a smooth pattern. She would have been convinced she was on a boat if the past day’s events weren’t flashing through her head.

She moves slightly, lifting her head so she can look up at him. His eyes are closed, face relaxed as he sleeps. Chloe wants to move away from him but she’s stuck to his side by the arm around her waist. Her leg is thrown over his, body pressed tight against his side. She rests her chin on his chest, fingers tracing the mottled pattern of his skin. She doesn't remember him coming back, doesn’t even remember him joining her in bed.

She can’t help but remember the day before. The anger in his eyes, the roar. She’ll always remember that roar. More so that it was directed at her. But staring at him now while he’s sleeping, it’s hard to picture him as that fearsome predator she had seen yesterday. He’s still fearsome, but there’s a softness about him in his sleep. This is the Tusk she knew.

She looks back up at his eyes, finding them open and staring at her. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t realized he had woken up. Hadn’t felt the change in his breathing. He stares at her with his yellow eyes, all signs of anger and malice gone. Her wandering hand is almost at his jaw now, her fingers wrapping around one of his locks. He lets out a trill and suddenly she finds herself laying on top of him.

“You scared me.” She says quietly, running her fingers over his lock, feeling the texture of it. “I thought...maybe...”

A purr rumbles through his body and into hers, vibrating every inch of her. His hand is splayed on her back, the other tracing the skin on the back of her thigh. “No hurt Yeyinde.”

Chloe lowers her gaze for a moment before looking back up at him. His hand has drifted down her back, splayed out on her lower back now. She can feel his heart thumping in his chest, an unusual rhythm to what she’s used to, but it’s become comforting to her now. She wraps her hand around his lock, tugging on it lightly. His body jerks under hers, hips shifting slightly. She gets a mischievous glint in her eye, tangling a hand in his locks before tugging hard.

He lets out a roar, but this one is different than the one he’d made yesterday. She’s familiar with this roar, having heard it before. She tugs again and he’s sitting up, her body dropping the few inches into his lap. Her shirt is history, claws leaving light lines on her skin as he rids her of the fabric, hands sliding up her sides. His nails brush against her nipples, making her shiver. He does it again, her body starting to flush in response.

He leans down close to her but her hand in his locks stops him. He stares at her with a question in his eyes.

“No.” She says, tugging on his locks again, his breath fanning over her face in a huff at the motion.

She stands up on the bed, standing over him, and for a moment he wonders if she’s changed her mind, or it wasn’t what she wanted in the first place. But the moment her knee hits his chest, attempting to shove him back onto the bed he understands. Her hand yanks his head back as he grabs her leg, his other hand pushing against her back. She tugs his locks again as he flips her, easily overpowering her in this fight as she winds up on her stomach on the bed.

He’s faster than she is, somehow having removed his loincloth in the time between when she’d hit him and when she’d been flipped. His hand presses between her shoulders, her head turning so she can still breathe. Her pants are yanked down, hips being lifted and rested on something soft. She goes limp as he positions her, taking a moment to make sure she’s comfortable before his hand is between her legs.

She’s already wet, slick and warm against his fingers. A breathy moan leaves her lips as he brushes over her clit, hips jerking slightly to chase his fingers. He purrs deeply, the head of his length replacing his fingers, running it along her slit. Her blatant displays of aggression towards him, along with her hand in his locks, had pushed him over the edge, his length straining against his loincloth painfully until he had released it. He was well versed in doing this quickly, having to tame several females who had fought him for dominance in bed. But she wasn’t a Yautja female. She had given over quickly, and he had made sure to be gentle with her. She had known she wouldn’t win against him, her actions were solely to rile him up.

He’s not as gentle this time, offering her no preparation as he begins to press himself inside her. A low whine leaves her lips at the stretch, her body having forgotten already what it was like. He seemed bigger than before, her body stretching, trying to fit him in.

She’s glad the pillows are holding her hips up, her legs already shaking by the time he’s seated as far as he can go. His own breathing is labored, mandibles flared at the sensation of her tight, wet heat. He begins to move his hips, fighting the resistance of her body as he pumps himself in and out of her. She’s slowly relaxing, hands gripping the blankets on the bed, the most endearing sounds leaving her lips.

He snaps his hips into hers, her body jerking in response. Her eyes roll closed, a high pitched moan leaving her lips. His mandibles click together in a laugh, repeating the action. She tightens around him even more, a deep growl leaving him in response. He picks up speed quickly, thrusting in and out of her hard. He folds his body over hers, hands resting near her head as he mates her the Yautja way. The sound is wet, along with skin slapping skin and their moans and growls.

He leans down, shifting his hips slightly as his mandibles trace along her face, tongue tasting the sweat on her skin. She grips the blankets tighter, squeezing impossibly tight around him, ooman words spilling from her lips before she goes silent for a moment. A long, keening whine leaves her then, eyelashes fluttering. She’s squeezing him, fluttering around him. He growls, hands gripping her hips as he picks up speed even more, thrusting harder and harder into her.

His hips still, head rearing back as he lets out a roar, length pulsing as he releases inside of her. Pleasure tingles through him, traveling along his spine into his stomach and through his length. His little ooman is whimpering at the sensation, legs trembling still from her own release.

He pulls out of her, sitting back and watching as their mixed fluids drip from inside of her. He leans down close to her, letting his tongue run the length of her slit. Her hips jerk in response, her back arching slightly. She’s tangy on his tongue, mixed with his musky flavor. He finds he likes the taste, pressing back in for more.

**********

Chloe can barely leave the bed for a week. She had complained about being bored and having nothing to do, but she hadn’t quite had this in mind when she had said that. Tusk had become relentless, every moment he wasn’t fixing the ship, feeding her, or sleeping he was between her legs. He let her take the lead sometimes, but others he was ruthlessly fucking into her, leaving her with bruises and scratches. She can’t exactly complain, though. For all of their differences, he at least knew how to be a decent lover. She’d lost count of the time she’d cum from him.

But thankfully he seems to be slowing down, spending more and more time fixing the ship, meaning it was close to being done. Perhaps that meant they would be leaving soon. Where they were going to go, however, she hadn’t gotten an answer. Perhaps because Tusk didn’t know either.

She’s also thankful he’s gone more because she’s started to feel sick. She was eating less, none of the foods he brought seeming to be appetizing to her anymore. She had managed to stomach most of them before, but it seemed like she had lost all taste from them. Her mind comes back to the stories she’d read about alien diseases, bacteria and microscopic lifeforms brought back from space destroying humanity. Could she have gotten some sort of space parasite suddenly? Had that been why he’d been so adamant about her staying in the room?

Chloe rests her head on the edge of the toilet seat, or what she calls the toilet seat, wiping some of the sweat from her brow. She’d puked up breakfast again, thankfully Tusk gone from the room so he wouldn’t be worried. She felt fine otherwise, just nauseous and tired.

She washes her hands, splashing water on her face before going back to the room. She’s barely sat on the bed when Tusk comes into the room, leaving the door open for a change.

“Come. We leave now.”

“Now?” Chloe asks, watching Tusk grab the few things they had accumulated during their stay.

“Yes. We go now.”

Before she knows it she’s back on the ship, tucked safely in Tusk’s bed as he takes off. Her stomach lurches as they leave the planet, threatening to bring up the nonexistent food left. She lays there, thinking for a moment when it suddenly hits her. Her stomach drops as the ship rocks as they leave the atmosphere, eyes wide as she calculates the numbers in her head. She didn’t know exactly, but from what she could figure out, it had to be true.

She rises out of bed, making her way from his room towards the control deck. She doesn't get that far, however, Tusk meeting her halfway.

“Yeyinde.” He says, pausing mid-step.

“Tusk, I need to talk to you. I want to know where we’re going.”

“Somewhere safe.” He says, moving past her.

“Tusk, please, tell me.” She turns to him, watching him go with a sigh. “Tarei’hsan.”

He stops at her attempted pronunciation of his real name. He turns slowly to face her, shoulders tensed. She approaches him, staring up at his face through the helmet.

“Tusk, I’m...” She bites her lip. She’s not sure if the word will translate correctly or even have a meaning to him. So instead she grabs his hand, putting it over her stomach. “Pup.”

He stares down at his hand for a long time, her small one covering his where it’s resting over her stomach. He rapidly switches through signatures on his helmet, finding the small zygote resting in her body every time. It’s faint and barely there, but he can see it.

**********

EPILOGUE: 40 years later

Chloe steps out of the hut as the ship lands in the clearing. The other members of their clan, cast outs and loners like them stepping out as well. They had been gone for weeks now, something Chloe had gotten used to after Naugui was born. Tusk had been adamant about raising him the Yautja way. Chloe had no problem with that, after all, Naugui took after his father in every way. An outsider would have questioned whether he was Chloe’s son, but he knew, and so did his parents. Chloe had nearly died birthing him herself, and it was something she would never forget.

She pulls her greying hair back, tying it up from her face as Naugui and Tusk step out of the ship. Tusk had managed to keep himself connected to other Yautja clans without them knowing, secretly spying on them since he left. There had been talk recently, worrying talk. There had been word of an invasion on Earth spreading through some of the clans. Tusk and Naugui had gone to see if it was true.

Chloe can tell by their body language when they approach her what the answer is.

“What do we do?” Chloe asks, wrapping her arms around Naugui.

“We can do nothing,” Tusk says, cupping her face.

“Earth was my home once. To think it could be gone...wiped out...” She chews on her lip, Naugui pulling away from her slightly.

“The armor.” He says, looking to Tusk. “If it can get to Earth...”

“No.” Tusk says. “It’s too risky.”

“They need a chance to defend themselves. Oomans are part of me. If I can give them a chance, I will take it.”

Tusk lets out a breath Chloe understands the meaning of. She turns back to her son, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She knows the risk well. She’d heard first hand the whispers. Being the clan leader’s wife she knew everything he did. If Naugui did this, there was a strong chance he would not be coming back. But that was the Yautja way. It was a risk they took on every hunt. A fear they faced unflinchingly.

“Do your best, son,” Chloe says, cupping his cheek through his helmet.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before standing up straight. Chloe watches him walk to the ship, leaning against Tusks’ side, ruminating on the fact this could be the last time she sees her son.

[mckinlily]

.match made

Summary: Shiro and his master need to make a dangerous bet to get off of an Outer Rim planet. This would not be the ideal time to scout out new Jedi potentials.

Shiro disagrees.

(thanks @void-tiger​ for the beta and making sure my Star Wars isn’t complete nonsense!)

“I can do it, Master.”

Kolivan hummed with an almost growl in the back of his throat, no expression crossing his stern face. “It’s risky.”

“It’s podracing,” said Shiro, both confirming and refuting the point. “And it’s not like we have better options.”

Kolivan’s scowl deepened. Shiro was certain he was miserable with his thick fur in the Tatooine heat, but Force forbid the Jedi admit it, let alone take off a few layers. 

“Podracing is dangerous.”

“Dangerous is part of being a Jedi.”

“Padawan.”

“Master.”

Kolivan huffed.

“We’re not getting off this planet until we get the part for the hyperdrive,” Shiro pointed out, continually astonished by how the same master who had raised him on the mantra of patience yields focus could be so needlessly stubborn when things didn’t go his way. 

“Master, I can do this,” he repeated. 

Kolivan exhaled heavily, finally relenting to the fact that the universe wasn’t going to magically whisk them away just because he wished it. His expression didn’t change any, but Shiro had become attuned to his master’s ways and could tell by the slight roll of his shoulders that he was giving in. 

“I’ll go place our bets,” he conceded. 

Shiro grinned. 

***

The thing about podracing was it was entirely unregulated, despite perfunctory rules, and the only real requirement was that it be entertaining. Entertainment fueled the bets after all. 

Shiro knew this as he walked around the podracer they’d “borrowed” from a local junk trader as part of the bet (Shiro had never thought that being Jedi included so much sketchy betting with sketchier characters, but needs must). The podracer was in standard barely functional condition, and if Shiro didn’t end up needing to hold some part or other together with the Force by the end of this, he would be very much surprised. 

As it was, he was excited.

Jedi probably weren’t supposed to be excited at the prospect of entering a dangerous and by some definitions illegal pod race, but Shiro still struggled to wrestle himself into the part of a proper Jedi at times. Most times, it seemed according to Kolivan and certain members of the Council. But he could at least affect the appearance of a calm, collected Jedi while he looked over his competition. Shiro took note of their craft, the likely strengths and drawbacks, possible weaknesses to take advantage of—and who among them was angry or bitter and willing to play dirty.

A sudden, bright flare in the Force caught his attention, and Shiro looked around, distracted. He hadn’t thought any of his competitors were particularly Force-sensitive, but—

There. For a moment, Shiro thought it was the Toydarian dealer, but then his focus narrowed in on the small boy nearby. The kid was maybe eight or nine—or possibly a very scrawny ten. His dark hair was overlong and fell into his face while he scowled and steadfastly ignored who Shiro strongly suspected was his master. (A child. A child slave, and slavery in general was appalling but there was something particularly despicable about enslaving children.) 

No one else seemed remotely sensitive, but the Force had gathered in tangled, turbulent knots around this one child. A child who on the outside appeared to be nothing but sullen and underfed, but in the Force he glowed—

A sharp tug on his training bond told Shiro that Kolivan had noticed his distraction and was not impressed. Kolivan never did appreciate deviations from the mission. An unplanned pit stop in the Outer Rim had only made him grumpier. Shiro sent back a pulse of reassurance and climbed into the cockpit. Focusing, Master. I’ll get us those hyperdrive parts.

***

There was another human in the line up. Keith frowned while he wormed into a more comfortable position in the pod racer. Humans couldn’t compete in podraces: their reflexes were too slow.

Well. Humans who weren’t Keith.

So why did he have the staticky, tingling feeling this one was going to win?

***

The pod race started off with a bang, two pods almost immediately crashing and catching fire, and Shiro was having fun. His podracer was stiff and shaky, but he pushed it to the limit anyway, quickly getting a feel for its hang ups and how to push through them. The challenge of it was thrilling, as was the prickle of wind in his hair, and he quickly pulled to the front of the pack. Most the contestants seemed more concerned with sabotaging their competitors than actually flying, unfortunately. 

For them. 

Shiro rarely felt as one with the Force as he did when he was flying, and this time was no exception. By the second lap, he had a feel for both the pod and the course and with an extra burst of speed pulled into the lead. With space between him and the sabotaging competitors, he felt free to open the throttle and push the pod to its max, less concerned with beating everyone and more with the delight of going fast.

Except. Shiro had left most his competitors behind. There was one stubborn racer who was pulsing a warning of pride-bitterness-malice into the Force that Shiro kept an eye on. But even closer, nearly on his tail, was the kid from earlier, his presence in the Force more of a wordless fire. And he was keeping up, matching Shiro almost move for move, which was impressive seeing as Shiro was definitely using the Force as a counterbalance to offset his sharp cornering. But the kid refused to fall behind, fueled by either exceptional determination, exceptional stupidity, or possibly both. In other circumstances, Shiro would try slowing down just to see what the kid could do (and make sure the same kid didn’t get himself killed), but he and his master still needed that hyperdrive part and he couldn’t afford to let the rest catch up. 

There was a sharp bang! and out of the corner of his eye, Shiro caught sight of sparks flying out of the pod behind him, but he didn’t have time to worry about the kid because the Dug racer was on him and—

“A blaster? Seriously?” 

Of all the uncivilized things. Shiro growled under his breath as he dodged the shots. He could block them, but he was pretty sure the bet would be voided if he pulled out his lightsaber and besides he was affronted by the very idea of bringing a blaster to a podrace. This was a sport, not a war zone. Someone could get killed.

Shiro ground the gears, using the slope of a boulder to launch himself up and crash next the Dug, motors nearly tangling and energy arcs spitting angrily. The Dug snarled, likely something uncomplimentary about Shiro’s parentage, and pointed the blaster at Shiro’s face, but Shiro ignored it and instead leaned in more, grabbing hold of the other pod’s main fuel line, and yanked. 

The pod and the Dug screamed in equal fury. Shiro threw his sticks forward, pushing the pod into the redline, willing it to get him out of the spiraling hellfire that was quickly consuming the other podracer. Smoke, debris, and heat haze clouded his vision, but Shiro grit his teeth and pushed forward. 

The kid was ahead of him now. He’d gotten control of his podracer and used Shiro’s confrontation with the Dug to pull ahead. Which was a smart move, and another day, Shiro would let him have it, but…

“Sorry, kid,” said Shiro, yanking his pod sideways to draw even through a narrow passageway and plucking wires on his consol with one hand. Flying with the other, he bypassed the safeties, pouring unfiltered power into the engines. He pushed the Force down the lines as well, willing the pieces to stay cool while the rotors screamed and the air wavered with white-hot exhaust. 

Shiro was flirting with disaster. The last leg of the race was rocky and littered with less successful podracers, and he was brushing supersonic speeds. But there was no one else out here besides him and the kid. Shiro opened up his senses to the world around him and the Force. 

Times like this, Shiro almost understood what the masters meant when they said all was one with the Force. Time seemed to slow. He was the desert, the rock and grains of sand, the screaming motors, one small pilot, billions of particles in the air. He existed at the mouth of a canyon. Two miles down, launching over a crevasse. In the middle, calculating multiple trajectories.

The moment is vast. All time is now.

The Force sang in his ears. Shiro streaked over the finish line, the edges of his turbines just starting to turn red and deform and little sparks of electricity flashing dangerously along the leylines. He has his work cut out for him, bringing the pod to a stop without the entire thing turning into a fireball, but on the very edge of his awareness, he noticed the kid also pull across barely a handful of seconds after he did. Damn, but that was impressive. Though Shiro did notice his pod was in even worse shape than Shiro’s was. 

Shiro quickly gave the podracer a once over, ensuring it wasn’t in danger of exploding in the near future. As he did, he kept part of his attention on the crowd, making note of Kolivan making his way to collect their bets. Figuring his master had that in hand, Shiro jumped over his cockpit and approached the other podracer.

The kid was covered in dust and soot but overall didn’t seem too worse for wear. He looked up when Shiro approached, and the Force flared up in a defensive wall before settling down into something more cautiously hesitant.

“How did you fly like that?” he demanded, surprising Shiro by speaking first.

“The Force,” said Shiro honestly.

The kid scowled and glared at him like he was being intentionally patronizing—which, yeah, okay, Shiro could see that.

He crouched down so that he was closer to eye level and offered what he hoped was a soothing smile.

“I’m a Jedi,” he explained, voice low because it wasn’t something he wanted the entire arena to know. “We’re trained to use the Force to enhance our reflexes and our connection to the world. Flying is just one part of it.” A pretty frivolous part, really, but Shiro loved it too much to give it up. “I’m more impressed by what you managed, though. That was some pretty impressive flying you pulled off.”

For a moment, the kid almost preened. “I’m the best podracer there is,” he said confidently. “I’m the only human who can do it.” Then, he seemed to remember who he was talking to and his shoulders slumped, “Well, except for…”

“Jedi, remember?” Shiro gently reminded him. “I don’t exactly count as normal.”

The kid peaked up at him through his bangs and almost, almost seemed to smile. But he held back, seemingly uncertain and wary of what that could mean.

Shiro’s heart ached.

“Do you have any family?” he asked, but the kid shook his head.

“No. My dad—” He broke off, shook his head. “He was freeborn. He was. And so was I!” He looked up again, fire in his eyes, daring Shiro to challenge him.

Shiro didn’t blink or break eye contact. “I’m guessing the slavers didn’t care,” he said simply, disgust darkening his voice. 

“Yeah,” agreed the kid, too much bitterness and disillusionment in his voice for a kid his age. For anyone, but this was a child, and a brilliant, strong-willed, talented one too, if Shiro’s brief interaction with him was anything to go by.

(It occurred to Shiro that those traits probably were not missed by the boy’s master, and it made his blood burn.)

“Do you know where your master keeps the detonator?”

“What?” 

“The detonator for your implant. Does your master keep it on him or somewhere else?”

The kid’s eyes narrowed, sizing Shiro up in a way that should not make Shiro feel as much like a nervous youngling as he did now. 

“Yeah, I do,” said the kid. “But it’s in a safe only he can open. It’s keyed to his bio code.”

Shiro smiled in a way that was neither Jedi-worthy nor nice. “I have a lightsaber,” he pointed out, and the kid’s eyes went wide.

And then lit up.

***

“Takashi.”

“Yes, Master?” said Shiro as pleasantly as he could while running full tilt through the crowded market.

“I thought you said you could, and I quote, ‘do this.’”

“In fairness, I did win the podrace,” said Shiro, grabbing Kolivan’s arm and dragging them both behind a stall to avoid blaster fire. “It’s everything else that went sideways.”

“By which you mean breaking into a well known house, destroying every inch of their security, and then stealing valuable hyperdrive parts and a slave.”

“First of all, you can’t steal a person,” snapped Shiro. “And his name is Keith.”

Keith, for his part, was hiding silently in Shiro’s shadow, but the glare he was sending Kolivan spoke volumes.

Kolivan titled his head back and grumbled something in Galra that Shiro had never gotten him to give a translation for, but from context, he figured it meant something like, This padawan will be the death of me.

Which was unfair, really. Drawing the attention of every bounty hunter and mercenary on Tatooine was hardly the most dangerous thing either of them had done by a long shot.

Keith tugged hard on Shiro’s robe and pointed.

“Security droids at nine o’clock,” said Shiro, dumping the hyperdrive parts into Keith’s arms so that he could pull out his lightsaber. Kolivan, whose large frame clearly did not appreciate crouching in the small space, had already leapt into action, his silver-white blade flashing against the backdrop of sand and brown and dust.

“Take these to that ship,” Shiro told Keith, pointing. “We’ll cover you.”

Keith looked ready to be suspicious and stubborn, but then he caught sight of where Shiro was pointing and his eyes went wide. “Is that your ship?”

“Yep,” said Shiro proudly. “Once we get out of here, I can show you how to fly it.”

“Takashi!”

“Yes?” replied Shiro with sing-song pleasantry. “Go on, get out of here,” he added, giving Keith a little push with the Force. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We will talk,” said Kolivan as Shiro jumped in beside him, expertly deflecting blaster fire back at the perpetrators.

“Yes, Master,” said Shiro, foreseeing a lot of forced meditation in his future but refusing to regret it. He and his master moved like one in battle. Kolivan grabbed a transport with the Force, and Shiro deflected a blast into its cargo, causing an explosion of feathers and shrieking chaos as the livestock escaped. 

On an unspoken cue, both he and Kolivan turned tail and bolted for the ship, guarding each other in turn.

“Get us in the air!” ordered Kolivan, as they leaped over the loading ramp into the ship. “And take the youngling with you.”

“On it,” said Shiro, blocking blaster fire and drawing up the ramp. He nudged Keith towards the cockpit, squeezing his shoulder. “Want to see how we get this thing in the air?”

“Focus on the task at hand, padawan!” Kolivan snapped from the engine room.

Shiro rolled his eyes. “I can do both,” he muttered, knowing Kolivan wouldn’t care. They needed to get off planet before the entire population of Tatooine started firing on them.

“Here,” said Shiro, quickly plopping Keith into the copilot seat. “Strap in,” he added, throwing himself into the other seat and beginning to flip switches and override warnings (yeah yeah, broken hyperdrive, they knew that) to get ship live and ready for take off. Engines spluttered, coughed—then purred, and the dashboard lit up. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw Keith hadn’t strapped in at all, instead staring open-mouthed at the controls and standing on tip-toe to see more out of the view port.

Eh. He’d learn.

Shiro flipped on the intercom. “Ready, Master?” he asked, already setting the launch trajectory.

“Get us out of here, Takashi.”

“You might want to sit down for this,” Shiro added to Keith, intentionally not looking at the kid and pretending he hadn’t noticed the moment of awestruck curiosity. He gripped the sticks and launched them into the air, no less than three ships on his tail, and Keith let out a gasp that a moment later was followed by a flood of sheer delight in the Force.

Shiro grinned, easily maneuvering two of his tails into each other and quickly outstripping the third, before launching into open space.

Over all, he thought things were going very well.

And Kolivan’s grumbled swearing could just deal with it. 

[commonwealthoccurences]

Cheers (Elder Maxson)

Note: We’re assuming Sole is around the same age as Maxson in this; a middle-aged Sole with 19 year old Maxson is an iffy concept to me. Thank you to the Discord server for fixing my writers block! Also, weird analogies for 500, anyone? Mildly OOC Maxson.

CW: Potential death mention, abstract/rhetorical poisoning

It’s easy, Sole thinks at the end of the day, to drink poison. To tilt your head back and surrender to what may come, no matter what. It’s easy to allow yourself to be captured in the will of whatever's been mixed into your glass, slightly acidic, barely masked, and pretend to be unknowing. Knowing Elder Maxson has been like drinking poison, and so, they think it must be very easy to allow oneself to do so.

They’re staring into the wine that’s been handed to them, a deep plum color swirling in the foggy glass it’s been poured into. In another timeline, this wouldn’t be the last they’d share with him, and there was a much more content life waiting for them at the end of their internal battles. But they often told themself they weren’t one for wishful thinking, and with that, returned their attention to the man himself, who sat, quiet and contemplative, across from them.

On any other evening he’d be lounged across the plush cushions next to them, a sharp contrast to the usual appearance he showed every other member of the Brotherhood. There’d be a lazy grin on his face, a little too much wine wiping away the stern expression that’d been burned into the lines of his skin, and the two of them would be deep in the throws of a playful debate. Sole had lost that privilege, though.

Just as Maxson had lost the privilege of seeing them with their head tilted back, a laugh shaking their frame, delight taking over the weight of the world that they held between their strong shoulders. Two friends, or something more, turned strangers. What a twist. “Is this it?” Sole spoke up. Maxson had resumed his public facade, and they knew he wouldn’t be the one to break the silence.

“I suppose it is.”

The meeting of their gazes brought both of their internal battles to the forefront, images of warfields flashing between the pair. Sole clenched their jaw and tilted their head up, still trying to remain casual in the way they spun the wine in the glass. They didn’t dare take a sip; they wouldn’t put it past him to actually poison it, and as much as they cared for him, there was a reason the air was so tense.

Sole had made it into the Brotherhood a little shell shocked from their experiences with the Wasteland, looking for structure and someone to have their back as they fought to survive. Of course, the Brotherhood was much more than that, and didn’t hesitate to introduce their bigotry, disguised as defensive beliefs, as soon as Sole stepped through the doors to the Prydwen.

They were unsure at first of where they stood. Ever the scholar, they tried to remain neutral and stand back, observing, as they made their way through the beginnings of their Brotherhood experience. Other than Nick Valentine, they had never met a synth; maybe he was an exception, and the Brotherhood was right in the idea that they weren’t to be trusted. They’d found themself in the company of Elder Maxson more than once at this point, eager to look through the cracks of the mask he wore and get to know the man behind the ideology, the intense scowls, and the unwavering leadership. They’d begun to debate as a pastime, and slowly, as the tapestry of his beliefs came into full view, they found themself suffocated.

The threads were frayed, woven by generations beforehand. Maxson’s contributions were made for no reason other than that he was told it was right, to add strength to a fabric that only caused pain to those that were innocent. Sole found themself edging closer to the tapestry with a thread ripper and magnifying glass, wanting to take apart every argument and excuse and bring forward the man behind the brainwashing that the Brotherhood was so fond of, but it was too late. It seemed that the threads had been woven into his skin as well, leaving no person outside of his anti-synth ideology.

They needed time away, and after one particularly intense debate-turned-argument, they asked for it. Maxson knew what was happening as soon as they were hesitant to look him in the eye, and when they finally did, there was no vulnerability like he was once given access to. They were choking on the smell of his soap and aftershave, suffocating on the tenseness flooding the room, and needed to get away to think.

After a month in Sanctuary, listening to synths and humans alike recount their tales, their life experiences identical in the way that both types of people hurt and thrived, became overjoyed and mourned losses, Sole went to seek out answers. In the back alleys of Diamond City they heard whispers of an organization, and went to find the Railroad.

They had a long talk with Deacon, looking over his own tapestry with a magnifying glass, shielding their eyes from the reflective, joking threads, so they could see the life lessons hidden beneath. Despite how hard it was to access, they found his tapestry much warmer, if not a bit worn from how many had taken refuge under its fabric. Every time they dug in and pulled at the threads, trying to find a fatal flaw, it held together like no other. One month away and they knew what they had to do.

It was hard to return to the Brotherhood, knowing their days there were limited. They’d seen the people before the ideology, instead of the other way around, and once considered many of them friends. But at the end of the day, the ends of their tapestries were coming loose, and Sole could no longer justify sticking around. They were smarter than that.

Maybe it was obvious, and a little immature, but they avoided Maxson upon their return to the best of their abilities. He tried to reach out to them, calling them in for meetings, upon which they kept their answers short and didn’t give any information as to what they had been up to during their escapades away from the Prydwen. But at the end of his third try, when his expression changed from curious and a little hurt to hardened and stern, they knew he understood. They had their own tapestry now, and didn’t need the refuge of any others. Certainly not his.

So when he invited them to one last evening together, they accepted. There was nothing they weren’t prepared for as they walked through the doors to his quarters and settled down on the couch. It was easier than they expected it to be, but they supposed the time away had already given them the opportunity to sever any hesitancy they would’ve once held.

They found themself indifferent to the intense discomfort in the air that would’ve pinned them to their seat just a month ago. Their breath remained in their lungs, their hands didn’t shake. They tilted their glass and stared at the liquid inside before placing it on the table in front of them and folding their hands together in their lap. “I sincerely hope you don’t plan on doing anything stupid, Sole.” Maxson’s voice was harsh, biting. He sipped his own drink.

They found a small smile betraying their lack of fear of the man in front of them. With a light sigh they glanced out the window. “Arthur, please. Let’s not pretend you haven’t been picking apart my brain for the last few months in the name of getting to know each other. Do you really believe me to be stupid?”

“I didn’t. And then you left for a month and returned doubting Brotherhood ideals. It seems you still have time to prove me wrong.”

“I think we can both agree a resistance to brainwashing is the exact opposite of stupidity.”

Sole sighed and brushed the palms of their hands down their thighs. They stood with little hesitancy and made their way over to one of the windows that decorated the walls of Maxson’s quarters. The view was one of the few things they’d miss about the Prydwen.

Of course, they supposed they could understand how members of the Brotherhood became so out of touch with the Wasteland. Everything felt so untouchable from their perch in the sky, rocking gently in the light winds that flooded the ground with radiation. Staying, surrounded by the hivemind and far away from any contradicting opinions, would’ve been the death of any independent thought from Sole.

They would miss Arthur, not Maxson, and the way they thought they were two separate people just a few months ago. It was easy to pretend, when he had been less than sober and forgot everything he thought was his responsibility. His thoughts flowed more readily into speech; the first slip he had made was calling Sole beautiful as they leaned against that very window, looking up at the stars that almost appeared to be within reach from where they sat in the sky.

It had caught Sole by surprise, though they supposed it shouldn’t have. Yes, Arthur was in a position of power, arguably one of the highest in the Wasteland across the factions, but they had spent enough time with him at that point to know he fell victim to alcohol. Well, that’s what they pretended.

Arthur was no lightweight. They could see it in the way his movements still remained controlled in contrast to his words. It was an excuse, they’d realized, after just two nights, to say what was on his mind instead of what he had been taught to say.

Maybe that’s why they thought they could get to him at first. Unravel some of the tapestry that had dug deep into his skin and latched onto his mind. It seemed as if he wanted free of the Brotherhood mindset and the way everyone looked to him. It showed when they were together in the low lamplight of his quarters, alone in a space that didn’t allow for his facade, and he looked 19 again instead of aged beyond recognition.

His hand brushed across their cheek and they fought hard to keep their attention out the window; they wouldn’t let him exploit vulnerability that should’ve never been given in the first place. They were hyper aware of the placement of his hand, knowing that into two smooth motions they could be on the floor, dead. Instead, he hooked a finger under their chin, and they felt a kiss placed to their forehead. Then, he was out of their space and across the room, busying himself behind his desk with paperwork. They were dismissed, for the last time.

Just a week later, it was easier than expected for the words to spill out of their mouth and into Deacon’s ears. Descriptions of the Brotherhood’s guard shifts, the weakest point of their aircraft, protocols and every hidden weapon they knew about. They didn’t choke, didn’t waver. They had seen too much upon their return to the Railroad; synths injured from the hate the Brotherhood had spread, members fatally wounded when they jumped to defend. Sole had reveled too long in the privilege of ignorance and the company of a man who, despite being tragically indoctrinated, they could no longer lend sympathy to when they had to bear witness to the consequence of his actions.

Maxson’s last mistake was assuming that the silent goodbye they’d shared just one week earlier would be their last. Sole was ready to take a torch to his tapestry, and they were the last person he should’ve assumed was stupid enough to let him go easily.

[greenhappyseed]

We need to talk about All Might.

After Chapter 309, everyone seems to be screaming DEATH FLAG (more than normal), and I wouldn’t ordinarily agree given the fakeouts we’ve seen before. However, AM isn’t given much to do yet (except look cute in his sunnies) and doesn’t seem to be in a good position to grow as a person. It makes me sad bc there is a lot of potential with AM, and it all seems pushed aside in favor of Endeavor’s narrative, which I don’t love. As a ::cough cough:: older BnHA fan in a workaholic profession, I want to see the larger hero society narrative use AM to ask if you can be a hero (and therefore of any value to society) when you’re old and/or have less strength/power/endurance than you used to have. What happens when you WERE an equal, and then you lose a step along the way (note there may be a parallel to Bakugo’s/Aizawa’s post-war condition on this theme)? Or, given the focus on teenagers and the role of the “new generation” in rebuilding society, let’s ask whether AM made the right choice in sticking with his teenage ideals through adulthood. Was he right to give up EVERYTHING for his dream, only to crash land into a nightmare? I mean, the dude destroyed himself for years and then watched his life’s work crumble in a matter of weeks. Can he pick himself up, powerless, and still find a new way to help? In BHNA, all of the top heroes have major flaws (a meta for another time!) and a chance at redemption, so I really want to see AM do the same thing.

AM starts the story as the singular, self-proclaimed Symbol of Peace, which was a mission he gave himself as a naive, idealistic middle school student(!!!) Through Nana Shimura, AM received the power to make his teenage ambition a reality and then ... kept at it for 40 years. Alone. Without critical reflection. In Vigilantes, we learn the cost of this relentless pursuit is that AM has no real friends and no social life. Even among other top heroes, he’s not an approachable peer, but the hired gun brought in to clean up the biggest, baddest disasters before he’s immediately called out to the next one. To the extent he socializes after a big win, it’s to talk to the media and sign autographs, not debrief or bond with fellow heroes. The guy has charisma and can do stage banter all day, but he has no idea how to have an actual functioning relationship with colleagues. At the beginning of BNHA, it’s been 20ish years since AM spoke to Torino, 10 years since he spoke to Endeavor, and 5 years since Nighteye. He does keep in touch with Tsukauchi, but he’s more like a “work husband” than a best friend.

When Deku meets him, AM is holding it together on the surface, but is really in mental distress. AM is the first hero in the story whose facade is ripped away (initially to us readers, then eventually to everyone in universe). Unable to do the hero work that defines him for more than 3 hours a day, he seems to spend the rest of his pre-UA time wandering around aimlessly. He’s lost his sense of purpose, has nobody to confide in (he may not “lie” but he definitely doesn’t tell anyone complete truths), and he is indifferent to his own survival. He is certain Nighteye’s prediction is coming true, and he’s looking for a successor because he HAS to before time runs out, not because he wants to. If he can pass on OFA then he can die, ideally in a blaze of glory. And, if not for Deku, he would have let the slime villain kill Bakugo and told himself he can’t save everyone. In Deku he sees his younger self’s ideals and decided his new purpose is to build the next Symbol of Peace, not just do a handoff. With a true successor secured, he can really go for one last big heroic act.

Except it doesn’t work out as planned. Deku — lonely and idealistic himself — desperately needs AM around for approval. And AM, with extra time on his hands, seems to enjoy being needed by his boy, like a parent with a toddler. As hard as they both aim to create the next AM, Deku is his own person (as all children are), which makes the process trickier than either one anticipated. At first AM tries imitating Torino and trains Deku through physical activity and battle, the same way Torino punched a grieving, teenage AM around. AM encourages Deku to sacrifice himself, just because AM also did it for 40 years. But these tactics just don’t work for Deku. AM gets (rightly) scolded by Recovery Girl. Then AM sends Deku to Torino, who teaches Deku Full Cowling and scolds AM for not telling Deku the truth about AFO — and for this one time, Torino is right. Slowly, fuller truths start coming out from AM, and in return Deku learns to protect himself and ask his mentor questions rather than merely imitate. Both begin to grow and change for the better.

After Kamino, Inko uses her leverage to convince AM to stop the blaze of glory nonsense. He wants to be her successor as parent to Deku, and she’s not going to allow it if AM is going to drive her son towards needless self-sacrifice. This seems to take root, and we later see AM openly defy Nighteye’s prediction because he wants to be with Deku. He starts jogging! We even see him confide in Aizawa he has decided to live. Even if he’s not always sure how to give his new life purpose, and he bristles at needing to be protected, he’s accepting his post-pro existence. Progress!

Finally, AM comes into his own as a teacher and member of the old guard with experience to share. He may be using “Teaching for Dummies” as a shortcut, but he’s recognizing his own failings and trying to improve. He tells Deku to quit imitating him, full stop, finally giving Deku permission to become his own hero with his own style. AM takes initiative to teach Deku Air Force, and really guides Deku through the use of the power until Deku becomes proficient. AM also gets actively involved in coaching other students (not as much as he should, but it’s something). AM will similarly counsel Endeavor later, saying Endeavor has to walk his own path and answer for himself why he has his power. AM is building new relationships, new skills, and forming an identity outside of punching things!

Of course, we still see signs AM is a work in progress. Staying up too late at night to do research on prior OFA users for Deku. Diving to protect a woman from a falling streetlight (saved only by a fast-acting Bakugo). At the same time, we see that Deku is coming into his own with his 1A friends. And Deku is no longer looking back to AM for approval (both literally when jumping away and figuratively as part of Deku’s decision-making processes). AM seems both proud and sad, as is natural when a parental figure watches their child become independent.

Fast forward to 309, and a powerless AM leaves all the growth behind to help Deku, Endeavor, Jeanist, and Hawks find the LOV. On the good side, AM isn’t keeping secrets anymore (arguably, telling Jeanist and Hawks about OFA should have involved a consultation with Deku, but okay). Moreover, AM isn’t useless in this fight; he can provide financing, emotional support, police connections, UA connections, and Oracle/guy-in-a-chair backup to the active heroes. But what will this change tell us about AM? Can he ever really get comfortable with this role or is he there just out of duty? Can he actually deliver some hard truths to Deku about AM’s own experience if/when Deku stretches himself too thin? Is this new role respected by the other heroes? If not, will he be tempted to return to battle to be “valuable”? To give his life for Deku so he can claim one last “win” by saving? Or give his life for Deku because he actually loves him and has something personal to fight for? All of these questions bear on where an older, powerless person — that is, an outcast — fits into society and how a lifelong loner can find their role within a group. (Boy, this sounds like a familiar BnHA theme!)

I feel like, if AM dies just to become a vestige, all of these deeper questions are unexplored and we’re just copying Star Wars plot points without any added meaning. I’m not satisfied AT ALL with AM living rent free in Deku’s head and robbing others of his wisdom/experience (which he was just starting to share!!!). Likewise, if AM dies as a plot device so Deku can stand as a hero on his own, or tap into his inner rage or whatever, well, that’s also copied from Star Wars — and it seems to counter what we’re starting to see with Deku calling his own shots and AM supporting. Unlike Torino and AM, who don’t talk for years, I want to see Deku be his own hero AND have his mentor in his life. I want BnHA to keep resisting the absent adult trope, because it’s entirely possible (and realistic!) for grownups to be their own people while having mentors and parental figures in their life. It’s an adjustment for a parental figure to watch their teen become an adult, but it doesn’t mean the parental figure just ghosts and ceases to matter as an influence.

Similarly, if AM turns to sacrifice, it will turn AM’s life story into a cautionary tale with no growth. How can a story about saving people who have done bad things have a good guy succumb to his worst instinct, with nobody to save him? How can AM’s life lesson be “make friends now and learn to give and take in a relationship, otherwise you’ll get too old and it’ll be too late and when you aren’t powerful you’ll have to take a hit to have value”? Even if his sacrifice ultimately allows Deku to win against AFO it feels hollow against the larger narrative. Unlike pre-war Bakugo, we already know AM will self-destruct for others. AM wanting to take on the world alone and die “heroically” is the PROBLEM that drives his pre-Kamino failures, not the solution. And if AM can’t escape this and become comfortable in society post-retirement, who can???

I’m worried we are going to see AM’s growth cut short while Endeavor, Hawks, and the LOV get a shot at redemption, which feels problematic. Of course life isn’t fair, and not everyone gets to have a second act, but it feels wrong for the BNHA narrative to punish someone who is trying (and who wants to help Deku save the villains). Maybe you can argue it’s AM’s fault that the hero society became corrupt, so it’s a cosmic balance for him to die watching it fall. Or maybe the other heroes will realize AM needs their help too (not just Deku) and keep him safe. (Maybe Endeavor will save him in a parallel to Bakugo and Deku.) Much is TBD, but chapters 306-309 make me worry.